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    Chase
    Chase
    Chase
    Ebook119 pages2 hours

    Chase

    By Marteeka Karland

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Cotton: When I avenged my sister’s murder, I knew the consequences. I didn’t expect anything less than prison. I got it. In spades. I survived ten years of hell. I was just fifteen when I was sent away but I never regretted taking the law into my own hands. But the father of the man I killed is now a judge, and the ten years I gave the state might not be enough.

    I thought I could disappear into the little Kentucky town and keep my head down and keep my nose clean. What could be so hard about that? But I'm on parole and everything is stacked against me. When the only place that will hire me happens to be a biker bar, staying out of trouble might be too much for me to manage. Then Chase steamrolls into my life and I know I have much more than my freedom to lose. This man has the power to tear out my heart.

    Chase: I’ve spent the better part of my life in the shadows. Before Bones MC, my team worked for some shady people -- as assassins. I thought I was sacrificing for the greater good. Turns out I was just one more bad guy working for more bad guys. I can’t seem to atone for the sins of my past. No matter what I do, those demons still haunt me.

    The second I spot Cotton, everything changes. Everything about the girl screams “battered woman,” but she’s more than that. There is death in her eyes. She’s killed, but she’s not a killer. No matter what, no matter who comes after her, I will protect her till my last breath. Because she is my only salvation. She’s my woman.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherChangeling Press
    Release dateSep 22, 2022
    Chase
    Author

    Marteeka Karland

    Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of. Want to see what's up with Marteeka? Website www.marteekakarland.com Facebook https://www.facebook.com/groups/735869533214213/ Facebook Page: facebook.com/experiencethemagicmk/ E-mail at [email protected] Blog: marteekasdreams.com BookBub: bookbub.com/profile/marteeka-karland Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Marteeka-Karland/e/B004FZT1IS

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    • 4/5
      Chase falls for Cotton the waitress at the bar. But she's got a pass that will take Chase and club to deal with.

    Book preview

    Chase - Marteeka Karland

    Chapter One

    Cotton

    Watch where you’re fuckin’ goin’, bitch!

    The old guy behind the wheel of the truck that almost ran me over at a crosswalk blew his horn and shook his fist as he leaned out the window and yelled at me. I ignored him, hunching in on myself as I hurried across the street. It wasn’t my fault he wanted to run the red light at the intersection. Most people did here, when there wasn’t anything coming.

    It was pouring down rain and even with an umbrella, I was already soaking wet from head to toe. It was why I’d put my work clothes in my backpack before heading out. I didn’t have a car, and even if I had one, I didn’t have a license. I’d been here three weeks and had finally managed to score a job in a biker bar. The only one in Somerset, Kentucky. The walk was longer than I liked, but it was the only place that would hire me. I was a convicted felon. And not just any felony. Murder. Well, manslaughter. And only because I’d pleaded down. The original charge had been first degree murder and I had no illusion the prosecutor would have gone for life in prison. No. If they’d managed to convict me of capital murder, my ass would have been on the wrong end of a lethal injection.

    Whoever said prison time is slow time had it right. Or maybe it was just my youth. I’d been convicted of murder when I was fifteen and had spent the next ten years of my life in prison, patiently waiting for the day I got out. I’d paid my dues and then some. But never once did I regret killing the bastard who’d raped and murdered my big sister. Which was a problem at my probation hearings. It was why I’d done ten years instead of four out of the fifteen I was given. As far as I was concerned, the bastard had got what he’d deserved. Unfortunately, that man had been the son of a prominent judge. Even though my lawyer was supposed to be on my side, it was painfully obvious he wasn’t. Which likely played a large part in my parole.

    So I’d kept my mouth shut, done my time, then made it to this little town where I could hopefully disappear into the rustic scenery. The terms of my probation stipulated I had to stay in Kentucky. They didn’t specify where. Only that I had to tell them where I was going and check in with a probation officer they assigned in the area. My sentence was originally for fifteen years, so I still had five years’ probation. Perhaps working in a bar wasn’t the best place to keep my nose clean, but even though most employers were more lenient than they used to be, with the violent crime I’d been convicted of, everywhere I’d applied had given me a hard pass. I honestly couldn’t say I blamed them.

    The Boneyard had been different. They’d only requested to know who my probation officer was so they could get a hard copy of the terms I had to follow. The people I’d met who ran the place hadn’t judged me, only told me to let them know the second I felt I might be in trouble. They didn’t want blowback coming to their bar if I fucked up, but they also had said they’d help any way they could. I wasn’t sure I believed the last, but I’d do my best not to repay their kindness in hiring me with getting my ass arrested for a probation violation.

    I hurried into the back entrance, trying my best not to drip all over the floor. It was a losing battle because I was drenched.

    Girl, what the fuck? Pops, the grizzled biker who ran the bar frowned at me, likely seeing the puddle as I stuffed my umbrella into a plastic grocery sack and hung it on a peg next to the door.

    I’m sorry, Pops. I’ll clean it up. Just let me change clothes.

    Don’t give a fuck about the water. Why are you soaked to the fuckin’ skin?

    I cringed back. It was a reflex I couldn’t seem to break myself from. I worked so hard in prison to avoid any kind of conflict I usually just rolled over and showed my belly, making it no fun for the bullies. It made for hard going at first, and Lord knew I took some horrible beatings, but, in the end, it had paid off. The gangs were too afraid to make me traffic their drugs or anything else because they knew I’d give up at the first sign of trouble, and I wasn’t any fun to beat up because I never fought back. The only problem had been from the guards. There was no getting away from the guards.

    I’m sorry. I know I’m probably not decent. I was just going to change clothes.

    He sighed. Girl, stop. Take a breath. I know I stared wide-eyed at the older man, but I couldn’t help it. The only men I’d had contact with the last ten years had been prison guards. And they never had my best interest at heart. This guy was more intimidating than anyone I’d ever met. I did as he instructed but only because I knew from experience, he’d keep me there until he got what he wanted. So I did what I was told. Just like I’d learned in prison.

    Now, tell me why you look like a drowned rat.

    Because it’s raining?

    Yeah. I can see that. Pourin’. Why the hell were you out in it?

    I blinked. Uh, I had to get to work, Pops.

    He stared at me for several moments, his gaze piercing me uncomfortably. It was like the man was trying to look into my soul and find the answers to all his questions. So far, he hadn’t asked me about my time in prison or my version of the events leading up to it, but I figured it was just a matter of time. If he gave me this particular look, there was no way I’d be able to not tell him. If he asked. I wasn’t volunteering anything.

    Did you walk to work, Cotton?

    Yes, sir. I looked down at my feet, fidgeting uncomfortably.

    Why didn’t you call the compound like I told you to?

    What? I chanced a glance up at him.

    I told you if you needed anything you were to call the compound or me and we’d make sure you were taken care of. He sounded -- and looked -- angry as fuck, but he didn’t raise his voice.

    Well, I didn’t see a need to bother anyone. I’m perfectly capable of getting to work on my own.

    You could have called a taxi. Or, better yet, called me. I’d have sent one of the boys after you.

    What does it matter, Pops? I’m here. I’d have already changed if you hadn’t stopped me. I’m not late. The bar doesn’t open for another hour. I didn’t mean it to sound belligerent, though the second I uttered the words, I knew I probably did. I was genuinely confused. Why would he want to help me?

    It fuckin’ matters because it’s fuckin’ pouring the fuckin’ rain, Cotton! You’ll catch your death out in this shit! Besides, if you’re still living in that fleabag motel, it’s too far for you to be walking. You could get hurt.

    I’m fine. Really. It’s not cold outside or anything. Now, I need to change. Then I’ll clean up my mess.

    With a scowl, Pops muttered something about damned stubborn girl as he turned and stalked away from me. I ducked my head and hurried into the bathroom where I put on my (mostly) dry clothes and went back out to mop up my mess. Pops was just finishing up with the mop. He glared at me before shaking his head and turning his back on me.

    You need a keeper, girl, he said over his shoulder.

    I’ve been kept too long. I just want to make a new life for myself and be left alone. I didn’t mean to be a problem, Pops. I won’t be again.

    Pops scowled and grunted before walking away from me. I went to the front of the bar to get ready for opening. Pulling chairs from the tables, I moved around the room before giving each table one more wipe down. By the time I’d finished, members of Bones MC started arriving. They always arrived about an hour before the bar opened. It was why I started coming in early. To get the bar ready for the club.

    The Boneyard was owned by the club. As bars went, I suppose it was decent enough. A little rough, but the guys in the club usually kept a handle on things. I did my best to not interact unless I had to. As a result, I think most of the guys thought it would take too much effort to get me to loosen up. And really, I wasn’t much of a catch. They probably all knew my past and had no interest in getting involved. Which was fine by me. I just wanted to save enough money to get an apartment not in a motel. And maybe have a cat.

    Once the boys started filing in, I lost myself in work. Trying to keep drinks straight. Keeping the tables clean. Dodging hands of patrons. I hated being touched. That came from prison. The only time people touched was to hurt.

    "Get a move on,

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