Gonzo (Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club Book 7) Read online

  Gonzo

  Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club #7

  Candace Blevins

  Contents

  Copyright

  Candace loves hearing from readers!

  Blurb

  Glossary of Motorcycle Club Terms

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Also by Candace Blevins

  The Dragon King

  About the Author

  More From Excessica!

  eXcessica publishing

  Gonzo © May 2016 by Candace Blevins

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  Excessica LLC

  P.O. Box 127

  Alpena, MI 49707

  To order additional copies of this book, contact:

  [email protected]

  www.excessica.com

  Cover design © 2016 Syneca Featherstone

  First Edition May 2016

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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  Blurb

  Gonzo…

  Gonzo has not only had to come to terms with the loss of his entire family, but he also barely survived being shot in the chest multiple times while still a human, and was then later turned into a werewolf during a vicious attack while hiking as he tried to put his life back together.

  Constance has had her own losses to deal with, and while nowhere near as bad as Gonzo’s, they’ve left a mark on her as well. She’s determined to live her life without a partner though, because her two sexual experiences in college convinced her she’s asexual.

  Gonzo’s a biker people cross the road to avoid, while Constance has multiple doctorate degrees and works as a research scientist for a leading pharmaceutical firm. Gonzo doesn’t trust women, Constance has no use for men — and yet they’re going to find themselves working toward the same goals.

  Can they form a team to do what needs to be done?

  Glossary of Motorcycle Club Terms

  Cage:Car, truck, SUV, etc. A vehicle that isn’t a motorcycle.

  Church:A meeting. Club business is discussed, and items are often voted on.

  Colors:Same as Cut.

  Cut:A member’s vest or jacket with all of their club patches. It’s earned and is a huge deal.

  LEO:Law Enforcement Officer, sometimes Law Enforcement Organization

  MC: Motorcycle Club

  Prospect:Prospective member. They often get the first patch, but they aren’t a full-fledged member until they’ve proven themselves and been voted in. While a prospect, they have to do just about anything a member tells them.

  RTMC:Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club

  Sweetbutt:Woman who hangs around the MC and is always available for sex.

  Chapter 1

  Gonzo

  Most everyone in the RTMC works in one of our businesses. I can bartend in a pinch, but most nights I work as a bouncer. Duke says I’m not good with people.

  He’s right. People are fucked up. Some are more fucked than others, but there’s no way to know who might be just a cunt hair away from losing their shit.

  I trust my brothers in the MC and a few of their ol’ladies, but that’s it. I have no intention of having a conversation with anyone else. I mean, I have to talk to people to order food or buy shit at the store, but that isn’t a conversation. I don’t do small talk. It’s pointless.

  Funny, though — I get just as many tips as Dawg when I bartend. Everyone likes Dawg. He can look a woman in the eyes for ten seconds and make her fall in love with him. Brain says they tip me as much as Dawg because I scare the fuck out of them and they don’t want to piss me off.

  Apparently, I look at people and give them nightmares. Maybe they know I’d just as soon bite their head off as talk to them?

  On this particular Thursday night I was bouncing, and something was up with a woman sitting at the bar.

  She’d had one margarita when she first arrived, but now she was nursing a soda, and she kept looking at me but she’d look away when I turned towards her. She wasn’t doing anything bounce-able but she had my nerves on edge. My wolf’s, too.

  A group of women were having a party at one of the tables, and two of them staggered off to the bathroom. On their way back, two men stood in their way — it was apparent the women wanted to go back to their table and the men weren’t letting them. I tuned into the conversation and heard the men telling the women they wanted to take them back to their place to party. The women were shit-faced, but still obviously weren’t interested and only wanted to get back to their friends. I walked to the men, wrapped a hand around the back of their necks, and leaned in to say, “They told you they aren’t interested. I see you approach them again and you’re out of here.”

  I moved the men out of the way, nodded to the women to go around, and looked back to the men as I squeezed hard enough to bring tears to their eyes. “Not cool. Don’t try to pull that shit again in our bar.”

  As I returned to the wall, the woman at the bar downed the rest of her soda and went to the restroom. I put her out of my mind as I stepped toward two gentlemen who seemed to be arguing over a piece of ass, and not even an attractive piece of ass. One had apparently been dating her and only broke
up earlier in the week, the other had her out on a date tonight and the wounded party felt like the new guy had broken the bro-code by taking her out so soon. All I had to do was stand five feet away, cross my arms and look at them, and they sat down and lowered their voices.

  Looking scary can come in handy sometimes.

  I moved back to my favorite perch, leaned against the wall so I could see the bar and dance floor, and my stomach dropped as the woman I’d been watching earlier came out of the bathroom and made a beeline for me.

  Our bar in Atlanta had been a biker bar, with pretty much only friends of the one percent feeling comfortable stepping in the door. However, somehow we’d attracted the ninety-nine percent here in Chattanooga. It was incredibly profitable, but a pain in the ass to deal with outsiders sometimes.

  It was hard to say this woman didn’t belong here, because so many other people were dressed just as prissy as this bitch, but I had a feeling she hadn’t stepped into any bar in years and I wondered why she was here alone. She might’ve been attractive if she’d been dressed different, or had her hair down, but all I could see was the prissy-assed bitch I’d first noticed paying way too much attention to me.

  She stepped to me, held out her hand as if to shake mine, and said, “I’m Constance.”

  I just looked at her, my arms crossed. Eventually, she dropped her hand and said, “Ummm, you’re working, right? Do you not talk when you’re working?”

  I gave her my most intimidating look, but she planted her feet, squared her shoulders, and asked, “What time do you get off work? Do you think, if I stuck around, we could talk when you aren’t working?”

  What the ever-loving fuck? “Are you one of those chicks who just drew up a bucket list, and you need to check off fuck a biker?”

  “What? No!” She looked down a few seconds, and then met my gaze again. “I’ve never been good at this, but I appear to be doing even worse than usual. I’ve watched you, and I’m intrigued, and I’d like to get to know you.”

  “You a reporter?”

  She shook her head.

  “A cop?”

  “I’m a research scientist.”

  I moved one hand to my crotch and casually rubbed. “Behavioral research? You wantin’ to know what makes bikers tick?” Okay, so now I was just fucking with her, but at this point I needed to find out who she was and why she was interested in me.

  “No. Pharmaceuticals. I help invent new drugs.”

  I looked up and around, zeroed in on a few conversations, and looked back to the woman. What had she said her name was? Shit. Total blank. I hadn’t given a fuck when she’d told me. Still didn’t care, but I seemed to remember it was a prissy-assed name that’d pissed me off just by watching her mouth say it.

  Despite my silence and hostility, she tried again. “I’d like to take you to Waffle House, or another restaurant if you’d rather, when you get off. My treat.”

  Like I couldn’t afford fucking Waffle House. If I chose to eat with the bitch, I wouldn’t let her feed me. I crossed my arms again. “And if I wanna get off while I pound my cock in your ass?”

  She took a step back as her face flamed hot, and I smelled true fear from her. She’d been wary and nervous before but I’d finally managed to scare the fuck out of her.

  I shook my head, disgusted. “Not gonna do anything you don’t want. Plenty of willing ass I can have — don’t have to rape someone to get it.”

  “Oh, you’re mad at me for being scared when YOU are the one who said it!? Shit, this was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  She turned to leave and I grabbed her arm as I touched my earpiece. “I’m gonna take a twenty-minute break.”

  “She don’t seem like your type,” Dozer said with a chuckle, but I didn’t respond.

  I pulled the woman into the office and closed the door. She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to be alone with you. I wanted to talk to you in a public place.”

  “You want to talk? This is your only option.”

  She pulled a phone out of her purse, quickly engaged it, and turned it towards me as she asked, “Do you remember her?”

  I recognized the face but couldn’t remember a name. “Yeah. Years since I saw her, though. Bud kicked her out when I caught her snorting a line in the bathroom. She isn’t welcome back on RTMC property.”

  The woman stared at me, her face stricken. “Someone else kicked her out? Not you?”

  “I told her she had to leave because we don’t allow that shit in our compound, but Bud’s the Prez in Atlanta so he made it permanent.” I paused a few seconds as I smelled true grief coming from her. I’d been about to ask if she was a private detective who’d lied about being a research scientist, but this was personal.

  “Why, what happened to her, and how do you know her?” And even more, why had she come to me, specifically? The bitch she was asking about hadn’t been a club whore — she’d only fucked me, as far as I knew. It wasn’t a relationship, but when she was around I’d usually fuck her instead of someone else. The fact I couldn’t remember her name, and had never given her a nickname, should speak volumes to how little she’d meant to me. The bitch had known her place, though. She fucked me and then left. She didn’t want conversation, didn’t ask for meals. Just spread her legs and went on her way. She’d been a damned good lay for a human, too.

  “She was my sister. She’s dead.”

  “And why did you come to me?” My wife died of cancer and my kids were murdered. Everyone has dead loved ones — if this cunt wanted sympathy she’d come to the wrong place.

  “Can we sit down?”

  “Fuck, why not.”

  I sat heavily in a chair and watched as she sat all dainty as shit on the edge of a chair just out of my reach. The bitch had every nerve in my body waiting for something to blow up, so I’d pressed the concealed button on the way in that let the control room know I wanted whatever happened in this room to be recorded. McGyver was in there tonight and he’d given me a simple, “Roger that,” in my earpiece a few seconds later.

  The woman folded her hands in her lap, squared her shoulders again, and told me, “My dad’s a Marine and he’s visiting right now. I left him a note letting him know where I really went tonight, and why. He should be reading it any minute now, but he won’t be able to leave the house to come get me because I picked him up from the airport and he didn’t get a rental car. Still, he should be calling soon, and if I don’t come home he’ll find a way to rescue me.”

  It wasn’t a threat so much as letting me know she’d thought ahead to have some insurance. I’ve been known to make even women pay for threatening me, but I let this one go. “You’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear.”

  “I don’t know if you will or not. If you decide you don’t care, that’s fine, I just don’t feel right keeping this from you, now that Sandy’s dead.”

  Sandy, that’s right. “What did you say your name is?”

  “Constance.”

  Right. Prissy-assed name. Still, she was facing off against me alone in a room and I smelled uncertainty, but not an ounce of fear.

  “You got the fucked up name and she got Sandy?”

  She shook her head. “Her name was Gretchen, and my dad still calls her that, but she hated it. My dad got moved again and she started a new school in second grade and told everyone she goes by Sandy. By the time our parents found out, everyone knew her as Sandy and she never went back to Gretchen.”

  “Did your parents hate you?”

  “I like Constance.”

  Fuck. “What is it you want to tell me?”

  “When Sandy found out she was pregnant she went clean. She ate right, she got a job at a call center — I really thought becoming a mother was going to straighten her out.”

  I couldn’t breathe, so I couldn’t talk. I felt like I’d been kicked in the nuts and chest, and I was paralyzed.

  “She was an awesome mom, at first. She tried to find a better job when she realized she was bar
ely making ends meet while living rent-free in the mother-in-law apartment in my basement. She looked into taking some college classes and went into a state of depression. Before long I was taking care of the kids more than she was, and eventually a uniformed officer was at my lab, telling me he was sorry to tell me my sister was dead.”

  Kids? Plural? I still couldn’t speak, and she said, “She went from coke to meth, apparently, and it was too much for her system. Her death is listed as an OD.”

  Finally, I asked, “And the father?”

  “She left the father spot blank on the birth certificates, and told the family she’d been with so many men she had no idea who it was. She’d drawn up a will, though, before she went off the deep end, and she listed you as the twins’ father. She didn’t want us to tell you about them, but felt someone should know in case there was some medical issue in the future, and maybe your blood marrow would work when ours wouldn’t.” She wasn’t openly crying but she wasn’t far from it. “She loved her kids more than anything, until she lost hope in being able to give them a good life.”

  Twins. It was all I could do to ask, “Who takes care of them now?”

  “I’m their legal guardian. They live with me and now we’re a little three-person family. My dad’s babysitting for me tonight.”

  I still didn’t really believe it. Maybe my brain couldn’t take it in, or maybe my emotions had just been shut down for so long I’d forgotten how to access them.

  But when she turned her phone around again and I saw a boy and a girl who looked so fucking much like my little Clara and Nicky, my heart opened up for the first time in over a decade, and tears I never thought I’d feel again fell from my eyes.

  I wanted to punch the woman in front of me for keeping my kids from me, but she was the one who’d told me. There was no one to hit. I stood, walked to the wall, and put my fist through the heavy wood. And then did it again. And again. And again.