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  Rain

  A.G. Henderson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All persons in this story are 18 or older.

  Rain

  They say that a picture is worth a thousand words.

  But after seeing Kayla? I only needed one. Mine.

  It was insane. Unreasonable. Impossible.

  And yet, I was going to make it happen anyway.

  Call it the mechanic in me talking. I made things work for a living.

  Kayla

  He was everything I shouldn’t have wanted.

  Rude. Violent. Associated with the scariest group of bikers in the state.

  But the moment he looked at me with those storm-cloud eyes, my heart took flight.

  For so long, I waited for the opportunity to spread my wings.

  But now I have to be brave enough to go through with it.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 - Rain

  Chapter 2 - Kayla

  Chapter 3 - Rain

  Chapter 4 - Kayla

  Chapter 5 - Rain

  Chapter 6 - Kayla

  Chapter 7 - Rain

  Chapter 8 - Kayla

  Chapter 9 - Rain

  Chapter 10 - Kayla

  Chapter 11 - Rain

  Chapter 12 - Kayla

  Chapter 13 - Rain

  Chapter 14 - Kayla

  Chapter 15 - Rain

  Chapter 16 - Kayla

  Epilogue - Kayla

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1 – Texas

  Connect with Me

  Chapter 1 - Rain

  Machines are better than people, I thought, grease-covered arm flexing as I turned the wrench on a bolt that was being a particular sort of pain in my ass.

  But I stood by that sentiment.

  Don’t get me wrong, I was glad I would likely be dust long before sufficiently advanced AI decided it had no use for the rest of humanity. And I certainly had no interest in shacking up with some silicone android instead of a real woman.

  Still.

  Cars, trucks, motorcycles, SUVs. They were my lifeblood. Some of my earliest memories were of taking things apart and putting them back together when I had no choice but to entertain myself.

  They never changed.

  They never went anywhere.

  They were constant.

  I liked constant.

  The bolt came loose so suddenly that the wrench slipped, banging along the underside of the Cadillac I was beneath loud enough to make my ears ring. To add insult to injury, the piece of rusted metal fell right in the middle of my forehead before falling to the ground with a clink.

  I adjusted the light on my head, shining it on the spot I was working on.

  “Shit,” I cursed to myself in the emptiness of my garage.

  Of course, the bolt had stripped the entire area before finally coming loose. Because everything on Mrs. Foster’s raggedy ride was rusting or coming apart in some form or fashion. It was a miracle the damn thing hadn’t blown up on her yet.

  Okay.

  The only miracle was me.

  Any other mechanic would’ve refused to even put their hands on this old jalopy. They would’ve recommended a scrap yard instead.

  I wasn’t any other mechanic.

  Yeah, I was in this business to make money just like anyone else. Lucky for Mrs. Foster, having two full sleeves of tattoos and driving a chrome motorcycle didn’t mean I lacked a beating heart.

  This Cadillac was the only earthly possession she had to remember her husband by. She’d told me the whole story, more than once. The cliff notes version was that they stayed married for nearly sixty years before the flu took him a couple of summers ago and the medical expenses took almost everything else. She was living with her daughter. And boy was that something she felt strongly about.

  But she’d scraped together enough money to keep the car.

  How many times she told me the story didn’t matter. The first time was all that did.

  She’d cried, and not the kind of dramatic wailing and kicking and moaning that people did on tv these days either. The kind that was more about getting attention and a response from others than actually experiencing the pain you were supposedly feeling.

  Mrs. Foster had sat in the faded leather seats of my waiting room and cried quietly; a small handkerchief pressed to her face. Thin shoulders shaking with grief.

  So, yeah.

  Despite how many times it broke down or what the emissions on this damn thing were doing to the atmosphere, I always had it towed into the garage free of charge and then I worked on it.

  Also free of charge.

  I understood being lonely.

  I understood wanting to hold onto something that could take the loneliness away.

  Don’t let the charity fool you, though. She was paying me in homemade biscuits she brought by every Sunday and they were worth their weight in gold.

  I kicked my legs against the oil-spotted floor, letting the wheels of the creeper carry me back out from underneath the car so I could search for a drill. My dirty fingers left streaks on the toolbox while I slid open drawers at random, searching. Searching. Searching.

  “Where the hell are you?” I grumbled under my breath, pushing shit around at random.

  Unable to help myself, I glanced to the right, taking in the neat, orderly rows of the station beside me. That toolbox remained the same blue color as when I first bought it. There were no paint spills or anything. Hell, there probably weren’t even any smudges on the damn thing.

  Tone didn’t exactly work for me. But the tall, dark-skinned biker liked to come through sometimes and unwind. Considering his version of unwinding meant grabbing whatever car I had out in the lot behind the garage and fixing it in that slow, methodical way of his, I wasn’t exactly complaining.

  I also wasn’t getting ready to cross the painted white line he’d put between our areas to grab one of his drills. He would know. Didn’t matter if I went about taking it like a cat burglar, gloves and all, then returned the tool with a ruler to make sure it was in the right spot.

  He always knew.

  The light on my head blinked before cutting off and leaving me in darkness. I cursed and tapped on it. Just changed these batteries.

  Instead of flickering back to life, an overhead light came on, accompanied by a deep, angry voice from behind me.

  “What’d you lose this time?”

  I didn’t scream. Maybe I did work on a car for a little old lady without making her pay a dime for it, but I did have a bit of a reputation to hold together. I also didn’t grab a pipe or anything else. The voice was familiar. I knew it like I knew the back of my hand.

  And the man that voice belonged to wouldn’t be cowed in the slightest by a crowbar or even a gun. Which I didn’t have. Because I wasn’t part of his life.

  I turned, taking in the figure leaning against the sun-weathered door of the Cadillac.

  He was taller than my own six feet by a few inches, and corded muscles stood out beneath the ink-stained arms spilling from his black t-shirt. His jet-black hair was cropped close, and dark enough to blend with the tattoos crawling up along the sides of his neck. Even without being able to see them clearly, I knew they depicted war and carnage and death.

  Celebrated it, as a matter of fact.

  I took a deep breath full of metal and oil, ignoring the anger pouring from grey eyes almost exactly like my own.

  Leaning casually or not, he couldn’t hope to contain the aggression he was throwing off, so he didn’t try. I couldn’t say I was used to it. It would be like a lion tamer being used to
putting their head between powerful jaws.

  Did they get bit every time?

  No.

  Most times?

  Also no.

  But that was the danger, wasn’t it?

  It only took once.

  So, in response to his pissed off stance, I adopted my own.

  My arms went across my chest and my brows popped up, lifting the band holding the light attached to my forehead. I probably looked ridiculous and I didn’t give a single fuck. This was my space. Not his.

  Lip curling, I stared down the most dangerous man in the state.

  Creed was the President of the Seven Sinners. They weren’t just bikers. They were thee bikers. The ones people with the right kind of sense avoided making eye contact with. The kind of outlaws who would lie and cheat and steal and kill if it meant they got their hands on whatever it was they were after.

  Creed and the rest were what most of the world would consider the one percent. And for good reason. There weren’t many individuals out there who could compare to any of them, and I wasn’t sure anyone on this green earth could compare to the boss man himself.

  They were larger than life. Legends in the making whose tales only grew longer with each passing year. They had spawned chapters that spread across North Carolina and even started to stretch up and down the East Coast.

  No one crossed them if they valued their lives.

  Because it was a well-known fact that the same scowling asshole standing across from me enjoyed nothing more than ripping the throats out of those he considered prey.

  The same asshole who also just so happened to be my brother.

  “What do you want, Creed?”

  “Watch your tone,” he snapped, eyes flashing like a lightning strike.

  I almost scoffed and thought better of it. The monster was closer to the surface than usual today. A trend becoming more and more prominent since his Enforcer and best friend, Texas, had hit the road a few months ago.

  From what I knew, he was on a hunt for someone, and I wondered if it had something to do with Creed’s second in command and only other true friend, Rebel, being missing.

  Either way, I pitied whoever the giant blonde biker was setting out to find. He wasn’t violence wrapped in an angry face and brought to life the same way as my brother, but he was hell on wheels anyway.

  “I’ve got something I need you to take care of,” Creed said, pulling a manila folder from somewhere. He stood to his full height and closed the distance between us, holding it outstretched towards me.

  “I’m busy,” I told him with a grin, hands going into my pockets. “And in case you’ve forgotten… I don’t work for you. I’m not one of your soldiers to be sent on missions.”

  “Tell me again when I give a fuck,” he spat, thrusting the folder into my chest so hard it bent. I reached out and caught it by reflex more than anything, leaving black streaks along the edges. “You owe me.”

  I knew what he was talking about.

  How could I not?

  But it didn’t make me any happier to have this sword eternally dangling over my neck either.

  My anger rose in response and I clenched my teeth. “I could’ve handled them,” I reminded him. “There was no reason for you to fucking get involved. Especially not if you were just going to use it to slap me in the face at every opportunity.”

  “You were going to handle the Cartel?” He looked me up and down, a cold, biting sneer on his face. Sometimes I wondered how it was possible we shared the same blood. “How? You still think you were gonna stop them from fucking your shit up with one of your wrenches?”

  “I could’ve-”

  “Give it a rest.” He shook his head, teeth flashing. “Even if you had been able to take on the four of them without getting killed, you know what that would’ve gotten you?”

  I glared at him, saying nothing.

  He bared his teeth again, a wild animal stirred to action. Creed pushed me backwards with one hand and I wanted to knock his teeth out. Or try to, in any case.

  “Answer me, Rain.”

  “Fuck. You.”

  He stepped closer, getting in my face. His eyes were almost silver with anger and I knew mine were darker with my own. But his voice wasn’t quite as caustic when it emerged again.

  “It would’ve gotten you dead,” he said, voice echoing on the last word with finality. “Maybe you did it your way. Maybe you kicked all their asses and sent them scurrying back to their dens with their tails between their legs. We both know what happens next. They show up again with more of them, and this time they’ve brought guns. Last time I checked, you didn’t have what it takes to knock a bullet out of the air.”

  “I know,” I said quietly, glancing away.

  “And I took care of it.” I hid my wince, barely. “So that you didn’t have to. The same way I always take care of issues you run into.”

  The same way I take care of you, a normal brother would’ve said.

  Too bad there was nothing normal about Creed.

  “Now there’s something I need you to handle because you’re the only one who I trust to do it without fucking up.”

  “Is that right?” I grinned big and wide, knowing he would hate it. Sure enough, he moved away from me, shaking his head. “None of your bootlicking savages can get this done?”

  I didn’t really mean the last part. Tone was part of the Sinners and the guy did calm and collected like it was his job.

  “Open it,” Creed ordered, because that was what he did.

  Asking wasn’t familiar to him.

  It was a good thing he never went to kindergarten.

  Sharing didn’t come naturally either.

  I opened the folder in my hand. There was a single picture blown up to cover the page. In the picture, some blonde girl was walking down the street, talking animatedly to another girl with electric blue hair and only her profile visible.

  Something in my chest thudded at the sight of the second girl in the photo, making my pulse race strong and sure. My cock twitched in my jeans, coming alive faster than it ever had before. She was wearing a mini skirt that displayed long, tanned legs, and a spaghetti strap top she was practically spilling from.

  Jesus.

  I scrubbed a hand down my face, not giving a damn about the dirt. Making sure no drool was about to embarrass me in front of the guy who would never let it go was more important.

  Both chicks in the picture were unknown to me, and I wondered what Creed could have planned.

  The thought of him involving the blue-haired pixie in his violent schemes made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “What do you want with them?” I asked in a quiet voice, eyes raking back and forth over her image.

  She was perfect in every way, shape, and form. I knew right then I wouldn’t let him touch her. Maybe no one else either.

  Maybe no one else.

  Ever.

  No one but me.

  I would be her only.

  She would be my constant.

  Then Creed cleared his throat and I blinked, coming back to myself with a scowl directed at my thoughts. Where the fuck had that come from? I had to be going crazy.

  I couldn’t just look at a picture of some girl and decide she belonged to me.

  That was...

  Well. Fuck.

  That was crazy.

  “The blonde,” Creed said, drawing my attention before my thoughts spiraled once more. “Elizabeth. She’s going to the community college nearby and the campus is a blind spot. You’re going to be her shadow while she’s there.”

  I stared at him, trying to put this together.

  “You’ve got clout, but I don’t think they’re gonna appreciate a stalker. The faculty definitely won’t.”

  Creed shrugged. “Stalk her. Befriend her. I honestly don’t give a shit what you do so long as you don’t fucking touch her.”

  “And the school?”

  “You’re already enrolled for the coming sem
ester,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t moving my life around like it wasn’t mine.

  A habit I was having a hard time breaking him of.

  I laughed without an ounce of humor to the sound. “So just like that I’m supposed to rearrange everything so I can go back to school for...how long, exactly?”

  “As long as you need to be there.”

  “Do you have to be so cryptic? I’ve never let your secrets slip and I never will.”

  He met my stare evenly but said nothing for a long moment. “Stop asking questions before you piss me off again. See it done.”

  With the grace of a big jungle cat, he turned on his heel and headed towards the door. Done with the conversation on his terms. I laughed to myself that time, fairly amused.

  Then I paused, glancing at the other girl in the picture my thumb was carefully tracing over. I raised my voice to his retreating back. “What about the other one?”

  “Not my concern,” he called back. “Handle it however you like.”

  Not his concern, I repeated, staring at the photo, wondering what color her eyes were.

  But are you mine?

  Chapter 2 - Kayla

  “Kayla Marie Thomas!” My dear mother shrieked right as my hand landed on the front door.

  Crap. Almost made it.

  I sighed, letting my hand fall back to my side. With the same enthusiasm as someone facing a firing squad, I turned to face the Ice Queen herself. The lovable—not—older woman was already staring down her nose at me. Did she realize how ridiculous that look had become since I grew taller than her?

  Apparently not.

  “Kayla Marie,” she started in that same shrill voice I couldn’t stand.

  “You already said that part, Mother.” The last bit came from my mouth sounding exactly as nineteen hundreds as I wanted it to.

  Because that’s what it felt like, living in this giant house with two people so focused on preserving the integrity of old money they no longer knew how to live.

  A face that might’ve once been similar to mine—before the surgeries and injections—twitched with irritation, cheeks flushing red. Her eyes tightened as much as they could these days, and it wasn’t much.

  Either way, I didn’t care.