by Evelyn Glass
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
OFF LIMITS: Grim Angels MC copyright @ 2017 by Evelyn Glass and E-Book Publishing World Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
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Contents
OFF LIMITS: Grim Angels MC
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
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
BOUND TO A KILLER: A Second Chance MMA Romance
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
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
SOLD TO A KILLER: A Hitman Auction Romance
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
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Books by Evelyn Glass
BOUND TO A KILLER: A Second Chance MMA Romance
SOLD TO A KILLER: A Hitman Auction Romance
HER BUYER: Paulito Angels MC
HIS BABY’S KEEPER: Desert Marauders MC
DIRTY DADDY: Night Titans MC
SAMSON’S BABY: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
ZEKE’S BABY: Midnight’s Hounds MC
GABRIEL’S BABY: Iron Kings MC
CHANCE’S BABY: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
BUTCHER’S BABY: The Carvers MC
BREAKING THE RULES: Forsaken 99 MC
LOGAN: The Fallen Thorns MC
CALL GIRL: Chrome Horsemen MC
DEVILS: Cutthroat 99 MC
DAMAGED: A Dark Bad Boy Romance
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OFF LIMITS: Grim Angels MC
By Evelyn Glass
IT ONLY TOOK ONE RIDE ON THE BIKER TO GET ME PREGNANT.
I’d made a promise to myself after my last ex:
NO. MORE. BAD. BOYS.
But deep down, I knew I couldn’t stay away.
Scott is the kind of man who breaks what he loves.
And that’s exactly what I want.
The promises he whispers in my ear make me shiver.
This won’t be over, he says,
Until he’s put his ring on my finger…
And his baby in my belly.
Chapter One
The smell, it was the first thing she noticed when she opened the door. When she remembered it, it always seemed to take on a human form, as if its fingers were reaching for her from the dark behind the half-opened front door. Coppery and thick, it ignited every animalistic instinct she had, wiping away her anger and making her want to cower or run. There are few things that actually smell the way they taste and, for Jessica, blood was at the top of the list. It probably would be for the rest of her life. Especially after that night.
After the smell came the fear. Unlike anything she’d ever experienced, it pushed rational thought completely out of her mind. As she pushed the door open with her numb hand and stepped into the house, her heart was beating so hard it hurt. The television was on but muted, and empty beer cars and bongs formed a filthy landscape on the coffee table. She had been in this house hundreds of times before and it looked no different than usual. Except for
the smell, the smell was so strong it almost seemed to pour from the yawning bedroom door.
Silent, eyes wide, legs stiff with adrenaline, Jessica made her way to the bedroom. When she dreamed about this moment later, she willed herself awake with all her power. Her body paralyzed in sleep, she did everything she could to pull her soul out so she didn’t have to live the moment again. Desperately, she pinched herself and pounded her clenched her fist hard against her leg; she tried biting her own hand or forcing her feet to turn in the other direction. It never worked. Every single time, she only woke once she’d had the chance to see what was waiting for her on the mattress, only after she stepped into the sticky pool on the floor, still widening from the drips falling from the girl’s fingers and toes as they hung off the mattress. Dripping like a broken faucet, the blood threatened to make its viscous lava-like way out of the room, destroying everything it touched. As it had destroyed her life.
***
Jessica Mitchell woke from her dream as if someone had flipped a switch. She sat up as soon as her eyes popped open, her back perfectly straight and her mouth a tight line. Staring straight ahead, the only indications of the fear she was experiencing were the wide eyes and the rapid rise and fall between her collarbones. She focused on nothing but felt everything, the light shining through the lace curtains onto her cheeks, the smell of stale cigarettes, the sweat that glued her tank top to her back—it was all so vivid. I’m back, Jessica told herself. I’m back and I’m alive.
She spoke aloud, her voice barely a whisper even though she was alone. “I’m back. I’m back. It’s over.” Speaking the words out loud broke her paralysis and her body collapsed into itself as she fell back into the tangled mass of damp sheets she called a bed. She covered her face with her hands and breathed deeply for a few seconds. The blood smell was gone, but it always seemed to follow her out of her dream, nagging at her for those few extra moments just to drive the point home. You did it, the smell told her. You’re to blame.
She breathed again, just to ensure it was gone. All she smelled now was her own sweat and whatever fruity soap nonsense her mother stocked the shower with. Lilac and black currant, apricot and almond… something like that. It was calming, no matter what it was. Her heart finally slowing, Jessica sat back up and got out of her bed. She looked frail. Always a small girl, she had waited, anxious to blossom into the tall, wide-hipped women all her friends magically transformed into, but it just didn’t happen. Instead, she got more willowy. Those low-rise jeans her friends wore that clung to their full thighs and curved, tattooed, lower backs looked ridiculous on her. Her body was more suited to a tutu and a pair of pointe shoes. However, Jessica had about as much interest in that nonsense as she did slaving away in a kitchen all day, which is precisely what she had to do now. Her bedside clock told her she was already a half an hour late opening up the café downstairs.
“Shit,” she hissed as grabbed her jeans from where they were slung across the baseboard of her bed. She didn’t know why she worried about it, but she hated being late. With balletic grace, she pulled her jeans up and, ignoring her still moist tank top, grabbed a black blouse from the floor and pulled it on. She was still piling her hair into a messy bun as she rushed into the living room. Predictably, her mom was sprawled out on the sofa like a drunk at a bus stop, an ashtray somehow still balanced on her large bust even though it rose up and down precariously with every trumpeting snore.
“Kat!” Jessica hollered. Nothing, her mother still snored peacefully, a strap of her brightly dyed red hair blocking out most of her face. There were two bottles of wine on the floor beside her, a bright stream of sunlight exposing the fact that they were both completely empty. Coming close to her, Jessica could see where the wine had stained the dry skin around the inside of her lips, making her look like a zombie. She took the ashtray off her mom’s chest and set it aside. “Mom!” She yelped again. “I’m late! Wake up!” She knew from experience, if she didn’t get her mom up now, she would sleep well into the afternoon.
The woman snorted once, then began to cough loudly, the tar from countless packs of cigarettes rattling around in her chest like a broken engine. She struggled upright, pushing her hair out of her face, her eyes still bleary as she tried to focus on her daughter. “What time is it? Jesus, my mouth tastes like shit.”
“You mean it tastes like a shit load of cheap wine.” Jessica picked up the bottles and put them on the coffee table among the empty chip bags and dirty plates. “If you’re going to drink that stuff, at least splurge for something decent.”
Kathryn Nebbles groaned and sat up. Her ever-present bracelet collection clinked loudly as she tried to steady herself by gripping the back of the couch. “Is there any left? I don’t think Tylenol is going to do me any justice this morning.”
“Nope,” Jessica responded without looking. She paused at the front door to check her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look much better than her mom this morning. Dark circles under her eyes, chapped lips, tangled hair masquerading as a chic top knot, she might as well have downed two bottles herself last night.
As she studied her face, her mom groaned loudly from behind her, “You don’t mind opening up, do you, Jess? I gotta pull myself together a bit.”
Of course Jess didn’t mind. She had been opening up for the last couple of months without even being asked. Why would she need any formalities now? Kat was always a heavy drinker, a hold-over from the days when she ran with Jessica’s father and the club. In all other respects she was a lovely woman. Still gorgeous despite the extra sixty or so pounds on her Amazonian frame, she was loved ferociously by anyone she knew. Anyone except for Jess’s step-father, of course.
Kat stood up and adjusted her clothes, wrinkled and stale from last night’s binge. “I’ll be down as soon as I freshen up. Here… ” Kat fished the café keys out of the back of her jeans and tossed them to her daughter. “Check the oil before you fire up the fryers. I think they’re due for a change.”
“Got it.” Jess bent to pick up the keys where they had dropped and slid to a stop. “You need to work on your aim,” she said, a half smile on her face,
“You need to work on your mouth!” her mom sniped with a smile as she moved carefully toward the bathroom. Pausing at the door, she stopped and turned back. “Any dreams last night?” she asked quietly.
About to open the door, Jess stopped but didn’t turn. Was it the dark circles that gave her away? What about that haunted look she couldn’t seem to get rid of. She was immediately annoyed at herself. She had done her best to hide how she felt from her mom. She was one of those alpha females that launched themselves feet-first into your life should you give them the opportunity. She had a right to know, though. She’d been there for her. She’d been there for the bruises she sported from Luke’s “tough love.” She’d been there to help clean and stitch her up that night with the nursing skills she’d picked up on the road. She’d been there to wait for Jess to finally speak again. She deserved something at least. Jess looked in the mirror at her mother’s reflection, still holding the doorknob. She looked old, hungover, and worried. “Nope,” she replied, forcing a small smile. “Slept like a baby.”
Her mother smiled wearily. “Way to go. Don’t burn the toast.”
***
There was something to be said about Kat. High functioning alcoholic or not, she kept a clean place. As Jess flicked the lights on in the café, they sputtered into life after a moment to illuminate the immaculate diner and kitchen. Fully stocked with vintage equipment, Jess always thought the café and its kitchen looked like something straight out of a movie.
Kat had taken over the failing café after her divorce from Ron, Jess’s step-dad. She had poured her divorce settlement into the place, along with additional funds from her brother, renovating the café, but keeping the antique, 1950s vibe of the place.
Jess had tried to convince Kat on many occasions to modernize it, at least the kitchen, and to at least add a microwave, but
she refused, calling it a landmark and a little piece of history. And it was. Kat’s Café had been the official diner for the Grim Angels for as long as Jess had been alive.
Since her father died and Kat retired from the club, Kat had kept herself busy, first running, then owning, the café, ensuring everyone in the Angels had a place to grab something to eat, to talk, to get together, no matter what time of day or night. Growing up, Jess remembered the sound of motorcycles roaring in the distance like thunder and knowing, with a giddy excitement that some kids reserved for grandparents or favorite aunts, that her mother’s friends were back in town.
Even in the middle of the night, Jess would wake from a deep sleep and rush down with her mom to open the café. There would be pancakes at three in the morning, buckets of hot coffee, rashers of bacon, hamburgers, and, of course, whiskey. The café had no liquor license, but that never stopped the spirits from flowing liberally.
As she grew older, she found herself right at her mother’s side each time, piling onions onto bowls of chili and burning toast as her seemingly endless parade of uncles wrapped her in leathery hugs and slipped her twenties for fun money. If anyone had told her, she would’ve been shocked to hear that these men were criminals. Some of the men who took her into their lap and amused her with dirty jokes, despite Kat’s protests, were murderers. Blood stained hands or not, to little Jessica, they were her family and she loved them all ferociously. To her, they were no more dangerous than she was.
Blood. So much blood. Gorgeous black, sticky, blood, and how easy, how easy it was to do… Standing alone in the kitchen, Jess shook her head rapidly. Stop it! It was a dream and now the dream was over. You have a job to do.
Without checking the grease, because as far as she was concerned, the older the grease, the better the fries tasted, Jess flicked the two fryers to the on position. With practiced precision, she started the grill and made her way into the dining room. No one was waiting outside, despite the half an hour delay in opening, which wasn’t that surprising. Their clientele, when they had some, kept odd hours. She turned the open sign on and unlocked the front door. All that remained to be made was the coffee and, god knows, by the time she managed to make it downstairs in a couple of hours, her mom would be gagging for a cup. With a deep sigh, she picked up yesterday’s newspaper from where it sat by the cash register and flipped through it. Another day begins. Another day of solitary confinement, trapped in a grease-smelling tower in the middle of nowhere.