Read Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Justin Morrow,Brandace Morrow
Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1)
Tread: Book One of the Ronin MC Series © Copyright 2015 by Brandace Morrow and Justin Morrow
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, printed, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express permission of the author. Please do not participate or encourage piracy in any capacity of copyrighted material in violation of the author’s rights.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events, occurrences, places, or business establishments is purely coincidental. The characters and story line are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Editing by Mad Spark Editing
Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs
Book design by Inkstain Interior Book Designing
[
roh
-nin]
noun, plural
ronin, ronins.
Japanese History
1. A samurai who no longer serves a daimyo, or feudal lord; a master-less Samurai.
MY NAME IS TREAD, AND
I’m the lead mechanic for Ronin Auto. I’m also either one of the baddest motherfuckers you will ever meet, or the answer to your prayers. Just depends on which way your compass is pointing. Literally.
Most motorcycle clubs give you a handle when you prospect. My MC is different. We were given our handles at birth.
Our fathers founded the club after coming home from Panama, having participated in Operation Just Cause, pooling their money to buy land on New Mexico’s southern border. While they risked their lives and lost brothers to protect our people, illegals were walking onto U.S. soil with guns and drugs, seemingly with the United States’ blessing.
Arizona and Texas had walls, surveillance, and patrols, while the vast majority of New Mexico went unguarded still. After realizing what the Central American cartels were capable of, the founding members saw the opportunity to help our country while helping themselves. They sent the mules back, but kept the drugs as their prize in an often lethal game of hide and seek. They charged a king’s ransom to get wanted felons safely out of the country. By the time these men started having children, there was a legacy and a duty driving them to plan ahead.
Once the next generation was old enough to enlist, we were on a bus out of town to defend our nation’s freedom. We went Airborne, Air Assault, and Special Forces, earning the pins and tabs that we would wear for the rest of our lives. When our enlistments were up, we came back to our sleepy town with knowledge, honor, and righteous indignation.
Ronin had controlled the border for over twenty years.
While the first generation took up arms voluntarily, the second generation were born to this fight.
We became a dynasty.
“AMEN.”
I looked to my father at the head of the table as he unclasped his hands and smiled at us. He reached for a plate, and we followed. Several of my siblings broke off into conversation, but I just reached for the green beans.
Filling my plate as platters were passed around, I shuffled everything together in a disgusting mash that looked better fit for pigs.
“Grace, have you started your vows yet?” I looked towards my mother with an automatic smile that was neither genuine nor sincere.
“Of course. I’m almost done.” She smiled approvingly and moved her long hair behind her shoulder.
“Perfect. And you, Mathias?” My head swiveled to the seat beside me and I studied him. The man that I would be spending the rest of my life with was no more than a baby, or at least he looked it. Cheeks rounded with youth flushed as I gritted my teeth.
“All ready done, Mrs. Peters.” I swallowed, but my mouth was dry, making me choke. Reaching for my water, I chomped down on an ice cube, the sound loud in my ears.
“Grace, you shouldn’t do that. It’ll ruin your teeth.” My mother didn’t bother to lower her voice as she scolded me.
Licking my lips, I mumbled, “Sorry.”
After dinner, I walked Mathias to the front door, our chaperone my little brother that eyed us as if we might try to steal away in the hall closet for something inappropriate.
“Dinner was wonderful as usual, Grace. Thank you so much for having me.” Mathias looked at me with eyes that were the exact shade and size of the basset hound I had as a little girl.
“Of course,” I said quietly, my hands knotted together tightly. I didn’t invite him to dinner; in fact, I didn’t care one way or the other if he was here or with another girl. Woman, I corrected the thought. I was a woman. Twenty-one year olds across the world had more experience in their pinky toes than I had in my entire life.
Mathias looked at my brother and smiled sheepishly before taking my hand hesitantly. I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped, but he misunderstood it.
“Don’t worry, Grace. Soon we will have our own house and will be inviting your parents for a visit. I’m counting the days,” he said earnestly. I wholeheartedly believed him; I just didn’t share the excitement.
I leaned up on my toes impulsively, lifting my chin to catch him in a kiss, an attempt to thwart the doubts that had plagued me for the last nine months.
Mathias stumbled back, as if I was a cobra striking instead of his fiancé. His eyes widened, his hands ripped from mine. His brow was shiny with nervous sweat as he checked on my brother. Boyd was in the entryway shredding the petals of a flower with its own thorns, making me cringe.
“Grace.” The nineteen-year-old boy-man admonished me, completely scandalized. I took a step back and closed my eyes against his horrified expression before I threw my hands up in frustration.
“You aren’t even a little bit curious? You’re willing to marry me without knowing if I kiss like a fish, or gnaw on you like a dog with a bone?” Mathias stepped towards me, taking my hands again.
“When we have our first kiss, it will be with the blessings of God, in front of our family and congregation.” He chuckled, a he-he sound that made me cringe again. Mathias didn’t notice. “I love that you’re curious. Only three more months, and I will give you everything you ask.”
My mind instantly filled with images of dark rooms with the curtains drawn, our bed the only place we would ever come together as a married couple. While that seemed to work exceedingly well for my parents—considering their eleven children—I couldn’t help but want something more. More places, more than me on my back. More, I always seemed to want more.
My family would be shocked, scandalized, at my thoughts. No doubt convinced the devil was whispering to me in my dreams of debauchery. Images of my father standing on his pulpit raising his worn Bible, face red as he spouted about sins of the flesh flooded my mind.
“You’re right, Mathias. Forgive me,” I said reflexively. And just like that, all was forgotten.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling a few feet in front of my face. The sound of my sisters shuffling and snoring in the other sets of bunk beds my lullaby for as long as I could remember.
I held up my hands in front of my face in the twilight, their shapes black shadows against the white walls. I tried to envision a plain gold band on my left hand, an indentation from years of wear on my third finger. I tried to envision the skin marred with scars from dinners made from scratch, dry and cracked from washing dishes by hand more than three times a day to keep up with the children I was expected to spew out as if my womb was a portal that opened every nine months.
Touching the back of my hand to my mouth, I puckered my lips. My skin was warm and dry, just like I imagined Mathias’s lips would be. Opening my mouth, I touched my tongue to the dry skin, feeling like there was a slimy worm wriggling on my hand. With a sigh of despair, I dropped it down to the cotton sheets.
Was I destined to be a slimy worm? More importantly, would Mathias sticking his tongue in my mouth feel like a wriggling, creepy crawler for the rest of my life?
Unfortunately, I was almost positive I knew the answer.
