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  DIRTY

  Vengeance Duet, Book One

  A.C. Bextor

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © A.C. Bextor 2015

  DIRTY

  Title ID: 5419636

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, any electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at mailto:mailto:[email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning:

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

  Due to explicit language, sexual content, and material that some readers may consider non-erotic, this book should not be purchased by individuals under the age of 18.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Books

  Description

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  More about A.C. Bextor

  Acknowledgements

  Other titles by A.C. Bextor

  Lights of Peril Series

  Holding On

  The Way Home

  Toxic

  Tied To You

  Devil’s Despair Series

  Ace’s Redemption (Stand Alone)

  Hayden’s Verse (Stand Alone)

  Travis’s Stand

  Description

  This book is book one of two in the Vengeance Duet and is categorized as romantic suspense, laced with darker themes. Due to circumstances and content, this book should not be read by those under the age of 18.

  DIRTY.

  A seemingly innocuous five-letter word until you pull back the layers of its meaning.

  Imprisoned in a small room within the walls of the Satan’s Creed Motorcycle Club compound, Casey Richards struggles to survive the only life she was raised to know. Her mother, a club whore, and her father, an unknown outlaw she’s never met, Casey’s fate is all but sealed in the eyes of the club.

  Foul. Unclean. Undesirable.

  Trapped in a loveless marriage, and with no children of her own, Emma Carsen is the only living soul willing to fight for her niece, Casey. She’s all but given up on saving her until the one man she’s longed to see again unexpectedly finds his way back to town and into her life.

  Sordid. Vile. Unscrupulous.

  Max Taylor, former biker of a disbanded MC, has been holding on to reasons to avoid coming back to the small town where he grew up. The same ghosts that drove him away eventually force Max to find his way back. Now that he’s home, he may be Casey’s only chance for freedom.

  Filthy. Hateful. Impure.

  In order to get to Casey, Max must find a way to infiltrate the MC. Setting up a meet with Hoss, Satan’s Creed’s President, who’s known for his depravity as much as his double-crossing ways, it’s made clear that forming an alliance is going to be more of a challenge than he expected. Now he must prove his loyalty to the club and in doing so, he’s forced to get his hands . . .

  DIRTY.

  Be warned. Although this book has been divided into two parts, Book One ends with a natural break in the story before heading into Book Two, which publishes September 2015.

  Dedication

  You were my greatest champion.

  Rest in peace, Dad.

  I’ve got this.

  I love you,

  Carrie

  Prologue

  I’ve learned hope is an essential element of survival.

  Casey sits alone on her dingy floor and studies her hands. They’re disgustingly dirty from no water to bathe in and uncontrollably shaky from lack of food.

  She doesn’t sleep.

  When she’s too exhausted to keep her eyes open any longer, the raised voices outside her locked door oftentimes wake her in a panic. Her gut aches from the threat of terror delivered by the men who endanger her feeble existence. She’s known these men all her life. She grew up with those who’ve never offered her a second glance, never uttered so much as a single complimentary word. It wasn’t until recently, maybe a year or so ago, when they started taking an interest in her; her daily routine, her food, her body.

  “Do you know what happens to little girls who try to leave their rooms at night?” he would ask, knowing she was already living a life of nervousness and desperation.

  “You’re almost ready,” he’d said one night after un-expectantly coming into her room after she had finally fallen asleep. He smelled of piss and smoke. “You’re a beautiful little thing, and we’ll get a good price for you if you stay so pretty.”

  He rubbed himself in front of her as her eyes widened and she choked back fear. Although trembling inside, she remained stoic and unmoving, knowing if she showed him the least bit of attention, fear or otherwise, it would give him further reason to advance.

  She didn’t want his dirty hands on her.

  She never understood the true intention of his words, so even now she’s left to imagine what will be next for her. She hasn’t any idea what vile and indescribable acts the men who hold her are capable of—only that she laments the day she finds out.

  Her room, where she spends the majority of her time, is adorned with an old, wooden desk and chair; a broken-down, beat-up old mattress, which fits tightly in a corner; concrete walls and a cement floor. There are no windows, except for a skylight in the cement ceiling which brings in the rays the sun offers throughout the day and a welcoming glimpse of the moon and stars at night. Her toilet is nothing more than a brown bucket with a handle, which she carries herself to empty when permission from him is granted.

  A weathered white leather strap rests fastened around her left ankle. The fit is tight, but she’s gotten used to the effect it has on her. Instinctively, she knows what its presence stands for, the reason for its existence. She’s been born into a life of captivity with no hope for any possible escape to freedom.

  Casey isn’t sure what real freedom means exactly because she’s never had the luxury to experience it. Oftentimes, when he’s gone, she feels the yearning to roam the building, to come and go as her captors do. If this is what freedom means compared to what she’s surviving in now, she welcomes the taste of it.

  In recent weeks, her only companion has been a man she’s been instructed to call Cilas. Scarier than most she’s ever seen, she feels an unexplainable connection to him; she’s drawn to his strength and guard without reason. She senses deep
inside he means her life no further threat or harm.

  Cilas is indescribably tall and broad. His dark body, covered in scars and tattoos, is intimidating, of course, but the gentleness which reflects in his near-black eyes shadows the overpowering fear a child her age should expect to feel. He wears the same uniform as the others, the symbol of Satan being its focal point, yet she has no idea what it stands for.

  He is her only company, although he has never once, in all the time he’s been serving her, uttered a single word of vulgarity or compassion.

  Cilas brings her food and water a couple of times a day, leaving it at her door’s entrance before locking her back in her prisoner’s cage. Twice now, though, he’s also brought her a dull pencil and plain sheets of white paper, which she had accepted with fear, at first. He hasn’t glanced at her once as he sets them underneath her tray of food.

  Not knowing how to read or write particularly well, Casey finds a welcome solace in drawing characters she’s able to bring to life through her still colorful and vibrant imagination.

  The one person she remembers from what she now considers to be her past life is her Aunt Emilyn. She used to visit Casey when she was very young. Casey’s time with her was spent listening to her Aunt talk about the people she knew and the places they’d go. But as time passed, her visits became less frequent, then not at all.

  She doesn’t know who her father is exactly. Years ago, she asked her mother why she’d never met him. After asking, she was punished and forced to sit alone in a room, much like the one she’s in now, for hours, contemplating the expense that question cost her.

  Months later, the only answer she was given was that he left when she was born, claiming he could never love a child such as her.

  Casey’s mother, who she also knows as “Tag”, is, by all her knowing accounts, a whore. The vicious woman’s heart, used up from drugs and worn out from men, seems hollow and venomous. She can’t remember a soft touch, a sweet word, or a proud notion uttered from her. It is her mother who allows these men to keep her, to imprison her within these walls, without any intention of offering her only daughter what she rightfully deserves.

  Freedom.

  But no matter all Casey’s endured, the internal heartache and physical neglect that nearly cripples her inside, her spirit remains dark yet so very much alive.

  And one day, whether on this Earth or above it, it will eventually be set free.

  Chapter One

  “You look more beautiful than I remember,” I tell Emilyn as she sits across from me, fidgeting under my stare. “And I’ve been remembering you for a long time.”

  Since walking in and seeing Emma here, sitting alone at this table, I’ve found it impossible to look away. Her big brown eyes, laced with long, dark lashes blink twice before she closes her mouth after hearing my compliment.

  “Max.” She sighs as her head tilts to the side.

  “I mean it. You were always pretty, but now, you’re . . .”

  “Now you’re just saying that to see me blush.”

  “No,” I tell her with a deliberate tone. “That’s not true.”

  “Well, you’re just as handsome as you’ve always been.”

  I smile at the compliment. No one’s ever called me handsome. My large frame, inked skin, and hot temper never endorsed such a description. “Now you’re saying that to make me blush.”

  She laughs, and it’s the same laugh I remember from all those years ago. There’s an innocence to Em that she’s always carried. Unlike her sister.

  Emma Richards and I go back a long way. She, Dee Dee, my friends and I all used to run around together. Emma, being ten years younger than the rest of us, always got pushed behind and sometimes forgotten. It wasn’t until years later when Dee Dee started demanding our casual relationship become more exclusive that I found myself noticing Emma more than I should have.

  By the time she left for college, Emma had completely grown up. She had shed her adolescence and changed from being an awkward teenage girl to a smart beautiful woman. There were times I allowed my eyes to wander too long, my mind to filter through the possibilities of what a relationship with her would look like, but ultimately I knew it’d never work out.

  She deserved far better than the man I used to be. I had been a hot-tempered, self-loathing man-whore with no goals in place for my future.

  “I’ve always thought a lot of you, Em. You know this.” It’s true; I have. Emilyn Richards was always a good person. Her strong, sarcastic character would hold your attention; her inner beauty was merely a compliment to it.

  A small smile traces her lips and the surprise in her eyes shouldn’t astonish me, but it does.

  “Thank you,” she utters to my compliment. “I talked to Tommy,” she tells me shyly. “I’d heard you were back, and I wanted to get in touch but didn’t know how.”

  “Guess I didn’t exactly give you my number before leaving,” I return with regret.

  “Thirteen years ago,” she answers. This time, I hear regret in her voice.

  “I was in a hurry to get out, Em. I’m sorry.”

  Nodding in agreement, she looks to her drink and plays with the napkin under it. “I’ll always be sorry about your loss. You and Marie were so close.”

  “As were you and she. It was a loss you suffered, too.”

  Dee Dee and I had finally severed ties for good. Our time together was fun, but it was never going to get serious. At least, it wasn’t for me. I ended things with her shortly before my sister, Marie, was brutally murdered and left for dead outside the convenience store where she worked.

  Marie had turned twenty-one on her last birthday. Today, she would’ve been thirty-four. I wonder what she’d have done with her life. If she’d have been a mother, spending her days changing diapers and teaching her children how to read. Or if she’d have continued her interest in animals; she was constantly working in shelters and volunteering her time when she was able.

  After Marie was killed, I stuck around for a very short while. I talked to the cops and asked around, but it appeared the kill was random, possibly a drifter passing through. Any lead I found took me nowhere and the pressure of losing her, watching my parents fall apart, and staying here, being reminded of her loss in every face that looked at me with pity, was too much.

  So, I left.

  After roaming the country, just me on my Harley, I decided it was time to come home and face what I hadn’t before. There was unfinished business here. My sister’s killer was never brought to justice. Since arriving back home a few months ago, I still have no leads as to identity of the person who took Marie’s life. Even while away, I never stopped thinking I could’ve and should’ve done more. That and my aging parents are what brought me back home.

  But I won’t give up.

  “I still think about her,” Em tells me. “I wonder what she’d be like now.”

  “She’d be her,” I state simply.

  Em and Marie were friends; about the same age, so consequently they ran in the same social circle. Our parents knew each other, and we saw their family at church gatherings, town events, and so on.

  “What’s the reason you’ve asked me here, Em?” I inquire directly, hoping to get whatever business out of the way so I can catch up on where her life has taken her.

  “All right, Max. I’ll come clean. I know this is going to sound absurd,” Emma begins without making eye contact. “But I need your help. I have no one else, and I think I might be in over my head.”

  This surprises me. Those are the last words I’d expected her to say. “What do you need my help with, exactly?”

  “You’ve got experience,” she states before taking another sip of wine. She’s working on her third glass.

  “Experience with what?”

  “Bikers,” she returns quickly, and I feel my blood warm as the alarming word echoes in my ears.

  My experience with motorcycle clubs goes back a long way, longer than I care to admit. At one time, I was
a member of one far east of here. Ultimately, after the president of my past club was murdered in cold blood, then after watching it fall into the hands of men I couldn’t trust, I left everything behind again in search of something different.

  My time away from here wasn’t a total loss, though. Another club, near where I had stayed, had, for whatever reason, befriended me. Before leaving, I was offered a position in their organization. It was a clean club, steering clear of drugs, guns, and women. After a sit-down with its club president, I had decided my life under a cut wasn’t what I wanted anymore. I longed for nothing more than my own freedom.

  Sitting back in my chair and taking a pull from my beer, I try to relax before asking, “What about bikers, Em?”

  “My niece,” she states, and her eyes fill with tears. “Dee Dee’s daughter.”

  “Dee Dee’s daughter,” I repeat. “I wasn’t aware she had a daughter. How old is she?”

  “She’ll be twelve in three weeks.”

  “Young,” I reply, taking another drink from my beer and watching stress consume her.

  “What’s she have to do with a motorcycle club? You’ve gotta give me more.”

  Emma’s face falls with nervousness and concern, and I watch as she turns her thoughts to those she wishes she never had to think about.

  “God,” she starts to respond, then stops for a breath. Before continuing, she looks down to her lap and catches a single tear falling from her eye. “I’m not sure where to begin. There’s a lot to tell, and it’s not an easy story.”

  “Take your time.”

  Sitting quietly, I watch her fidget in her place before she regroups and starts telling me more about this young girl. Truth be told, no matter the conversation, I could sit and stare at Emma for as long as she’d let me.

  “My niece never had it easy. Dee Dee isn’t a good mother.” She takes another breath, collecting her emotions. “I’ve never been able to have a real relationship with her because after she was born, Dee Dee and I disagreed on her decisions with how she was raising her. It wasn’t my business, but I worried, Max. Dee Dee was partying, and it was clear she didn’t want to be a mother.”