Archangels MC: A Reverse Harem Romance (Bad Influence Book 2)
Page 1
Bad Influence
by
Ivy Fox
Copyright
Archangels MC – Bad Influence Series Copyright © 2018 Ivy Fox
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of all word marks, products, brands, TV shows, movies, music, bands and celebrities mentioned in this work of fiction.
Cover Image & Edit: Courtesy of X-Factory Designs
For more information, visit:
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ISBN-10: 1721750738
ISBN-13: 978-1721750733
Dedication
To the flawed, broken and silent
This one’s for you.
Caution
Dear Reader,
Although I feel this book does not fall under the dark romance category, and more under suspense, there are some elements to it, such as violent scenarios and abusive behavior, where more sensitive readers might feel uncomfortable.
Therefore, I thought it best to bring to light that Archangels MC may contain scenes, where impressionable audiences might struggle when reading it.
This book is, in its whole, still very much a love story, however unconventional it may be, so if you’re still on the fence, read reviews, and get feedback before giving it a go.
I truly hope you enjoy these angels of mine.
Sincerely,
Ivy
Archangels MC
Love is not rude, is not selfish, and does not get upset with others. Love does not count up wrongs that have been done. Love takes no pleasure in evil but rejoices over the truth. Love patiently accepts all things. It always trusts, always hopes, and always endures.
Corinthians 13:5-7
Table of Contents
Main Title
Copyright
Dedication
Caution
Archangels MC
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Author Notes
Ivy Fox Novels
After Hours Series (Preview)
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
Breathe…
Breathe…
Breathe!
With every gulp of air that travels down my lungs comes a new wave of dirt and soil right along with it. For some reason I can’t open my eyes, but that’s the least of my troubles. The ground beneath me is cold and damp, and although every limb in my body hurts, I continue to claw, claw my way through this earthbound coffin I find myself in. I don’t know if I’m scraping my way to the surface, or digging myself further into my burial chamber.
Breathe…
Breathe…
Oxygen is a commodity taken for granted, and I crave it more than anything in this world to replace the burning ache in my chest. Each second that ticks by seems like a lifetime, as the fire in my lungs warns me of the danger of not making it out of this manmade crypt in time. Even though it’s too dark to see it, I feel the blood pooling out of my raw fingertips and broken nails, gotten during my clumsy attempts at escape. Something aside from the normal grime and grit hits my cheek. It feels cool, and too delicate to be a fragment of this hole, but I quickly dismiss it when my hand hits cold, brisk air. Adrenaline in overdrive, I continue my dig until my entire body finds that same sweet rapture.
Breathe…
Breathe…
I cough out the soot that’s made its way inside my mouth; my tongue had been covered by the vile stuff. For the first time, I try to open my eyes to look around me, and quickly establish that only one eye works well enough to see. My sense of solace is deflated when I realize that I’m surrounded by the same darkness I had escaped not a few seconds ago. But this one holds a sliver of moonlight above, enough to light my way. The ground around me is just as cold, but I don’t feel it seeping through me. The fire in my chest still rings loud and true, making my barely-covered body flame and appreciate the chilly air and soil. Each gulp brings relief as well as pain. I steady my breaths in small, steady intakes, as this seems to appease my aching limbs.
You need to get up.
Find help.
Find shelter.
If you don’t, instead of dying in that tomb, you’ll die out here in the cold.
I hear the orders, but my body and mind aren’t in agreement with one another. I wince in pain, trying to kneel in my seemingly futile attempt to get up, but instinctively grab my sides as my ribs seem to want to splinter away. Every part of my body hurts, and walking seems not to be an option.
Move.
Just move.
So I do.
I move.
I crawl away from the nightmare behind me, in search of anything resembling life. I crawl at a snail’s pace, praying to a deity I’m unsure even exists under these cruel circumstances. My body scrapes by every rock, pebble, and leaf on the hard, ice-cold ground. Lightning pains run through every part of me, yet I don’t stop. I will survive this. I have risen from one hell; I will not perish in another. I will fight through the dark while each behemoth tree above taunts my resolve. The moon is my only accomplice, and I follow her willingly, asking her to kindly send me an earthbound light. My one good eye sees only a few feet ahead of me, but my arms and raw, bloody hands crave rescue, too, so they follow its bleak sight and pull me in the direction it’s leading me. If I should die tonight, it will not be because I caved in to my ill fate. The cold may take me. An intrigued animal might mistake me for a desirable treat. But I will fight to the end with my very last burning breath.
Move.
Fight.
Don’t stop.
And like the moon, the thoughts keep me company. They urge me forward, even though each small movement brings with it excruciating pain. My mind wants none of what my body is offering, telling it to keep up. Surrendering to pain is not an option. Only survival. I trudge onward, but with each hour that passes, the loud demands that once shouted in my ear have died down to mere whispers, compared to the screams my body is invoking. My once steady pace has also slowed down, and all I crave, in equal measure, are water to satisfy this aching thirst, a
nd sleep to rest my weary bones. If I could just close my eye, since its equal is already solidly shut, and rest for a couple of minutes, maybe I would get a second wind to continue on. My ribs cry out, relishing this stupendous idea, but a resilient whisper lives on.
Don’t stop.
Move.
Live.
Live.
Through either sheer stubbornness or misplaced determination, I keep moving. I hold on to the low hum of willpower I still have in me, and try to focus on it in order to not give in to my pain. Like the fistfuls of earth I grasp to pull myself forward. I do the same to the faint whisper—I cling to it like a lifeline. As long as it calls out to me, then my spirit is strong enough to command my tortured limbs to abide its orders. It’s only when I see a shimmer of yellow light, growing brighter and brighter in my line of vision, do I finally give in. Only then do I let the pain overpower me completely. But in doing so, I no longer see the warm yellow light, nor the pale silver moonlight. I don’t see my safety, or my rescue.
No.
I don’t see any light at all.
All I see is my dark, cold grave.
Chapter 1
Michael
Once the gavel hits its intended target, church is over. I am bone tired, and all I yearn for is a hot shower and my bed back home. Everyone is piling out the door in search of either a strong drink or a warm woman, but my only wish for tonight is scorching water to wash the road from my body, and clean sheets to wrap me up afterward. I get out of my seat, but my escape isn’t quick enough.
“You boys did well on this last run,” Uri remarks proudly. His statement should fill me with the same pride, yet I know Uri well enough that no compliment comes out of his mouth without some other statement I won’t be too keen to hear, trailing right behind it.
“So well that maybe you should consider letting some other brothers try their shot,” he continues.
I lift my brow and massage my full blond beard. The thing needs a good fucking trim, but being on the road for the past two months, there was little time to think of such amenities. Right now, my concern is with the man before me and what he is suggesting.
“You want me off the road?” I ask bluntly. Never saw much use in beating around the bush, especially when talking about club business—my business.
“If I wanted you off the road, you’d be off the road,” Uri replies, making it crystal clear who holds the gavel and the title of club president. A responsibility I’m not too eager to take over, and one that Uri has been grooming me to do since the day my father met The Dark Angel. I continue to stay put, unwavering in his threat. Any other brother would have been looking into Uri’s black eyes, seeing their own promised doom. Not me. My blue eyes glare, unimpressed, back at his dark ones. Uri is not only my Prez, but he’s also my uncle. His traits are mine, so I know when the bastard is talking shit to scare someone, and when he’s just laying down the law. Right now, he’s just talking, so I’m just listening.
“This past year, you three have been doing jobs more than you’ve been here. Although it’s been beneficial for the club, some brothers have complained that I’m playing favorites. Envy and jealousy is poison to any institution. I won’t tolerate it, but I also won’t feed into it, especially for something as small as a cut in profit. I’ll keep you boys active, but for the next couple of months, expect that activity to be local, not national,” Uri states, leaning back in his wooden chair.
Seeing as his mind is already made up on the matter, I see no use in debating. I know when a battle is worth a fight. If this shit is creating any animosity toward me and my brothers-in-arms, then it isn’t worth it. The club is a brotherhood, first and foremost. If Uri says we only do local jobs for the time being to appease the masses, then so be it. No skin off my back. Sure, doing high-stake rides brought in a higher percentage for the men who did the work, but everyone got a cut. Whether you were on the back of your bike taking care of business or stuck right here doing the odd security job, we all got a piece of the pie. That’s how it’s been for over five decades, and that’s how it will stay for many more.
“You make the calls, Uri. Brothers shouldn’t care who does the riding, as long as they get theirs. But if this is a thorn in your side, we’ll stay local.”
Uri just nods. It’s not a thank you, since all he had to do was give out the order and we’d follow it to a T, but he always liked to give me the illusion of an option, even when there really wasn’t one. I won’t mind staying put for a while, but Uri’s decision doesn’t affect only me. It also affects the two club members who are my right hand in anything I do. One of them will definitely have an issue with Uri’s ruling of keeping us off the road, and unfortunately, he’s not one to keep his thoughts or words to himself.
“Cam isn’t going to like it. As long as you keep Gabe on his bike, he won’t care where you send him. Cam, though, will shit a brick.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. Won’t lie, Cam is the one who is going to be hard to replace. Any other brother who goes out needs to know I expect the same follow-through Cam put into it. These two nomads he brought this time show promise,” Uri states, his sight fixed on the old chandelier hanging from the ceiling, right above the wooden table we held church at. Its rustic nature only accentuates the beauty of the black feathered wings carved in the middle—the same symbol each club member has carved into their skin, same as the patch on their backs.
“The Orleans Chapter was this close to getting them onboard, but after one beer with Cam, they high tailed out of there with us, thinking the Mother Chapter was the only place worthy of their loyalty,” I add, knowing full well that no brother had the charisma—or the mouth—that Cam did. He could charm the pants off of any woman, man, or child. People just flocked to him, and as a recruiter for the club, this was an attribute most would kill to have.
“A president sometimes needs to make sacrifices for the greater good of the club. Take your lessons from me while you can, Michael. Soon enough, you’ll have to make them yourself,” Uri deadpans, and there is the expected underlying truth of his warning—a warning of an impending fate I am trying hard not to focus on.
“That future is still too far to be bothersome to me, Uri. Right now, the only future I care about is the bed that awaits me back home,” I reply, playing off his blatant, stern remark.
“Very well. Go. Time is still your friend, after all,” he says as he waves me off. It’s all the permission I need to leave the room, but right at the doorway arch, my silent shadow awaits, leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed and trademark stoic expression plastered on his face. I nudge forward, and he trails on behind me.
“You hear everything you needed?” I ask.
“Enough,” Gabe replies, under his breath.
“So what do you think?”
“I could do with some time off,” he says in his even tone. My smile stretches out, thinking how my sullen brother-in-arms isn’t as upset with this small news of being benched as my other brother will be. I had figured as much.
“Cam is going to bitch, though,” I exhale.
Gabe just gives me his usual nod in agreement. Cam is like a cheerful puppy. When everyone wants to play with him, he’s in his element. Take his toys away, and the brother can sulk like the best of them. Being on the road and meeting new people in every crack of this nation was like candy to him. He just couldn’t get his fill. Delivering Uri’s ruling isn’t something that I look forward in doing tonight. I figure tomorrow is as good a day as any.
Gabriel grabs my shoulder and nudges his head toward the bar. Even though this place is packed with leather-wearing brothers and barely-dressed pass-arounds, I see my buoyant brother knocking back shots with some prospects he had recruited a few months ago, and a girl on his lap. Probably wanting to make sure they were doing alright and whether they needed anything from him. Archangels were family to Cam, but his recruits were like his children. Even on the road, the guy was always checking in with every last one of th
em to see how they were. You couldn’t ask for a better friend or brother by your side. This off-road bullshit will probably devastate him. Definitely telling him tomorrow.
I walk toward the bar, grab his jacket off one of the side stools, and pass it to him.
“We’re leaving already?” Cam asks, looking from me to Gabe, like someone just pissed in his cereal. “But we just got here.”
“And now we’re leaving,” Gabe grunts, passing by the glum-looking brother and the sheep clawing at his throat. Cam is already pushing her to the side so she can join the rest of the too-willing pass-around herd at the club and hustling to follow us through the crowded room.
“Shit, I only got one drink in me. Didn’t even give a brother time for a proper welcome home by the Mallory sisters,” Cam complains, putting on his jacket and cut.
“Think the sisters were gonna ditch your ass for the nomads anyway,” I tease him, slanting my head so he can see the redheaded twins already in the new recruits’ laps. Instead of a pissed frown, Cam just smiles like it’s the best thing he’s seen.
“Told the fuckers the Mother Chapter had its rewards,” he cheers with a bit of pep in his step now. Another quality I admire about the cocky bastard. There was no room for jealousy or envy in his whole being. The fucker was as pure as they come.
Once we finally make it out the door, we’re hit with the cool April night air. Spring should be knocking at the door any day now, but it doesn’t seem to be in any rush to get its ass here. Warren isn’t known for having kind winters, but this year it’s been harsher than most. Riding out in such cold temperatures is always a challenge, but as I look at the truck Uri has loaned us—while our babies are at the shop for tuning and repair—I’d actually prefer the cold to the box. Gabriel is already in the driver’s seat, anxious to get this show on the road. Guess I’m not the only one who is anxious to get his ass back home. I ride shotgun, while Cam sits in the back.