Vexed (16 page)

I
hope
you loved Romeo and Athena’s story. As with all of my stories, their end is more of a
Happy For Now
, given that Athena is only eighteen.

Originally, I planned for Kadence’s book to be #4, but while I was finishing up Entwined, Romeo demanded that I work on
his
story. Because of the similar age difference between Romeo and Athena and Dante and Karina, I worried their stories would sound too much alike. Thankfully, Athena had exhibitionist tendencies rather than babygirl ones, so I think the two couples ended up being very distinct.

If you haven’t noticed, I enjoy my alpha heroes crude and dirty, but with a soft side that is always looking out for what’s best for his lady. Too many times lately I’ve read books where there hero isn’t alpha, he’s just an asshole looking to get his dick wet. While Romeo may have started out that way, I like to think that by supporting Athena’s ambitions, he turned himself into a true alpha hero. To me, there’s nothing sexier than a growly, dirty-talker who respects his woman and puts her needs before his own. Women,
especially
young women, shouldn’t settle for anything less.

Thanks for reading!

Nyx

p.s. Keep reading for a sneak peek at Unhinged (Iron Bulls MC #5)

K
adence

I should be dead or worse by now.

Taking in the collection of seedy men in the room, I think I prefer death.

I’m anxious to see the sun rise. You know, since it will probably be my last one.

For once I’m completely innocent in this whole mess. I had a night out with my new-found half-sister, Karina, and her best friend, Athena. At the last club we went to I ran into a bitch from high school. We traded a few insults and then my very proper sister dragged me out of there before the hair-pulling started. Although she’s hooked up with the Sergeant at Arms of the Iron Bulls MC, my sister seems to be a gentle soul. I would have preferred to throw a few punches at Ivy Wilder before we left, but Karina didn’t give me the option.

On my way home, a pack of bikers forced my car off the road and brought me here.

You see, I’d forgotten that my high school frenemy’s father was president of the Red Storm MC, which runs some of the surrounding territory. I’d also forgotten that Ivy was a whiny bitch who couldn’t handle her own battles without running to daddy for help.

The sound of no fewer than ten Harleys pulling into the parking lot makes me want to beg for death.

“Guess what, princess? Someone came for you after all.”

Great. My step-father. Hell, not even my stepfather. My ex-stepfather. And if I’m lucky—yes, that’s sarcasm—he brought his son, my ex-stepbrother with him.

The men who’d been guarding me, surround the men who just arrived. How far could I run before one of them caught me?

Or shot me?

Doesn’t really matter since I’m tied to this fucking chair.

“Got nerve wearing your cut in our territory, Bolt.” The president of the Red Storm MC greets my ex-stepfather.

Ah yes, Bolt Savage, President of the Savage Dragons MC. They control a hell of a lot more territory than Red Storm does. This should be interesting.

“That my daughter you got tied to a fucking chair?”

Ah, Bolt. He always did have a way of getting right to the point.

It’s why he and my worthless mother are no longer together. She’s not fond of hearing the truth. Bolt has no filter and a low bullshit tolerance. Two annoying qualities his son inherited.

“Your daughter?”

I clear my throat and chuckle at the same time. “I tried to tell you, asshole.”

Behind me, someone yanks my hair. “Watch your mouth, bitch.”

“Hey! Get your hands off her.” That would be my stepbrother, Blaise Savage, Vice President of the Savage Dragons MC.

Ex-stepbrother. Very ex.

Because if we were still step-siblings, the things we did together the last time we saw each other would be a little squicky.

Despite my predicament, my body heats at the memory.

“What the fuck you doing here, Dante? What’s your stake?” Deacon shouts.

Oh, goodie. Karina’s scary boyfriend joined the rescue party. Friggin’ bikers.

There’s just way too many of them in my life.

A
ll rights reserved
under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Autumn Jones Lake. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Lake, Autumn Jones/ Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC, Book 1) / Autumn Jones Lake

SLOW BURN and the Lost Kings MC series is a complete work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Slow Burn is an original work of fiction by Autumn Jones Lake.

It wasn’t love at first sight when I met her. Lust? Definitely. I don’t think I believed in love at the time, but one look at her beautiful face, and all the bad stuff around me melted away. Not an easy feat for a guy in handcuffs.

Someone as innocent as her should never have gotten involved with a man like me. By innocent, I don't mean she was some breathy, eighteen-year-old virgin ingénue. No—when we met, she was a thirty-one-year-old married lady. When I use the word innocent, it is in terms of never having killed someone. Never seeing someone die in front of her. Never breaking the law.

True violence had never touched her life.

Violence and I had been close personal friends for a large part of my life. Along with crime. And death. I used violence as a tool to keep order in my often chaotic world, just as she used the law to keep things orderly in her black-and-white one.

She was a lawyer. I was a criminal. She was married to a decent, hard-working, honest guy. I fucked any willing girl who hung out in my club, and made my living in less than honest ways.

She was kind. I didn't know any
nice
women. Hadn’t known one since my mother died shortly after my eighth birthday. I don’t have many memories of her, but the ones I do have are warm and pleasant.

None of the tramps my father brought home after her death had an ounce of compassion for a motherless brat. The strippers that danced in my club seemed younger every day. A lot of them were bitchy drama queens, and the older I got, the less patience I had for emotional scenes. The girls who attended to the members of my motorcycle club were down to fuck, but not much else. That’s how I liked them.

We met in a courtroom. I sat in the area designated for prisoners. Shackles laced my hands and feet together. I shuffled into the room wearing a spiffy orange jumpsuit, the county correctional logo stenciled across my back in big white letters—just in case anyone thought I suffered from bad fashion sense.

She sat in the front row. I didn't hang my head when I entered. I stood proud and tall looking over the entire room. Some of my brothers stood along the back wall, waiting to see if I'd get bail.

I couldn’t find my attorney in the sea of people. His big, shiny, bald dome should have been easy to spot. My gaze wandered back to the girl in the front row. Long, straight, reddish-brown hair flowed down past her shoulders. Straight bangs across her forehead framed brilliant green eyes. Even from where I sat, I spotted freckles splattered across her nose. The deep green suit she wore emphasized the creaminess of her skin. The banister separating the criminals from the common folk blocked my view of anything below her shoulders, but that angelic face hooked me right away.

The sheriff leaned over and whispered to me, "Your attorney called to say he's running late." I nodded and mumbled a "thanks" without taking my eyes off the girl. Was her old man locked up? Was she a witness to a crime? Would my asshole lawyer get here so I could get free and talk to the girl?

"Any other message?" I asked Deputy Brown. He was a decent guy as far as pigs went. He'd treated me with respect, hadn't tried to bash my head into anything, and even brought me a donut before leading me upstairs to court. He didn’t get a chance to answer, because the bailiff made a big show of telling me to shut up. Arrogant prick wasn’t good enough to even be a cop, but he sure acted like one. I'd dealt with him before.

My eyes returned to the girl. She sat patient and attentive, waiting her turn. Once or twice, she looked at the clock. Only a slight twitch of her lips indicated her annoyance.

After what seemed like an eternity, the bailiff called the next case, and the girl stood up. She hauled a battered briefcase over her shoulder and stepped through the swinging gate up to the table across from where I sat.

Holy shit.

If I'd been anywhere else in the world, I would have whistled long and low to express my appreciation for the soft curves of her body. The skirt she wore fell to her knees, but it clung to all the right spots and showcased a fantastic set of calves. Her modest heels clicked over the wooden floor, calling my attention to her slender ankles. I was so busy drooling over her I missed it when she stated her name.

The dickhead bailiff brought over a chair and actually smiled at her. She thanked him politely. The judge made some chit-chat with her, and she let out a girlish giggle. People seemed to know her. Like her.

"Attorney Kendall?"

"Yes, your honor." She stood up. Ah, she was a lawyer. That explained the chit-chat. She argued some civil matter I didn't understand or care about. I listened to her make her case, then watched her sit down. Her opponent didn’t have a lawyer. He bumbled around and generally made a fool of himself. She listened with a passive expression, then argued her position again. The judge ruled in her favor.

I wanted her. In more ways than one after her performance. The courtroom was almost empty. My guys still occupied the back row, but that was it. If my lawyer didn't show up soon, I'd be screwed.

I nudged Deputy Brown with my elbow. "Can she represent me?"

"I don't think she's a criminal attorney."

"Just for the arraignment. To get me out."

"I'll ask."

The deputy motioned to the bailiff to watch me and went to talk to the clerk. She nodded, and when the judge had a moment, she whispered in his ear.

Fuck. The girl was putting her stuff away and getting ready to leave. I really wanted her. I mean, I wanted to fuck her, of course. But I also wanted her to represent me. People seemed to like and respect her. I'd been in and out of the criminal justice system long enough to know getting out of trouble was sometimes less about what you knew and more about who you knew. If I'd gotten picked up in a different county, I could have used my connections to make this go away. Here, I was kind of stuck. I needed her.

"Attorney Kendall, could you stay and do an arraignment, please?" the judge asked off the record.

Her jaw dropped, and the color drained from her face. "Uh, I'm not a criminal attorney, your honor," she stammered.

"It's pretty simple. Mr. North's attorney got delayed. Don't make me appoint you," he teased.

"Well, um, just for the limited purpose of this arraignment?" she asked with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

"That's fine."

The judge waved me over next to her. Her big eyes widened in shock as I lumbered over. I was mildly insulted. Had she really not noticed me the entire time I'd been sitting there?

"I can pay you," I whispered down to her.

She looked startled. "It's okay. What are we dealing with?"

I liked the way she said "we."

"Weed."

She gave me a blank stare.

"Marijuana. Got caught with a couple blunts." Acting on a bad tip from one of the club’s many enemies, the cops had been hoping to pin a whole hell of a lot more on me. This was why, instead of ignoring the weed like most cops did these days, I was standing here in shackles and the orange jumpsuit.

"Oh geez." She rolled her eyes. At me or the charge, I wasn't sure.

"Do you have a record?"

"About a mile long."

That stopped her. She stared up at me, searching my face for the truth. Apparently deciding no one would joke about that, she nodded her head.

"Can you post bail? Do you work? Have a family?"

"Yes, yes, and yes."

She didn't ask what kind of work. Or what kind of family for that matter.

"Your honor, I've had a chance to confer with my client."

"Very well. Let’s call it."

His clerk stood and read out, "The People of the State of New York versus Rochlan North." Look at that—the old gal even pronounced my first name right.

My girl looked up at me again. My manners were shit. I’d never bothered to introduce myself, I guess.

The judge slammed his gavel down. First time I’d heard him do it all morning. The sharp thwack broke the staring contest my pretty lawyer and I were engaged in.

"Do you wish to hear the reading of the charges, counselor?"

She hesitated for a minute, and the judge covered the microphone with his hand. "Usually the attorney waives the reading, Miss Kendall."

"I know, your honor. Thank you. Yes, I'll waive the reading. May I have a copy of the charges for my file, though?"

"Yes, of course. Do you wish to be heard on bail?"

"Yes, your honor. My client assures me he can pay a reasonable sum. He's a hard-working family man, so it would be in society's best interest to allow him to continue to work and provide for his family while he waits to address these false charges."

I'm proud to say I kept a straight face during all of that. She impressed me with her quick thinking, though. Criminal attorney or not, she was clever. I had a fondness for clever. Clever kept you alive.

Cute
and
smart. I should get arrested more often.

"Very well. Bail is set in the amount of five hundred dollars cash. If your client is able to post it now, he can be processed downstairs instead of going back to county."

She looked up at me and arched an eyebrow. I nodded and motioned my crew forward.

"That's acceptable. Thank you, your honor."

"Off the record," the judge said to the court reporter. He looked back up at my attorney. "See, that wasn't so hard, Miss Kendall." The judge's face lit up in a wolfish smile I didn't take kindly to. Already in my head, I'd laid claim to this woman whose first name I didn't even know.

The sheriff came over and gripped my elbow.

"Can't you remove the restraints, now?" she asked the sheriff with wide, pleading eyes.

To say her request stunned me would be an understatement. No one had ever given a crap about my discomfort.

The sheriff did not look surprised. He answered her gently. "No counselor, not till he's posted the bail money. You can meet us downstairs." He nodded toward the guys standing behind the banister. "His posse can show you the way."

She hesitated, and I read the expression on her face loud and clear. She didn't want to follow my crew anywhere. In fact, she looked like she wanted to run away.

"Go ahead, I'll be fine." I appreciated that she'd given it a try. Sheriffs wouldn’t break protocol no matter how owl-eyed innocent she acted. It sure turned me on, though. Maybe that was the moment I fell in love with her.