...or something: Ronacks Motorcycle Club Read online

  ...or something

  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.

  ...or something

  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.

  www.debrakayn.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Epilogue

  Author Bio

  Debra Kayn's Backlist

  ~ Sneak Peek ~

  Dedication

  J #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.

  Wheels — You raised me perfectly for you.

  Acknowledgements

  Haugan, Montana —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.

  Chapter One

  The 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."

  "Parents?"

  "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."

  "Is that so?" He started heading toward the main entrance to get her moving.

  "Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't want to be a man." She walked at his side, slightly behind him. He let her have the time to get used to seeing him, and next time he came by she'd be more receptive.

  "You're a pretty girl, Bree." He glanced at her. "I'm glad you're not a man, too."

  She hurried to keep up with his longer strides. "Are you a wobbly?"

  "A what?" he said.

  "You know, hanging around trying to get hired on with the carnival."

  He shook his head.

  She skipped to keep up with him. "Do you know someone here or are you trying to get into the backyard where all the carnies stay to go to the party later?"

  "Nope." He stopped within fifty feet of the concession stand. "Do me a favor and do what you need to do and get back to the trailer you're staying in."

  "Why?"

  "Cause it's a dangerous place for a sixteen-year-old girl," he said. "Someone needs to take care of you."

  "What's your deal?" She stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. "If you're not part of the carnival, and you're not here to party, what do you want from me?"

  "Tonight, I want you to go to bed and get some sleep."

  Her hip came out, and she shifted the box again to her side. "What kind of pervert tells me to go to sleep?"

  "The kind you should listen to and do what he says because he cares." He pointed away from him. "Get going."

  With the light coming from the main booth, she studied him closely. He leaned toward her lowering his brows and letting her get a good look at his face. She rolled her eyes, and he almost smiled at the bravery she displayed by standing up to him.

  "Whatever. It's not like I didn't notice you watching me for the last hour or so. You've got some real hang-ups, dude. I know a creeper when I see one." She walked away and damned if her little ass didn't mock him, swaying side by side.

  With that attitude she gave him, he made his decision. He'd send the other members of Ronacks Motorcycle Club back to Montana, and he'd stay at the motel in town a little longer. He wasn't quite satisfied with her living with a carnival, and she wasn't old enough to be on her own.

  Chapter Two

  Battery showed up outside Bree's booth an hour ago. Bree recognized him right away, and he'd held her attention since. There weren't many men showing up at the carnival in a rural community in Washington sporting black jeans, black T-shirt with the arms cut off, and a black leather vest with the words Ronacks Motorcycle Club on the back.

  Around here, the men were mostly farmers and wore flannel shirts r
olled up to their biceps to beat the warm weather. Battery appeared to flip off Mother Nature and wear exactly what he wanted to uphold a bad reputation and scare people away.

  The temperature hovered at ninety degrees. She sweated in a pair of shorts and a thin tank top, and Battery stood there without a drop of perspiration on his weathered skin. He'd barely said hey before he settled in at the end of her booth and crossed his arms in the hot midday sun.

  "Come on up and try your hand at throwing the darts." She leaned against the counter, getting her ballyhoo on to take advantage of the innocent, and pointed to a teenage girl walking with a group of her friends. "I've got teddy bears, puppy dogs, and any animal you'd like to take home with you."

  The girl looked away and kept walking. Bree sighed and gazed at Battery. "You're frightening people away standing there looking all scary and mean."

  "Not my problem." His dark gaze traveled down to the bare skin above her tank. "I'll be right back."

  "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm not going anywhere. I have this thing called a job," she mumbled to his back.

  A young boy holding his mother's hand pointed at her booth. She pulled one of the large overhead stuffed animals down and set it on the counter. Behind on sales for the day, she needed to take advantage of Battery's absence and make some money to keep her position as top moneymaker.

  "Step right up and win this big guy." She knocked on the plywood counter going right into her jam. "Five dollars gives you three darts. Pop three balloons and be the big winner of the day."

  The child tugged his mom in Bree's direction. She set the giant teddy bear to the side, picked up a dart, and tossed it toward the balloons with a satisfying pop. "How about you, young man? Do you want to try your hand at the easiest game at the carnival?"

  "Can I, mom?" The boy looked to his mother.

  "Only once and then we have to meet Travis at the burger barn for lunch." His mom set a five-dollar bill on the counter.

  Bree shoved the cash in her pocket and slid three darts toward the boy. "Feel free to climb up on one of the stools and lean closer to the balloons. It takes a steady hand and good eyes."