Riding Blind (Hell Ryders MC Book 3)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Riding Blind
Publication Information
Dedication
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Author Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
About the Author
Also Available
Also Read
Thank You
Riding Blind
by
J.L. Sheppard
Hell Ryders MC Book 3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Riding Blind
COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Jeanette L. Sheppard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2018
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1884-4
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1885-1
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
Para Papi:
Seré tu rubia linda siempre.
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
J.L. Sheppard
RUNNING WILD
“If you want a dominant, caring, freakin’ awesome hero, an amazing heroine and a hell of a lot of heat. Give this a read!”
~Coffee House Press
~*~
“The author uses a sensitive subject matter to create a beautiful story of justice and love finding the right path. A great beginning to a new MC series!”
~InD’tale Magazine
~*~
“Ready for some hot bikers? J.L. Sheppard has a new series for you!”
~Nightowl Reviews
RUNNING HOT
“Running Hot is impossible to put down! A great read for anytime of the year!”
~InD’tale Magazine
~*~
“[Cuss and Tiffany’s] story is epic and thrilling… Running Hot is an amazing second book in a must read series!”
~TBR Pile
~*~
“Strong and slow building storyline, Running Hot was a great MC read…”
~Tome Tender
Author Acknowledgments
A big thank you to my family and friends for their continued support.
To my editor, Sharon Pickrel, I’m forever thankful for all I’ve learned, your hard work and patience.
To my publisher, including everyone who works behind the scenes: Rhonda, RJ, Diana, and Lisa to name a few, thank you for giving me the opportunity to reach countless readers, and especially, for believing in my stories.
Last but not least, to my readers, it’s for you I write. I’m forever grateful.
Prologue
Late and dark, there was no other place he’d rather be than on his bike. The wind beating against his face, the sound and the feel of the engine rumbling between his legs—peace, his peace.
Too soon the ride ended, arriving at his destination, an older-looking home in Santa Rosa, California, just a thirty-minute drive from the Hell Ryders MC’s garage and compound. On a Wednesday night, Chip, the president of Chained Disciples MC, was throwing a huge blowout. Since their clubs had joined forces and began working together more than a year ago, making money in illegal and immoral ways, and even though he and Chip weren’t as close as his brothers—the men of Hell Ryders MC, he and Chip had become friends, friends who had each other’s back during those times they ran drugs and guns across borders, friends who hung out and partied often.
It was his first time visiting Chip’s home, but he knew he had the right place. For one, the one-story house was on five acres of land; trees and shrubbery surrounded it and gave the club privacy. It looked like it needed some landscaping and remodeling. A row of bikes parked out front. He counted six in total. Chip and Tracker, Vice President of Chained MC, lived in the house. Two bikers in a home, those two bikers being from a nomad club, they wouldn’t be too interested in upkeep. Chained MC being nomads was smart and worked to their benefit considering in their line of work, things could get heated and fast. A home base and roots made it harder to run and hide when need be.
Parking, Ripper hopped off his bike and headed up the stone steps. He knocked and waited. Moments later, Chip swung the door open. Straight away, he handed him a glass of clear liquid. He took it.
Chip tapped his glass against his. “Thanks for comin’. Party’s just started.” He shot the drink back.
Ripper did the same. The alcohol, vodka, burned down the back of his throat as he strode inside. He glanced around the room taking it all in. Open concept, a big living room, several cream-colored couches that had seen better days surrounded a huge flat screen TV, the only piece of furniture that looked in good shape and new. Ten kegs stood at the end of the room, near a counter lined with bottles of liquor. Several members of Chained MC were already there. As he’d counted six in total, two pounding shots, two others eyes glued to the boxing match on the flat screen, another making out with a tap in the kitchen and Chip. He knew more were en route like he knew several of his brothers were as well. After all, tonight they were celebrating pulling off the biggest gun and drug run in both their clubs’ history. Each club had nabbed more than a million on the deal.
As the hours passed, more of his brothers and Chip’s joined the party. They laughed too loud, drank too much. Some even fucked in plain sight and passed the leftovers.
Then it happened.
The front door opened, and a girl strode through.
Just the sight took his breath away, so from his seat on the couch, he straightened, gaze deadlocked on her.
Her hair was blonde, not like his, but a light blonde and long enough it reached her mid-back, and her face was flawless, high cheekbones, rosy cheeks, arched brows, and thick lips, so thick he couldn’t help but picture them around his dick. Standing at an angle and wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and blouse, he knew she was lean with a small waist and a hell of an ass.
She wasn’t his type. He liked blondes, but he liked boobs more, and she didn’t have big ones. Not that they were small, he’d guess a B-cup. She didn’t dress like his type either. He liked women who dressed to flaunt, women who didn’t mind spreading for bikers, women who knew not to expect a call the next day, women they called taps. He liked those women because he didn’t need a hassle and because he didn’t like to work to get laid. He liked sex a lot, liked it with different women, and he didn’t want those women on his dick getting ideas of the forever kind. That’s why he looked for women wearing short skirts he could pull to the
ir waists, women with cleavage, so their tits were in his face when they rode him. Most importantly, he liked women, not girls, and this girl looked like a girl, too young, too clean, and too pure.
Yet she was beautiful, so regardless of all the reasons he shouldn’t want her, his body responded too easily, too quickly. Before he thought it through, he stood and strode to her. He didn’t make it in time.
Chip did, leaving Ripper standing six feet away, watching as Chip wrapped an arm around her waist, the other around her neck, and roughly hauled her to his chest. Then she snaked her arms around Chip’s waist for a hug.
At the sight, a deep burn ripped through his stomach.
Chip drew away, his head slanted toward her. Looking straight at Chip, she smiled a gorgeous smile that lit up the whole fucking room.
That deep burn ripping his stomach open rose up his chest.
Chip flashed a grin. “Celebrating tonight, baby. Don’t want you cleanin’ though.”
Baby? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That burn reached his throat in the form of bile. He swallowed it down. No denying it now. Young and beautiful, and she was Chip’s. He should’ve guessed. Only taps and old ladies came to biker parties. She wasn’t a tap because she didn’t dress like one meaning she belonged to a brother and not one of his brothers. Had she been, he would’ve seen her before now.
“Yeah, right,” she shot back with attitude.
Instead of riling Chip’s temper like it should’ve, like anyone would’ve guessed, Chip threw his head back and laughed like he loved getting shit from her.
If the fact she wasn’t his type and the fact she belonged to Chip didn’t turn him off, the attitude should’ve. Worse than a woman who wanted more from him and made him work for it was a woman with attitude. And instead, like everything with the blonde, it had the opposite effect. It made him want her more.
Chip tugged her into him again, kissed her forehead, then said, “Love you, Em,” and pulled away.
She quirked a brow. “Don’t be dramatic. You just missed me getting you drinks.”
Again, that attitude, but Ripper hadn’t heard it. His mind consumed in what Chip said.
Chip wasn’t just a biker, and he wasn’t just the president of Chained MC. He was a badass, hard, fearless, and fierce enough that he overthrew the last president of Chained with no remorse, no regret to take his shot at leading the club. If the rumors were true, it meant Chip and Tracker eliminated those who opposed him in a way that meant they’d never get back at him. And yet, that same man had so easily admitted he loved the girl. He gave her that in front of his brothers and Ripper’s. Shocking, absurd, and unheard of.
Ripper was lost in that, confounded by it, until it hit him—how it made perfect sense. A man didn’t keep a girl like her unless he gave that to her. From one look, any man knew she was that type of woman, the type who wouldn’t settle for anything less, the type who deserved it.
Those thoughts fled when the sound of Chip’s easy laughter rang out. Then Chip turned, leaving one arm draped around her shoulders, and walked toward the back of the house, taking her with him.
No doubt in Ripper’s mind where Chip would take her. That thought he couldn’t take, so he closed his eyes and angled his head away from them. When he heard his name, he came to and realized he hadn’t taken a breath for a while. He’d been standing there motionless for a long-ass time thinking about another man’s woman.
“Fuck.” What was wrong with him? He’d never reacted to a woman that way. So she was pretty; she was still too young, too innocent. Truth be told, she was too young for Chip too, who was a year older than him. None of that mattered though. As Chip’s old lady, even if she and Chip broke up, he couldn’t make a move. You didn’t fuck with a biker’s old lady even if she wasn’t his old lady anymore. He had to forget her.
It took him a moment to compose himself, but he finally did, telling himself he didn’t really want her, that his reaction had been fueled by alcohol.
He left minutes later.
****
Ripper hopped off his bike, duffle bag in hand, and strode up the familiar stone steps then knocked and waited. It swung open a moment later. She appeared at the other end looking like every other time he’d seen her—too young, too pure, too clean, and too beautiful.
Over the past five months, he’d avoided her the best he could because he’d been wrong. Two weeks after he saw her for the first time, he saw her again, and again, he reacted. He wanted her bad enough he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, bad enough he’d even dreamt what her skin tasted like, but he couldn’t have her, so he avoided her. He wasn’t a coward; he was smart to keep his distance.
He scanned her flushed face then helplessly glided his gaze down her body. She wore a blue robe, big on her, so it didn’t take a genius to guess it belonged to Chip, and that Rip probably caught them in the act.
Just his fucking luck.
Her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”
He snapped his stare from her robe to her hazel eyes. “Bryce,” he said too quickly, too harshly, giving her his real name, not his road name, and he didn’t know why.
She smiled softly and nodded. Looking at him expectantly but she didn’t say a word. After a long moment of silence, she quirked a brow. “Can I help you?”
Right, he hadn’t even told her why he’d come, too lost in just looking at her, in looking at her looking at him. Fucking idiot. “Chip told me to meet him here.”
“He isn’t here, but you can wait inside. I can get you a beer if you want.”
Not there? Why then was her face flushed? Why was she wearing a man’s robe? Was someone else in the house? Did Chip share her with his brothers? Her?
“Track here?” His voice came out gravely.
Her eyes rounded as she shook her head.
“Anyone here?”
She shook her head again.
He took a deep breath and released it. So Chip wasn’t crazy, didn’t share her. Good thing, too. His instincts would’ve made him do something stupid like kidnap her and hide her in his room at the compound.
“So are you coming in or…”
Wait, she just said she was alone. Why would she invite any man in when she was alone? Proof of how young and naïve she was.
“It ain’t smart to invite a man into your house when you’re alone.” He hadn’t meant to sound so stern but hadn’t been able to help it.
Unbelievably, she lifted her chin and smirked. “You’re not just a man. You’re a biker. That—”
Eyes hardening, body tensing, he cut her off. “More reason—”
She lifted her brows and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you going to let me finish?”
Shit. She wasn’t afraid of him, not even a little bit. He was a scary motherfucker, had always been. He trained himself to be this way. He never had a thing in his life. His own mother abandoned him. His grandmother hadn’t cared for him, so he’d turned into a mean, scary SOB. It meant not only did she have attitude, but she was also feisty. It should’ve turned him off, especially when she directed that attitude at him, but again, because it was her, that attitude had the opposite effect.
His cock twitched. He loved his reaction though it was fucked, and even knowing he shouldn’t react at all, he couldn’t help but smirk. He then lifted his chin, instructing her to go on.
“Like I said you’re a biker. You know who lives here. Not just Chip, President of Chained MC, but Track, the VP. They don’t share club stuff with me considering I’m a girl and all, but I’m not stupid either. I know you know because your club’s cool with Chip’s, so I know any biker who comes knocking on this door knows better than to mess with me because that means messing with Chip and messing with Chained MC.”
Damn. He was so hard he swore if she kept talking with that little sharp tongue, he’d blow.
“So, are you coming in or not?”
Because he found her so beautiful, because that was the best conversatio
n he’d ever had with a woman and because he couldn’t help it, he grinned. “Thanks, but it ain’t right.”
She quirked a brow.
“You’re right. No one’ll fuck with you ’cause of Chip, but I can’t take you up on that offer ’cause he isn’t home, and it isn’t right for me to be in there alone with his old lady.”
She threw her head back and laughed aloud, a magnificent laugh, so he watched enthralled. Even though he didn’t know why she laughed, he joined in.
When she settled, she looked him square in the eyes. “A gentleman biker? And I thought I’d seen it all.” Shaking her head softly, she then added, “You have nothing to worry about, biker. I’m not his old lady. I’m his cousin.”
Jaw dropping, he thought back to that first night he’d seen her. She walked in, Chip strode to her, hugged her. She gave him lip, and Chip told her he loved her. Then Chip took her to the back of the house.
“You lyin’?”
Her eyes widened. “Why would I lie?”
He had no clue and said so without words by shrugging.
“I’d kiss you to prove I’m not, but I’m not that type of girl.”
With just the thought of her kissing him, his cock jerked.
“So, Bryce, are you coming in or not?”
Alone with her for however long Chip took to get home? Hell, yeah, he was in. “Yeah, babe.” He smiled, deciding at that very moment, he’d make her his.
That smirk came again. “Name’s Emelia. Everyone calls me Em.”
He took a step toward her, stopping an inch from her, so close she had to further angle her head to meet his stare. “Okay, babe.”
She shook her head softly and rolled her eyes simultaneously. “That’s Emelia to you.”
When her eyes met his again, he leaned into her. A breath from her lips, he said, “Okay, babe.”
Chapter One
More than seven years later…
Under the hood of a ‘67 Chevy, Ripper heard the familiar roar of motorcycles.
“What the fuck?”
Darting his gaze beside him, he spotted Trick, one of his brothers from Hell Ryders MC, his body tense and ready for a fight. Nothing ever riled Trick, so it caught Ripper’s attention.