Bedlam: Hell's Heathens MC (Book Two) (MC Romance) Read online

  Bedlam

  Hell’s Heathens MC Book Two

  Raven Dark

  Bedlam (Hell’s Heathens: Book Two)

  By Raven Dark

  Copyright © 2019 Raven Dark, all rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Please purchase only authorized editions of this book, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.

  Cover by Raven Dark

  Cover images courtesy of DepositPhotos

  Created with Vellum

  For my beloved,

  the gentle giant who won my heart.

  Contents

  1. Threats

  2. Truths

  3. One Wild Ride

  4. Safe Haven

  5. Gar’s Game

  6. A Ghost of the Past

  7. Bad Man

  8. Advice

  9. Shattered

  10. Friends in Dirty Places

  11. Firelight

  12. Showdown at Tanner Lake

  13. Something So Much Better

  Epilogue: When the Heart Changes

  Connect with Raven Dark

  1

  Threats

  This was going to be a bad day.

  Long before I almost killed a man, I knew I was in for one of those days that would leave me wishing I could just go back to bed and put a pillow over my head.

  Wait, let me explain.

  It starts the moment I roll out of bed. First, my alarm doesn’t go off, leaving me to wake up on the day of my best friend’s wedding two hours late. Since I’m supposed to be her maid of honor, it’s going to be a busy one, and I can’t afford to lose two hours.

  So between the spa, the hairdresser’s, picking up my dress, and a hundred other stops, I’m flitting around like a butterfly on crack. By the time I hop in the car, I’m cursing up a storm, taking off for the wedding at a speed to make a race car driver cringe.

  Two hours after leaving Whiskey, I speed up the hill toward what has to be the most unlikely wedding venue in matrimonial history. It’s a grey stone building standing in the middle of the woods. Rows of motorcycles sit out front. Bikers in leather…cuts, Anne says they’re called…crowd the steps, women draped on their arms, many with beers in hand. The building is the clubhouse for the Hell’s Heathens MC. It’s hardly the place one would expect for a wedding, but Anne is marrying a biker, so it fits.

  I race toward the clubhouse’s long front drive. Just as I pull up to the turn, a motorcycle tears past and makes the turn ahead of me. The huge black beast of a bike and its leather-clad driver are suddenly looming in front of my car, which is headed straight for him.

  A scream rips out of me and I slam on the brakes.

  Somehow, the rider manages to jerk his vehicle into the drive and skid sideways seconds before I crash into him and turn him into a large red spot in the dirt. Adrenaline slams into me a second before the realization hits.

  He could have died.

  My breathing comes in short gasps. My hands lift off the steering wheel. They’re shaking. I don’t even notice him coming around the car, because the next instant, my driver’s side door is open and he’s squatting beside me.

  “Are you okay?” His voice is sharp and rough, pulling me out of the fog that seems to have wrapped itself around me like an icy cold shroud.

  I turn my head to look at him, and my mouth falls open.

  The man is hotness personified. He has the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re a deep, piercing grey, like polished steel. A spear of heat races through me, chasing away the chill of shock.

  There’s a hint of stubble on his jaw that, like his hair, has a touch of salt-and pepper, the flecks of grey giving him a distinguished appearance. The stubble, along with the kaleidoscope of skull and tribal tattoos that sleeve his rippling arms in black ink, gives him a dangerous, lawless look that makes my heart race. His cut is stretched tight over his huge chest, and I note the patch on the front that says, Treasurer.

  God, I could die. Anne’s husband to be, Vicious, is good-looking, so I’d expected some of these bikers to be hot, but this guy is a walking sex god. Even though he’s at least fifteen years older than my near-twenty.

  “Huh?” I say stupidly. My brain appears to have taken a hiatus, and I don’t think it’s the shock of almost having committed vehicular manslaughter.

  “I said are you okay?” His hands take my shoulders. Damn, they’re three times the size of mine. Then his palm feels the back of my neck, his gaze looking me over.

  Oh, boy. His palm heats my skin until my whole body feels like it’s on fire, humming with awareness of him. Why the hell is he touching me? He needs to stop, before I erupt in flames right in front of him.

  “I’m fine,” I blurt out, finally able to string a sentence together. “You don’t have to do that,” I add, because his hand is still on my nape.

  Amusement touches the corners of his mouth, at the sharpness in my tone, I’m guessing, and his eyes dance, making my stomach flutter. He removes his hand, but I get the feeling he didn’t do it because I told him to.

  “You’re part of the wedding party?” he asks.

  “Yeah. Maid of honor. I’m late.”

  “So that’s why you were driving like a bat out of hell. You need to watch where you’re going, woman, you could have killed me.”

  And with that, all my sympathy for him vanishes, and only partly because the way he says the word woman carries an accusatory inflection that implies bad driving is gender-inherent.

  “Excuse me? You’re the one who cut me off and barreled in front of me like a maniac.”

  His teeth flash in an irritatingly sexy smile. “If you say so.”

  He grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet. The long, layered, flowing gown of my coral pink dress falls to the dirt before I have the wherewithal to pluck up the skirt. His eyes devour every inch of me, taking in the sweetheart neckline that cups the swell of my breasts, the flare of the voluminous skirt, the blond curls that frame my face. Appreciation burns in his gaze, and he sucks in a breath. “Very nice.”

  I stop breathing. There is so much hunger in his voice I swear I can feel it humming in my veins. He said that as if I wore the dress just for him.

  Then, before I can think to pull my hand out of his, he has the audacity to scoop me up in his arms.

  Oh, wow. I’ve never been carried like this before. The shock of being swept easily off my feet and held up only by his powerful arms snaps me out of what’s left of my stupor. Mortified, I clutch onto him for dear life, while he kicks my door shut with his foot.

  “Hey! What the hell are you doing, put me down!” I squeak.

  “I’m not having you walk into the house by yourself. You’re shaken up.” He strides up the long dirt walk, his arms like iron, holding me to his chest as if I weigh nothing.

  Indignation roars through me. He’s carrying me as if he has the right to do whatever he wants with me, and worse, everyone on the steps is watching, grinning and whooping as if he’s caught himself a great prize.

  It always sounds romantic when I read about women being carried like this in the romance novels that line my shelves, but I don’t know this man from Adam, and I get the feeling he knows damn well I don’t need his help. It doesn’t improve my mood any that he smells like heaven, a mix of leather and Old Spice.

  “I told you, I’m fine. What are you, a barbarian? I can walk on my own.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Oh my God, what’s wrong with you? What if you drop me, you ape?”

  “Pipe do
wn, sweetheart. I’m not gonna drop you. Unless you keep squirming like that.”

  Sweetheart? There is something about the way he says that word that makes me feel like a wildcat whose claws are about to come out.

  Anne warned me that the Hell’s Heathens men lived by their own code without a care for the law or social decorum, but I wasn’t prepared for this. As bad as it sounds, I haven’t been out here to see them before today. Vicious is a great guy, but if this galoot’s manners are an indication of what to expect from the rest of the club, then I see why most people in Whiskey don’t like them. It’s not only because most people think they’re a bunch of uneducated criminals; it’s also because they’re cavemen.

  “Ugh. I can’t believe I felt bad for almost hitting you,” I grumble.

  Chuckling, he makes his way easily up the steps.

  Several people pat him on the back as he walks in the door. He carries me across what I can only call a gargantuan man cave. I catch a glimpse of a wide-screen TV, pool tables, a long bar stocked with liquor, and leather couches. He strides through a back entrance that leads out into a large rear yard. He stops by an arrangement of tables that have been set up to look much more like a wedding than the inside, all white cloths, crystal glasses and beautiful red rose centerpieces. There’s a crowd of people out here too, most of them in leather and jeans, only a few in fancy dresses and suits.

  He still doesn’t put me down.

  “Do you mind?” I snap.

  “Not one bit.”

  Okay, I know he’s just doing this to get a rise out of me now. I’m not shaking anymore, and the icy feeling is gone. On the contrary, his closeness makes me feel as though I have a fever of a hundred-and-two.

  I turn my head, intending to shout for Anne. Before I can say a word, I see Vicious stand up from the table. He’s wearing a huge grin.

  “Hey, Sandra. I see you’ve already met Gar.” He nods to my manhandler.

  At the name, I look at the man still holding me like a stolen bride at a Viking wedding. The name suits him, warlike, denoting danger and badassery.

  “Hi, Vicious,” I say with genuine admiration for my best friend’s husband-to-be. “Would you please tell this gorilla to put me down?”

  Vicious’ smile grows wider and he crosses his muscled arms. “Not that I’m not glad you brought her in, but why the hell are you carrying her, Gar?”

  “She almost killed me with her car.” He finally sets me down in one of the chairs at the table. “I figured I better keep her from doing anything that might result in her hurting herself.” His eyes twinkle at me.

  Ohhh, I could smack him. And Vicious too, now that his shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter.

  “You okay?” Vicious asks both of us, becoming serious.

  “I’m fine, Vicious.” But I accept the glass of water he pours me.

  “I’m good, brother. She’s shaken up, but I think she’s fine now,” Gar says, as if I hadn’t spoken. He asks a woman near us to get a blanket for me, ignoring my eye-roll. The woman disappears and comes back with a blanket, wrapping it around my shoulders with a friendly smile.

  “Thanks, Barbie.” Gar tightens the blanket around me, rubbing the warmth back into me. Now that I’m out of his arms, I am shivering a little, though I hardly noticed until now.

  The woman nods and walks away. She really does look like a Barbie doll, all long legs and Malibu blond hair down to her waist. Except that her arms are covered in tats and bangles.

  “This really isn’t necessary,” I tell him, not liking all the attention. And hating the gratitude I feel towards him.

  Gar ignores my statement. “I’ll move your car…Sandra, is it?”

  “I’ll move it myself, thanks.” It occurs to me that my keys are still in the ignition. When I start to take the blanket off and stand, Gar’s hand clamps on my shoulder, pinning me to the seat. He jerks the blanket tight around me.

  “Don’t be stubborn. Stay here.” Gar leaves—presumably to move my car—before I can stop him.

  I sigh and slump back in the chair. The moment he’s gone, my blood pressure immediately cools. If I don’t see him again, it’ll be too soon.

  “Where’s Anne, Vicious?” I ask, sitting up. “I thought you guys would have started by now.”

  “We should have, but the minister is late.” Vicious sits down beside me. “Anne misses you like fucking crazy. Where have you been all this time?”

  A twinge of guilt twists in my gut. So much has happened in the last year, I can hardly think about it. I’m not ready to tell anyone any of it, maybe not even Anne.

  “I shouldn’t have disappeared for so long,” I say. “I’m sorry. Is she mad?”

  “No. Worried.” He puts his big hand, almost as large as Gar’s, on my shoulder. “Are you all right? You look tired.” His voice is the gentle tone of a friend. Of someone I can trust and confide in, something I haven’t heard in a long time. For some reason, it makes my throat tighten.

  Unsure how to answer without lying, I look at my knees. “It’s good to see you, Vicious.”

  When I look at him again, his brows are down and he peers closely at my face. “Anne told me about Skeeter.” His fingers squeeze reassuringly, his jaw tight. “I’m sorry.”

  The name alone is enough to make my fists clench. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t eliminate the images from my mind. It doesn’t take away the memory of my ex-boyfriend’s betrayal, the wonder of how I could have been so stupid as to not see it coming, or the stab of bitterness that the year I spent with him is a year I’ll never get back.

  “Thanks,” I say to my knees. “You think you know someone, right? Anne said in her letter that you offered to give him a beating. I almost took you up on it.” I’m a little scared to realize I’m only half-joking.

  “Say the word and I still will.”

  I widen my eyes. Shit, he means it. I shouldn’t be surprised, not with what I know about the Hell’s Heathens, but I am. It’s still hard to get used to the idea that Anne is with a man who has no issue with hurting someone to protect her, or her friends. I can’t figure out if he scares me or if I love him more for the lengths he’d go in order to protect those he cares about. With new clarity, I see exactly why Anne loves him.

  “That’s really not necessary, Vicious,” I say with a nervous laugh. “Thank you, though. I think.”

  “Are you sticking around? After the wedding, I mean?”

  “I’m not sure. Things are still up in the air.”

  He searches my face again. I know he can see it in my eyes. On some level, he’s looking at a girl he doesn’t recognize. I’m not joking around or laughing like I usually would, the fun-loving life of the party. The light has gone out of me.

  Whatever he sees in me, it’s enough to let him know I’m not going to open up, because he nods and sits back as if to give the impression of casualness. Backing off.

  “What happened between you two out there?” He nods in the direction Gar had gone with a smile.

  “I—”

  “Sandra!” Anne’s mother calls from the open door at the back of the clubhouse. “Get over here, young lady, we haven’t seen you in forever.”

  Letting the blanket drop, I stand and put my arms around Anne’s mother, who beams at me.

  “We missed you. Anne’s inside still getting ready.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Portman. Can I see her?”

  “Of course, she’s been waiting to see you all day.”

  I tell Vicious I’ll see him later and follow her through the clubhouse, upstairs. In a gorgeous blue gown that’s elegant even for her, she looks as out of place as I feel. Her hair, more golden blond than mine, is twined in braids on the top of her head, and diamond earrings sparkle in her ears. She walks through the rustic clubhouse as if it’s still new to her, but I can tell she’s familiar with it. An odd thought considering how much she used to loathe the whole concept of her daughter being involved with a biker.

  At the end of the hall, she
raps on a door and opens it. “Anne? Look what the cat finally dragged in.”

  Standing in front of a full-length mirror in a dazzling white gown that flows for days, Anne squeals and runs across the room, grabbing me in a tight hug. “Sandra, I thought you’d never get here.”

  I squeeze her close. It’s been months since I’ve seen her, but it feels like ten years. The sudden urge to weep overtakes me but I tamp it down and put on a big smile.

  “Let me look at you, girl.” I hold out her arms.

  With her dark curls swept on top of her head, a few tendrils hanging down to frame her beautiful heart-shaped face, Anne clearly got her dark hair from her dad. “You look stunning. Vicious is going to die.”

  Someone raps on the door and announces that the minister is here.

  “And Vicious will kill me if I don’t get down there right now. We’ll have to catch up later. You’ll have to tell me everything, you hear?”

  My insides tighten at the thought, but I nod.

  It feels too good to be here, with her, with her mother, with friends and people I trust. I’m not the open, bubbly, troublemaking girl I once was, but after spending a few days here, I will be. I’ve left the past behind and I’m back in my old life, here in small-town Whiskey, where nothing ever happens. A place where I can let my hair down and not have to look over my shoulder all the time.

  Where I’m safe.

  As cagy and on edge as I was when I got here, by the time Anne’s beautiful wedding is over and the reception has started, I feel much more like my old self. I’m laughing and swapping stories with her about the fun we had growing up here, going to the local watering hole to swim in the summer and hanging out with our friends at The Eatery, the restaurant Anne’s mom owns.