Soul Ties (Club Ties #4)

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Published by The Hartwood Publishing Group, LLC,

Hartwood Publishing, Phoenix, Arizona

www.hartwoodpublishing.com

Soul Ties

Copyright © 2016 by Em Petrova

Digital Release: February 2016

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Buttoned-up doctor by day, dangerous tattooed biker by night. Heller’s Gap is in for a ride.

Sarah’s role in the Hell’s Sons motorcycle club is to take care of its members, and in turn they take care of her. But she draws the line where O’Dovey’s concerned. He’s too possessive and starting to scare her. Then he goes past the point of no return, and Sarah is forced to do the unthinkable.

Since joining the Heller’s Gap charter of the club, Dr. Connall West has had his eye on the beautiful girl known as Sweetheart Sarah. She evokes memories of a woman he once knew—and lost. Those hard-learned lessons should be enough for him to steer clear. But when he finds Sarah terror-stricken and drenched in blood, he has no choice but to rescue her. Fortunately, he has the shovel and dim headlights to do the job.

Connall’s sworn to never do harm, and between O’Dovey and the ghosts of his past, guilt has a stranglehold on him. He’s strong enough to bear Sarah’s guilt too—if she’d only let him. Aside from the points of her nails in his back and the occasional glimpse of her heart, she keeps to herself. But their toxic secret binds them together—right?

When the club suspects their biggest rivals are responsible for their missing member O’Dovey, revenge and the blood of war is on their minds. Can Sarah and Connall make everything right and shake off the chains of the past without losing their club ties, the only family they know?

“Sweetheart!”

Sarah swung around at her nickname just in time to catch a set of keys. The Hell’s Sons keychain dangled between her fingers.

“Grab us some beer, would ya?” The motorcycle club owned their own bars, yet nobody brought home a keg once in a while. She was always sent after it. While she knew it was good to throw the local authorities off their illegal alcohol trade by proving the club frequented the beer distributor, she was tired of making the run.

Not that she was doing anything important. She sighed and jangled the keys in agreement. Then she went to her room to grab her purse.

As soon as she opened the door, she knew he’d broken in again. O’Dovey. She didn’t even need to look up to know he stood there—his scent reached her. He didn’t smell bad. No, he kept himself clean and his blond beard neat. He wore cologne.

But she associated his scent with bad things.

Her heart skipped and she gripped the keys to the club’s car tighter.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Sweetheart.” He settled his gaze on her, and she backed up a step.

“What are you talking about?” Her voice was cool and strong—she had a lot of practice throwing up a mask around O’Dovey. Without it, she’d crumble inside.

Actually, she was so good at pretending everything was okay that even her closest lady friends in the club had no idea her smiles weren’t real. If the club ever needed a witness to perjure for them, she was their gal.

He held up a hand, and she saw her red lace thong dangling from his thick finger. Stomach lurching, she battled for her wits. If she wasn’t careful she’d end up doing something she didn’t want to do. O’Dovey had never forced her, and at one time she’d actually liked him. Then things had gotten too intense…frightening. He liked control, and she wanted freedom.

She’d come and gone in the Hell’s Sons Motorcycle Club since she could remember. Her dad was a lifer—doing life in prison after taking a fall for the club he loved. Her mom bugged out after his arrest, and Sarah and her sister had been raised by the members.

She wasn’t anybody’s property, including O’Dovey’s. Sometimes she had to remind herself of that, especially since she did everyone’s bidding.

“Why are you going through my drawers?” She reached for her purse, keeping as many feet between them as possible. Her bed was too close—
he
was too close.

“I was waiting for you and thought I’d have a peek. Now I think you’re not really making beer and food runs, Sarah.” His tone grew harsher, and he dropped the panties into her open drawer. “You’re seeing someone else.”

Adrenaline spiked, sending her heart racing out of control. With a dozen men sworn to protect her in the club at any given time, she shouldn’t be afraid. But they all thought well of O’Dovey. He was an important gear in the working operation, keeping secrets and doing good at the same time. He was loved.

At one time she might have believed she was loved too—an integral part of the club—but not anymore. She didn’t for a minute believe they’d toss him out and tear off his member patches if she confessed how out of control he was with her.

Or maybe her perceptions were just too skewed. She couldn’t think.

She didn’t realize she’d backed up so far until she gripped the doorjamb. His long legs devoured the distance between them. He was on her in a blink, grabbing her waist too hard, shoving his mouth close to hers. When his hot, minty breath washed over her, nausea was a hard ball ping-ponging around her stomach.

Think, think, think.
She adjusted her grip on the keys, positioning the longest one to use as a weapon if he didn’t let her go.

Shock ripped through her haze of fear. What was she thinking? This was a brother.

Brother or not, she needed to get away from him.

She shot a glance past him and spotted the open drawer. Ignoring the thump of disgust in her chest, she lifted a hand and set it on O’Dovey’s chest, over the leather they both loved and the patch they both lived under.

Using her sweetest voice—part of the reason she’d earned her nickname of Sweetheart—she said, “Why don’t you go get those panties for me. I’ll put them on.”

His eyes flared and a hungry smile tipped his lips. Beautiful lips for a motherfucking controlling asshole.

She dragged in a deep breath, nodding. “Get them.”

He reached around her to close the door, but she blocked him.

“Not right now. I have to make a beer run.”

He groaned, and for once she was grateful for her job. If she was asked, she went—period. Even O’Dovey couldn’t fight an officer’s command.

“Dammit, we need to get you a new job in the club.”

She faked a pout. “I know. All I do is run for everyone. I don’t have a lot of time for myself.”

He changed, eyes darkening. A scowl lighting on his face. She tensed, prepared for his meanest. When O’Dovey didn’t get his way…

She swallowed hard and tried to bring him back around. After all this time, she was well-practiced in it. But every time she managed to sidestep him, she didn’t feel relief. Her insides trembled at what would come next.

“That’s it, Sarah. I’ll talk to the guys about getting you a mission.”

“A…” Her throat closed off. “Mission? Why?”

“If you’re doing something for the club, you won’t need to run for beer anymore. You’ll have other value.”

Oh fuck.

“The club won’t put women or children in danger.”

His eyes adopted a glow that felt like poison seeping out and filling her. “I’d never put you in danger, and you know the prez wouldn’t either. I know just what to suggest.” He reached around her and pinched her ass hard. She cried out and leaped away, but he caught her, gathered her to him, and laid a kiss on her that filled her throat with bile.

When he released her, he shot her a grin that curdled her blood. He was going to get her involved in something darker in the club.

Part of her perked up with interest. Her life had been the same for so long, she had long ago lost her identity. She was Sweetheart Sarah—club girl, cook, maid, and beer runner.

If she had a mission, she might have leverage and more respect. And if she did enough for the Hell’s Sons, O’Dovey wouldn’t rank higher than her.

She ducked from under his arm and moved into the hall, her high-heeled boots clicking on the cement floor. “The guys are thirsty, and you have work to do.”

As she left the club, her mind whirled with the possibilities. She couldn’t imagine their club president, Jamison, ever giving her a dangerous mission, but there had to be plenty she could do besides fill the trunk with six-packs.

She’d find out soon enough.

Sarah curled her fingers around her opposite wrist, feeling her own pulse. It raced far faster than it should, but that wasn’t news to her. She felt each throb all the way to the marrow of her bones.

Fear did that to a person.

Drawing a deep breath, she peeked into the warehouse. Big, dark shapes filled the space and a weak light glowed from the back corner. Those shapes could be anything.
Or hide anyone.

An icy sliver of dread slipped down her spine, and she battled to remain still. Breathing slowly took extreme concentration, and she hardly had time for that. She needed to get in and out as quickly as possible.

If she needed to escape, she prayed she was fast enough on foot. Her car—or the club’s car, rather—was parked five blocks away where nobody would ever see and connect this event with the Hell’s Sons.

She longed for the safety of the clubhouse and the familiar chores waiting for her. Planning meals for all the hungry bikers and their families. Keeping things tidy. Caring for cuts and scrapes that the guys inevitably came back with after an illegal alcohol run or a scuffle with a drug dealer as they tried to run the bad shit out of Heller’s Gap, Alabama.

Listening hard, Sarah detected traffic on the far-off highway. But not a sound from around the warehouse. Whether that was good or bad was a guess a much more experienced club member could make. She didn’t handle the alcohol or the gambling ring. She had nothing to do with the two bars the club owned.

She barely remembered how she’d gotten roped into this mission of picking up a duffle filled with cash and bringing it back to the club president. Jamison had asked her over and over again if she really felt up to this task. After O’Dovey suggested she volunteer, the guys had looked at her as though she’d grown an extra head. In the end, she’d persuaded them, insistent that she could do this. She was the only one who could walk in and out while big bikers would raise alarms.

And having this mission under her belt meant she had more value in the club. Maybe when it came time to rat out O’Dovey’s behavior, nobody would ask questions before tossing him on his ass.

She ran a hand through her long brown hair and steeled herself.
I’ll go inside in ten seconds.
But after counting to ten, she still stood rooted at the open door. Someone had to be around. Why else would the big bay be wide open?

That someone could attack her from behind. Hit her over the head, rape her. Thanks to her father, one of the toughest bad-asses the Hell’s Sons had ever seen, she knew how to defend herself. Dad was only a face she saw behind glass in prison, but she remembered his instruction.

Nothing could be done if she was shot at, though. She wasn’t armed—she’d refused to be. One less thing to go wrong.

For the good of the club, she needed that bag. And she loved her club. She’d do anything for her biker family.

Five, four, three…

She stepped around the corner. Her boots made a faint noise on the concrete floor. Her eyes adjusted from the daylight to the darkness within. Pretty soon she was moving down the aisles, past the bulky shapes she now made out as shipping crates, engines, and barrels. What had Jamison said about this place? They were into big shipments.

Who knew what kinds of things passed through this warehouse. Drugs, guns, illegal aliens…slaves.

Goosebumps broke out on her arms and she was glad for the black, long-sleeved top she wore. Whatever went down in the warehouse was no business of hers. Her job was to get the bag and get out. End of story.