Kevlar & Lace (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Deadman’s Beach, AL #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Kevlar

“How do you drink that shit?”

I burp and blow my breath at Graves.

“Fuck, man.” He gags and bends over. “I can fucking taste it. You’re dead as soon as I throw up.”

I chuckle and rinse out my glass. “Ladies dig the abs, brother.” I punch him in the gut, knocking all the air out of him as he wheezes. “Going to have to get in better shape if you’re going to attempt to kill me.”

“I could take you out anytime I want.”

I tap my jaw. “Come on. Give it your best shot.”

“Wouldn’t want to make you any uglier than you already are.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He goes to take a bite of his banana, and I shove it further into his mouth.

He spits it out and charges at me as I laugh. “Fucking dickhead.” He shoves at me. “It’s too early for your stupid shit.”

I just laugh harder. He makes it too damn easy, and I know he won’t really do shit because he wouldn’t want to piss my sister off.

He waves me off, and I head out to the beach behind the clubhouse for my morning jog.

“Wait up.” Guts falls in step with me.

“Sure you can keep up, pipsqueak?”

“Like you said. Ladies love the abs.” He grins, and I give him a fist bump. The prospect is all right. I wasn’t sure about him at first, but the fuck face is growing on me.

“Right.” I pop my earbuds in, and rock ‘n roll jolts my system into gear. Nothing gets the blood pumping like some Crazy Train.

The sun is already beating on my back.

Sand kicks up against my calves as I start out at a slow jog, steadily increasing my pace. Gotta get out here early before all the fucking tourists crowd the shore.

The prospect is already falling behind, but to be fair, I do this at least four days a week. We get about half a mile down the strand when I see someone sprawled out on the sand near the shoreline.

Probably some dipshit who passed out drunk from the night before.

Done the same myself plenty of times. I shove my earbuds in my pocket and approach, realizing it’s a woman with a gash on the side of her head.

“Fuck.” I drop to my knees at her side and press my fingers to her neck. She’s got a pulse.

“She okay?” Guts asks as he catches up to me.

“She’s breathing. Get back to the clubhouse and tell the guys I need them to call Combat.”

“Is she wearing a wedding dress?”

“Fuck if I know. I gave you an order,” I growl at him and return to assessing her condition.

The wound at the top of her head needs tending to.

I rip the skirt of her dress and wrap the white fabric around her head.

Prospect is right. Looks like she’s wearing a wedding gown.

Her lips part and a low moan emits from her.

That’s a good sign. “I’ve got you,” I tell her, having no damn clue if she understands or can hear me.

Her gorgeous baby blues flutter open, and her lips tip into a beautiful smile.

I can’t help but notice the spray of freckles peppering the bridge of her nose and cheeks.

Bleeding and groggy, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Are you an angel?” She brushes her slender hand across my wiry cheek, then passes out again.

Scooping her into my arms bridal style, I carry her back to the clubhouse.

“Did anyone call Combat?” I shout as I walk through the back entrance by the pool.

“He’s on his way,” Graves answers me.

“Pool table or a bed?” I ask Prez.

“Upstairs. Don’t need her bleeding all over the new felt.”

Prez and his old lady follow behind me as I take her upstairs to one of the unclaimed rooms.

She’s still breathing, but hasn’t woken up again.

“You shouldn’t have moved her,” Ashley says.

“Wanted to get her off the beach before someone saw us and accused me or the club of something.”

“Is she wearing a wedding dress?” She wraps her arms around her center. She and Prez haven’t been married for long. I wasn’t sure they’d last this long with her being Shelby’s little sister and all.

“Why don’t you go find her some clean clothes,” Prez tells her. Once she’s out of earshot, he jumps my ass. “She’s not wrong. Should have called it in. She dies here. It falls on our shoulders.”

“She’s not going to die.” I stare at her chest, watching it rise and fall with every breath she takes, hoping each one won’t be her last.

“Did she have a phone or anything?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

He nods. “Right. I’ll get the guys to do a search. Someone’s got to be looking for a missing bride.”

Or they are hoping she got pulled out with the tide. I keep the sinister thought to myself in case she can hear us.

Prez barks orders and Combat shows up to check the woman out. He isn’t a doctor, but has plenty of experience from his tour of duty. Doc retired on us, but to be fair, the old bastard is older than dirt and would probably do more damage than good these days with his shaky hands and poor eyesight.

“Everyone clear out,” Combat barks.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He rolls his eyes but starts examining the mysterious beauty.

He’s all business, checking her vitals. “Blood pressure is good. She’s a little dehydrated, but some fluids will help.

Her head wound looks worse than it is. She’s lost some blood, but I suspect not enough for concern.

I’ll clean the cut and have Ashley help me get her changed.

She could have a concussion, but I think she’s just exhausted. ”

I step out into the hallway. Ashley and Combat cut her out of that dress and get into something clean and dry.

“What are you doing?” a voice sounds alarmed.

“Calm your tits,” I overhear Combat.

“You’re safe,” Ashley tries to soothe her.

I enter the room. “No one is going to hurt you. I found you on the beach. Do you remember anything?”

The woman’s brows knit together as she stares at me, wearing a bleak expression. “I don’t know.”

“Do you know your name?”

“I…I’m not sure.”

“We should take her to the hospital,” Ashley suggests once more.

“No,” the woman shouts, panic filling her voice.

Combat looks at me. “It’s your call.”

“We should let her get some rest. Maybe some food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“No, he’s right,” Combat tells her, stroking his beard. “You need something on your stomach so I can give you antibiotics and a mild painkiller.”

“I’m going to update Blood.” Ashley exits the room as Combat digs around in his kit for the meds he plans to administer.

“What do you want to eat?”

“She needs something to coat her stomach that won’t make her puke,” Combat mumbles.

“It’s too damn hot for soup.”

“I’ll be back. Stay put,” he tells both of us like either of us is going somewhere.

“So you can’t recall anything?”

“The last thing I remember is waking up here and you. I remember your face.”

“Found you on the beach. Do you know how you wound up there in a wedding dress?”

She glances down at the tank top and athletic shorts she’s wearing. Her nipples visible through the thin white ribbed cotton with a Harley Davidson logo ironed onto the center of the chest.

“Ashley and Combat dressed you.”

She nods. “I know, I woke up during.”

“You don’t have to worry. No one here will take advantage of you or the situation.”

“I just wish I knew what happened.”

“I’m sure it will come back to you. Until then, I need something to call you.”

She chews on her thumb as she glances around the room. “I don’t know my name.” Her voice comes out scratchy.

“Pick something.”

“I-I don’t know. Oh God. I don’t know my name.” Tears slide down her cheeks.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll find out who you are and where you came from. Until then, you should try to rest.”

“Don’t leave me alone. I’m scared.”

I nod. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She seems to relax when I sit down in a nearby chair. “I could start saying some names. If you hear something that sounds right or familiar, let me know.”

“Okay.”

“Abigail. Brittany. Cindy. Donna. Emily. Florence.” That last one earns me a scrunch of her nose. “Gretchen, Hillary. Imani. Jessica. Lacey.”

She smiles. “Lacey.”

“You think that’s your name?”

“I don’t know. It sounds pretty.”

“All right. Lacey it is.”

Prez opens the door. “Let’s talk.”

I step into the hall, shutting the door behind me. If the hardened expression on his face is anything to go by, he’s about to rip me a new ass.

“How much have you told her?”

“Nothing really. Been focused on trying to figure out her identity.”

“She could be a FED for all we know.”

“Don’t you think they’d come up with a better way to get an in with us?

A prospect. A stripper. Applying at my shop.

Leaving a bugged car at the garage or some shit.

This was random, and she needs our help.

You know, if we call Buford, he’ll just stick her in the women’s shelter with batshit crazy Wanda. ”

“I don’t like this. We can’t trust her.”

“Then trust me.”