Lucky: Furious Skulls MC (A Bad Boy MC Biker Romance) Read online

  Lucky

  by

  Daniela Jackson

  Furious Skulls MC

  A Bad Boy MC Biker Romance

  Copyright © 2017 by Daniela Jackson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Description

  Asher

  I’m a liar.

  She’s scared.

  I’m her husband.

  She’s my wife.

  Lies… lies… lies.

  Until everything is real.

  Explicit content. Offensive language. For adult audiences only.

  Chapter 1

  Asher

  The glass in my hand emits a high-pitched sound before it breaks from the strength of my grip. The shards pierce the calloused skin of my palm, causing thin streams of blood to blend with the beer foam. It stains my jeans. A few fat red drops splash against the wooden floor. One drop settles on my black boot. The smell of barley rises to my nostrils, mingling with female perfume.

  “Asher?” The bartender leans towards me as she wipes the bar top with a damp cloth. Her blue eyes framed by thick dark eyebrows widen at the sight of the blood covering my hand. “It looks serious, honey.”

  “I’m fine, Tasha.” I put my hand on the bar top and stare at the cuts. They’re bleeding heavily.

  My numb brain starts registering the subtle waves of burning pain.

  Pain is good.

  Pain will make me feel.

  It will make me feel something other than the rage that has been flooding my veins since the moment I saw an office worker plowing my wife six days ago. I broke the motherfucker’s arms. I told my wife she was never to cross my path again. She tossed a few sets of clothing into her small suitcase and escaped from our house. I haven’t seen her since that rainy night.

  I’m a single man again.

  Fuck yeah. I will be drunk for a week. For a month. No, for a year.

  Tasha holds my wounded hand and takes a closer look. She removes two shards from my palm and wraps a piece of white cloth around it.

  “That will do, pretty boy,” she says as she picks up the pieces of broken glass and disposes of them into the small rubbish bin.

  “You are like some heart-balm,” I say as I wink at her.

  Tasha shakes her head and flashes me a half-smile. She finishes cleaning the bar top while one of the club girls hurries to wipe my blood from the floor. She’s as fast as lightning. Very efficient. Her mouth is equally efficient. Yep, I had her mouth yesterday. And two days ago. A single man’s privilege.

  Tasha moves to the side to serve Blaze, my president.

  I pull my wounded hand to my chest and wrap the cloth tighter around it. Blaze shoots me a pitying glance as he lays his hand on my shoulder.

  “Find yourself a tight cunt to fuck tonight,” Blaze says.

  I salute him as my glance meets Tasha’s. She chews her lower lip and twines her fingers in her curly blonde hair. Her eyes are burning with lust. They shine dark blue like the sea washing over the white sands of a tropical island.

  I like chicks with blonde hair. My wife has blonde hair and big natural tits. The memory of her ass shaking on another man’s dick flashes through my head and strips me of my desire for blondes. I will definitely get drunk tonight and that’s gonna be in my own company.

  I’ve been in my own company for most of my life. I like my own company, but I had to learn to like it.

  My adoptive parents were very busy people. They threw me into a big room with grotesque toys and colourful, car-like furniture and forgot about me. Luckily, my childminder remembered to feed me.

  One rainy evening, my adoptive father strangled my adoptive mother with his belt. That was when I was ten years old. He yelled that she was a slut as he circled her dead body like a hyena. Then he shot himself dead.

  I tumbled out of the house and ran.

  I ran faster and faster until my lungs hurt and my stomach spat out its contents. Blaze found me when a nice man in a white shirt and a black suit was trying to get me into his house. Blaze knocked that man’s teeth out, broke both his arms, and called him a fucking piece of scum. Then he brought me to the Furious Skulls MC’s clubhouse.

  He gave me a nice room with white walls and simple furniture. He brought me to a shopping centre and bought me a bag of toys. I had chosen every one of them and it had been fun.

  Two police officers visited the clubhouse ten days later. They asked about the man in the black suit. Apparently, he was dead.

  Blaze told me to pretend to be his son, so I did.

  Blaze gave me a family.

  I was the only kid in the clubhouse then. I spent a lot of time in the attic. In my own company.

  I shake my memories off.

  Maybe I could go visit a casino. I’m good at gambling. No, I’m a damn very professional gambler. I bring three grand in after just one night at the casino. I’ve lost money maybe four times and they were not big sums.

  There are beautiful bitches in the casino. Hell yeah. Curvy redheads and brunettes in elegant dresses. They want to have fun for an hour or two before returning to their husbands.

  I move on the barstool, but some force glues me to my seat.

  Michelle

  I read the sign attached to the roofed entrance by two pieces of metal chain once again. ‘The Grim Traveller’. It must be a hotel. Who would name a bar or a pub ‘The Grim Traveller’? Yes, it sounds like the perfect name for a hotel.

  I tighten the grip on the steering wheel to the point of pain. My lungs expand and I exhale with an audible sound. I have to step into that building anyway. My fuel tank is empty and the engine rasps each time the speed reaches 40 miles per hour. I’m in the middle of nowhere. My car will probably break down any moment. I’m as hungry as a starving animal in winter.

  I’m on my own. The sky is jet black and stars layer it like a dust of diamonds, so I should find shelter as soon as possible.

  I press my foot against the gas pedal and the car pulls forward. I turn into the parking space between two bikes. Six other bikes are parked farther to my left. The echoes of music slither inside the car through the narrow gap in the window. It’s a rock ballad. I also hear swear words and laughter. The hotel guests must be enjoying their stay.

  The car stops and I huff out. Doubts cross my mind, but I kill them off. I reek and my stomach feels like it’s plastered to my spine.

  I get out of the car, grabbing my handbag from the passenger seat. My mouth lets out a cloud of vapour as I slam the door shut and move towards the main entrance of the Victoria
n building that towers in front of me like a haunted house brought from a ghost movie. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I shrink into myself. Cold penetrates my body. My fingers go numb as I hesitate on the veranda framed by an old stone railing.

  Now or never.

  I huff out again and push the double door open.

  Asher

  An eerie silence hangs in the bar for a moment. It’s an intriguing silence. It’s as though the people in here have forgotten how to talk.

  The chattering resumes, and I look over my shoulder to check the reason for that unexpected silence. My eyes flick over the short figure pulling back and forth at the other end of the bar. I twist my chest to have a better view as my barstool wobbles.

  She looks very out of place in here.

  Her black bangs cut straight across her forehead, her thick dark eyebrows, and her hair cascading down to her waist are too unique to fit in here. Black ravens like her never come to this bar—they get drunk in students’ clubs.

  Her black hoody, grey t-shirt with a skull printed on the front, black skinny jeans, and pink boots are too gothic for this place.

  Such women have never been my type.

  Not until she pulls forward, stops by the billiard table, and I see all of her.

  She is beautiful.

  Her skin is perfect, as white as lilies. Yeah, I may be a crude bastard but I know what lilies are.

  A tiny scar crosses her upper lip, but it gives her face an even more intriguing appearance. Her mouth is beautiful. Not like that injected model type. No, her lips are rather thin, but with her big eyes, it’s just wow.

  Yes, her eyes look like they know the mysteries of the universe. They’re coffee-brown, adorned with long black eyelashes and a thin scar runs above her wing-like eyebrows.

  The chick is petite.

  Such women have never been my type, but she definitely is.

  I realise I’m gaping at her.

  Our glances meet and her eyes flick over my wounded hand.

  Michelle

  There are bikers in here—crude, tattooed, hairy men. Scary and dangerously massive men. There are a few women in short jean skirts and cropped tops just as you’d imagine bikers’ women. They exude the subtle air of wantonness, but maybe I’m judgmental.

  The scent of tobacco circles me like a warning. It’s like the smell of wrongness. My throat tightens as my heart pounds in my chest. Then my eyes meet his. He has a boyish glance. His amber irises gleam as his dark asymmetric eyebrows rise. A safe glance unlike those of all the other men’s enjoying the evening in here.

  I pull forward while he slips away from his barstool. His hand is wounded and the sight of it causes my heart to leap. Uneasiness sits on my chest.

  I jerk my body back, but the man with the wounded hand stands right in front of me and the closeness with his tall frame causes me to freeze.

  I glance up at him and feel like I’m standing by an oak tree. He is well built, but not massive. I’m certain he spends a few hours a week working out.

  “You need anything, sweetheart?” he asks as he threads his fingers through his short brown hair.

  “This is a hotel, right?” I explode.

  God, please make it be a hotel.

  Asher

  My dick twitches in my pants at the delicate rasping in her voice and her French sounding accent.

  “Right,” I say. “This is a hotel.”

  “I need a room for tonight,” she says, her cheeks flushed.

  “Sure.”

  “Can I eat something in here as well?”

  “I can organise a sandwich or something.”

  She bobs her head. “Where is reception?”

  “I’m the receptionist.”

  The girl stares at me with wide eyes. I take a closer look at her face, and a flutter goes through my chest because she looks seventeen.

  “I can give you a room with a bathroom and a double bed,” I continue, “but I need to see your driving licence first.”

  If she’s underage she’s gonna end up at the police station tonight.

  “I’m an adult.” She takes her wallet out of her handbag and shows me her driving licence.

  She’s nineteen. A bit young, but honestly, I don’t give a fuck. She’s an adult.

  “Michelle,” I say. “You have a really nice name. So, you want that room?”

  “Yes, That’s perfect. How much?”

  “Tomorrow, okay?” I throw my arm over her back and push her delicately towards the wooden stairs behind the right flank of the bar. She could have asked me about my name. It pisses me off that she didn’t. “I’ll show you the room and then I’ll get you some food.”

  “I need my bag from the car,” she shrieks as she pulls away from my arm.

  “I can get it for you.”

  “No, no, that’s okay. I can get it later myself.”

  I can get that fucking bag for her. Only one of my hands is wounded.

  “I’ll get that bag for you.” I must sound very convincing because the girl nods and pulls forward.

  I guide her up the stairs as Blaze’s suggestion wavers in my head. That petite pussy shaking her round little ass in front of me will definitely make me forget about my ex-wife.

  I could enjoy her for a night or two. Or three.

  Chapter 2

  Michelle

  He kicks the door open and invites me in with a gallant gesture of his good hand. A female’s laughter makes me jerk my head to the side and my eyes slide over the couple kissing and groping each other three steps away from me. The woman is pressed against the wall, her thigh around the man’s waist. Heat rushes up my chest and my throat pulses. They’re not groping. They’re fucking.

  “Shall we?” the receptionist waves his hand again.

  I enter the room.

  The furniture is modest and of a beige colour, but I don’t expect a hotel room in such a deserted area to knock me off my feet. Pastel curtains wave in the window, two low cupboards stand at each side of a metal fireplace, a wardrobe is built into a niche and a thick mattress is spread on the floor. Very unusual as for a hotel room.

  “So,” the man leans over me. “What do you think?”

  “It’s nice. I like it.”

  I step forward and put my bag on the mattress as the man’s hot breath scented with beer puffs on my cheek and his arm crosses over my chest. I stiffen with a squeal stuck in my throat as he buries his face into my neck and plants a hot, wet kiss just below my ear. My knees bend. Heat rushes through my veins and then panic strangles my throat.

  I free myself from him, turning to face him. “Hey!”

  He raises his hands in a warding gesture. “You don’t like the room? There are two more of them, but the guys who occupy them are more than twice your age.” His eyes blaze, as threatening as a real fire.

  “What?”

  He sends me a beguiling smile. “I’m only twenty-nine. Good age, right? Good for you?”

  “What?”

  “We can have a drink first.”

  “First? You mean a drink before what?” I know I’m stupid. More than that. I’m ultimately irresponsible and ultimately naïve. “This isn’t a hotel?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Well,” he starts and shoots me a dark glance. “This is my room when I’m in the area but chicks like you sometimes spend a night or two in The Grim Traveller, you know, like in a hotel. Nothing wrong with that.”

  Chicks like me. Wow.

  On the other hand, I don’t think there has ever been a woman in his life who was immune to his boyish allure. I’m sure chicks like me throw themselves at him. That’s why he’s so charmingly confident.

  I jerk my body forward, determined to exit the room, but he shoots his arm towards me and seizes me around the waist.

  “Alright,” he says. “No fucking at the moment. Message received.”

  I squirm in his enslaving embrace. No fucking at all. “Hands off me.”
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  “Listen... Let’s start again, okay?” There’s unexpected softness in his voice.

  The fuck what? I want him to let go of me. I have to leave this place as soon as possible.

  This is bikers’ place where chicks like me get fucked by those bikers.

  I have no intention to get fucked by a biker tonight, not even by the one holding me in his embrace. He is handsome, and his interest in me actually makes me feel flattered, but I’m not going to spread my legs for a complete stranger.

  “My name is Asher,” he continues as he loosens his embrace and grips my arm with his hand. “And I’m really pleased to be your host, Michelle.”

  What a prince charming. I turn to face him. “I really have to go.”

  “Where do you want to go now? It’s almost midnight and you’re in the fucking middle of nowhere. The nearest petrol station is twenty miles away from here. The nearest village—thirty miles away from here. Eat something. Have a good rest.”

  Suddenly tiredness hits me hard, sits on my chest like a rock, and takes all my energy away. Something wells up inside of me. It’s as though a violent storm fills up a river and the water floods the banks. I take a shaky breath and tears stream down my cheeks.

  “The car is out of order,” I sob. “And there is no fuel. I’m desperate.”

  Asher

  She doesn’t want to fuck. That’s fine. But, I won’t let that chick drive a car that will break down or run out of fuel at any moment.

  “Listen,” I say, putting my palm on her head. “I’ll look at your car first thing in the morning, okay? Eat something, have a good rest. I can sleep on the floor.”

  “On the floor?” She sniffles and looks at me with dread.

  “On the camping mat.”

  Suspicion shadows her glance as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “I’ll keep my hands away from you,” I say. “I promise.”

  She chuckles. “Alright.”

  “Give me the car keys,” I say. “I’ll get your bag for you.”

  “It’s in the back seat,” Michelle says, digging her hand into her handbag and taking out the keys. She passes them to me. “Thanks.”

  “Go have a shower. The towels are in the grey cabinet.”