Struggling For Justice Read online

  Struggling For Justice

  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.

  Struggling For Justice

  1st Digital release: Copyright© 2014 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

  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

  Sneak Peek – Fighting To Ride

  Author Bio

  Debra Kayn's Backlist

  Dedication

  Miranda — Every club has a princess, and you commanded the position from day one. You're beautiful inside and out. Thanks for setting Lee's boots in the right direction.

  Chapter One

  The music playing in Rail Point Bar sucked. Remmy set down his mug and stared into the amber contents. Two o'clock in the afternoon and he hadn't seen one person get in a fight or one of the single women around town let loose and entertain any of the customers.

  It was a slow day in Federal, Idaho.

  He swiveled on the stool and gazed out into the room. Some of the graveyard shift miners from Meghoni Mine played pool in the back. Old Teak sat at a table entertaining the gullible tourist with another one of his jacked up stories.

  "Another one?" the bartender asked.

  Remmy spun slowly back around. "No, I'm riding out. Thanks, Joe."

  "You're in here early." Joe wiped the counter off in front of Remmy. "Slow day at the club?"

  Bantorus Motorcycle Club never had a slow day. Remmy drank the rest of his beer and stood, ignoring Joe's question. "Later."

  Between the rush of gun orders coming in from the militia this summer, and the tight deadline with Lagsturns MC for the eighteen bikes they wanted in California by the end of the month, life was good. He pushed out the door, but his melancholy mood remained. He itched to ride off, go back home to Pitnam where summer time meant territory wars, women, and chaos.

  The calm in Federal was starting to bother him. After the fiasco with Los Li last summer, he'd thought he'd be content as the vice president of the Bantorus MC, Federal Charter. It wasn't as if he wanted the president's position or to undermine Kurt or Rain's decisions, but he needed excitement. The structured life, manufacturing weapons as if he worked a nine-to-five job, scheduled runs that came months apart, and the same women every fucking night wore him down.

  Hell, maybe he was getting old.

  He sat his Harley and rode off down the street. Maybe the ride to Pitnam in a few weeks would sort his head. There was no reason for him to feel locked down and anxious. All he needed was more action, more choices, and more excitement. He wasn't dead. He was forty-eight years old, and hitting his prime.

  He turned on Main Street and a white minivan slowed down and pulled into the parking lot of Country Mart. He glanced over in front of the store and slowed down. A man and woman stood facing each other. The man's stiff posture sent up warning bells and had him easing off the throttle.

  Tourist came and went all summer long in the historical town, always full of energy and careless about their surroundings as they took in the Bitterroot Mountains, silver mines, and rode the trolley to the ghost town. Everything about this couple was intense, and they couldn't care less that they were smack dab in the most beautiful area in Idaho.

  A half dozen yards further, he rode around the block and ended up on the other side of the parking lot. He studied the couple more. From the distance he kept, he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their heated exchange told him enough. He slowed down and parked at the curb, fifty feet from the couple. He unclipped the holster at his side. The woman's body language—though sexy— concerned him.

  She arched against the car, trying to escape the man's anger. Remmy killed the engine and kicked the stand of the Harley to the pavement. One thing he hated was a man who didn't respect women.

  The woman spoke, while her tired eyes searched the front of the store. Remmy exited the Harley, uncomfortable with the situation. He kept his gaze locked on the couple.

  The man, dressed in a polo shirt, new jeans, and running shoes, appeared all talk and little muscle. It'd take nothing to bring him down.

  "No, you're not listening to me," the woman said. "I'm done talking about this. You won't believe me, and I'm tired of fighting."

  "Dammit. I'll cut everything off, and then what's going to happen to you." The man raised his hands.

  The woman flinched in fear. Remmy ran. He'd seen enough.

  Twenty feet from the couple, he slowed down to a walk. "Hey."

  The man's head jerked in Remmy's direction. In two seconds, Remmy concluded the guy wasn't carrying a weapon, unless he had an ankle holster or a knife in his back pocket.

  The woman turned her head away from Remmy, letting her dark, wild hair block his view of her face. His gut tightened. There was only one reason for a woman to ignore him. She'd been down this road before, and wanted to hide the abuse.

  "Everything okay?" Remmy asked.

  The man aggressively pointed at him. "This is none of your business."

  "Well, see, I'm making it my business." Remmy swept the edge of his vest to the side, uncovering his pistol. "I have a big problem with a man who uses his voice to intimidate a lady. From the looks of it, your woman doesn't want to talk to you right now, so why don't you walk off your anger."

  "Butt out." The man stepped toward Remmy.

  Remmy strolled up to the man, and said. "Walk away."

  The man scoffed. Remmy smiled for the first time that day. Yeah, this is what he needed.

  "Make me," the man said, lifting his chin.

  Remmy punched him. The guy never saw it coming.

  He shook the pain out of his hand and watched the six foot tall, one hundred and eighty pound piece of shit hit the asphalt. Using his boot, he rolled the man over onto his side, in case he woke up and vomited. With his luck, the asshole would probably choke to death and the sheriff would throw his ass in the pen for doing the right damn thing.

  Disgusted, he turned
away from the unconscious man and found the woman gone. He bent at the waist and searched the inside of the vehicle, and then straightened. He scanned the parking lot. His gaze flickered over the few familiar faces, and came up empty for anyone having long brown wavy hair. His search came up empty.

  "Fuck," he muttered. At least she'd left, which was the smartest thing she could've done.

  The sheriff's car pulled into the lot. Remmy stood his ground and waited for Sheriff Colby. Usually, law enforcement chalked up fighting with a local miner as entertainment in the small town. If he busted a table or spilled someone's drink, he pushed a few bills to the owner of the establishment and called it good. Unfortunately, the cops in Federal frowned on assaulting a tourist.

  "Jesus Christ, Remmy. I've told you before to stay away from the tourists." Sheriff Colby squatted down and put his fingers to the neck of the unconscious man. "He's alive."

  "I don't make it a habit to kill men," Remmy said, catching sight of a female running across the street heading toward the viaduct. "Am I free to go?"

  "Yeah. Get out of here, and stay out of town for the day." Sheriff Colby stood. "I'll call the medics to come and take a look at him, and it'd be best if you're not around when he wakes up or you're probably going to face assault charges."

  Remmy slapped the sheriff's shoulder in thanks and walked to his bike. Glancing over his shoulder, he kept the woman in sight. She headed toward the entrance to Interstate-90 and the highway out of town. On foot and without a car, she had no business going up on top of the viaduct with cruising semis and travelers breaking the seventy-five mile speed limit in their rush to reach their destination.

  He started the Harley and roared down the street, around the parking lot, and headed out of town. He spotted her walking up the eastbound ramp toward Coeur d'Alene or maybe Washington state.

  The woman's arms swung at her sides with her fast pace. The frantic glances behind her every few steps made her blind to the traffic buzzing past her. He sped up and when he rode alongside of her, she finally noticed him. She moved farther over on the ramp and bumped her thigh into the concrete barrier. One topple, and she'd hit the pavement twenty feet below her.

  "Hey. Stop for a second." He veered his bike in front of her and blocked her path.

  She changed directions, stumbled in her hurry to get away from him, and ran. He jumped off the bike, leaving it parked on the side of the interstate, and caught her within twenty paces. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pinned her against his chest.

  "Whoa," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

  She struggled, pitching herself forward. His feet came off the ground, surprising him, and he leaned to the side to get a better hold of her. A car zoomed past, and he held onto her tighter, capturing her legs with his boot, so she couldn't use them against him. She was a little thing, but strong. He had to get her off the ramp and out of the way of traffic before they had an accident.

  He looked at the half circle onto the ramp, going against the flow of traffic, and glanced over at his bike. In his boots and vest, displaying Bantorus colors, and holding a hundred and twenty pound scared woman against her will, he'd never make it off the viaduct without causing a scene and bringing Sheriff Colby down on him again. He lifted her off the ground and stalked to his Harley.

  All options to get her to safety meant putting her on the back of his bike.

  He set her on her feet and turned her around without letting go. "I'm trying to help you. To do that, you'll need to set your ass on my bike and stay there."

  She ducked her chin and shook her head. "Thanks for helping me at the store, but I need to leave. My cars back in town, and I—"

  "Lady, you're going the wrong way." He faced the motorcycle. "I'm going to get on. Then you're going to climb on behind me. Your arms are going to hold on to me. Everything else, I'll do. Just don't let go and don't move your ass or you'll send us both to the asphalt."

  She pressed her hands against his chest, backing away. He grabbed her wrist and sat on the bike. Tugging her forward, he lifted his chin. "Get on."

  Startling blue eyes stared at him. His chest tightened. Hell, he'd like to kill the bastard that put the sadness in her eyes. She was gorgeous—maybe a little skinny, but she had a face he'd like to look at longer if he wasn't standing on the God damn on-ramp.

  She continued studying him, taking in his clothes, his Harley, his eyes, and then she glanced over the barrier where she had a view of the town, the store, the emergency rig's flashing lights in the parking lot as they worked on her man, and nodded.

  The lady moved toward him. He lifted her arm to balance her as she stepped on the peg, and climbed onto the motorcycle behind him. He put her hand on his stomach and pressed her fingers against him. Her other arm came around him, and she clasped her hands together. Confident she was holding on and not giving her a second to rethink her decision to follow orders, he took off.

  Traffic flowed without stopping. He barely got on the highway and he took the next exit, taking the back street to ride to the club. Once he was out of town, he opened the throttle. He first had to deal with his decision to put her on the back of his bike. Then he'd take her back to town in the club cage after he settled his intentions with the club.

  He wanted no misunderstandings about his reason for putting her on the back of his bike.

  The trees on each side of the road narrowed in on him as the canyon nestled in the Bitterroot Mountains grew cooler. Normally, he enjoyed the lower temperatures and higher altitude away from the valley, but the change made him highly aware of the woman warming his back, and that's not something he wanted reminded of. A woman in his bed, on the floor, or up against a wall was something he'd never turn down, but he'd never willingly put a woman on his bike.

  Club rules forbid any woman, except a member's old lady, to ride. Every Bantorus MC member took the rule as an oath, swearing to respect the higher position reserved for their old lady when they finally decided to make a lifelong commitment. Hell, members achieved bragging rights knowing they upheld the rule and their woman would be the first to press her ass on the leather seat. He shifted down, rounded the corner, and gazed ahead at the clubhouse nestled in the side of the mountain. Today's hasty decision cost him the special moment every biker held special.

  That left him using his one 'get out of jail free' card, because the rules had a loophole, a member's bike can be used in an emergency, and women were at the top of the list of people to protect. He couldn't let the lady go when he had no idea what happened back in town to make her fear the man who was intimidating her. He also couldn't leave her to walk on the interstate with a clear conscious.

  He pulled into the gravel area and brought the Harley to a stop. His hand caught her wrist before she could escape. "Off."

  She awkwardly scrambled off the bike, tugging on her arm. He threw his leg off the motorcycle, and led her to the stairs without another word.

  "Wait." She squeezed his hand, slowing him down. "You're supposed to take me to my car."

  "Right." He softened his voice. "Let me finish my business, and then I'll take you to your car."

  On the ramp, on the ride, on the way up the stairs, he wanted to do whatever he could to get rid of her. Now that he was going to take her inside, around the other men, he had the urge to turn around and keep the knowledge of what he'd done to himself. Her steps faltered and he stopped outside the door.

  "Why?" she asked.

  The back of his head tingled. Hell, he wanted to keep her away from the others, and he had no idea why. There were women everywhere. Behind the club in a cabin, in town at the bars, and anywhere he went. Taking her inside the club would practically go unnoticed with the stream of women who came and went with the other bikers, including the girls he brought to the club to enjoy. He faced her, tipped her chin with his finger, and gazed down into her eyes.

  "We're only staying long enough I can talk to my president, so I can let him know I'll be escorting you out of town,"
he said, liking the way she gazed up at him.

  There was something vulnerable and anxious about the way she looked at him for guidance. He softened his voice. "You'll be safe here."

  As soon as that good feeling happened, she stripped it away when she dropped her gaze and nodded. "Thank you."

  Jesus Christ. Why would a classy woman, dressed knockout gorgeous, and who had the ability to tag a man with one look, cower in front of him as if she wasn't worth everything?

  "Come on," he said, opening the door.

  Inside, the main room of the clubhouse, the members fell silent. A rolling pool ball fell into the pocket and dropped onto the metal ramp back into the side holder. Remmy gazed around the room, looking for Kurt and found his president's old lady, Risa, instead. He lifted his chin, motioning to talk with her.

  Risa raised her brows and with a simple glance at the woman beside him, brought her eyes back to Remmy. He loosened his grip on the woman's wrist and stroked his thumb on the tender flesh, trying to put her at ease. Once he talked to Kurt, he'd be done with dealing with outsiders for the day and she could go on her way.

  "Risa, I need you to stay with..." He gazed down at the woman who refused to look at him. "What's your name?"

  The woman turned her head away from him and refused to answer. His jaw tightened. If she were his woman, she'd no better than to disrespect a Bantorus member or an old lady.

  "It's okay." Risa laid her hand on Remmy's arm. "Go. I'll watch her."

  "Where's prez?" Remmy let go of the woman.

  "He's downstairs in the gym working out. He's been down there for hours, so it's good that you're here to get him focused on something besides punching those bags," Risa said in a light tone, amusement tinting her words. "We'll be fine up here, so take your time."

  Even with the added assurance that Risa had everything under control, he paused. He had no time to deal with a citizen, a tourist at that, or the desire to involve himself in the woman's troubles.

  He was the one who brought her to the club. He was the one who witnessed the abuse put on her by her man. He was the one who set her on the back of his bike.