Leather and Sand

by Jayna Vixen

  Leather and Sand

  Jayna Vixen

  Published by Jayna Vixen

  Copyright 2013 Jayna Vixen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

  eBook formatting by Maureen Cutajar

  www.gopublished.com

  Dedication

  To my biggest fan, my mother. Thank you for always supporting my dreams, Mom.

  Happy Birthday!

  Table of 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

  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

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Other Works by Jayna Vixen

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  The world was falling apart. Everything he had come to know and love, everything he had become dependent on for security, stability, and self-worth was crumbling, like a poorly constructed sandcastle on a windy beach.

  In some sense, Dax knew when the downward spiral had begun but he refused to think about it. Thinking about the chain of events that led to his carefully constructed life unraveling meant that he had to think about her, and he avoided thinking about her like the plague. In fact, he wasn’t even consciously aware of the depth of his feelings. He just…avoided the things that hurt to think about, automatically. It was a skill he had perfected as a child, but sometimes, like now, the thoughts came unbidden, so he fell back on an old ally—alcohol—to dull any memories that caused those uncomfortable emotions to well up.

  Sure, some things had not changed all that much since the girl’s abrupt departure. The core members of the crew were still around and the lifestyle was pretty much the same. The brotherhood was intact and that was what mattered most. Maybe for them, Dax mused, things still felt the same. But for him, things were different, and they had been for a very long time.

  Ever since she left.

  The aversive, unwanted thought sprang up like a fast-growing weed, cluttering his brain. Dax sighed heavily and drained the glass of brandy that was perpetually affixed to his hand these days. He observed his crew silently, like the phantom tattooed on his back. The boys and the ever-present chicks milled about in the yard, laughing, dancing, and eventually ending up entangled in a jumble of tits and ass. They were doing the same dance they always did.

  Most of the guys seemed happy. He had been happy too. Before. Dax couldn’t understand why he was still stuck in such a dammed rut, trudging through each day waiting to feel some hint of the fire and exhilaration he had known and taken for granted. After all, he had barely known the girl. Fuck! Alcohol was a double-edged sword. It was a slippery slope once he got a few drinks in him.

  One of the Phantom Stalkers approached him timidly, a shy smile on her face. He raised a quizzical brow. Most of the sluts avoided him lately, knowing that he would do nothing more than use them for a mechanical sort of release before discarding them like so much trash. Before, that would have been good enough for many of the groupies. Bedding the vice president translated into an extra-thick notch on the hooker headboards.

  There used to be an endless line of chicks trying to get under Dax Jamison. But now, he was aware of an extra layer of cold aloofness lacing his demeanor, making the girls who serviced him feel like little more than receptacles for his emissions. In turn, Dax had discovered he was chasing a very particular kind of dragon. An elusive creature with sparkling emerald eyes that held a hint of fire. Dax sighed. None of ‘em ever came close.

  Still, he pondered, this one was a new one…relatively fresh face, dark hair, petite. Hmm. He nodded and her face brightened, a look of nervous anticipation filling her eyes. Dax stood up and pointed wordlessly to the door of his bunk. The girl opened her mouth to say something, but Dax shook his head. He didn’t want to hear her voice. When they spoke, it reminded him of who they were…and who they weren’t.

  Dax gestured to the hallway and the new chick took a few tentative steps down the darkened corridor before looking back to see if he followed. Standing, Dax swirled the rest of the amber liquid and kicked it back. He ran his hand through his spiky, blond hair and then ambled slowly after the girlie. Sometimes, a little release helped him sleep better at night.

  ***

  Alanna was practically shaking with excitement as she made her way to the bunk. You never knew what you were going to get with Dax Jamison these days. His old lady had left him months ago, after a raging fight that had been witnessed by half the club. Since that night, every skirt in town had been trying to get with Dax, but other than a few blowjobs and a couple of quick, much-talked about tumbles, none of the other girls had achieved anything other than a brief respite in the guy’s room. A couple of hang-arounds were royally pissed off after being invited to his bunk, but they wouldn’t say why. One fact remained consistent these days, however: Once a girl had spent time in Dax’s bunk, she was never invited back for seconds.

  Poor Dax. Alanna knew he had been hurt badly by that bitch he was dating. She didn’t know the whole story, but Trish’s lack of commitment to the club was blatantly obvious. Running off like she had only proved that Trish didn’t really love her man. A real old lady would have stayed, no matter what happened. Alanna was determined to make Dax like her. She wasn’t just some trashy groupie like the other sluts that hung out at the clubhouse. Alanna hadn’t been with too many guys, and so far, she hadn’t been with any of the Phantoms. Hopefully that was about to change.

  Pausing outside the locked bunk door, prickles ran tantalizingly down her spine as Alanna sensed Dax behind her. He placed his arms on either side of her as he moved to unlock the door, and she shivered in anticipation. Jesus, he’s hot!

  Although she had planned to come across as seductive and worldly, Dax’s close proximity scrambled her senses. Alanna’s mouth went dry and she didn’t know quite what to say. She was young, but Alanna was no stranger to the world of biker crews thanks to an older, female cousin who had slept her way through the ranks of an affiliate club up north.

  As a teen, Alanna frequented the biker hangouts up north, and this little town’s dives were no different. Yeah, she revered the rough men, the fights, and especially the row of Harleys parked in front. Something about being on the back of a bike, the hot steel humming between her legs as she clung to its master was the biggest thrill in the world.

  The top-ranking guys had the best bikes. Dax was different in this regard, preferring a Dyna rather than a flashier model. His preference only made her want him more. Dax didn’t have to prove himself with chrome pipes or ape-hangers. No, he was totally alpha all on his own, bike or no.

  Alanna knew that the way to an outlaw’s heart was through his cock, and she was ready to risk her reputation to have what none of the other Stalkers had achieved: Dax.

  The moment sh
e had arrived in this half-assed town, Alanna had been drawn to the Phantoms. She set her sights on the tall, muscular, and very unattainable vice president the moment she laid eyes on him. She knew she was younger and hotter than the other groupies and she had aspirations to be more than just a club whore. Alanna smiled in the darkness as Dax nudged her into the room without saying a word.

  Now, to make him mine!

  “Haven’t seen you around here before,” he commented, ambling to his desk to roll a joint.

  “Um-I haven’t really been here before,” Alanna said demurely, trying to keep the wide-eyed look off of her face. She was happy that he had inadvertently given her the opportunity to point out that she hadn’t been through the rest of the crew.

  Truth be told, Alanna was a little annoyed that he hadn’t noticed her right off the bat. It was true, she hadn’t been to the clubhouse until tonight, but she had seen Dax several times before, at Lenny’s, and at a few of the other bars where the crew did business. In fact, she had made it her own business to know where Dax was likely to be. The first time she saw sexy Dax Jamison, his blond hair falling over his eyes as he bent over the pool table, Alanna’s body had reacted to his presence immediately, even though the tattooed alpha male was all the way on other side of the bar. She had outdone herself trying to catch his eye that night, but the guy paid more attention to a decrepit, elderly cat than he did to her, damn it all. A bald cat, for shit’s sake. Didn’t the guy want some prime pussy?

  As Alanna shifted from one foot to the other, she wasn’t sure what Dax expected of her, but she wanted to impress him tonight. He had invited her back to his room out of all the other hopefuls at the clubhouse tonight. It was obvious that he wanted her, but she had to set herself apart from the rest…make herself seem like she was worthy of being an old lady. Taking a deep breath, she looked the man up and down, her eyes finally settling on his crotch. Alanna licked her suddenly dry lips.

  “How old are you, kid?”

  Alanna bristled at the insinuation that she was young and inexperienced. Her cheeks flamed at the knowing look he directed at her as she pulled her gaze up from the impressive-looking bulge in his jeans.

  “Old enough!” She held her breath. Would he make the next move?

  Or would she?

  ***

  Dax smiled. Feisty.

  His eyes raked over his latest distraction. This one was slender, brunette, and very young. From the back, in the darkened room, she could almost pass for the girl he couldn’t get out of his head, especially given the number of drinks he had kicked back. The girl turned around slowly, and looked up at him adoringly.

  Dax sighed. He knew that look. His gaze swept from the top of the girl’s head to the tips of her pointed boots. She was pretty, no denying that. And young. Too young. Dax sighed to himself. This girl was just a kid. Her look of innocence, feigned, or no, put him off. He wanted a quick release, a respite from his inner disquiet. Then, he just wanted to be left alone.

  He could almost feel the grin fall from his face, leaving in its wake a heavy brooding frown as he fought the ghost of another spirited young beauty who had turned his life and his emotions upside down. After everything that had happened between them, she just left. She left him like his help and their time together had been nothing to her. Her departure stirred up old feelings of abandonment that he had thought were long buried and forgotten. She walked away, and she had never looked back. Dax spent the better part of a year being angry with her. How could she just leave after all he had done for her? After all they had shared?!

  Another year had passed as he dealt with the guilt. Who could blame the stowaway? He had royally fucked up the girl’s life. He had corrupted her, he had taken her innocence, and then he had flaunted his old lady in her face when he knew she had feelings for him. How could he have been so callous? He was no good for her, anyway. No good for anyone. She was right to leave. He had taken something from her that he had no right to take, something that he could never give back. Dax stifled a groan, recalling her startled gasp of pleasure-pain as he had taken her, made her his…

  Now, into the third year without her, Dax dealt with a sense of loss and melancholy that threatened to overwhelm his position in his club. He was withdrawn and irritable, dealt with things in an aggressive, physical manner that contrasted sharply with his previous tendency to use methodical strategy. He hadn’t quite completely assimilated that the grief cycle he was still going through was related to the stowaway, or to his traumatic past. She was gone; she had been gone without a trace for years.

  Of course, he had blatantly ignored Rhiannon’s request not to look for her. It was easy for Wince to find out whom her last text message had gone to. Dax recalled how pissed off he had been at Charisma, and how his rage had frightened the hell out of her. He grilled the ex-whore, even threatened to tank her online porn business, but Charisma didn’t crack. He was sure she had told them all she knew.

  Apparently, the stowaway had freaked out and begged for help to disappear. Rhee just couldn’t take it anymore, Charisma had explained, staring pointedly at Dax until he had looked away, slightly ashamed. He wondered what Rhee had told Charisma about what had happened between them. Dax wanted to make things right. He thought he had given Rhee what she wanted—a home with the club. It wasn’t enough, obviously.

  According to Charisma, she hooked Rhee up with a makeover and a connection to a guy who made fake licenses. Wince followed up but the cracked out moron the trail led to kept shitty records and an even shittier-smelling residence. Dax remembered how his jaw had clenched so hard at the thought of Rhee in that place that he thought he was going to crack a tooth. Rhiannon Blake was a diamond that sparkled in a plain setting, and he was only just now coming to terms with what he had lost.

  Wince worked his magic, but without a name, or even a description, there wasn’t much to go on. The inside guys in the department seemed to turn a cheek against anything with the last name, “Blake.” Eventually, Dax became even more jaded. Anger and desolation filled him as he berated himself for getting close to the girl in the first place. He’d been with her once.

  One fucking time.

  He convinced himself that here was no logical reason that he should be this upset over her. When it came down to it, Rhiannon betrayed the club. Took her honorary member status, and basically said, “Fuck you all.” It was blasphemous. She had taken their help, their resources, and their connections, and then she had just taken off. Like it meant nothing. It was easy to blur out his feelings with anger.

  After all, Rhee wasn’t the only one who had left him. Even though they too, shared a long and tangled history, Trish was done. She finally had enough of his behavior and of his refusal to explain himself. Part of Dax couldn’t believe she left. Again. Old hurt mingled with the new sting of pain and rejection to create a deeper sense of isolation than he had ever thought possible. Even though he deserved it.

  Nobody wants you.

  The voice he carried deep within his soul still had the power to cut him deeply, even though it was a voice he hadn’t heard in over two decades. Feeling slightly nauseated, Dax continued on his self-destructive reverie, unable to stop the ride.

  Yeah, it was the same old story. He just wasn’t good enough for her. Well, actually, he had more than made up for his lack of pedigree where Trish was concerned. And to her credit, his background hadn’t seemed to matter to his high school sweetheart at first. It was her father who disliked Dax’s shady past and forced Trish’s hand, making her choose her career aspirations over Dax.

  When Trish left for college, Dax was able to use his club connections to keep tabs on her. He told himself it was to keep her safe, but perversely, he was more interested in her relationship status than he was in her flawless academic record. When Trish returned with a monkey on her back a year after entering med school, and asked for his help, he already knew the problem was brewing.

  Dax took care of the problem.

  Daddy wasn’t
there to protect her, but Dax was. Trish’s father passed the way you would expect of a man with the tendency to have apoplectic fits of rage. Thankfully, Trish hadn’t been there to witness the aneurism that felled her daddy like a rotted tree. For a few years after his death, Dax actually thought things might work out between himself and his high school sweetheart.

  But then they just…didn’t.

  To Dax’s chagrin, his worth didn’t seem to be dependent upon his past any longer. Now, it was about his present and future. To some, he was a high-status symbol of rank and authority. But not to Trish. Nope. Trish still wanted what she had always wanted: To help sick kids and to have a family of her own. Sure, her values were noble. But, although she had traded her high-end clothing for jeans and boots, Trish hadn’t really changed since high school. She struggled to meet him where he was, but in the end, he couldn’t be what she wanted him to be. And Dax knew that. It was painfully obvious.

  Trish still had the same desires and hopes to change him, to make him into something he would never be. And, much like all of the other significant women in his life, including his mother, Trish was gone now. Even though Dax knew, deep in what was left of his heart, that it wouldn’t have worked with his former old lady, it still hurt when she left him.

  He made it happen, of course. He knew she would catch him with the groupie he invited back to his bunk. It had gone down in the worst way. He didn’t get his dick wet though—there was no way he was dipping his wick in some used up groupie, but the girl was naked in his bed when Trish barged in. In some way, he wanted her to hate him. It was the only way she would leave him. And she had, reacting exactly the way he had expected.

  He wasn’t aware of his haunted expression as he continued down bad memory lane. Trish had screamed, thrown things. Hit him, even. He let her. Through it all, he kept that aloof, cocky half-smile plastered on his face. The voice echoed in his depressed brain: I’m not good enough for her. I need to let her go. For good.