Jax's Dilemma:Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 2)

by Wilder, Chiah

  Jax’s Dilemma

  An Insurgents MC Romance

  Chiah Wilder

  Copyright © 2015 by Chiah Wilder

  Kindle Edition

  Editing by Hot Tree Editing

  Cover design by Cheeky Covers

  Proofreading by Wyrmwood Editing

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please purchase only authorized additions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  I love hearing from my readers. You can email me at chiahwilder@gmail.com.

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  Description

  Jax, Sergeant-At-Arms of the Insurgents Motorcycle Club, likes his women easy.

  Raised in the outlaw biker world, Jax has bedded more women than he can count. The only things on his mind are big ass Harleys, scorching whiskey, and pretty women who can spread on command.

  Then he meets Cherri—the stripper with ice blue eyes and white-blonde hair.

  He wants her in his bed.

  She would rather not.

  Cherri has complicated stamped all over her. Jax doesn’t need a woman like her messing up his life.

  Too bad he can’t stop thinking about her.

  Cherri ran away from a bad situation back home.

  She has secrets she hasn’t shared with anyone. Stripping is her means of making enough money to start a new life, and nothing’s going to screw up her plans.

  Then she meets Jax.

  He’s gorgeous, sexy, and a cocky bastard. His tattooed, ripped chest and biceps make her drool. She knows she should run far away from him, but her body wants him in the worst way.

  Just as she begins to relax, her past collides with her new life. Cherri must navigate a deadly obstacle course littered with outlaw motorcycle clubs and a power-hungry politician.

  Jax won’t stop until he claims Cherri. He vows to protect and love Cherri no matter what. When put to the test, will Jax betray his family—the Insurgents MC—or will he lose the woman he loves forever?

  The Insurgents MC series are standalone romance novels. This is Jax and Cherri’s love story. This book contains violence, strong language, and steamy sexual scenes. HEA. No cliffhangers! The book is intended for readers over the age of 18.

  Previous Titles in the Series:

  Hawk’s Property: Insurgents Motorcycle Club Book 1

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Description

  Prologue

  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

  Author’s Note

  About Chas’s Fervor

  Excerpt from Chas’s Fervor

  Prologue

  The scorching sun bored into Cherri’s skin as she lay among the wildflowers. Vibrant blues, purples, yellows, and pinks carpeted the verdant field. Evergreens stood tall on the mountain range as a gurgling creek lulled her to a state of peacefulness. She could almost feel goosebumps on her forearms as a light breeze caressed her.

  “Fuck, that feels good, hon.”

  The raspy, male voice brought Cherri back to reality, and she looked at the thirty-something man grunting and sweating as he thrust his dick in and out of her. She stared at the peeling paint in the corner of the ceiling. If only the jerk wouldn’t have opened his mouth, she would’ve been able to stay in her safe place.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” he said as he squeezed her small breasts too hard. Putting his mouth over her pink nipples, he sucked them like a vacuum.

  Fuck, when is this tool going to come? Cherri tried hard to get back to her safe place, but she couldn’t; her valley of wildflowers and sunshine was gone, retreating to the far corners of her mind until the next time she needed a haven.

  She had created her safe place when she was fourteen years old and her life had turned to shit. It kept her sane until she split three years later to make her own way.

  Finally, at the age of eighteen, her wildflower valley made the sex tolerable, especially with old men like the one who kept pawing her and pushing his lame dick into her. At least she’d get five hundred dollars for this trick. Even though she normally didn’t turn tricks, this guy was different—or so Brandon, the bartender at the gentlemen’s club where she danced, told her. The guy was rich and someone important. A councilman, she thought. The money was too good to pass up, so she agreed to be with him. She just wished he’d finish already; she wanted to go back to her apartment and take a long shower to wash off his stench.

  “Are you getting close to coming?” He squeezed her breasts again.

  “Huh…? Oh, yeah, sure, baby. You make me feel real good. I’m coming now.” Putting on one of her better performances, Cherri writhed and screamed as she bucked under him.

  “I’m coming now, too,” he grunted. He stiffened, exhaled, and collapsed beside her.

  It’s about fuckin’ time. Turning her head toward the window, she could see the blue sky. Tightness covered her chest while her throat grew thick. She wondered if being a whore was her destiny. Saltiness stung her eyes as she squeezed them shut, willing herself to be anywhere but in that mediocre motel room with the tobacco-stained curtains and the peeling paint.

  A swat on her butt made her turn her head toward her paying lover. He leaned in close; his sweat was pungent. He kissed her deeply, his tongue thick and wet in her mouth, making her want to gag.

  “That was awesome, hon. You and I are going to be regulars. I like the way you make me feel. I know you liked it.” Running his eyes over her, he lingered on her young breasts. Wiping his brow with his fingers, he said, “I can be a real generous man. You think you’d like to be my permanent girlfriend? I can set you up real good.”

  Could I stand him pawing at me all the time? “Would we live together?”

  “I’d love that, but no, we’d have to be discreet. You know, with my political position and all. I’d set you up in a nice apartment. I’ll use untraceable funds. I’d come
see you a few times a week. We may be able to sneak away once in a while for a weekend trip or so, but, for now, we’d have to stay in. I’ll give you an expense account, of course.”

  “So, I couldn’t see you every day?”

  Dragging her closer to him, he smiled. “I know that’s a disappointment, hon, but I’ll make every minute count when I come over. Oh, I won’t be spending the night, either. I have to stay under the radar, you know? Once things calm down after the election, we can see each other more. What do you say?”

  Inside, her body sang for joy. Did this two-bit politician think she wanted to be with him all the time? What an ego he must have.

  “Oh, and I have one condition: you have to quit your job at the bar. You won’t need to strip anymore. I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, if you make sure I am. You know what I mean?” Winking at her, he leered and twisted her breast.

  Wincing at the force of his touch, Cherri nodded. What did she have to lose? Not having to strip for a bunch of sweaty, lecherous men was a dream come true. The possibility of moving out of her roach-infested shithole made her giddy. For once, she’d be in a nice, safe place and wouldn’t have to worry all the time about being evicted or attacked. Plus, the proposition sounded a hell of a lot better than the shit life she currently had. Maybe she’d finally be able to save enough money so she could get out of Denver and go somewhere quiet and respectable, pretending her past never existed.

  “Sure, why not?”

  He hugged her while he rubbed her dry slit. “You’re making me horny again, hon.”

  As he groped her body, Cherri sighed, fixing her eyes on the ceiling.

  Chapter One

  Three years later

  Pinewood Springs, Colorado

  “Cherri, I need your ass out there waiting tables. Miranda called in sick and we’re short tonight,” Emma, the club manager, said.

  “What about my dance set?”

  “I switched you to the last slot. You’ll be on in about two hours. You’re the only one who’s worth shit around here. You can dance and waitress. One of your tables will be the Insurgents.”

  Cherri’s stomach lurched. “Can’t Liza take it? She likes catering to them.”

  “They asked for you, and since they’re paying your salary and own the club, you fuckin’ do what they ask. Go on, now. Get your ass out there, and be sure to wiggle it so you can get some big tips.”

  Cherri peeked out from behind the curtains to take in the room. Yep, there he was, sitting at the front table, his jean-clad legs straddling the chair backwards. He wore a black vest with patches all over it; the left top side had a diamond-shaped, 1% er patch, while the right side had one which read Sergeant-At-Arms and underneath it, his name: Jax. Tight across his muscular chest, his black t-shirt showed off his well-defined pecs and abs. His sandy brown hair was longer on the top and shorter on the sides, and pierced eyebrows framed his hazel eyes. A full sleeve of tattoos decorated his right arm while his other bore various designs of skulls and daggers. He was handsome in a rugged way, his five o’clock shadow giving his face a hard edge.

  Staring intently at one of the dancers spreading her legs and running her red-tipped fingers over her slit, he leaned forward, his bulging biceps moving with him.

  “Come on, Cherri. Get a move on! We got a full house,” Emma barked from behind her. Shutting the curtains, Cherri ran to her dressing room, threw on a turquoise t-shirt and a short skirt over her thong, and rushed out to the bar area.

  Dream House was utter chaos that night, and she knew her feet would be blistered and sore from standing on her four-inch heels for too long. Even though she was aware she should be grateful to be alive and at the strip club, she was sick of everything. When she had learned she was primed to be the Mountainside Strangler’s next victim and had narrowly escaped torture and death, she shuddered. If the Insurgents hadn’t come to the Deadly Demons’ clubhouse a couple of months before rescuing her, she’d be six feet under.

  Choosing to work at Dream House hadn’t turned out so bad, and it was a lot better than waitressing at one of the Insurgents’ restaurants. She knew the MC wanted to keep her close because she knew a bit too much about what happened that early November morning at the Nomads’ clubhouse. What the MC didn’t get was she was happier than hell they had eliminated the pieces of shit who’d enslaved her. She’d never squeal, not in a hundred years, but these outlaw bikers didn’t trust her, so there she was, shaking her ass once again at another strip club.

  When she came up to the Insurgents’ table, her stomach felt queasy. The guys always made her go into panic mode, never knowing when one of them might touch her or, worse yet, force himself on her. So far, they’d contented themselves with just looking and making lewd comments, but she saw the way they fucked the club whores. It was like the whole club, including the women, just wanted to fuck all the time. It was disgusting.

  “Come on over here, sweetness,” Jax said, looking at her with lust in his eyes.

  She had avoided going over to his side, preferring to stand next to Chas and Axe, who were engrossed in watching the dancer play with her big tits.

  “What do you want to drink?” she asked.

  “I said to come on over by me. Now,” Jax growled, his boyish grin gone.

  Cherri walked over to him, and he squeezed her butt through her skirt. She flinched. He laughed. “Why so jumpy, sweetness? You got a soft ass that is way too tempting.” He slipped his hand under her skirt, pinching her cheeks.

  “Don’t do that! You don’t have the right to touch me.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “Yeah, I do. Fuck, we own you. You’re Insurgents property, and I can do whatever the fuck I want.” He pulled her toward him.

  “No one owns me. Do you get off on forcing yourself on women?”

  Jax clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes into slits. “Don’t ever fucking say that to me again. I don’t have to force any bitch, got it?”

  “Then leave me alone.” Cherri knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she couldn’t. For the past two months she had been with the Insurgents, Jax had been sniffing around her. She had to admit he was good-looking and sexy, but she had no interest in any man. Men wanted a woman for fucking, nothing more. She was so not into that. If she had to fuck, she expected to get paid well for it.

  She knew Jax wanted into her pants real bad; he made it clear every time he looked at her with his desire-filled eyes. Whenever she was in the clubhouse or at the strip bar, he’d take every opportunity to brush against her, rubbing his firm chest against her small breasts. She hated the way her body would feel all funny, like a million butterflies were flying around inside her, when their bodies touched in passing. She didn’t need the guy complicating her life, needing to stay focused on her goal of leaving the club and making a better life for herself. Jax was turning out to be a distracting nuisance.

  Jax raked his gaze over her body, his hands in his lap. He threw her a half-grin. “Bring me a shot of Jack and a Corona, sweetness.”

  She nodded, took the other members’ orders, and went to the bar. Returning with the drinks, she placed them in front of the bikers. Leaning across the table to give Jax his, she realized too late he had a full-frontal view of her breasts. Hearing his sharp intake of breath, her cheeks flushed as her blue eyes locked with his for a heartbeat. Turning away, she busied herself with the other tables. She didn’t like the intensity, the spark of connection that coursed through her body when their eyes met.

  For the next hour, Cherri ran her ass off waiting tables, clearing glasses, and fending off advances from many of the patrons while trying her best to avoid getting any closer than necessary to Jax. When she came back to the Insurgents’ table to bring more drinks, he didn’t call her over to his side anymore. She was grateful, even though his eyes bored a hole into her each and every time she placed drinks in front of the bikers. It was downright unnerving.

  As she stood by the bar waiting for her newest drink order,
she felt a hand on her shoulder. Glancing sideways, she saw Emma.

  “Cherri, go ahead and get ready for your dance set. I can take over from here,” Emma said.

  Cherri ran to the dressing rooms in the back of the bar, trying not to fall as she dodged the boxes of liquor and napkins littering the floor behind the stage curtains. Freshening her makeup, she teased and sprayed her shoulder-length, white-blonde hair. Her eyeliner and eye shadow made her blue eyes look like two ice cubes surrounded by black smoke. Cursing when her sheer thong sported a run, she replaced it with a silver-colored one, breathing heavily as she tried to get herself together before she was announced. After dusting iridescent glitter over her body, she pulled on a pink, metallic short skirt, her heart-shaped ass peeking out from underneath it. The matching halter top fitted tightly over her small, round breasts. She slipped on her five-inch Lucite pumps, checked herself out in the full-length mirror, and waited for her cue to take the stage.

  The stage was a decent size, not as big as some of the other strip clubs she had danced for. There were two poles on each side of the stage and a stainless-steel chair in the middle. Sometimes Cherri would use the pole, sometimes the chair, but mostly she liked to dance the old-fashioned way—no props or gimmicks, just relying on the rhythm of her body.

  The lights dimmed, and the mist from the fog machine created a web around her and the stage. Throwing her head back, her long hair touched the top of her skirt. The clear, crystal-jeweled barbell dangling from her belly button caught the light, glimmering like chunks of diamonds. Buckcherry’s song, “Crazy Bitch,” filled the bar as Cherri moved her hips while licking her full lips. She strutted around the stage, thrusting out her ass and pressing her breasts together. Lowering herself to the floor, she began a series of movements she was sure would make any man’s cock hard.

  As she rolled her head in circles, her hair brushing against the floor, she saw all eyes on her. Some of the guys in the front row had their hands on their dicks as they watched her crawl forward and, leaning in to them, she almost touched her forehead to some of theirs. As she inched forward, her breasts bounced, spilling out of the confines of her halter. Straightening out, she rocked back on her knees, her glittering thong peeping out as she played with her breasts.