Wild Like the Wind

by Kristen Ashley

  “Not sure there’ll ever be a time when I don’t want your hand down my pants, Shep.”

  He kissed the back of my head.

  Then he let me hold the hot water bottle and shoved his hand down my pants.

  He was right, making me come helped the cramps.

  When he’d done that, turning on him and giving him a blowjob took my mind off them.

  And after I got done doing that, the cramps were gone.

  Hound lay on his back and I lay down his side in the curve of his arm, both of us fully clothed but his jeans were still open and I had my hand in the fly, cupped on his junk because it was my junk and I liked the feel of it, when I looked into his eyes.

  “Time to make the potato salad,” I announced.

  He lifted a hand and rubbed a thumb along my cheek.

  “My old lady spoils me,” he murmured.

  “Until the day I die.”

  His face changed, giving it all to me, before he slid his hand back into my hair and pulled me down to kiss me.

  He ended it with a grunt because he was a good kisser and got me excited and that made me latch on too tight down below.

  I lifted my head.

  “You break it, you buy it,” he said.

  I put my mouth to his. “I already bought it, it’s all mine and I can do whatever I want with it.”

  “Fuck, only you could get me hard five minutes after blowing me.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I hummed, feeling his words stir to life in my grip.

  “Babe, this is not getting potato salad made and we got thirty people showin’ in about three hours.”

  “Right,” I whispered.

  “Let go of my boys and let me up. I got potatoes to peel.”

  Now how did I know my man would help?

  “Right,” I repeated on a smile, let “his boys” go and let him up, which meant he pulled me up with him.

  He righted his jeans and I headed out of our room, but Hound caught me in the doorway.

  He put a hand on either side of my face then put his face in mine.

  “She’ll come,” he said gently.

  I smiled at him, rolled up on my toes, brushed his lips with mine and rolled back.

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “Have faith, Keekee,” he urged, finishing, “We’re blessed.”

  For most of my adult life, Hound had given me everything I needed.

  And for the last months, he’d given me everything I ever wanted.

  I was a pawn in life’s game, I knew that, so I had no faith in what life had in store for me.

  But Hound?

  I had all the faith in the world that Hound could do anything.

  So put my hands to the sides of his waist, gave it a hard squeeze, and whispered, “Blessed.”

  Shepherd Ironside’s belated wedding present to his old lady came nine months later.

  They named him Wilder Graham Ironside.

  They didn’t make a daughter but that was all right.

  They had a lot of experience raising a damn fine son.

  And when it was time, Keely inked another name permanently into her skin.

  But when she did, Hound was there, holding their son in his arms, and he had a few words with his wife.

  So finishing the wrap to the other side of her waist, she added one more name.

  And in the end, eternally at her back, like it always was, like it always would be, Keely Ironside had,

  Shepherd ~ Dutch ~ Jagger ~ Wilder ~ Black.

  ~ THE END ~

  The Chaos Series Finale will be FREE

  Turn the page to read the prologue now!

  Who’s the Redhead?

  Rush

  Rush, his dad walking by his side, made his silent way to the two men standing by the edge.

  Hawk was turned at the waist to watch their approach.

  His man Mo had binoculars held up to his eyes and they were trained down from where they were on the roof of an office building next door to one of the parking garages at Cherry Creek Shopping Mall.

  “What we got?” Tack, Rush’s father asked as they arrived at Hawk and Mo and stopped.

  “Take a look,” Hawk replied, and as if he’d given the order, Mo handed his binoculars to Hawk who gave them to Tack.

  Tack took them and trained them where Mo’s gaze had been aimed. It took him a couple of seconds but eventually he honed in.

  “Who’s the redhead?” he asked.

  “Her name’s Rebel Stapleton.”

  Rebel.

  Kickass name.

  Rush looked the way his dad was looking but even if the garage was lit, he couldn’t see much from their distance through the dark.

  Tack took the binoculars from his eyes and handed them to Rush.

  Rush looked through them and scanned the parking garage.

  “There a reason why it was urgent we show on this roof to watch Harrietta Turnbull talkin’ to some redhead with a kickass name?” Tack asked.

  Rush felt his lips curl up when his dad said what Rush thought . . .

  And then he froze when he saw them.

  Illuminated by the lights in the parking garage, she was in full color, and with the high-powered binoculars, it was like he was standing five feet away.

  She was definitely a redhead, but even if that described the color of her hair, that huge mane of wavy auburn deserved a lot more words to define it.

  She was tall.

  She was built.

  And fuck.

  She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “Rebel Stapleton’s been makin’ a name for herself in Denver for a few years now,” Hawk answered his dad. “Started with weddings. Parties. But she was ambitious. Took some risks. Did some stuff with bands. Some DJs. Clubs. Bloggers who post to YouTube, mostly fashion shit.”

  Rush could tell his father was losing patience. “What are you talkin’ about, Hawk?”

  “Made some waves with her style. Won a few awards,” Hawk went on like Tack hadn’t spoken. “Small ones. Local and online, but that shit is new and she was on the cutting edge.”

  Rush vaguely noticed Harrietta Turnbull was gesturing wildly.

  But Rebel Stapleton was cool as shit. The expression on her beautiful face was set one step up from bored. Her body language was closed with arms crossed on her chest, torso swayed slightly back.

  While dozens were rushing out of Turnbull’s mouth, he hadn’t noticed Rebel open those full lips once to form a word.

  She had fantastic lips.

  And man, the woman had fucking amazing cheekbones.

  “Now,” Hawk continued, “she’s an Executive Producer and the exclusive director and cinematographer of all movies made by Luxe Films.”

  At Hawk’s announcement, acid filled his throat.

  Rush dropped the binoculars and sliced his eyes to Hawk.

  “Say what?” he asked.

  Hawk looked to him. “Benito Valenzuela’s new line of porn. He’s goin’ legit. Higher budgets. Better production value. Actual storylines. Actors who can kinda act, not just fuck. Apparently, women are gettin’ their porn groove on but they want love stories attached to their closeups of blowjobs.”

  “We know what Luxe Films is, Hawk,” Tack told him. “You’re tellin’ me that woman is in bed with Valenzuela?”

  “Not literally,” Hawk replied.

  Rush turned his head back to the parking garage, but he didn’t lift the binoculars.

  His thoughts were that Rebel Stapleton working with Valenzuela was a waste.

  But what made him uneasy was just how sick that thought made him after only seeing the woman through a set of binoculars.

  “Her name on the credits appears as Tallulah Monroe,” Hawk kept talking.

  “So she’s not all in,” Tack murmured.

  “She’s not putting her name on porn,” Hawk replied. “But Valenzuela actually has bona fide payroll for Luxe Films. He’s turning a new leaf. Reporting to the IRS. And her salary is being
paid to Tallulah Monroe.”

  “Unravel why that means dick to us,” Tack demanded.

  “Tallulah Monroe with a false social security number, Tack,” Hawk shared and got Rush’s gaze again. “Though I figure the IRS knows what’s goin’ on considering she’s an on-file confidential informant for Lieutenant Hank Nightingale of the Denver Police Department. It’s just Valenzuela who does not know what’s goin’ on.”

  Rush’s eyes cut back to the parking lot and this time he lifted the binoculars.

  He did this still feeling sick.

  But for a different reason.

  He also did this clipping, “Jesus, shit.”

  “Why the fuck does Nightingale have a CI in Valenzuela’s business?” Tack asked. “He’s not on that case. Slim and Mitch are.”

  Turnbull was now in Rebel’s face, finger lifted and jabbing.

  Rebel hadn’t moved a muscle, but she no longer looked one step up from bored.

  She looked like that red hair was not just a product of genetics and she was about to let loose what it said about her personality.

  “It’s my understanding, this coming from Slim and Mitch, that Hank didn’t have a choice. Either he sent her in, and she reported to the police what she dug up, or she went in on her own and took down Valenzuela by herself,” Hawk answered.

  “Jesus, fuck,” Rush growled, and watched as all Rebel had to do was uncross her arms and lean into Turnbull, her gorgeous face hard with anger, and Turnbull paled and retreated a step.

  For what it was worth, at least Turnbull thought she was a badass.

  The problem with that was, Benito Valenzuela was a psychopath who had a pastime he exercised to take him away from dealing drugs, producing porn and pimping whores and that pastime included exploring the various extremes of his pathological misogyny.

  He’d not think Rebel Stapleton was a badass even if she actually was a badass.

  And if he found out she was playing him, and informing on him to the cops, he’d slit her throat.

  But only after he and his boys gang raped her to the point she begged him to bleed her dry.

  Fuck.

  “Hank, Eddie and Jimmy decided that if she was gonna go in, at least she should have the cops at her back however they could be that way,” Hawk finished.

  “What’s her beef with Valenzuela?” Tack asked.

  “I’m not sure her beef is with Valenzuela,” Hawk told him.

  Rush listened closely and watched closer as Rebel Stapleton declared she was done with her conversation with Harrietta Turnbull.

  She did this by simply turning on her boot and walking away.

  And wasn’t that just fantastic.

  She also had a spectacular ass.

  Not to mention a way with dressing like she was a 70s rock groupie who would catch the eye and become the muse of Jim Morrison himself, wearing low slung jeans, a thick belt, a flowy flowered top, and cowboy boots, and she rocked it all.

  Rush lowered the binoculars and looked to Hawk. “Who’s her beef with?”

  Hawk shrugged but his gaze was sharp on Rush’s dad. “My guess? Arthur Lannigan.”

  Rush went solid and felt his father go solid at his side.

  Christ.

  And this just got worse.

  Way fucking worse.

  “Chew?” Tack asked.

  “Chew,” Hawk confirmed. “For Stapleton, Valenzuela will just be icing. From what we got on her, she’s not a big fan of Valenzuela. Even so, she’s all about taking down Lannigan.”

  Rush turned his body fully to Hawk. “Does she know women are droppin’ like flies around Valenzuela and Chew?”

  “She knows at least one woman has lost her life to this mess,” Hawk said and the way he said it made Rush’s neck get tight.

  “She know Natalie?” Tack guessed.

  Hawk shook his head.

  “Camilla Turnbull?” Rush asked.

  Hawk shook his head.

  His dad lost patience and bit out, “Spill, Hawk, Jesus.”

  “I got a file,” Hawk told him. “I’m givin’ it to you. You read it. Then you get that redhead’s ass out of her porn set director’s chair and back in her bohemian wasteland pad in north Denver. Hank’s troubled. Eddie’s pissed she tied their hands. Jimmy’s considering retirement. They all want her out. She won’t budge. I figure Chaos will have the touch.”

  Yeah.

  Chaos was gonna have the touch.

  Hawk kept talking.

  “I don’t have to tell you that ugly has been gettin’ uglier and uglier. What we haven’t considered is that all this bullshit has been touching the lives and breaking the hearts of people not directly associated with Chaos. And Rebel Stapleton is one of those people. She’s just made of stuff that isn’t gonna let her take it lying down. Mo, get the file,” Hawk ordered his man.

  Mo moved.

  Rush looked back to the parking lot at the spot he’d last seen Rebel.

  “I know you got a lot on your plate. I’d intervene, but you both know why I can’t,” Hawk continued.

  Yeah, they knew.

  Rush looked back to Hawk when he kept speaking.

  “But someone has to get her out. Valenzuela or Lannigan catch on she isn’t who she says she is, she won’t be delivered to Chaos and laid out on your picnic table. She’ll disappear. And she’s not tight with her family in Indiana, but she’s got a brother in Phoenix who will go apeshit something happens to his sis. I’ve seen pictures of that guy, and his partner, and if those two come tearing into Denver, we might not recognize it after they get done. Makin’ matters worse, those boys got ties to a fixer I know who’s currently outta the game. Something happens to a woman that means something to someone that means something to this fixer, she’ll get involved and we’ll miss the old days of dead women turnin’ up on picnic tables with notes stapled to their foreheads. You boys don’t talk Rebel Stapleton down, this shit is gonna split wide open. And this shit is already serious shit. It gets any more serious, they’re gonna have to evacuate the city.”

  Mo showed with a manila folder in his hand.

  He started to hand it off to Tack but Rush reached in and took it.

  He dipped his chin, flipped open the folder and saw an eight by ten closeup of Rebel’s face.

  She was wearing Ray Bans and lip gloss. It was black and white, but he knew she had on gloss not only because her lips were shiny but because strands of her hair had been caught on them seeing as it appeared the snap had been taken when she was turning her head while on the move, that phenomenal mane of hair flying out at the back.

  It looked like a goddamned ad for sunglasses.

  Or lip gloss.

  “You got this in hand?” Hawk asked.

  “Yeah, we got this in hand,” Tack answered.

  “Good. We’re out,” Hawk muttered.

  Rush didn’t look up as Tack said, “Later,” and he felt the other men leaving.

  He flicked through the file, seeing a lot of shit typed out that he’d read later.

  He was looking for more pictures.

  He had no idea if it was a second or ten minutes before his father remarked, “My bead, considering your fascination with that file, you intend to take lead.”

  Rush looked at his dad.

  “I need Shy, Joke, Snap, Dutch and Jag.”

  Tack shook his head. “Dutch and Jag are recruits.”

  “I need them.”

  “I promised Keely—”

  “I need them.”

  Tack closed his mouth.

  “They won’t be in danger and they gotta do more than work the store and clean up biker bunny puke to earn their patches.”

  Rush knew Tack saw the truth of this when he nodded shortly and offered, “You want Chill?”

  “I only need six bikes to surround a car.”

  Rush watched the slow smile spread around his dad’s ragged-bottomed goatee.

  Then Tack slapped his son on the shoulder. “Don’t scare her too bad, so
n.”

  He wouldn’t scare her.

  Not too bad.

  That would fuck with his plans to get her ass in his bed.

  Too hot to handle . . .

  Tabitha Allen grew up in the thick of Chaos-the Chaos Motorcycle Club, that is. Her father is Chaos' leader, and the club has always had her back. But one rider was different from the start. When Tabby was running wild, Shy Cage was there. When tragedy tore her life apart, he helped her piece it back together. And now, Tabby's thinking about much more than friendship . . .

  Tabby is everything Shy's ever wanted, but everything he thinks he can't have. She's beautiful, smart, and as his friend's daughter, untouchable. Shy never expected more than friendship, so when Tabby indicates she wants more-much more-he feels like the luckiest man alive. But even lucky men can crash and burn . . .

  CLICK HERE TO ORDER

  Lanie Heron isn't looking for love-no surprise, considering her last serious relationship nearly got her killed. So when Lanie propositions Hop Kincaid, all she wants is one wild night with the hot-as-hell biker who patrols with the Chaos Motorcycle Club . . .

  For Hop, Lanie has always been untouchable. She's too polished and too classy for his taste. But when she gives Hop the once-over with her bedroom eyes and offers him a night in paradise, he can't say no. And he doesn't regret it when he finds that Lanie is the best thing that's ever happened to him-in or out of bed. Now the trick will be to convince her of that.

  CLICK HERE TO ORDER

  The ride of her life . . .

  Once upon a time, Carissa Teodoro believed in happy endings. Money, marriage, motherhood: everything came easy---until she woke up to the ugly truth about her Prince Charming. Now a struggling, single mom and stranded by a flat tire, Carissa's pondering her mistakes when a vaguely familiar knight rides to her rescue on a ton of horsepower.

  Climb on and hold tight . . .

  In high school, Carson Steele was a bad boy loner who put Carissa on a pedestal where she stayed far beyond his reach. Today, he's the hard-bodied biker known only as Joker, and from the way Carissa's acting, it's clear she's falling fast. While catching her is irresistible, knowing what to do with her is a different story. A good girl like Carissa is the least likely fit with the Chaos Motorcycle Club. Too bad holding back is so damned hard. Now, as Joker's secrets are revealed and an outside threat endangers the club, Joker must decide whether to ride steady with Carissa---or ride away forever . . .