Rather Be Wrong: Ronacks Motorcycle Club

by Debra Kayn

  Rather Be Wrong

  Ronacks Motorcycle Club

  by Debra Kayn

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, 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.

  Rather Be Wrong

  Ronacks Motorcycle Club

  1st Digital release: Copyright© 2017 Debra Kayn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Debra Kayn. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  www.debrakayn.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Epilogue

  Author Bio

  Debra Kayn's Backlist

  ~ Sneak Peek ~

  Dedication

  Abby

  May 1, 2002 – October 25, 2016

  Acknowledgements

  Haugan, Montana —In real life, Haugan is an unincorporated community in Mineral County, Montana. It's sixteen miles from the Idaho border and not far from where I live in Idaho. Haugan is the home to only one business, which happens to be one of my favorite places to go, Lincoln's 50,000 Silver Dollar Bar. I've fictionalized the town to include a main street with enough businesses to keep a motorcycle club afloat.

  Chapter One

  The music inside Pine Bar and Grill changed from rock to country. Rod Lawson, the vice president of Ronacks Motorcycle Club, stood from the back table and walked straight to the counter where he slapped twenty dollars down in front of Heather who played with the buttons on the stereo.

  Curiosity more than music had brought him to the bar tonight.

  "I'll make it worth your time to change the station back to the music playing before you turned on that crap." He nodded his chin toward the money.

  Heather straightened and eyed him from his head to his waist and back up again. "Are you seriously going to pay me twenty bucks when we both know if you wanted to, you could walk behind the counter and change the stereo yourself?"

  "What fun would that be?" He glanced down the bar and back to Heather when she let her amusement out. Her sweet, carefree laughter had him smiling. "I'll make you a deal."

  "Yeah? What would that be?"

  "You take the money, and when you catch a break between serving customers, you keep me company tonight, and we both benefit from listening to better music," he said.

  She shook her head, grinning. "Considering you're my dad's vice president and your president owns the bar and is my boss, I'll change the station for you."

  "And what about having your company?"

  "I’m easy going." She lifted her shoulder. "I might be able to swing hanging out at the bar more tonight."

  "I guess it's a good thing I wore the patch tonight, huh?" He leaned against the counter and winked. "At least you know the officers."

  Heather changed the stereo and Radar Love came over the speakers. He ogled the swell of her breasts showing above the line of her shirt.

  She stood again, swinging her mahogany hair behind her shoulders, and slid the money back toward him. "Keep the money. I owe you anyway."

  "I'd remember if you owed me and so far, you don't." Considering he'd only met her once before and he was with the whole club escorting her into Haugan, he couldn't think of anything he'd done for her.

  She leaned over the bar and tapped his lower lip with her finger. "How could you forget that I've met these lips before?" She raised her perfectly arched eyebrows and lowered her hand. "You healed nicely."

  He instantly licked where she'd touched, hoping to get a taste of her skin. "I've already forgotten about it," he said lying.

  That first impression of her stayed with him, and he'd thought of little else for the last three weeks. She'd split his lip something good with a remarkable right hook the day he'd helped escort her to Swiss, her dad, and his best friend. He'd accidently surprised her at a rest area on the northwestern border of Montana, and she'd punched him in the face thinking he was going to abduct her. He'd exchanged a few words with her and straightened the problem out, then delivered her to Swiss.

  "I hope my dad passed on my apologies again." She grabbed two mugs from under the counter and stepped over to the tap.

  From the new angle, he had a view of her long bare legs below her shorts and the curve of her ass. He sat on the nearest stool content to watch her work.

  "Swiss mentioned you were sorry." Rod rubbed his thumb against the grain of the wood. "No harm done."

  She placed her hand over his, stopping his movement, squeezed his hand, and quickly let go. "How about a drink?"

  "Yeah, I'll take a whiskey when you get a chance," he said.

  She smiled. "Give me two shakes, and I'll be back to get your drink."

  He dipped his chin and watched her round the counter and wait on her customers. Fuck, she was pretty. Tall and curvy with dark brown hair that brushed the middle of her back. He wasn't only drawn to her body. She had confidence without being obvious. To look at her, he'd believe nothing riled her, but he knew differently. His lip had been the recipient of all that sass, and he liked watching her lose control.

  Heather came back around and pulled a bottle off the back shelf, holding it in front of her for his approval. He winked in approval. She poured him a tumbler going over the two fingers limit the bar held to house standard.

  He picked up the glass she slid across the bar and swirled the liquid. He suspected her mistake on giving him more alcohol than normal wasn't because she was new to working at the bar but because she'd found out he preferred holding on to one glass rather than to ask for two. "You've been asking around about me?"

  "Maybe." She kept his gaze. "Does that bother you?"

  Hell, he was used to women who partied with Ronacks coming to him for a good time. Usually, the women he got with were straight forward with t
heir intent. He had no use for games or wasting time softening them up to the idea of having sex with him.

  Heather, on the other hand, fascinated the hell out of him. Innocent to the lifestyle he lived, she had a natural curiosity to fit in with the club while confident enough to be different. A different he found himself liking and wondering how far her flirting would go.

  "You can ask anyone questions about me, sassy." He held his arms out to the side and leaned back on the stool. "Or, you can ask me."

  She snorted and tossed him an amused glance. "Sassy?"

  He grinned. "It fits a woman who would punch a biker instead of running away, don't you think?"

  She laughed. "Now you're flirting with me."

  "Maybe." He chuckled.

  Her smile fell, and her gaze went away to somewhere behind him. He swiveled on the stool to find out what grabbed her attention. Swiss approached him and took the seat to his right.

  "Hey Heather, I'll take a beer when you have time." Swiss grabbed an ashtray and put it between him and Rod. "How's work, brother?"

  Like all the Ronacks members, Rod worked around town running security for local businesses or working a shift if needed. He preferred keeping busy with his hands and for the last couple of years worked at Leery's Tire Supply.

  "Finally slowing down." Rod lit a cigarette that Swiss had passed him and leaned against the counter. "Everyone waits to the last minute to get their snow tires off and then decides they want to make a new purchase. The fucking salt they put on the roads turns a fifteen-minute job into a half-hour trying to get the God damn open lugs off."

  "Real life hardships, man," said Swiss with a grin. "It's nice to have shit to bitch about after the last few years."

  "I hear you. After everything with Bree and Gia, we're due for some downtime." Rod looked around for Heather and found her out in the room talking to customers at a table. "How are things at the duplex with your daughter living by you?"

  Heather wasn't the only curious one in the bar. There were things he wanted to know about her. Especially how his best friend kept the fact he was a dad with a grown daughter he hadn't seen since she was four years old. Then, suddenly Heather was living beside Swiss, and they acted like one small, happy family.

  He'd tried to stay away from Heather after her arrival out of respect for his friendship with Swiss and the brotherhood. To give them all privacy, he'd thrown himself into work, partying on the weekends, and purposely stayed away from the bar.

  He never touched women who had commitment and love in sight. But, he also never expected Heather to have such an impact on him after she punched his mouth. He needed to know how Swiss felt about his daughter throwing herself in thick with Ronacks by working at the bar.

  Except, he'd wait until Swiss opened up. So far, his friend hadn't said shit about his private life.

  "Fucking good." Swiss turned his gaze to his daughter. "Heather has made it easy for us. She and Gia remained friends through the trouble with the Yesler Street Gang, and my daughter acts like growing up without me for twenty-two years never happened."

  "Happy for you, man," said Rod.

  He'd always known Swiss ran from something over the years they'd known each other, but code kept him from prying or judging. When he'd found out Swiss had dealt with a family, divorce, and losing his kid by himself, he'd hurt for his friend. That kind of shit changed a man's life, no matter how much Swiss pretended otherwise.

  Heather slid a mug of beer in front of Swiss. "Here you go, Dad."

  "Thanks, baby." Swiss drank long and deep.

  Heather pointed to Rod's empty glass. "Refill?"

  Rod looked down, unaware he'd drank his drink already. "Sure."

  Swiss slapped his hand down on Rod's shoulder and heaved himself off the stool. "I'm going back to the table and harass Gia until the bar closes."

  "Enjoy your night, brother." Rod swiveled and found LeWorth, Mel, JayJay, and Choke taking up the back corner of the bar. His MC brothers were fine on their own tonight. He had the urge to do his own harassing with Swiss's daughter.

  A glass landed on the counter grabbing his attention. He turned back around.

  "How long have you known my dad?" asked Heather wiping off the counter.

  He drank from his new glass and licked the whiskey off his top lip. "Twenty years or so."

  A slight frown had landed on her mouth before she recovered. He tilted his head wanting to know what thoughts were going around in her pretty little head.

  She stepped closer, the counter blocking her from getting near enough for him to touch. "You've been with him the whole time I was gone, and you never knew he had a daughter, did you?"

  He took another drink, sensing the answer she wanted was important to her. "No, I didn't know. But, what you have to understand is men don't talk about their life with each other the way women do. The things we hold closest are seldom, if ever, talked about because we're possessive assholes and don't like sharing."

  Two little lines appeared between her brows as she gazed at him with serious brown eyes. Finally, she nodded, accepting his answer. "Thanks for being his friend."

  Raelyn, the manager of the bar, called Heather's name interrupting any further conversation. He watched Heather hurry over to the cash register away from him. Rod inhaled deeply and took another drink, letting the warmth settle in his chest.

  For the next two hours, he slowed down his drinking, content to be an observer in the bar. Heather worked calmly and openly with the other customers, but she never lifted her shoulder with any of them like she had with him in that cute, nervous way that was sexier than hell. She never leaned close to any of the men, and her pulse never beat in her neck the way it had when he'd sat down at the bar.

  Soon, the place emptied of customers, and he continued to sit on the stool. Raelyn approached him.

  "Which big, brave Ronacks member is going to take the cash bag tonight?" asked Raelyn.

  He stood from the stool ready to go home, see his dog, and crash for the night before he had to work in the morning. "Swiss is sticking around and taking the bag."

  Raelyn grabbed his arm. "Are you okay to ride?"

  "Yeah, honey." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Tell Dukie I'll stop by tomorrow before the bar opens. I got a present for him."

  "You spoil him." Raelyn's mouth softened. "He'll be excited to see you."

  Raelyn's son Dukie breathed new life into the Ronacks Motorcycle Club. The young boy's father, a respected lifer who died too early when the Russian Mob came after the president's wife, Bree, gave them all motivation to keep the club solid and the territory safe.

  "All right. I'm going home. Get some rest, Raelyn. " He walked through the bar.

  He'd timed his exit while Heather worked on the other side of the room picking up chairs and setting them on the vacant tables. He stopped beside her and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Thanks for keeping me company, sassy."

  She tilted her head, letting him in her personal space. "We didn't get to talk that much."

  "A lot can be said with few words." He dropped his gaze to her breasts teasing him above the top of her shirt. "Are you working tomorrow night?"

  She dropped her gaze, smiled, and looked at him again. "I am."

  "Maybe I'll stop by, and you can talk to me some more," he said, winking at her.

  "I'd like that," she whispered.

  So, would he.

  He walked away from Heather and out the door. Seeing her again gave him something to look forward to tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  Every food dish imaginable sat on the covered pool table at the Ronacks clubhouse. Heather scooted over a bowl of rolls and set down the meat tray she'd made for the party. Helping the other women who belonged to members gave her something to do to keep her mind off Rod.

  He'd stopped by the bar every night she worked for the last two weeks. And, every night she got excited thinking he'd ask her out away from the bar. But, by two o'clock in the morning wh
en the bar closed, she walked to her car to go back to the duplex, and he rode off alone on his motorcycle in the opposite direction.

  When Gia mentioned the club party this morning and asked if she wanted to go, Heather jumped at the chance. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Her almost stalkerish attitude lately made her nervous. She'd never chased a man in her life.

  Now she was at his club, in his territory instead of on mutual ground at her work. Going by the last party she'd attended, people got wild late at night when the drinks flowed, and the single women showed up. She couldn't use working as a reason to dash away when Rod's flirting hit too close to home. No, tonight, if Rod wanted to go further than harmless flirting, she would be ready.

  Bree carried a stack of paper plates in one hand and Silo cups in the other toward the table. Heather stepped aside and made room for her to set the supplies down.

  "You need to make sure you take some of the leftover food home when you leave later." Bree unloaded her arms and stole a pickle from a plate. "Last week, I forgot to remind everyone to take a dish and had too much to put in the fridge. I ended up throwing away a lot of it."

  "You should've used it all for Battery's meals through the week and saved yourself from cooking." Heather scooted a slow cooker full of sausage closer to the warm food.

  Bree snorted. "That's a no-go. Battery hates leftovers."

  "You're kidding me." Heather planted her hands on the edge of the pool table, trying to imagine the president of the club refusing to eat yesterday's food. "Well, you don't have to ask me twice. I'll take a plate home. Heck, it means I don't have to cook tomorrow, and I save money."

  Bree grinned, tucking a strand of her long red hair behind her ear. "Take two plates."

  "I will." Heather grinned. "What else can I do?"

  Bree waved her hand over the table. "We're missing...plastic silverware."

  "Where are they?" said Heather. "I'll get them for you."

  "There in a box on the shelf in the storage room at the end of the hallway. Not the room on the left. Don't go in there." Bree leaned closer. "The guys use that one to entertain the women."