Authors: Debra Kayn
Tags: #may december romance, #crime, #carnival, #Older man younger woman, #mob, #romantic suspense, #organized crime, #erotic bikers, #action and adventure, #biker series, #outlaw motorcycle club, #biker gang, #Motorcycle Club romance, #montana, #Russians
Ronacks Motorcycle Club
by Debra Kayn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Ronacks Motorcycle Club
1st Digital release: Copyright© 2016 Debra Kayn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Debra Kayn. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
#2 aka B
— This story was possible because you listened. Your input and knowledge of movie scripts, climatic black moments, and complete circles gave me the push and energy to create a love story that would span a lifetime. And, two weeks later, you asked what I was writing and couldn't remember our many conversations.
— You raised me perfectly for you.
—In real life, Haugan is an unincorporated community in Mineral County, Montana. It's sixteen miles from the Idaho border and not far from where I live in Idaho. Haugan is the home to only one business, which happens to be one of my favorite places to go, Lincoln's 50,000 Silver Dollar Bar. I've fictionalized the town to include a main street with enough businesses to keep a motorcycle club afloat.
he dart missed hitting one of the hundred colorful balloons pinned to the board at the back of the booth, and the little boy's head fell forward, disappearing below the edge of the counter. Battery lit another cigarette from across the flow of foot traffic at the carnival, watching the young carny girl knock on the plywood and slide one more dart in front of the child, even though the kid had already used up his throws.
At three tries for five dollars, she'd already made a killing for CrazyTown Carnival.
"Look at the balloon you want to hit. Don't take your eye off the target," she said loud enough Battery could hear her over the crowd. "Hop up on the stool so that you can see better."
His gut tightened at the smooth caress of her sultry voice. The kind of voice where he expected the next words out of her mouth to describe how he made her feel and what she wanted him to do to her. A voice he'd have a hard time ignoring and hell, a voice that made him want her to keep talking because he was feeling damn good listening.
The man behind the boy handed over more cash. The young carny shook her head in refusal and ignored the father. Battery inhaled a drag off his smoke. The odds were against the kid hitting any of the balloons tacked to the board. The slight rush of air from the dart usually moved the target. It's how the carnival made money.
But, it wasn't impossible to win.
The boy lifted the dart to his shoulder, aimed, and let it go. The sharp pop at contact almost knocked the kid off the stool, and his dad had to catch him. The carny whooped and raised her hands in the air, dancing behind the counter.
Battery forgot about his cigarette and stared at her young body barely contained in the tank top and cutoffs. He exhaled, and a low growl came from his throat. Anyone with half a fucking brain would know the girl was nowhere near eighteen years old—the required age to work for the carnival.
What they saw was sex. Her large breasts on a slender body. The wide hips that at first fooled you, until you noticed her walk was carefree and not calculated. Her movements animated and wild, untamed. Green eyes, more mysterious than flirty.
It had taken him five minutes to convince himself that the girl he found was indeed Bree. Though he felt it the second he spotted her.
That's what I'm talking about, folks." The girl pointed at the child. "We've got a winner and a future dart master at my booth. You won right on time because this booth closes in five minutes."
The boy smiled, his gaze already going to the large stuffed animals hanging above him. Before the kid could get his hopes too high, Bree jumped over to the side bin with the six-inch, China-made, cheap toys.
"Pick a prize from this wide assortment of beautiful toys." Bree picked up an alligator. "This one is looking for a new home. What do you say?"
The boy shook his head and pointed. "The dog."
She scanned the pile of stuffed animals and held up what Battery thought looked like a spotted panda bear. "This one?"
The kid nodded. Battery continued watching the girl. It was his second visit to the carnival. The first time he followed a lead and came up empty. Tonight, he'd finally found her, and he wasn't going to let her out of his sight. It'd taken him nine months to find out where she'd disappeared.
Nine months of hell and sleepless nights.
All of Bree's wild, red hair, going in every direction, had finally helped him catch her. He moistened his lip and smoothed the whiskers down at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't stop watching her.
Bree haphazardly pushed her wild mane of hair off her face with her arm and his gut tightened. She might as well be wearing a fucking neon light as opposed to her hair. Nobody ever forgot hair that color. The way her young body moved, unashamed and unembarrassed begged every man who crossed her path to spend more time with her. Braless and with the bottom of her ass hanging out of her shorts, she seduced every man and woman around her. He wished she was older. At least legal. It'd make his job easier.
She was tall at five foot nine inches. Her legs went on for fucking forever. But the more he observed her, the more he wanted to know how she ended up working at a dirty carnival. Someone should be taking care of her at home and keeping her away from the drunks that played her game only to scope her out, and the fathers who dragged their kid over to throw a dart so they could get a close up of her.
She should be home, safe, spoiled, and worried about which boy to like when school started again. At least working at a mall with her friends instead of at a carnival.
The crowd in front of her booth moved on. The girl planted her hands on the counter and pulled herself up with one leap to stand and lower the piece of plywood, shutting the booth down for the night.
Battery sucked the last hit of nicotine out of his cigarette and tossed the butt in his path, stepping on it as he worked his way over the trampled field grass. He'd already made up his mind an hour ago that he'd talk to her, but when he talked, he wanted nobody else around.
Slipping between booths, he walked around to the back and waited for her to come out behind the plywood door flap. As if on cue, the partition opened, and her tight ass led the way out. He took a closer look at the tanned legs and whistled on an exhale.
Her head came around at the noise; then her body followed. "Hey," she said.
She hoisted her cash box higher up under her breasts. He dragged his gaze up to fresh, innocent green eyes that showed neither fear or curiosity.
"How old are you, girl?" he asked, needing to verify he had the right girl even though he knew deep in his gut it could only be Bree.
"Whoa..." She laughed openly and honestly. "You're going to jump right into the age question without asking my name or what I'm doing once the carnival turns out their lights? What kind of pickup line is that?"
"Answer the question or don't. That's your right." He took out another cigarette and lit the end. She'd jumped right into flirting with him and at thirty-seven years old, he was old enough to be her father.
Her full lips puckered and she stared at the smoke coming out of his mouth. He recognized the longing and couldn't help leaving the cigarette between his lips to tease her.
She stepped closer, clutching the small, metal box with her earnings for the day in her arms. "You got a smoke I can bum?"
"Depends on how old you are," he said.
Her gaze narrowed. "I'm eighteen."
"Try again." He exhaled, blowing smoke her way.
Her eyes rolled, and she inhaled the smoke coming from him like a junkie. "I'm telling you the truth. I turned eighteen two weeks ago on July seventh."
Instead of giving her a new cigarette, he removed the one from between his lips and stepped toward her. She opened her mouth, and he his chest tightened and ached at how innocent she was to open her mouth around him.
She latched on to the filter with her full lips and mumbled, "Thanks."
She inhaled, blew, and her shoulders relaxed. Talented kid, she kept the cigarette in her mouth the whole time without lifting two fingers, so as not to give it back.
"God, that's good," she muttered, lipping the cigarette back in place.
He looked away from her when half the lights went out, and the area behind the booths went pitch black.
"I've got fifteen minutes to turn in the money or security will come looking for me." She shifted the box to her hip and took the cigarette out of her mouth and held it between her thumb and finger as if she was smoking a joint instead of a cigarette. "What's your name?"
"Battery," he said.
Unable to see her expression, he let her enjoy the rest of his cigarette.
"I'm Bree." She exhaled loudly, sending a thin stream of smoke above her head. "Are you with a biker gang or something?"
"Or something." If he were going to get out of here, he'd need to move before the gate locked for the night. "Considering you're not eighteen, what are you doing working for the carnival?"
"Are you a labor inspector or some—?"
"I ain't anything, but Battery." He squinted making out the slim nose on her face. "Who's in charge of you?"
She laughed. "You sound like one of those people who go around asking questions trying to pin down illegals. But, looking like you look all dressed in black and your beard hiding your face which makes you pretty scary looking, I guess not. Anyway, to answer your question, I'm on my own and staying with the woman who runs the concessions stand. Her name's Delilah or that's what she calls herself. She's the owner's cousin, so she thinks she's the shit around here."
"Dead." She tossed the cigarette, chased it for two feet, and stepped on the butt. "Has anyone ever told you that you're nosy?"
"No one would dare." He glanced down at her. "What about your family?"
She squinted at him and her nose wrinkled. "Just told you, I have none. I grew up in foster care and left when I was fifteen. Don't have any use for parents because I take care of myself."
Fucking Christ. The years got away from him. "You're fifteen?"
"Sixteen." Her eyes rounded, and he'd caught her. She groaned and reached out and shoved his arm, realizing her mistake. "I hate you."
"Well, you'll learn to like me and tell me the truth when I ask you a question." He motioned her to walk. "Go turn in your cash before you get in trouble."
"They won't do anything but escort me to the office, and Bill has a tendency to yell until someone else grabs his attention." Her voice dropped an octave. "I'm their best seller this week and with our busiest days coming up, they'll want to make me happy. I even make more than their strong man show, but I keep telling them that everyone, even kids nowadays, knows the weights and props are bogus. I can lift them with one hand, and I'm a wimp compared to men."