Mad Delights
Mad Delights
ISBN #
978-1-78430-654-0
©Copyright Beth D. Carter 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright July 2015
Edited by
Faith Bicknell-Brown
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing,
Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Burning
and a
Sexometer
of
1.
MAD DELIGHTS
Beth D. Carter
When violence sweeps through their town, the Men of Hell must figure out who’s after their club.
Someone is watching Romeo Barrigan’s every move. Chloe Matsumoto’s favorite pastime is studying the Men of Hell Motorcycle Club’s president. Ever since he helped rescue her deaf cousin from the hands of a human-trafficking ring, Chloe has become fascinated with him and now wonders how she can repay him.
Daxton Squire is the enforcer of the Men of Hell. He’s filled with self-loathing after failing to recognize the threat from the former club president. When he spots someone tailing Romeo, he vows to protect him at any cost. Only Dax didn’t expect to be so attracted to the little stalker.
Violence sweeps through Bair, Nebraska, threatening the town and the club. Romeo has a lot on his plate. Not only does he have to figure out who’s after his club, he also has to determine how the hell he ended up in a ménage relationship—and keep those he loves safe from the menace.
Dedication
I have to give this one to my editor, Faith. Without her saying, “You got another one in ya?” I never would’ve dreamed up Chloe, and, I must say, she and Faith are pretty awesome.
Also, a special big thanks to CR Moss. She is, without doubt, the best cheerleader a writer and friend can have.
Ek elska þik
,
Eiríkr hinn rauði.
Someday I will write about Eric the Red.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Skype: Skype
Popsicle: Unilever N.V.
Scary Spice: Spice Girls
Mercedes: Daimler AG
Harley SuperLow: H-D U.S.A., LLC
McDonald’s: McDonald's International Property Company, Ltd.
Ace Bandage: 3M
Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson
Harley-Davidson: H-D U.S.A., LLC
The Pelican Brief
: Author, John Grisham; Publisher, Dell
Viagra: Pfizer, Inc.
The Expendables
: Lionsgate UK Limited
USB: Affymetrix, Inc.
Oxycontin: Purdue Pharma L.P.
Vicodin: Abbvie, Inc.
AR-15s: Colt Defense, LLC.
Chapter One
Romeo stood alone in the club’s chapel staring at the tainted chair that Shepard had corrupted when he’d sat in it as President. Much like the club, the piece of furniture had a dirty air about it that reeked of greed. He wanted to burn the damn thing, or take an ax to it. Shepard was dead, but that didn’t stop the self-loathing pumping through Romeo every time he remembered Shepard’s smug face. He’d known the bastard was the wrong leader for the club, yet he had accepted the VP patch and decided to drown the bad vibes in drink, drugs and pussy.
He ran his fingers over the large, oval table made of polished concrete that symbolized the unity of what the club should be. There was no fucking way to move it except by a crane. Wheels had always joked that it was their own version of the Round Table, taken from the mythology of King Arthur, and just like the legendary king, this table had its own share of treachery. Romeo had been with the club since he was thirteen, when Wheels had taken him under his wing to raise him as his own. The old biker had made sure Romeo could take apart an engine and put it back together, had taught him how to shoot straight but keep his nose clean. And, above all, Romeo had learned about loyalty.
The Men of Hell now seemed to lack that basic yet utterly important quality. Other than Dax, his best friend and the enforcer of the club, he didn’t know whom to trust. So many issues needed to be addressed. He hadn’t a clue where to start, although the logical place would be weeding out those still loyal to Shepard’s memory. Some of Shepard’s followers had left, some had sworn they didn’t know about his double cross or how he’d stolen money from the club. Some still stuck around.
“You okay?”
Romeo jerked out of his morose thoughts and turned to see Daxton Squire standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. They’d been through a lot of shit together. He hoped this brewing storm would simply be rocky waves they could ride out.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m trying to come to terms with the realization that Shepard wasn’t working alone. I know of at least one brother who had to be in on his trafficking operation.”
Dax sighed and Romeo saw his own feeling of resentment mirrored in his friend’s dark gaze.
“I know. I came to the same conclusion.”
“Either the books were doctored or there were two sets, I’m not sure which. And we have no clue as to how many others were involved.”
“A Ponzi scheme turned sour,” Dax said. He pushed his tall, muscular body from the doorframe and took his seat at the table. “You gonna sit?”
“Eventually. I just… It feels weird for me to sit in the chair, you know?”
“You belong in that chair,” Dax insisted. “You should’ve had it when Wheels decided to step down.”
“Maybe.” Romeo ran his fingers through his long hair.
Guess it’s time for a trim.
“I suppose I thought Wheels would be around forever. Stupid of me, or what?”
Dax shook his head. “No. Not stupid. I always thought he’d be around too, but that’s what kids think, Rome, that life is forever.”
“I didn’t want this shit.” He bowed his head. “This…responsibility.”
Dax tapped a finger for emphasis on the table. “Wheels told me you had the most level head out of all of us. If anybody is fit to lead the Men of Hell, you are.”
“Bullshit,” Romeo spat. “If that were true, then I wouldn’t have let Shepard spout his pretty little lies and convince those men out there of something better. I wouldn’t have been happy with the VP patch. I wouldn’t have drowned myself in fucked-up vices to cope.”
Dax opened his mouth to fire back, but Romeo waved off the argument. No, he didn’t need Dax to blow smoke up his ass. He knew his faults were glaringly obvious—at least in his eyes. Doubts crept into his mind now as he tried to figure out just what to do about the disloyalty inside the club. Shepard’s supporters still grumbled the old president’s name when they thought Romeo couldn’t hear. In those moments, he wanted to let his rage out, but he knew bashing heads wasn’t the answer. Yet he couldn’t be soft, else he’d lose the tentative grip he had on the club.
Other fully patched-in members entered the church and took their places around the concrete table. His VP, Boone Tempest, was the oldest member of the club, now that Shepard was dead, and that was the only reason he’d asked the man to be his right hand. Boone was a decent enough guy, big with sharp eyes that seemed to see everything. His ever-present shadow, Gabby Dixon, followed behind him. The man’s real name was Gordon, but he rarely ever said a word. Wheels had given him the ironic moniker of Gabby way back when, and the name had stuck. A scar ran from his temple to chin, but he never talked about it. The only thing Romeo understood was that the only person who knew anything substantial about the man was Boone. Romeo didn’t pry. Shit, they all had personal secrets.
The patched-in members allowed to sit at the table were from all walks of life. The MOH Bair chapter didn’t discriminate. Burrito was Hispanic, Sioux was Native American and Hook was African American. Romeo didn’t care about the color of a man’s skin. It was a person’s integrity that counted. His gaze lingered on the club accountant, Cipher. It was time that fundamental principle was made crystal clear.
The Brothers were quiet, and Romeo missed the joking and jostling from days gone by, when they’d had nothing else to worry about except the next drug run. When the last Brother had settled and looked toward him, he reluctantly sat in the goddamn chair and banged the gavel.
“There are some pressing issues we need to deal with,” he began. He glanced at each man, meeting their stares head on. “Obviously, we need to find a new supplier. This club is flat broke. The only thing keeping us alive is the whorehouse, so unless someone can cough up the money Shepard stole, we need some fast cash soon.”
He took a mental note of the glowers he received from Drifter and Bandit when he mentioned Shepard’s crime. Two more Shepard holdouts he put on his list.
