Destroyed

by Jackie Ashenden

  “You’ll let me do whatever I want?”

  How can he resist...?

  Why would a hot-as-hell biker put everything on the line to help the police chief’s nerdy, innocent and very off-limits daughter? Simple—Summer Grant is offering Jake “Tiger” Clarke something he can’t refuse: her! It means playing with deliciously wicked fire, but Tiger is prepared to risk everything for what he really wants—even if it destroys them both...

  “DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

  —Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

  Jackie Ashenden writes dark, emotional stories with alpha heroes who’ve just got the world to their liking only to have it blown wide apart by their kick-ass heroines. She lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, the inimitable Dr. Jax, two kids and two rats. When she’s not torturing alpha males and their gutsy heroines she can be found drinking chocolate martinis, reading anything she can lay her hands on, wasting time on social media, or being forced to go mountain biking with her husband.

  To keep up-to-date with Jackie’s new releases and other news you can sign up to her newsletter at jackieashenden.com.

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  If you liked Destroyed, why not try

  Ruined by Jackie Ashenden

  Make Me Crave by Katee Robert

  Wild Thing by Nicola Marsh

  Best Laid Plans by Rebecca Hunter

  Discover more at Harlequin.com.

  DESTROYED

  Jackie Ashenden

  This one’s for all the lovely editors at the Mills & Boon UK office who’ve worked with me over the years.

  It took me a while, guys, but I got there in the end!

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Best Laid Plans by Rebecca Hunter

  CHAPTER ONE

  Summer

  BRAVERY WAS NEVER my strong suit, but I guess it takes a certain amount of courage to talk your way into a biker’s bedroom in an outlaw motorcycle club’s clubhouse purely so you can hide from your father.

  Either that or I was simply stupid, difficult as that was to admit for a person with an IQ score over 170.

  Whatever it was, as I sat on Crash’s bed in his tiny squalid bedroom, my heart racing, listening to the sounds of a heavy driving beat and male laughter going on outside, I was beginning to question my decision big time.

  Two doors separated the bedrooms from the main living area of the clubhouse, but the bikers were so freaking loud I could still hear whatever was going on outside. I didn’t know whether it was a party or what—I’d only ever been in the clubhouse a couple of times before—but whatever it was, it didn’t make me any less nervous.

  Crash had left me in his room, muttering something about why don’t I relax while he went and got us some beers.

  I didn’t really want a beer—I wasn’t a party girl and I didn’t like alcohol—but sitting on Crash’s bed, listening to those sounds outside the door, made the idea of some liquid courage not half-bad.

  Especially since he’d been gone awhile and my anxiousness was starting to tip over into outright fear.

  His room was little more than a closet, the floor covered with dirty clothes and beer cans and all kinds of other things I didn’t want to look at too closely. The bed I was sitting on was unmade and there was a smell to the air that reminded me of my older brother Justin’s room when he was younger. Sweaty teenage boy, musty and a bit rank. It was unpleasant and made me feel sick.

  I wiped my damp palms nervously on my denim mini.

  Okay, maybe it really had been stupid to come here. Then again, I hadn’t known where else to go. I’d been dumb enough to tell Dad about my Silicon Valley job offer, hoping he’d be happy for me, but of course he hadn’t been.

  He’d told me I wasn’t going and that was final, and that he’d do whatever it took to make me stay here in Brooklyn with him.

  I knew what ‘whatever it took’ meant. Emotional manipulation, emotional blackmail, and if I was really unlucky, he might stoop to physical restraint, too. Dad had always hated being told no.

  The quiet and introverted teen I’d once been would have automatically bowed her head and agreed with him. But I’d just come back from three years at college and the time away from him had allowed me some breathing room. I’d had space to grow, to realise that there was a better life out there, one that wasn’t constantly overshadowed by his presence.

  Sure, I was still quiet and introverted, but when he’d told me I couldn’t go, I discovered I had a bit of backbone after all.

  I couldn’t let him take my dream job away from me. I couldn’t let him stop me from trying to live my life. My ticket was booked and I’d be out of here in a couple of days. All I had to do was avoid him so he couldn’t do his usual emotional number on me and get me to change my mind.

  It would have been fine if I’d been a stronger sort of person, but I wasn’t. He always found my vulnerable spots and used them against me, just like the bullies in school used to. I knew I was weak so it was better I take myself out of the equation. Go somewhere he’d never think to find me, never in a million years.

  The Knights of Ruin MC’s clubhouse.

  As police chief, my dad had had a few run-ins with the Knights in the past, though these days he was best buddies with Keep, the Knights’ president. Dad would never expect me to have run here, not to the most notorious MC in the state, and especially not when Keep would give me up to him first chance he got if I was ever discovered here.

  Which was why I’d come in disguise, dressing up the way I’d seen other girls who wanted a walk on the wild side with a bunch of outlaw bikers do—tiny denim miniskirt and stilettos, a tight blue crop top. I’d had to kill the effect by putting a hoodie on over the top, with the hood pulled up, but I couldn’t afford for anyone to see my face. Not that anyone would recognise me these days, but still. Better safe than sorry.

  Getting in had been a problem. The only biker whose name I could remember—other than Keep—was Tiger. He’d once been my bodyguard for a month back when I was in high school and I still remembered him. I could hardly forget him, truth be told, so his name had been the first on my lips when I’d been interrogated by the prospect at the door. Unfortunately, though, Tiger was ‘busy’ and so I’d had to think fast and make up some other lie.

  I wasn’t experienced with men, had no idea that perhaps flashing my tits would have worked better, but luckily at that moment a semifamiliar face had appeared. I’d met Crash only a couple of times, in conjunction with Tiger, and had no idea if he’d remember me or not. I threw myself at him anyway, begging him to let me inside and that I’d make it worth his while.

  He grabbed me around the waist and grinned at the prospect, and before I knew it I’d been bundled down the corridor and into his bedroom.

 
Unfortunately, I was starting to think that not only had I been stupid to come here, I’d been naive into the bargain. There were stories about the Knights that I’d heard from various friends, about drunken parties and public sex and threesomes and all kinds of things.

  And now I was in the thick of it.

  Alone.

  So much for my high IQ. Panic had made me stupid. Again.

  More sounds came from outside the door. A man shouting and then the sounds of a scuffle followed by laughter. Something thumped hard against the wall and I jumped in shock.

  God, I wasn’t cut out for this.

  I was just starting to wonder if I could slip right back out again without anyone noticing when the door banged open and Crash came in. He was a good-looking guy, which made me nervous since good-looking guys always did. Actually, men in general made me nervous, good-looking or otherwise.

  You sure picked the wrong place to hide then, didn’t you?

  Given that the clubhouse was full of men, violent and loud, yeah, it really had been.

  ‘Still here?’ he asked, grinning and swaying on his feet.

  I decided not to tell him that he was stating the obvious since men generally didn’t like it when I did that, settling for smoothing my miniskirt instead and trying to smile.

  Okay, so I was naive. But I wasn’t that naive. I knew what girls in MC clubhouses were supposed to do and I knew that Crash hadn’t brought me into his bedroom because he wanted to chat about the finer points of game theory—my favourite subject. He’d brought me here because he thought I was ready for some hot sex.

  As if on cue, he sauntered over from the door, two beers in his hand, then held one out to me. That grin was still on his face and there was a glazed look in his blue eyes. As he stood there swaying, I finally realised what I should have known the moment he’d grabbed me and hustled me into his bedroom: Crash was drunk. Very, very drunk.

  Dammit.

  Drunk guys were always super fun. Not.

  I took the beer, the can cold against my damp palm, and tried to resist the urge to do something about my fear by downing the whole thing in one go.

  ‘So-o-o-o...’ Crash said slowly, lifting his own beer and taking a swig. ‘How long exactly are you planning on keeping your clothes on?’

  My palms got even damper and I could feel myself begin to sweat.

  Sex. I knew that was what he expected, but... Well, my great plan had kind of ended with me at the clubrooms. I hadn’t thought about what I might have to do to stay in the clubrooms.

  So, is losing your virginity to some guy you barely know in a dirty biker clubhouse really worth avoiding your father for?

  That was a very good question. And one I didn’t want to find out the answer to. Maybe if I told him I only wanted to hide out here for a while, he’d let me?

  I cleared my throat, trying to get the words out. ‘I...um...well...there’s kind of a reason.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Crash sat down heavily next to me on the bed, making me aware of him in a way I didn’t like. He was in the usual biker uniform of jeans, a T-shirt and the leather vest they called a ‘cut’ worn over the top, and I could feel the heat of his body next to mine. He wore a lot of aftershave and that combined with the reek of alcohol coming off him made me want to cringe. ‘If that reason is to suck my cock, then, baby, I’m here for that.’

  Fear fluttered in my gut.

  Yeah, I didn’t want to do that. Even the thought of it made me feel ill. I’d never done it before and I certainly didn’t want to start with some drunken biker, just because I’d apparently lost my mind and made a decision that was, in retrospect, looking to be the stupidest decision in the history of creation.

  ‘W-what if it’s...not that?’ I asked hesitantly.

  ‘Oh, come on...’ He leaned in, nuzzling against my ear, his beer breath wafting over me, deepening my discomfort with the whole situation. ‘Uh...what did you say your name was again?’

  I hadn’t told him, and what’s more, I couldn’t. Because although he might not have known who Summer Grant was, I was pretty sure he was familiar with Campbell Grant, the police chief and my dad. Not that he’d necessarily draw a link between the names, at least not in his current state, but I couldn’t risk it.

  Desperately I tried to think of another name I could give him, but for once my dumb brain was empty. ‘Do you really need to know that?’

  He left a wet kiss beneath my ear that made my skin crawl. ‘Nah. Couldn’t give a shit. Just gimme a taste of that pussy.’

  I cringed again, both at the crass way he was talking and at how he was leaning over me. ‘Hey.’ I tried to pull away from him. ‘What would you say if I...uh...didn’t want to have sex with you?’

  He gave a drunken laugh, reaching for my hand. ‘Are you kidding me? Then what the hell am I supposed to do with this?’ And he pressed my hand right down over his fly, where I could feel him already as hard as a rock.

  Wonderful. This situation was getting better and better.

  I swallowed, my mouth dry, trying to resist the urge to jerk my hand away since I was pretty sure that would offend him and I didn’t want to risk that, not when I wasn’t sure what he’d do.

  Instead, I left my hand there for a second, then carefully drew it back. ‘That’s, um...very impressive.’ I took a quick sip of my beer, grabbing a bit of that liquid courage and trying not to pull a face at the taste. ‘But maybe you could get someone else to do something about it?’

  He shook his head and put a hand on my knee, sliding it up to the hem of my skirt. ‘Oh, no, baby. It’s a party and you’re the one in my room. You know what that means.’

  I shifted my leg away, attempting to put some distance between us. ‘No. I have no idea what that means.’ Because, although I knew what it was that he wanted, I didn’t know how it being a party made any difference.

  Outside, the thumping of the music had increased in volume, and there was lots of loud shouting and laughter. More immediate were the rhythmic noises coming from the room next door and someone moaning, while someone else cursed.

  I could feel my face flushing.

  ‘Well,’ Crash mumbled, trying to slide his fingers beneath my skirt yet again. ‘Girls only go into a brother’s room for one reason and here’s a hint. It’s not to chat.’

  I knew that. Of course I knew that.

  But you didn’t think it through first so now you have to deal.

  My heart shuddered in my chest, the fear inside me getting wider, deeper. Would he even let me go if I didn’t want to have sex with him? And if I got out of Crash’s room, what would happen then? I’d have to run the gauntlet of those men outside all the way back to the entrance of the club.

  Yeah, you’re a freaking genius. Mensa would love to have you. Not.

  I shivered, feeling like the biggest fool to ever draw breath. What had I been thinking? I hadn’t; that was my problem. I’d let my anger at Dad and at my own weakness get the better of me, and now I was here, being pressured into having sex with a drunken biker.

  Awesome.

  I pushed Crash’s hand away yet again, trying frantically to think of a solution to this particular problem. But sadly this was real life and it wasn’t quite as simple as a math equation. There were no rules I could apply here and way too many variables, and when you were battling panic, logic didn’t always work.

  ‘C-can’t we chat?’ I wriggled away from him. ‘Just while I finish my beer?’

  But his hand was now sliding underneath my hoodie, over my bare stomach, and he was pulling me very close, his mouth at my neck. ‘Nah. I don’t wanna chat. C’mon, baby. Put those lips to work.’

  I went rigid, my heart now climbing up into my throat. I could feel the strength in his arm going around me. I knew I couldn’t fight it.

  Men, they were all the same. Even the ones who were supposed t
o be the good guys were assholes, and I knew that better than anyone.

  In the corridor outside, a woman giggled, the deep voice of a man saying something in return.

  ‘Well, o-okay.’ I hated the way I couldn’t keep my voice from shaking. ‘But I’m a virgin, you know that, right?’ It had been my experience that once you said the ‘V’ word, men usually ran for the hills.

  Sadly Crash didn’t run, though to be fair, there were no hills he could logically run to.

  ‘Mmm...’ he said. ‘Then maybe I can teach you.’ And he moved his hand up to cup my breast.

  I don’t know what happened then. Something in me simply snapped, roaring in negation as his hand cupped me, and I found myself shoving him away hard before I could think better of it, yelling ‘No’ as loud as I could for good measure.

  Then, as I was sitting there, trembling with anger and fear, the door to Crash’s room burst open with such force that it bounced back against the wall with a bang.

  A man was standing in the doorway. A horribly familiar man.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ the man demanded, his voice deep and dark, rough and gritty. Then his strange amber eyes met mine and my heart clenched tight with a weird combination of absolute terror and utter relief.

  Jake Clarke, aka Tiger.

  I’d never forgotten the first day I’d met him. He’d been waiting for me outside my school one day, sitting astride his massive black Harley and smoking a cigarette. He’d worn battered blue jeans, a black T-shirt with a leather vest thrown over the top, and there were chains attached to his belt, huge motorcycle boots on his feet, brightly coloured tattoos wrapping around both his powerful arms.

  He was as beautiful as the animal he was named for and twice as dangerous. Mean as hell and sexy as sin.

  The sun had struck copper sparks from his dark hair, and when he’d seen that school was out, he’d thrown his cigarette down right there in the street and ground it under his heel. Then he’d looked straight at me.

  And I’d forgotten where I was. I’d even forgotten who I was.