Wicked Riders MC: The Complete Series

Chapter 1

REAPER

The invoice numbers blur together, and I rub my temples, trying to ward off the migraine that’s been threatening to take me out all day. Leaning back in my chair, I take a deep breath and tilt my head up as if to drain the tiredness from my eyes.

A quick look at my phone tells me I’ve been in the back office of the Wicked Riders MC repair shop for over three hours, going over paperwork.

So much fucking paperwork. I was practically raised in the Wicked Riders motorcycle club, and I always wanted to be the president one day.

Five years into achieving my dream, and I realize the position comes with a lot more office work than I had planned for.

Normally, the president of a motorcycle club spends his days in the clubhouse. I split my time between the club and my office here, where I’m the manager. It keeps me busy, and I usually don’t mind. Until it’s time for the boring paperwork.

I stand from my seat, unfurling myself from the uncomfortable position I was in, bent over my desk.

Stretching my arms above my head, I feel a few joints pop, as well as a satisfying crack in my lower spine.

Even though the coffee in the front of the shop is at least six hours old, I’m going to need something to wake me up if I’m ever going to get through these invoices.

The lobby area in front of the shop is empty, which is pretty typical for this time of day. Our clientele is mostly fellow MC brothers, a few nomads, and the occasional weekend warrior who likes to feel tough by getting his fancy bike fixed up by real bikers.

Peering through one of the doors to the garage bays, I nod when I see Wraith, our Sergeant in Arms, and Rogue, our Road Captain, working on their bikes.

I’ve spent more hours in that garage, elbows deep in a project, covered in oil, than I have pretty much anything else in my life.

But ever since becoming president, I’m less hands-on.

There’s hardly any dirt under my fingers anymore. Just paper cuts.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that my brothers unanimously voted me for president five years ago when our previous leader stepped down.

It’s an honor, and goddamn humbling to see their confidence in me to this day.

I like to think I’ve lived up to the highest standards of the club and have bettered our community during my time in charge so far.

At Wicked Riders MC, we may skirt the law at times, but above all, we’re loyal, and we protect what’s ours. That goes for our community as well.

I grab a mug from the cupboard above the coffee maker and pour the stale, steaming hot liquid inside. The coffee smells like dirt and battery acid, and tastes even worse. Good. It’s exactly what I need to kickstart my system.

Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms over my chest and continue sipping the rancid brew.

My eyes widen in curiosty when I see a curvy young woman in a flowery red dress pacing back and forth in front of the shop window.

I tilt my head to the side, studying her more and trying to figure out what she’s doing here.

The woman has long, straight, jet black hair and olive-colored skin. When she turns around and begins pacing in the opposite direction, I see a hint of her facial features. I can’t quite tell the color of her eyes, but her pretty pink lips have caught my attention.

What am I doing? I haven’t looked at a woman that way in…

I can’t even remember. This club has been my whole life ever since I got out of juvie at fifteen.

Women never played a factor in becoming President of the MC, so I didn’t bother.

And I’ve been fine with that. So then why can’t I stop looking at this mysterious woman?

As if sensing my scrutiny, the dark-haired woman faces the front door fully, takes a deep breath, and clenches her jaw. She stares at the door like it’s her personal Mount Everest. I have no idea what a curvy little thing like her is doing out front of my motorcycle shop, but it can’t be good.

I watch as she pulls the door open and steps inside, brushing off her dress and tucking her hair behind her ear before looking around.

When her eyes land on me, my heart does the strangest thing.

It beats for the first time in years. No, it’s more than that.

One look into those endless emerald eyes of hers, and my entire nervous system sparked to life.

My heart isn’t just beating; it’s pumping blood through my veins so forcefully I have to gasp for air.

“Hi,” the woman says, her voice far too light and sweet for the dirty environment she’s surrounded by.

I blink at her several times, still taking in her delicate features, freckled nose, dark green eyes, and the full, voluptuous package they’re all wrapped up in. When I don’t say anything, she continues.

“I was wondering if you had a job available.”

A dry chuckle falls from my lips, and I eye her up and down skeptically.

She’s young. Too damn young. At least fifteen years younger than my thirty-nine.

Her brow furrows, the corners of her lips turning down in a slight frown.

The fact that she doesn’t know how ridiculous her request is says it all.

“This is no place for a little girl like you,” I tell her harshly. For a moment, I think she’s going to back down. But I’m not lucky enough for that.

“Let’s start over,” she says, pasting on a bright smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“It’s not the foot that matters,” I mutter under my breath.

The woman shocks me by giggling at my grumpy response. Not exactly what I was going for.

“I’m Lynx,” she informs me, holding out her hand for me to shake.

I stare at it, for some reason noticing the chipped light pink nail polish on her nails. Something tells me that if I touch her, I won’t be able to let her go. Which is absolutely ridiculous. My brain must be scrambled from all the paperwork.

Lynx drops her hand, but the smile never leaves her face. “And you are…?” The woman rocks back on her heels and looks up at me expectantly. Why is she so damn cute? Did I really just think the word cute?

“Reaper.”

“Reaper,” she echoes. I shouldn’t like the way my name sounds rolling off her tongue. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking of other things rolling off her tongue. “Is that a… Family name?”

Her green eyes are round and innocent as she looks up at me, but her little smirk tells me she’s proud of the joke she made. The craziest thing is, it’s taking a considerable amount of effort to not smirk back.

“Road name.“

“Oh yeah, that’s like… Official motorcycle stuff, right?“

I grunt in response.

“I suppose I’ll learn all about that when I start working here,” she states confidently.

“You’ll find that I’m very organized, detail-oriented, and punctual.

Basically, everything you could possibly want for a front desk person or a secretary.

And, no offense…” She looks around suspiciously, as if checking to make sure no one‘s listening in.

“But I think I might be a little more welcoming than some of your other employees.”

I huff out a laugh, setting my coffee cup on the counter before walking around front and facing her. She’s at least eight inches shorter than my six-foot-three, and I have to tilt my head down to make eye contact. “Actually, with my clientele, you’d be the one out of place.”

“This is good,” Lynx says enthusiastically. I give her a questioning look. “We’ve moved on from grunted responses to full sentences.” She grins at me, an eyebrow lifted in challenge. She’s enjoying our back-and-forth.

Fuck. I think I’m enjoying it, too.

“Look, lady, I’m not–”

“My name is Lynx, actually,” she says, cutting me off. It’s been a long time since anyone has shown me this much disrespect. It should infuriate me. But the playful glint in her mesmerizing eyes almost makes it worth the trouble. Almost.

“Lynx,” I start again. “There is no job for you here. You can try a coffee shop or maybe a bookstore. That seems better suited to you.”

Lynx crosses her arms over her chest, inadvertently pressing her breasts together and putting them on display for me. I tear my eyes away from her curvy form, biting the side of my cheek to keep me grounded.

“And what do you know about me?” Lynx fires back.

“I would think someone in your lifestyle would be a little less judgmental, but I guess not.” The little spitfire has an edge to her voice now, her eyes slightly sharper than they were before.

I know that look. She’s desperate, but I’m not sure why.

I don’t deserve to know why, and I certainly can’t afford to take on her baggage.

I watch as the woman slips out of her defensiveness and puts on a cheerful, but fake mask.

“That’s Okay. I’ll just have to prove myself. ”

I’m about to protest, but before I get a chance, my phone goes off. The woman jumps slightly, but gets herself under control quickly. Interesting.

I turn my back on Lynx, focusing instead on the call from Shadow, the MC’s top Enforcer.

“Tell me you have an update,” I answer, not bothering with small talk.

“Yes and no,” he hedges. Shadow knows that’s not what I want to hear. “We have confirmation that Sons of Destruction are the local contacts for the illegal auction house. They’re the ones scoping out locations, securing contracts, and drumming up business for the each auction.”

Shadow grits out the last word with the same amount of anger and disgust as I feel.

I got an unexpected call from an old friend, Jackson, last week.

His woman, Sage, was caught up in a dangerous situation, and he needed backup.

We helped connect the dots between Sage’s father and Sons of Destruction MC, who we now know are working with some sick psychopaths to set up an “auction house,” aka, a place to sell and traffic women to the highest bidder.

“And?” This isn’t new information, but I guess more confirmation is never bad.

“And… Right now, they don’t have a permanent location. We have leads on possible places the Sons of Destruction might set it up, but right now, the auction varies in location and time of night. So far, we’ve only been able to find them after the auction has taken place.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. It’s not the news I wanted to hear, but I know my men are working on it.

We’re all enraged knowing this vile shit is happening in our backyard.

I called in several tips to the local police about a trafficking ring, but they didn’t do jack shit.

Their hands might be tied up in red tape, but mine aren’t.

I’ll do what they can’t. I’ll get rid of the threat for good.

“I know,” Shadow says, deflating a bit. I picture him plopping down into his favorite booth in the Wicked Riders clubhouse. When he orders a beer, my suspicions are confirmed.

“I’ll meet you at the clubhouse soon. Second round is on me.”

We hang up, and I wipe a hand down my face. What else can we be doing to hunt these motherfuckers down? How many more women have to suffer before we shut the auction house down? It makes me sick to my stomach. How did this slip under the radar? How did we let this happen in our town?

I get so lost in my thoughts that I almost forget about my annoying little intruder. Turning back around, I sweep the lobby area for the bubbly thorn in my side, only to find the place empty.

My heart shouldn’t be sinking to my stomach at the thought of not saying goodbye. Will I ever see the raven-haired, curvy goddess again? I rub the heel of my hand over my chest, right where my treacherous heart is pounding. I don’t think I’ve ever been so affected by someone in such a short time.

I need a ride on my bike and a beer or five with a friend. That’s the only way I’m going to forget Lynx. Even as I think the words, I know she’ll be in my mind for a long time, whether I want her or not.