by Faye Byrd
A DIRTY LION
DIRTY LIONS MC
Book 1
FAYE BYRD
Edited by Christine V.
Image from ©prometeus - Can Stock Photo Inc.
Cover created by Jada D’Lee Designs
Special thanks to Ceara Therrien for her extra eyes, and to Denise Wilson Johnson and Cecilia Rene for their prereader assistance.
Copyright 2020 © Faye Byrd
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.
All trademark references mentioned in this book, including movies, movie characters or television shows, are the property of the respective copyright holders and trademark owners. No copyright infringement is intended.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE A Better Alternative
CHAPTER TWO A Dirty Lion
CHAPTER THREE Sleeping with the Enemy
CHAPTER FOUR Slobber-Knob
CHAPTER FIVE A Private Deal
CHAPTER SIX Was It, or Wasn’t It?
CHAPTER SEVEN Nothing New
CHAPTER EIGHT My Girl
CHAPTER NINE Free
CHAPTER TEN Old Lady
CHAPTER ELEVEN The Drop
CHAPTER TWELVE My Fault
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Burn in Hell
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Mine to Take
CHAPTER FIFTEEN Nothing
CHAPTER SIXTEEN The End
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Or Is It?
CHAPTER ONE
A Better Alternative
Enzo
I trace my finger through an engraved curve on the large wooden table in our meeting room as the other two fucks argue back and forth over what to do about the Raging Werewolves. The roaring lion with his flowing mane is our club emblem, and I felt honored that Carl gifted me this table when he sent me to Crescent City to be President of the Dirty Lions’ new charter. My mission is simple: clean up the wolf scum that’s trying to nudge their way into Lion territory.
“I’m telling ya,” Mad Dog says, slamming his giant fist onto the table. “We can’t allow them to do this in our back yard. Not even once!”
“What do you propose, then?” Wyndall says, standing and leaning across the table to tower over Mad Dog. “Do you expect the three of us to charge in there and take their whole club down? How exactly can we stop them?”
Mad Dog stands, meeting Wyndall’s steely gaze with one of his own. “I don’t know about you, but I can take down at least five of them on my own.”
“I can do six.” Wyndall’s neck muscles are taut as he accepts the challenge Mad Dog’s thrown down.
I stand, putting a hand on a shoulder of each guy and shoving them the fuck down. “That solves it, then,” I say like the cocky motherfucker I am. “There are only twelve of them. That’s four a piece.” I smash my cigarette in the ashtray. “Get those two prospects in here and up to speed. They can hang outside just in case you two are all talk and no action.”
Mad Dog turns to me then, his big burly arms flexing and his long salt and pepper beard twitching. “Listen here, boy.” He stubs a fat finger my way. “If I say I can do something, I can damn well do it. I trust Carl, and that’s the only fucking reason I’m here. Best thing I can tell you is you better appreciate what the fuck you got.”
I smirk at his overly beefed up self. “This is your moment to shine, fat boy. Don’t fuck up, or I’ll have to give you personal lessons.”
Wyndall snickers and Mad Dog growls, flipping him off. I turn my deadly gaze to member number two, with his long blond hair and pornstache that spans four inches on either side of his nose with the ends carved into arrow tips. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re laughing for. Same goes for you. Least injured man becomes Vice President. Now, get the fuck outta here. Both of ya.” As they reach the door, I yell, “And don’t let me down!”
I grab my smokes and kick back in my chair, chuckling to myself. I bet these fucks got a big surprise when Carl ordered them to show up in bumfuck nowhere to be a part of a new charter under the leadership of a kid like me. At least, that’s what they think, I imagine. Little do they know, I’m the baddest motherfucker the Dirty Lions have to offer, and Carl has confidence I can solve the Werewolf problem.
Whether they survive is another matter entirely.
Several hours later, the new prospects are standing before me, and I want to roll my fucking eyes at the dunces. Neither one of them looks a day over twenty, and if it weren’t for the two Blockheads out front, I’d doubt either of them could ride. But resources are slack right now, and I’ll have to take what I can get.
“Name?” I stand before man number one. His hair is blond and cropped close to his head, with a clean-shaven face and wearing a polo shirt.
I almost fucking puke.
“Jameson, sir.” He salutes me like some dumb fuckwit.
“This isn’t the goddamn army,” I snarl, getting up in his face. “This is life or fucking death. It’s not a game, and if you’re here to play, then you’ve chosen the wrong career.”
“No, si—” He bites back the sir part and continues, “I’m here to kick some ass, to become a man, to show all those pussy fuckers who went off to college how fucking badass I am.”
“Are you badass?” I lift a double pierced brow.
“I can curse you out in ten languages and disassemble any gun in twenty seconds flat.” He’s almost smirking by the time he’s done, but he’s just smart enough not to.
“Can you shoot the motherfucker as good as you can dismantle it?”
“Absolutely.”
I nod and take a step over to the next man. “Name.”
“Michael.”
“Tell me about yourself, Mikey.”
He swallows, quaking in his boots. “I’m sorry I can’t be as useful in the gun department, Mr. Stone, but I’ve never run across a computer system I can’t hack.”
My brows furrow as I consider this. Not many MCs are sophisticated enough to use computers for their work, but there’re other ways this might become useful, even profitable, in the future—once the Wolf problem has been taken care of.
I look to the fat fuck who’s been closely watching my every move. “Mad Dog, get these two a vest and their prospect patches. We’ve got a sale to stop.”
I look between the two men. “My name is Enzo, and I don’t like to be disappointed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mikey mutters, the tips of his ears turning red.
After getting the prospects settled, we gather as a group to make a plan for our raid. Turns out, Mikey can be useful with his trusty laptop, spying through tiny Wi-Fi cams that can be covertly dropped wherever we want, which includes inside the Wolf’s den of sin.
This changes our plan, but only slightly. Wyndall’s able to get in before the auction, posing as a bidder, and he sets up a few of the cameras to give us a grand view. Later that night, just before the bidding is set to start, we camp outside in a van Mikey brought into the fold with him. It’s decked out with all types of nifty spy equipment, and this fucker might be my favorite member yet.
“Looks like there are only two Wolf members and a couple of their prospects here,” Mad Dog says, squishing his meaty fist into his palm. “I can take them on by myself.”
“The rest are probably back at their clubhouse in Pacific Shores,” Wyndall muses, sharpening the pointy tips of his mustache.
“They should’ve known better than to conduct business like this inside Crescent City limit
s,” I spit, disgusted with the intel I’ve received on this sale.
“Why don’t we just call the sheriff and let him handle it?” Jameson asks, looking between Wyndall, Mad Dog, and myself. “That way, we’ll still be under the radar as we make a plan to skillfully take down the whole club.”
“That’d be cool.” I snort. “If I was a pussy.”
“Buuurn,” Wyndall says, punching the new guy in his arm and laughing when he winces. “Hiding in the shadows isn’t the Lion way. Better get used to being dirty and daring someone to open their fucking mouths about it.”
“Fuck yeah.” Mad Dog fist bumps Wyndall in the first sign of anything even remotely brotherly between them. “Besides, the sheriff’s in our pocket.”
“Gambling piece of shit,” I sneer, my jaw clenching at the distaste I feel when I think of that pathetic waste of space. “We’ll only call that alcoholic fuck to take care of the dead bodies.”
“If he’s so stupid, how come you trust him to do that part?” prospect two asks, and the kid has a point.
“Smart question, Mikey.” I think it over for a second before I respond. “I guess that’s something we need to consider before we rely on him for that.” I reach over and grab his shoulder, clasping it tightly. “I want you to remedy that for us. Come up with a foolproof way to dispose of Wolf bodies before our next little get-together.”
“And tonight?” Mad Dog asks, leaning forward and rubbing his beefy hands together.
“Tonight,” I say, smirking, “we burn this motherfucker to the ground as soon as the girls are safe. Fuck the patrons. They shouldn’t be here buying underage girls in the first place.”
“Sounds like they’re about to start,” Mike says, snapping his fingers. “The emcee is laying out the rules.”
I pull out my Glock and cock it, leading the way out of the van. There isn’t a soul out here, not a patron nor a Wolf on guard, and I shake my head at their idiocy. We make a beeline for the back door, and I slip my gun into the rear waistband of my jeans, preparing to kick the motherfucker open, but Wyndall has other plans.
He simply turns the knob. “I came out this door earlier. I hoped they were too stupid to lock it.”
We enter covertly, creeping down the hall toward the noise. The murmuring of female voices leads us to where our mission awaits.
One. Two. Three.
Mad Dog delivers a hard kick to the door, and it shatters, causing the two men inside to jump and attempt to draw their weapons, but they don’t have a chance in hell. Two silenced bullets whizz past Wyndall’s head, rendering both men dead upon contact. Wide-eyed, Wyndall turns to me.
“I’m President for a reason.” I shrug. “Get these girls out of here.”
Mad Dog and Wyndall take over, speaking quietly to the girls and explaining that we’re here to help. I meander down the hallway, looking for the two prospects. I find one getting his cock sucked by a girl who can’t be any older than thirteen, and I snap his fucking neck while her lips are still on him. Lifting her up, I tote her back down the hall and leave her with Wyndall and Mad Dog before heading back out to find the last prospect.
I follow the hallway to a bathroom, and I enter with my Glock at the ready. The girl I run into is alone, and she’s a little older than the others I’ve seen.
“Who are you?” she asks, looking at me through the mirror as she neatens up her bright red lips.
“I’m here to help.” I take a tentative step, afraid I might scare her. Tattoos and piercings and leather and steel can be a frightening combo.
“I didn’t ask for help.” She props her hip against the counter and turns. “In fact, you’re holding me up.”
She tries to walk past me, but I grab her arm. “There’s nothing to hold you up from. This auction is canceled.”
“No!” Her eyes widen as she tries to jerk away. “Let go of me!”
“Little girls aren’t mature enough to make these kinds of decisions for themselves,” I grit, getting pissed that she seems willing to be sold. “You should appreciate it when someone goes out of their way to help you.”
“Get your fucking hand off me,” she snaps, drawing back and slapping the shit out of me. “I’m a grown fucking woman, and you have no right to decide what I can and can’t do with my body.”
My eyes narrow, and I allow them to stray, falling down said body. Her curves are pronounced, and her tits are a decent size. With the makeup, she could pass for eighteen, but I know better. This is a little girl auction. So what if she’s a willing one?
Not on my watch.
I smirk as I lift her, kicking and screaming, and dump her over my shoulder. The words that fly out of her mouth aren’t pretty and they’re definitely mature, but it does nothing to convince me. She’s a little girl playing dress-up in her momma’s closet.
As I make my way down the hall, the screaming from the girl over my shoulder draws the attention of the other prospect. He steps out from a door to my left, but he never has time to comprehend what’s happening. I hold kicking legs with one arm and lift the other to deliver a bullet right between his motherfucking eyes.
When we make it outside, instead of loading the hellcat into another van with the rest of the girls, I dump her ass in the back of Mikey’s and climb in behind her. She’s pissed—part tiger, part hellfire—and it tickles me to fucking death for some reason. Hopefully, she’ll learn a valuable lesson tonight and won’t ever find herself in this type of mess again.
“Light it up!” I’m hanging out the doors of Mikey’s van, pushing the hellcat behind me as she keeps trying to jump out. “And let’s get the fuck outta here.”
Wyndall leaves it to Mad Dog and Jameson to get the other twelve girls settled into the extra van and grabs several two by fours, using them to barricade the doors. When he returns from the front of the building, he grabs the Molotov cocktails from the passenger seat. With a flick of his Zippo, flames lick up the cloth. Three bottles sail through the air, one bursting through a window and the other two shattering against the wood.
I pull the doors closed and tap the back of Mikey’s seat, fighting off the psycho little girl every step of the way. “Hit it.”
When we make it back to the clubhouse, I put the guys to work on getting the other girls home or at a center or somewhere that isn’t being sold to a man for sex. Then I drag the hellion inside. She kicks and screams and scratches and fights, but I don’t let go, leading her inside by the hair of her head.
“I’m a grown fucking woman, you piece of shit,” she yells, clawing up my arm. “You’re ruining my life, you bastard!”
“Shut the fuck up.” I give her a little shake so she’ll listen. “Stop goddamn screaming and tell me how helping you not be sold to some fat old fuck has ruined your life.”
“I’ve been begging Jack for two years to put me in one of his auctions, and when he finally agreed, you, you, you …” She screeches, balling her fists. “You fucking ruined it.” She’s hysterical by now, with tears streaming down her cheeks as she collapses into a heap on the floor.
I’m stunned silent, not sure what the fuck to say or do, if anything at all. “Jack?” I finally find my voice, though judging by the death glare she sends my way, it isn’t a smart choice.
“The President of the Wolves.” Jackson Landers is my rival in every way, and she’s on a nickname basis with him.
My own fists ball now, rage replacing all other emotions. “He knows you personally, and he allowed you to be a part of that auction?”
“Allowed?” she growls, getting to her feet. “Allowed. How fucking dare you!” She stabs me in the chest with her pointer finger. “I don’t need permission from any fucking man to sell my virginity. It’s mine, and I’ll dispense of it any way I want.”
“Your virginity?” I sputter, dumbfounded.
“What?” She looks at me like I’m stupid, and maybe I am. “You’ve never met a twenty-year-old virgin?”
“Twenty?” More sputtering.
“
Did I fucking stutter?”
She advances on me again, and the image I thought I knew shatters as another one takes its place—a much more sinister one. A vision of a hellcat who is mature and isn’t the little girl I’d once thought. A vision of this same hellcat being a virgin and wanting to rid herself of it for whatever reason. A vision of me assisting her in obtaining that goal.
My cock twitches.
“Why?” I ask, my voice regaining power as this new visage takes shape in my mind. “Why do you want to sell your virginity?”
Her shoulders slump. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” But then she lifts her eyes to mine, and they’re blazing. “Because of you!”
She charges then, her fists finding purchase on my chest, and she pummels me, again and again and again. Tears stream down her cheeks, and her makeup runs in long black streaks down her cheeks. She’s practically incoherent at this point, but I do make out a few words.
School. Nurse. Dad. Asshole.
At some point, her anger gives way to defeat, and she grabs my Cut in her small fists, laying her head against my chest and blubbering on the leather. It annoys the fuck out of me, but beyond that, I feel sympathy—loads of it. As a man, I find myself utterly lost in this moment. I can’t put myself in her shoes. I don’t have the capacity to comprehend what would push a beautiful young woman to sell something so precious.
But maybe I can offer a new alternative—a better alternative.
CHAPTER TWO
A Dirty Lion
Enzo
I grip her shoulders and pull her to arm’s length, adding a little shake to gain her attention. “Get yourself together.” I grab her hand and drag her past the pool table and down a long, dark hall, pausing before shoving open my bedroom door and pulling her inside. “There’s a bathroom,” I say, pointing to a door on the far wall. “Go splash your face, and we can talk.”
“Fuck you,” she mutters.
“You will.” I chuckle darkly. “Don’t you fucking worry about that.”
“In your dreams, old man,” she snarls, moving away from me.