CHOKE: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Ella Wolfe

  “Move in with me,” Jett declared one night after a passionate time in bed.

  I’d laughed at first. “Are you serious?”

  “Dayna you’ve been living out of your suitcase in the hotel for months.”

  I sobered up pretty quickly when I realized he was serious.

  “But we’re so young.” It was a flimsy excuse, one that we both knew I didn’t believe at all, but I didn’t know what else to say at the time.

  “We haven’t been young for a long while, Dayna.” As usual, Jett was right. We loved each other, we’d been through hell together, why shouldn’t we move in? When it came down to it though, I wanted to be with him and a little decision like where I’d live didn’t seem worth the pain of being apart.

  We spent most of our time at either the shop or the club now anyway, so living together didn’t seem as daunting as it originally did. The Hell’s Raiders had undergone a massive change since Carson left. It was better now, safer and happier. It was hard to explain but all the members were a lot closer now, a lot more open. There were meetings every week, a lot of them about mainly nothing, but it kept the communication going. A lot of people had moved back into the clubhouse, since Carson had wanted everyone out of there while he was president.

  It was always busy when we were there. Chaotic but in a good way. Many wives and kids of club members stayed at the clubhouse more and more now, and weren’t afraid to be associated with each other. You’d walk into the compound and see kids mucking around, parents hanging out, food everywhere and smiles on everyone.

  I said to Jett one day, “It’s like we’re a big family now.”

  Jett smiled a bittersweet smile. “That’s the way it was always meant to be.”

  It pleased Jett to no end when he spoke about the club and what changes had been made. The biggest change of all though was with Jett himself.

  After Carson’s arrest, everyone had come together and voted for a new President. It was unanimous. Jett had been so shocked when they’d turned to him and said they’d like for him to take over his father’s club. He was hesitant at first, not wanting to take over and grow bitter in the position, not wanting to be responsible if he couldn’t salvage the club. It was the word ‘father’ that made all the difference, though, knowing that the club was behind him and his dad and were disregarding everything that Carson had wanted.

  Jett had agreed eventually and promised then and there to all the club members that things were going to change. Whether or not anyone believed him didn’t matter, because in mere days, he had already started changing things. Jett was taking his job seriously, restoring the name that Hell’s Raiders once had was no easy task but with every passing day he got closer and closer to his goal. He had the whole club behind him as well.

  The truce between the Hell’s Raiders and the Succubi was the first big change that made people stop and take notice. Apart from it being much appreciated by both clubs, it was also heavily appreciated by the townspeople. No more club rivalries was good news all round. It wasn’t uncommon now to find Succubi staying at the clubhouse if they were passing through and vice versa.

  That was what made Jett most happy, knowing he’d helped create peace between two rival clubs, something his dad would have been proud of.

  “Is it bad to say that I’m glad everything worked out this way?” I said with a hint of guilt in my voice. It was unfair that we were so happy, wasn’t it?”

  “No, not at all. I feel the same,” Jett replied.

  “I finally feel like my mother’s death wasn’t in vain. That justice was served, you know?”

  “I do know. And I got you in return.”

  Jett grinned down at me, a goofy, carefree smile that made my heartrate kick up a notch.

  It felt like it had taken a lifetime for us to get to this point. To be young and happy and carefree.

  Not everything was always going to work out like this, but for now, we’d take what we could get.

  THE END

  A Gift for You – SLASH: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

  She’s virgin territory, and I’m ready to slash and burn.

  Love is for losers.

  There’s only one way of life for an alpha male like me: f*ck ‘em and leave ‘em.

  I let my c*ck do the talking, and believe me, it’s got a lot to say.

  But my carefree sex romp comes to a screeching halt when a cold-hearted bastard tries to strip away everything I’ve spent my life working hard to earn.

  He’s coming for my business, my brothers, and – if he has his way – my balls, too.

  Joke’s on him, though.

  I’m not going to rest until I take everything he holds dear.

  Starting with his spitfire of a fiancé.

  I snatch her away on their wedding day and take her to my bed.

  She can leave that white dress on the side of the road, because by the time I’m done with her, she’s gonna be the polar opposite of a virgin.

  Nothing in this world comes without a cost, though, and her man is out for blood.

  Do I give her up in the name of peace?

  Or do I keep her for myself?

  I’m damned if I do and dead if I don’t.

  But I’ll set the world on fire before I submit.

  Chapter 1

  Slash

  The day had started off like any other day for Slash. He woke up early, exercised, made coffee for the clubhouse, and got ready for work. The air outside was crisp, with a hint of the changing season, like there were new beginnings just around the corner. Spring had come, and had brought with it warm afternoons. At least, that's how the morning felt to him as he rode his big chopper down to the business he owned and managed with the rest of the Battleborn Motorcycle Club.

  He rode through the center of town, the little burg still rubbing the sleep from its eyes and the sun not even peaking over the horizon yet, and pulled his rumbling bike into the parking lot. He parked at the back in a special “Bikes Only” zone they'd painted out on the black asphalt. Most of the guys that worked there rode their motorcycles to work, too, but they still had to make sure the customers had plenty of space for their cars. That was just good business practice, as far as Slash was concerned.

  Not only was Slash president of the Battleborn, he was also the head chef for Fresh B & B, a local diner that specialized in organic, localvore dishes. The small diner was the kind of place that had farm fresh eggs in the omelets, fair-trade coffee filling the French press, heirloom tomatoes adorning the chef salad, and prison tattoos on all the waiters and kitchen staff. All the guys that worked there were members of the MC. A lot of them were ex-cons, too. The club looked after its own, after all. If you went in, did your time, and kept your mouth shut, your old life would be waiting for you when you got back out. Your family would be supported, and so would you.

  Slash hadn't done any time. He'd managed to scrape by with no convictions, no matter how hard the district attorney tried to pin something on him. To some in law enforcement, the Battleborns were seen as public enemy number one. Lately, though, things had begun to die down as they moved into more legitimate work, like at B & B.

  Slash grabbed the carrying case for his chef knives from his saddle bag and headed up to the front door of the small diner. He fished for his keys and unlocked the front and let himself into the eating area with all its stacked tables and chairs, then headed back into the kitchen. The rest of the guys would be along closer to opening, and they'd take care of the incidentals like taking down chairs and wiping off tables. He had too much work as it was.

  They were only open six days a week for breakfast and lunch, Tuesday through Sunday, but each morning's opening duties fell by default on Slash's shoulders. He didn't mind. Far from it, actually. He'd come to savor the first hour or so, when he was all alone just chopping vegetables and getting fresh sauces and soups going. Having a bit of solitary time, away from the hustle and bustle of the thriving clubhouse, was good for him. These shifts gave him hi
s daily moment of silence, a space where he could focus on just work without any outside interruptions or distractions.

  Now, as the industrial lights flickered on overhead, Slash was taken aback the same way he always was. The shining kitchen, just waiting to be used, with all its shining steel and chrome, reminded him of a perfectly tuned bike. Every object had a purpose, a specific use that was almost beautiful in its simplicity. He set his knife case on one of the steel counters and went to wash up. It was time to get to work and get everything prepped.

  Unfortunately, that was when the phone decided to ring.

  The contraption was an ancient rotary phone that one of the guys had updated to produce dial tones for the modern era, but had decided to leave behind the old-fashioned ringer. The telephone was clamoring to be answered, the little metal bell going crazy like a lunatic on the night of a full moon.

  Slash sighed. “For fuck's sake,” he muttered, the words feeling foreign in his mouth after a silent morning. “Really? This early?”

  He checked his watch. Just past four-thirty. Whoever was calling, they probably had an excuse for why they weren't coming in. Something about this was strange, though. Most of the time, they'd have just called his cell. He grabbed the phone down off the hook and pressed the receiver to his ear. “B & B, Slash speaking. How can I help you?”

  “This call will be recorded and monitored,” said the recording of a woman's voice on the other end of the line. Slash instantly knew why they weren't calling on his personal phone. You couldn't get collect calls to go through on a personal cell phone. Especially not from a jail.

  The man's voice continued for the next part in the same digital monotone as before, till it got to his buddy's name. “You have a collect call from ... Jerry Rich.”

  He knew that recording. He'd received calls just like this one more times than he could count. “Aw shit, Jerry,” Slash said as he leaned his head forward and rested it against the wall of the kitchen. This wasn't good.

  Jerry was a hell of a bad ass. He could slam down a bottle of Jack by himself, then throw bull's eyes with a bowie knife right after. He rode his bike like a madman, screwed whatever woman wasn't nailed down to a brother, and could fight with the best of them. That was his credo: ‘Fight first. Fuck later.’

  He also happened to be the best line cook Slash had on staff at B & B Fresh. And his shift started in less than thirty minutes. Slash needed him, and needed him bad.

  The recording continued on in the woman's inhuman voice. “... an inmate at ...”

  Slash took a deep breath, wondering what kind of shit Jerry had gotten himself into this time. He was one of the good ones. Rather, he was one of the better ones, Slash smirked. None of them were good, but some of them were better at not getting busted. Over the years, they'd gotten even better at it, too.

  He took another deep breath, waited for the next line.

  “Will you accept the charges?”

  “Yes,” Slash replied, trying hard to contain his annoyance.

  “Slash?” Jerry's voice came on the line, his voice haggard and bedraggled. “That you, brother?”

  “Yeah, it's me, Jerry,” Slash replied and sighed. “You holding up alright?”

  “You know it, brother. Just calling to let you know my arraignment ain't for a couple days, and I clearly ain't going to be in to work this morning.”

  Slash let the silence hang for a minute, waited for Jerry to fill the gap in himself.

  “Sorry for having to call out,” Jerry mumbled. To his credit, he did sound genuinely sorry for the inconvenience. Not that it mattered much, but it was the thought that count.

  “We'll hold the line,” Slash said. He had to bite back the questions he had. What had he done? Was the deed something that concerned the MC? Instead, he continued on like this was no big deal, and his line cook called in incarcerated every couple weeks or so. “I'll send one of the guys round and we'll get bail posted soon as we can.”

  “Thanks, man,” Jerry replied. Both men knew not to discuss the crime over the phone. Whatever the cops had arrested him on may have been bullshit charges, or he may have been guilty as sin. But, you didn't have talks like that over a line you knew was being monitored. Hell, you didn't have conversations like that over the phone. Period. That was the first rule of business.

  “Stay strong, brother,” Slash said and hung up first.

  Months had passed since one of the guys had gotten picked up on a charge. They’d beaten the courts, on that case. Mainly because the victim in the assault case dropped their charges after a little talk with Slash. But, that was beside the point, right now. First thing, they had to get the restaurant open for business. Secondly, they had to get Jerry out from behind bars. None of his crew deserved to spend any more than the absolute minimum in jail, no matter how badly they'd screwed him on shifts at the restaurant.

  Slash pulled his phone out and started to make his calls. He hoped his second in command, Tiny, had his phone turned up loud enough to hear through his drunken stupor. Otherwise it was going to be a long day. A long, shitty day.

  As he listened to Tiny's phone ring on the other end of the line, his gaze swept the room and landed on the bulletin board next to the big metal walk-in refrigerator where they stored all their prepped food. He'd pinned a wedding invitation to the cork board a few months back. An old flame of his from way back in high school, Lacey Cox, was getting married to Wayne Walker, Slash's former best friend. Why she'd sent one of the elaborate cards to him, even after all these years, Slash had no idea. But, now, after one look at that invitation, all those old feelings, those yearnings came back to him.

  He realized that the wedding was supposed to be today. Today of all days. He turned his gaze away and focused on the wall. Tiny's phone just kept ringing. Shit.

  Slash sighed. Even if he did get a hold of his second in command, this was already shaping up to be a brutal day.

  Chapter 2

  Lacey

  The sun shown in through the windows of the bride room, nestled at the back of the church. It was Lacey Cox's wedding day. She had no idea how she was going to go through with marrying the son of a bitch. What had she been thinking getting this far into everything?

  “Look up for me, honey,” said the makeup artist, an attractive young woman with a mascara brush daintily held in one hand who looked like something out of a ‘Riot Grrl’ magazine spread. She leaned forward and applied the mascara, sculpting Lacey's eyelashes up and out, thickening and elongating them.

  Done, the younger woman turned back to her makeup case and began rummaging for the next tool in her arsenal. Lacey took the opportunity to watch the light dance on the far wall, wishing she could be just like a ray of sunlight. Shooting out into the galaxy, and somewhere far, far away from here.

  Just, please, take me anywhere but here.

  “You look gorgeous,” her oldest friend and maid of honor Cheryl cooed from behind her. She looked stunning in her burgundy bridesmaid gown. She had slipped in a few moments prior, but hadn't said a word as the young makeup artist applied Lacey's makeup. Now, she came up behind Lacey and put her hands on her bare shoulders, squeezed softly. “You're going to look so beautiful up there, next to Wayne.”

  Lacey forced a smile. She didn't feel gorgeous or beautiful. Instead, she felt like a sucker, like someone who was just going along for the ride. She knew deep down that none of this was worth the fancy clothes, the nice car, or the beautiful apartment Wayne provided for her with his salary and trust fund. She was a woman kept in a gilded cage, a pretty pet he could keep on his arm and display for all his family friends and future political donors. She was arm candy, and every time she thought about it, she wanted to wretch.

  Cheryl's eyes glanced down, caught the look in Lacey's. “You feeling okay, hon?”

  Lacey closed her eyes and shook her head. “Just nervous, that's all,” she partially lied. She was nervous, that was true. But, she was also terrified. Her husband-to-be was Wayne Walker, the juni
or district attorney. His family went far back in this town, and he had connections everywhere. He was handsome, well connected, and well heeled. He had graduated top of his class at law school, and he had big plans for his future. And mine, she thought disdainfully.

  To her friends and family, he was a catch. Wayne was almost the perfect man, it seemed. He took care of all her financial needs, giving her an ample allowance and everything she could want. But, like all things, if a deal was too good to be true, it probably was.

  She almost spat the words out, just then: that Wayne had gotten physical with her. Had been getting physical with her for a while now. But, Lacey knew she'd just look like a fool for letting her confession spill out of her that way, especially after the years and years of torment he'd put her through.

  Why hadn't she told them sooner, they'd ask. Why had she agreed to marry him?