by Naomi West
This is a work of fiction. Any 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.
Brute: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Dark Vultures MC) (Asphalt Sins Book 4) copyright 2017 by Naomi West. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
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Contents
Brute: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Dark Vultures MC) (Asphalt Sins Book 4)
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
Books by Naomi West
Beast: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Hounds of Hades MC) (Asphalt Sins Book 3)
Bull: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Asphalt Angels MC) (Asphalt Sins Book 2)
Stud: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Cobra Kings MC)
He Doesn’t Care: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Motorcycle Club Romance (Fourstroke Fiends MC)
He Doesn’t Know: A Bad Boy Second Chance Baby Romance (Devil’s Route MC)
Ride Dirty: Vegas Vipers MC
Baby Blues: Satan Seed MC
Baby with the Savage: The Motor Saints MC
Baby with the Beast: Seven Sinners MC
Wild Child: The Wylde Ones MC
Mailing List
Brute: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Dark Vultures MC) (Asphalt Sins Book 4)
By Naomi West
The brute only saved me so he could break me.
I woke up in a strange city with no memory of how I got there.
The biker found me, and took me in.
But this motorcycle club is no safe haven.
And there’s a devil coming after me… determined to drag me to hell.
Vera.
I remember my name, but nothing else.
And even if I didn’t already have amnesia, the outlaw brute’s burning eyes would have wiped my mind blank.
When I’m looking into those dark irises, there’s only him.
Tall. Raw. Tatted. Powerful.
Staring back and owning me with just a glance.
Rascal never asked to be the man I turned to for answers.
But something in my gut tells me I can trust him – even though his leather kutte and cocky swagger tell me I should be running in the other direction.
I need him in more ways than I know.
And after a night spent bending for him – serving him – begging him for just one more touch – it seems like I’ve lost everything…
Only to find where I’m truly meant to be.
But this unlikely paradise is about to come crashing down around me.
Because there’s someone else out there.
Chasing me. Hunting me.
And the phantoms of my past won’t until they’ve consumed us all:
Me.
Rascal.
And the baby in my belly.
Chapter One
Vera
The pounding in her head was the first thing she was aware of. It throbbed at the inside of her skull, a constant push for the pain to expand. It echoed in her blood, which trembled in her body and brought yet more pain with it. Her muscles were sore down to her bones.
She’d been asleep, but it hadn’t been the relaxing sort of sleep you got when you were at home on your own mattress. The surface underneath her was hard and rough, and she felt as though she’d been knocked out. She couldn’t even say how long she had been asleep.
Opening her eyes only complicated things. Her lids scratched against her cornea, and no amount of blinking seemed able to bring any dampness. The light was dim, showing only a concrete structure above her and the blue-black of the night sky around it. Off to the left was a mountain of rags, illuminated by a pale orange glow. None of it made sense, and her brain seemed unwilling to even try. She lay there for a long moment, not moving anything but her eyes as she tried to understand where she was and what was going on.
The pile of rags moved. Several of them tumbled down onto the concrete as the creature that lived under the mountain moved. It blended with the rags, its thin arms and legs barely distinguishable from the rest of the rubbish as it sat up and stared at her with beady eyes from a dark, puckered face. “Oh, you’re awake now. Good, good. I was starting to think you were just going to die there. I didn’t need that. Slept next to too many corpses in my life already.”
It hurt to sit up, but at this point that was no surprise. Her stomach drew in on itself as she studied the other person. The face was unfamiliar. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you think I should be asking that?” the bundle of rags demanded. “You’re the one who came running through here like a bat out of hell. If I’d had any sense about me, I’d have just grabbed onto your dress and let you drag me right out of this place and into a better life!” The woman—for she was fairly certain it was a woman now—slapped her thigh and cackled.
“I don’t understand.” She put a hand to her head in an effort to think, but it only drew her attention to the short, dark locks that didn’t seem quite right. When had she cut her hair? What was it supposed to look like, anyway? “I’m so confused.”
“Then count it as a blessing.” The older woman scooted toward a small fire that blazed in the remains of a metal trash can. It was the source of the orange glow in the air. The night was warm enough that a fire wasn’t really needed, but the woman seemed to hunker down next to it as though it was the source of life itself. “Sometimes it’s nice not to know what’s going on. I like to dream of living in a nice house in the suburbs with a comfortable bed. I always wake up here again, but it’s a good escape.”
“Can you tell me where here is?” She tipped her head up to study the massive concrete columns that stretched away above her head to a concrete platform. It was a bridge of some sort, but she didn’t recognize it.
This got her a snarling glare from the rag woman. “I’m not telling you shit until you start telling me. You come in here like the devil’s chasing you and then collapse like someone cut the strings on a puppet. I’ve been watching over you all night just to make sure nobody else gets to you, so I think it’s about time I got some answers. You give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want. It’s as simple as that.” She reached into the dirty pile she had been sleeping under and pulled out a small saucepan. Next came a dented can of beans with the label partly torn off.
“What do you want to know?” She watched the woman’s movements with interest, but mostly because her mind seemed incapable of any other thoughts. It was blank and numb, a heavy weight inside her skull that was useless for anything other than making her lungs work and her heart beat.
Another glare. “Let’s start with your name.”
“Vera.” That much she felt certain of. In her brain, it seemed as though her name ought to be the key that unlocked other secret doors, doors which led to
information such as her date of birth, where she was from, or just where in the hell she was. None of it was cooperative enough to come to the surface, but at least she knew her name was correct. “What about you?”
“You can call me Bertha,” the older woman said. Her voice was impatient, as though it was a pain in the ass for her to give away anything about herself. “That’s what everyone else calls me. Now, where are you from?”
It seemed like a simple enough question, but Vera couldn’t seem to answer it. She looked down at herself, noticing the torn cocktail dress that didn’t even reach her knees. She tried to stretch the skirt of it down to cover her bare legs, pale and ghostly in the dim light, but it wouldn’t go far enough. Vera felt exposed and vulnerable, even though Bertha didn’t seem to care much for fashion. “I really don’t know.”
“All right.” Bertha didn’t sound as though she believed her. Those tiny little eyes peered out of her shrunken face with suspicion. “You’ve got to have some sort of story.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Vera felt the prickle of tears at the backs of her eyes, even though she couldn’t explain why. For all she knew, she fell asleep in places like this all the time, but nothing was making sense. Why couldn’t she remember anything? “I’m sorry. I’d tell you if I could, but I have no idea.”
Bertha’s shoulders sagged and she shook her head. “I guess that’s not so unusual. The people here, we got all sorts of problems. Take Joe over there.” She had produced a stick in her hand somehow, and she used it to point at a crumpled form under a different section of the viaduct. “He’s been on every drug known to man, and he doesn’t even know his own name anymore. That’s why we call him Joe.”
“We?” Vera blinked again and began looking a little further around. She and Bertha weren’t the only ones here. Several other small fires illuminated numerous people. Most of them were dressed in torn clothing, a few with newspapers taped around their feet. They slouched against the columns or slumped on the ground.
“Bums, drunks, druggies. It takes all kinds for a village like this.” Bertha stirred the beans with the stick now. A small piece of bark flaked off into the pot, but she didn’t bother to pick it out.
“Village?”
“You’re some special sort of stupid, aren’t you?” Bertha snapped. “Damn. From the looks of that dress and your haircut, I’d guess you were raised in some ritzy part of town. Probably lived in some big penthouse where all the bums were too far away for you to smell. We’re easy to forget about when nobody has to deal with us. Must have been nice for you.”
“No, I didn’t.” She couldn’t say what the truth really was. Whatever had happened to her didn’t seem to have been recorded in her brain, but Vera knew she couldn’t have been a rich snob. “And I wouldn’t treat people that way.”
“Mmm hmm. Remember that when you get your brains back and return to your daddy and his trust fund.” Using a rag, Bertha pulled the pot of beans from the fire and held it out toward Vera. “You want some?”
Vera’s stomach turned and twisted. She couldn’t tell if it was hunger, nerves, or something else, but she didn’t think she could handle any food at that moment. “No, thanks. I’m not feeling so well.”
Bertha issued that same cackle again. It was at such odds with the way she looked and behaved. Vera was certain it would get the attention of the other vagrants here under the bridge, but they didn’t move or even turn their heads. They must be used to her.
“You said you were watching out for me,” Vera stated. It was odd that she could recall a sentence a stranger had spoken to her only a few minutes ago, yet she had no idea even how old she was. “Who’s after me?”
“That’s what I’d like to know!” Bertha swooped her hands wide.
“But if you don’t know, then who were you protecting me from?” A sense of panic began to rise in Vera’s chest. The beggar woman had stated that she had been running, and the dress that she wore had been torn. There was no doubt in her mind that she was in some sort of danger. She just wished she knew what it was.
“Look around, you silly child! You’re in the worst part of a big city, running around half-naked. A pretty little girl like you is just the sort of thing men are looking for.” Bertha shook her head again and took a long slurp of beans straight from the pot. “Maybe I should have just left you where you fell, but Lord help me, I felt sorry for you. I pulled you over here to my camp and made sure nobody else dragged you off into the darkness. There are all kinds here, Vera, and they’re not all kind.” Her dark eyes were wise with experience.
“Well, thank you.” It was clear that Bertha didn’t have much, but she had given Vera all she had. “I’m lucky to have run into someone like you.”
“You can think that, if you want.” Bertha shrugged her shoulders, a rolling of the rags wrapped around her thin figure. “But if you ran into me, then you’re in the wrong part of town and no doubt about it. You’d best figure out where you belong and get back there as fast as you can.”
Vera looked to either side of her, searching for something familiar to jog her memory. They seemed to be in a long, barren canal, the sort of thing that caught rare flood waters and whisked them away from civilization before they could harm anybody. Well, anybody fortunate enough to actually have a home. “I’m not sure I know how to do that.”
“You just need to find something familiar. Go for a walk, get the hell out of here. I’m sure you’ll come across some expensive restaurant or a limousine and you’ll remember who you are again. You sure you don’t want any beans before you go?” Bertha held out the rusty pot.
“I don’t think I can eat right now.” Vera slowly rose to her feet, suddenly aware of the black patent leather pumps she was wearing. They had been scuffed and scraped, but they were still intact. They weren’t very good shoes for walking, but they were better than nothing. “Thank you, Bertha. I won’t forget you.” It was an odd promise, considering she had already forgotten everything else she knew, but Vera truly was grateful for what the woman had done for her.
“Sure you will,” Bertha countered. “But that’s all right. Everybody else does too. Now go on with you.” She took another loud slurp of beans.
Staggering through the encampment under the bridge, Vera studied the other people here out of the corners of her eyes. The smell was a strong and unpleasant one of urine, smoke, and something else she couldn’t identify. She wasn’t walking quickly, but she was surprised to see that the gathering of outcasts was much bigger than she’d originally thought. Each had their own little spot they had staked out under or near the viaduct, guarding their meager belongings with a growl or a sharp knife in hand. Vera swallowed. None of this was familiar, and she didn’t want it to be.
“Hey, who are you?” A figure stepped out of the shadows and loomed over her. He smelled strongly of body odor and whiskey, making Vera step back and slap a hand over her mouth and nose. “I don’t think I’ve seen a pretty little thing like you around here.”
Vera tried to dodge around him, but he was surprisingly quick.
“Hey, now. You can’t just run off without at least telling me your name.” The man leered down at her from an unshaven face, his teeth yellow and his eyes dull. He took in her short, tattered dress and heels. “Oh, I get it. You’re a hooker. Good, ’cause I’m horny as fuck. I don’t have a lot of money, but I’m sure we can make an agreement.” His thick fingers reached out toward her arm.
Her heart thundered in her chest, which only increased the pounding in her head, but a headache was the least of Vera’s worries at the moment. “I’m not a hooker,” she growled. At least, she sure as hell hoped she wasn’t. She tried to move past the man again. “Now leave me alone.”
The man’s hand grabbed a thick hank of her hair and yanked her head back. It snapped along her spine and made her stagger in her heels. The last thing she wanted to do was fall, but she couldn’t reach out to him for support. She glared up at him as he held her. “Let go of me!�
�� she demanded.
“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it if I don’t?”
“What do you have there?” This was another voice, but it didn’t sound any friendlier. Soon a second man was staring down at her, his eyes openly taking in the low-cut bodice of her dress. He was heavyset, his long hair pulled back. “I’ve never seen one like this around here.”
“I think she’s a hooker,” the first man said, “but a lazy one who doesn’t want to work. Maybe we should show her just what it is she’s supposed to be doing.”
“Certainly looks like one to me. Nice and young, too. It’s been a long time since I had any.” The big man reached for her waist.
But the first vagrant yanked Vera out of his reach. “I saw her first! She’s mine!”
Vera’s hands went to her head, where her hair felt like it was being yanked out by the roots. She wanted to lash out at them with her hands and fists, but the man’s meaty hand in her hair was keeping her off balance. She was helpless. “Please. I’m not a hooker, and I don’t belong here.”
The first man laughed. “That’s what any of them would say. Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s been a while for me, too, so it’ll be quick.” He dragged her off toward a dark corner of shadows, the second man following on their heels.