King (Silver Shadows MC #9)

Prologue

Grace

Three years ago, Diamond Creek, Nebraska.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as men who had been waiting for drinks groaned and moved from their stools.

Making room for him.

I knew who he was.

He was the reason I came to Diamond Creek.

My father’s protégé.

When my mother passed away, I didn’t think I would ever discover who my father was. But as I went through her things, I found a picture.

My mother, pregnant. Wrapped in the arms of a biker.

A biker I’d recognized. He was handsome; I’d give him that.

But as far as I was concerned, that was all he had going for him.

Now, twenty-odd years later, he was the president of the Silver Shadows MC in Little Rock, Arkansas.

I guess a woman and a child hadn’t fit into his plans.

I stood before the man at the bar.

“What can I get ya?”

“Beer, darlin’, and your number.”

This would be easier than I thought. His voice was smooth like aged whiskey; his eyes were dark steel orbs.

And his hair. Good God, a man did not deserve to have better hair than any woman I had ever met in my life.

It was down tonight, curling around his shoulders.

On the rare occasions I saw him in town, he always had it pulled back.

“I don’t give out my number to strangers, but I get done at eleven if you want to get a drink and get to know each other.”

“Come find me when you wanna get off.” He winked, and I knew his choice of words weren’t a mistake.

Kingston O’Rourke was the president of the Nebraska Chapter of the Silver Shadows. The only man who had ever convinced my father to open another chapter.

I clocked out at eleven and made my way to the corner booth King had been sitting in for the last few hours watching me while I worked. Every time I looked to see if he was still there, it felt like he was staring into my soul.

“Hey.”

Smooth, Grace.

King smiled and motioned for the waitress to bring us drinks. Mary Ann raised an eyebrow at me as she set my drink on the table.

“Enjoy,” she said, then winked before walking off.

We talked until closing about nothing. Superficial things. He told me a little about the club, and I talked about my mom. Mary Ann kept us topped off, and by the time last call came around, I was well on my way to waking up with a hangover.

“Let me get you home, Grace.”

He led me outside, and he asked for my keys. Disappointment flooded me that he didn’t offer me a ride on his bike. I knew he wouldn’t. I knew how MCs worked.

That seat behind him was for an old lady. Not some girl you picked up in a bar. I was good enough to fuck, but not good enough to keep.

Like mother, like daughter.

He drove me home and walked me to my door. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he was a gentleman. But I knew better. At least I told myself I did.

I had a plan.

“Come inside.” I held his hand, tugging him through the door. “Stay the night, King.”

“Grace, you’re drunk.”

“So, you’ve never fucked a girl when she was drunk before? I’m sure you’ve fucked lots of girls when they’re drunk.”

“Let’s get you to bed, darlin’.”

“Words I like to hear.” I untied the knot in my T-shirt and lifted it over my head. Moving in close, I slid my hands up his chest and tried to push the cut off his shoulders.

“Grace, stop. I’m not fucking you.”

“Why not? You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your fucking gorgeous. But you’re drunk.”

My desire quickly turned to anger, but I steeled my expression. “Wow, a biker with morals. You must be a unicorn.” I doubled my efforts, convinced I could lead him astray. Once I got him to fuck me, I could leave Nebraska and tell dear old daddy what his golden boy had done.

Sudden doubts floated through my mind. It wasn’t King’s fault my father was an asshole. But if I was going to make him pay for leaving my mother and ignoring me my whole life, well, I’d accepted there would be collateral damage.

I was just sorry it had to be him. I actually enjoyed spending the last few hours with him, talking and laughing at the bar.

It was hard to believe he was anything like my father.

I reached for his belt, and he batted my hands away. “Grace, stop.”

I stuck my lip out in a pout. God, I hated it when girls did that. Like seriously, have some self-respect. But I had to admit, it was effective.

Hello, Pot, have you met my friend Kettle?

I had plenty of self-respect. But I also had a plan. I just needed him to stop resisting.

“Grace, I said no!”

Throwing my hands in the air, I gave up. “Are you gay?”

King growled and grabbed my hand. Placing it firmly against his crotch, he asked, “Does that feel like I’m fucking gay?”

I squeezed the bulge, marveling at his size. “Then why won’t you fuck me? You were supposed to be like him!” I tried to pull away. Embarrassed that my plan wasn’t working.

“Like who?”

“My father,” I answered without thinking. My plan had been to drink just enough to bolster my courage, then act drunk. I failed. I turned my back on him. I couldn’t look at him knowing what I had tried to do.

“Who the fuck is your father?”

“Steele.” This was why I didn’t drink. It was like a fucking truth serum. “I was planning to fuck you and then tell him you took advantage of me. I want him to hurt the way my mother hurt. The way I hurt.”

King grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward him. “What the fuck did that asshole do to you?”

“Nothing. That’s the problem. He ignored my mother and me my whole fucking life.”

King pulled me into his arms and held me as tears slipped down my cheeks.

“I have to call him, Grace.”

“NO!” I cried, pulling back.

“I have to tell him you’re here.”

I shook my head, making myself dizzy. Tomorrow was gonna suck. “He doesn’t want me. He couldn’t be bothered with an old lady and a kid.”

“Are you sure he knows about you?”

Grabbing my purse, I pulled out the picture of Steele and my mother. Shoving it at King, I yelled, “He fucking knows.”

“Son of a bitch,” King whispered as he stared at the picture.

I snatched it back and set it on the counter. “Get out.” I didn’t wait for him to respond. I went down the hall to my room and slammed the door.

The next morning, I woke up to a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on my nightstand. My clothes were still on, well, except for the shirt I knew I had discarded, and I was tucked into my bed. The note on the table said he’d stayed all night to make sure I was okay.

I groaned, thinking not only was he not an asshole rapist, but it seemed maybe he was a gentleman after all.