SAVAGE ROAD - Layne & Shelby

Ana
is the
author of the bestselling motorcycle romance serial series,
DEVIL CALL MC
.
Other projects have included BY HIS COMMAND, FULL MOON MERCY, & RAW RIVER
WILD.

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’
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SAVAGE ROAD (Layne
& Shelby Book One) (A Devil Call MC Book)

He was ready to
claim the President's patch...until
 
she
 
stepped into his path.
Layne - I rode into town ready to claim my destiny as President of the Devil
Call MC, but found a club that was self-destructing. I don't have time for any
distractions...but when I see her behind the bar, I can't look away. I have to
make her mine...but doing that puts her right in harm's way.
Shelby - Since he walked into the bar, I can't stop thinking about him. I
always swore I'd never get involved with a biker and my dad and his connections
will kill us both if he finds out. But I'm falling hard and even the dangers
brewing at the club can't change how I feel about him...

*PART
ONE*

1.

(Layne)

I had plenty to say, plenty to do.

Before I could say anything, before
I could really put my foot down and take control of all that was broken
…

A bullet tore through me.

Fuck.

2.

(Layne)

Freedom had an expiration date which
was determined by death.

There was no other way to think or
live. A lot of guys came into the fold looking for a leather cut and a pretty
woman to snuggle between their legs. Fuck, who wouldn
’
t want that, right? Truth of it all
…
it
’
s more than that. It
’
s
signing your life away. If you get through the prospect process and actually
put on a real Devil Call MC cut, it
’
s
nothing short of a religious experience. Like those who dip their heads into
holy water, looking for that sense of freedom and being saved, that
’
s what the leather cut meant.
You were now protected. You were now part of a brotherhood. And for every
bullet or punch taken, and day spent in prison someone would do for you, you
had to do the exact same fucking thing for everyone else wearing the cut.

Even if you hated them.

I throttled my ride and watched the
mountains in the distance.

The air was already getting cooler.
Not that I minded. The whole flat land, dessert-like feel, with the bustling
beach town bullshit had taken its toll on me. Yeah, my heart was a little
heavy. I had said goodbye to my best friend and to a woman I loved. But the
fact was that in Brocke, Talon owned it all. It was his town. It was his club. 
And Everly was his woman. I trusted him with her and that he
’
d die for the beautiful woman.
So what more could I ask for?

Well, I did ask for more, and I
fucking got it.

I was heading north into Oakville,
a town that was going to become my bitch. I grinned as the air ripped at my
face. I had horsepower between my legs, and it wasn
’
t just my motorcycle either. I was done dropping
down that rabbit hole of bullshit with women. It came from a deep desire that
lingered from when I was a kid. Life had always been shit for me. All I had was
Talon.

Now, all I had was myself. Which
was fine. If Talon and I stayed close, we
’
d
end up killing each other. Hell, we almost did kill each other a few times.

Right on the edge of the town,
twenty feet after an old, wooden, crooked sign that read
STOP IN OAKVILLE!
,
stood a little, shit cabin looking thing. It had neon lights flashing out
of sync, making me real thirsty for a cold beer.

Since Oakville was all mine, I
figured I
’
d stop and get a
drink. I wasn
’
t sure if and
what Talon did to prepare the guys up here for me. All I knew was that Oakville
needed a President. There was a surge in crime - both from another MC and from
guys in suits that had some dark pasts. The town was a little beat up and the
economics were a disaster. Used as a running town, a lot of traffic with guns
and drugs flowed through, often ending with fights and murders. Yet, Devil Call
MC didn
’
t take a cut of
anything.

What a fucking mess.

You want to run a half a million
dollar gun order through Oakville? Fuck you, brother, you
’
re now paying me a percentage.
And I
’
ll give you
protection of the MC to get you where you
’
re
going.

It was going to shake things up.

Really bad.

Really fucking bad.

I pulled my ride over and spotted
three motorcycles out front of the bar. Along the side was a little, two-door,
beat up car. A crack spread across the windshield, the driver
’
s side mirror missing. The car
looked tilted, like one of the tires was flat.

The ground crunched under my feet
as I approached the door to the bar.

When I opened it, the door squealed,
and all eyes went to me.

A man stood behind the bar, a
cigarette between his lips. He squinted as he looked at me. One guy sat at the
bar, two hands cupped around a glass of beer. The other two guys in the bar were
at a pool table where the felt was ripped in the middle and one of the legs was
propped up with phonebooks.

I approached the bar, to the
corner, and stared at the bartender.

The cigarette smoke rose in front
of his face. His arms were skinny with loose skin. Tattoos littered his arms,
but they were now wrinkled blotches of ink. The only thing really visible was a
picture of the grim reaper on his neck.

“
Whaddaya
want here?
”
he growled,
ashes falling from the cigarette to the bar.

“
A
beer,
”
I said.
“
That a problem?
”

“
Why
don
’
t you turn around
first? Lemme see the back
’
a
that cut.
”

“
I
don
’
t turn my back on
anyone,
”
I said.

“
Smart
man.
”
He reached down and
brought a beautiful handgun up to the bar. A long barrel .357 with an ivory
butt. A real old style weapon.

“
That
’
s a nice gun,
”
I said.

“
Don
’
t look at it. Look at me.
Motherfucker.
”

I grinned. I looked to my left, and
the guy at the bar kept staring. His eyes were loopy and confused. He was good
and settled right on the barstool. Drunk as fuck.

“
You
don
’
t know who I am,
”
Layne said.

“
An
’
I don
’
t give two fucks.
”

Someone whistled.
“
Hey, Pep, you might wanna
…”

I shot my right hand forward. It
was always a big risk to reach for another man
’
s
weapon. But I was fast and the old man wasn
’
t.
I had his gun, holding it like a baseball, not going for the trigger or wanting
to threaten him.

The cigarette fell from his mouth
and he stiffened.

I opened the chamber and dumped the
eight long bullets into the palm of my hand. I slammed them down to the bar and
then flicked my wrist, shutting the chamber. I rolled the gun around my pointer
finger, like a bad ass cowboy. The barrel pointed at me, the beautiful ivory
butt pointed at the old man.

“
You
wouldn
’
t want to shoot your
President, would you?
”
I
asked.

“
Wha
’
s that?
”
the old man asked.

“
Hey,
Pep!
”
one of the guys
yelled.
“
He
’
s Devil Call, man.
”

“
Get
the shit outta here,
”
the
old man said.

“
Name
’
s Layne. I
’
m heading north. Going to fix
this place up.
”

“
Good
luck,
”
the old man spat. He
then grabbed a glass and poured a golden colored beer. He put the glass down.
“
On the house. You wanna know
about Oakville?
”

“
Sure,
”
I said.

The old man took the gun from me. I
kept my hand cupped over the bullets. My little way of showing power.

“
First
off, m
’
name is Pep. I use
’
ta wear the cut. Had the patch.
My advice? Run. Get the fuck outta this place. Now.
”

I lifted my beer and grinned.

Welcome home, Layne.

3.

(Shelby)

I
’
m going to find you. I swear on it. I
’
m going to find you.

I scanned with my finger over the
fresh notes in the notebook. Most of the stuff was just scribbled notes and
ideas. Nobody should ever care this much to find someone who didn
’
t want to be found. Well, that
’
s what Daddy said. He constantly
told me she didn
’
t want to
be found. But what woman wouldn
’
t
want to meet her daughter. Could she really be that cruel of a woman? To
abandon me and just
…
never
care
?

I felt close though. I felt really
close. Besides being in the right town and the right bar, there were other
details coming up. Going east, I
’
d
find her. Probably strung out in Vegas. Maybe working the streets. Or on the
flip side she could be a small town wife and mother. Sitting on the PTA board,
arguing over the sugar content of the orange juice given to the kids.

That version made me smile.

I missed out on that life, didn
’
t I?

Yes and no, I guess.

A thundering boom made me jump. I
dropped the notebook into the sink.

“
Shit,
”
I said.

I grabbed the notebook and shook
it, droplets of soapy water falling from the corner where it had gotten wet. I
closed the notebook and tucked it into my back pocket.

“
Let
’
s go!
”
a voice yelled.
“
Fuck!
”

“
Hold
up,
”
I yelled back.

The thundering pounding ensued.
“
Get the fuck out, bitch!
”

I unlocked the door and opened it.
In came a stumbling drunk biker, Brett. It was late afternoon and he was piss
drunk. His eyes squinted as he pinned me against the wall. His belt buckle dug
into my lower stomach as he wiggled his hips, thinking he was sexy. I endured
the few seconds of cheap moves and I was able to do so because I had one simple
rule to life.

Never fuck a biker.

No matter what.

Not that many of the guys in Devil
Call MC were good looking, but the few that were, I just had to resist. If I
needed some attention I had myself or I could skip town and find something else
to ride for the night.

But the rule stayed the same
…
never fuck a biker.

I
’
d
seen what happened to women who came through the clubhouse. They were sucked in
and then passed around like a cheap bottle of whiskey. They were double teamed,
triple teamed, and whatever hell they had going on in their lives usually bled
into the clubhouse. Most of the shit was just plain nasty. Plus, anyone really
involved with Devil Call MC was at risk.

The violence and unspoken allure of
violence was scary.

I needed the job though. I needed
the cash, the tips, the money under the table. I needed to stay off the radar
and focus on my goal. These guys were mostly assholes, but they helped me if I
needed it. And I got the help without having to bend over and strip myself
naked.

Although it didn
’
t come free
…

“
Come
on,
”
Brett growled at me.
“
Just one time. Let me fuck you.
Shut this door. Slide it in deep. I ain
’
t
going to tell anyone. I just want to taste that pussy of yours. I
’
ve watched that ass
…”

“
Go
piss, big boy,
”
I said and
slithered by him.

“
I
can
’
t. I
’
m half hard. Can
’
t be hard and piss at the same
time. There
’
s different
tubes and shit in a guy
’
s
dick.
”

“
Thanks
for the lesson, Doctor,
”
I
said and got to the door.

Brett unzipped his jeans and pulled
his dick out. It wasn
’
t the
first Devil Call dick I
’
d
seen and I was sure it wouldn
’
t
be the last. They were all proud of their dicks. Some had good reason, others
really should have keep it to themselves. Brett? He was okay. I couldn
’
t look away from it though.

Stop, Shelby, stop
…

I was a woman. I had needs. Just
like a guy wouldn
’
t look
away from a woman flashing her boobs, why should I look away from a guy
flashing his dick? Did that suddenly make me a whore?

Please.

“
Toilet
’
s that way,
”
I said.

“
Just
grab it,
”
Brett said.
“
Come on. I can control it, you
know. One stroke and I
’
ll
go
…”

I grinned and stepped forward. I
had a long night without much sleep thanks to my neighbor getting fucked all
night. It left me in bed, half jealous of her. I slept in, got into an argument
with Dad over stupid shit, and then came to the clubhouse to find a mess of
broken bottles and glasses from a fight that happened early this morning
between Hawke and Ransom. I hadn
’
t
had enough coffee, and for a second I was trying to envision my life ten years
from now.

Running around the clubhouse?
Cleaning up messes? Getting way too involved with the MC?

Before I knew it, my hand was
around Brett
’
s cock. I
squeezed and pulled at him.

“
Jesus
fuck, baby,
”
he groaned.
His hand shot out and touched my face.
“
Come
on, let me have that pussy
…”

I pumped at Brett
’
s dick once and then opened my
hand. I stepped back and looked down as he throbbed.

“
Thought
you could control it?
”
I
asked and then laughed.

“
Fuck
off, cunt,
”
Brett yelled.

He slammed the door and I jumped
back so it didn
’
t hit me.

I turned and walked down the hall.
A second later, Hawke was there, a cocky smile on his face. He had a smooth,
steel like jaw. Blonde hair, blue eyes, killer for most women. Long hair that
waved behind him when he rode his motorcycle. He was one the few that had good
reason to be comfortable with waving his dick around.

His problem? He just assumed
everyone wanted his dick.

“
Hey,
pretty thing.
”

Oh, and he always talked to me like
it was the first time we met.

“
What
do you need? Another beer?
”

“
Yeah,
I do,
”
Hawke said.
“
And then maybe a little kiss to
my cheek
…”

I shook my head.
“
Sorry, dude.
”

“
Aw,
come on, pretty thing. Can I kiss your cheek? Then your lips.
”
He leaned in a little.
“
Between your legs
…”

I lifted my right hand -
the
hand that had just been around Brett
’
s
dick
- and I touched his cheek. I patted it.
“
Sorry.
No.
”

Hawke then grabbed my wrist and
slid my hand to his lips. My eyes went wide and he kissed the palm of my hand.
It took all I could to not laugh. I mean, it was a stretch to think, but since
I just touched Brett and Hawke kissed my hand
…
it was like Hawke had kissed Brett
’
s
…
you know
…

I got behind the bar a minute
later, feeling safe there. It was my safety net or something.

As long as I poured full shots and
cold beers the guys were mostly happy. There were a few other women who helped
in the clubhouse, but they were strippers on the side. They spent part-time
naked, part-time with just their pants down, taking it from one of the guys.

I preferred cash only, please.

Hawke put a ten on the bar and
winked. He licked his lips, took his beer, and left the clubhouse.

The door exploded back open a
second after Hawke left.

It was Finn.

Tall, wide shoulders, black eyes
and hair. Everything about him screamed evil. When he walked around, nobody spoke
and everyone tried their best to look busy. He was, in so many ways, the guy who
ran the clubhouse. There really wasn
’
t
a set leader around here though. I heard the guys always talking about the
President
’
s patch. That
they needed to vote or bring someone up to handle it.

I wondered why Finn never got the
patch, but I never dared to ask.

He stood with his big hands balled
into fists. He pointed to a pool game between Bain and Rylan and said,
“
Clear the table. Right fucking
now.
”

The guys moved, dropping their
sticks, hurrying to put the remaining pool balls in the closest pockets.

Finn looked at me.
“
Get the towels.
”

“
Towels
…”

He kicked at a barstool and knocked
it over.
“
You fucking heard
me. Now.
”

I crouched down and looked at the
shelves. I grabbed a handful of permanently stained dirty towels and stood back
up. That
’
s when I gasped
and dropped the towels.

There was a man standing near the
bar, bleeding from his face. Behind him stood Ax, the biggest and strongest guy
in Devil Call MC. He had to be almost seven feet tall and wore nothing but
black boots, black jeans, and the leather cut. Never a shirt. His arms, chest,
stomach, and neck were smothered in tattoos. All of the tattoos were death,
dying, blood, devils, fire, weapons, and skulls.

He was by far the scariest person
in the world.

You know how you used to think
monsters were under your bed at night? Those monsters feared Ax slept under
their bed at night. Get it?

Ax had the guy
’
s wrists with one hand.

“
Please
…
please
…
please
…”
the guy kept whispering.

His left eye was swollen shut,
puffed out like a black baseball. His nose was jutted to the left, bleeding
like a broken faucet. His lips quivered as the blood rolled over like a gooey
waterfall. His jaw was cut, his shirt ripped, and with his one eye, as he
stared at me, he knew he was going to die.

“
What
the hell
…
was he in an
accident?
”
I asked.

Ax growled. He smiled, showing his
silver teeth. Yeah, the guy was missing teeth and they were replaced with
silver fucking teeth.

“
Just
tell me who did it?
”
Finn
asked.

“
I
…
fucking said
…
man
…”

Finn shook his head.
“
Break his wrist.
”
Finn spoke calmly, annoyed.

The man started to shake his head,
yelling. Ax brought the man
’
s
right wrist forward. The man tried punching Ax with his left hand, but it did
nothing to Ax. Nobody could ever hurt Ax. Unless you shot him, maybe. Even
then, I had the vision of Ax just sitting up, the bullet wounds closing up, him
standing. Like some kind of monster from a scary movie.

Ax held the guy
’
s wrist with his massive hands.
He then gritted his teeth and twisted. The sound was
…
sickening.
The guy
’
s wrist popped like someone popped a bag of potato
chips.

The guy then fell to the ground,
screaming.

“
Good,
”
Finn said.
“
Now if he doesn
’
t feel like talking, we
’
ll just slit his fucking throat.
”

I held out the towels Finn asked
for and Ax grabbed them.

Just another lovely day in Devil
Call MC.