Ride Hard (Fortitude MC Book 1) Read online

  Ride Hard

  (Fortitude MC #1)

  Amity Cross

  Ride Hard (Fortitude MC #1) by Amity Cross

  Copyright © 2017 by Amity Cross

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

  All song titles, song lyrics, products, networks and brand names mentioned in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.

  Cover Design © Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor

  Contents

  1. Sloane

  2. Sloane

  3. Sloane

  4. Sloane

  5. Chaser

  6. Sloane

  7. Sloane

  8. Chaser

  9. Sloane

  10. Sloane

  11. Chaser

  12. Sloane

  13. Sloane

  14. Sloane

  15. Sloane

  16. Chaser

  17. Sloane

  18. Sloane

  19. Chaser

  20. Sloane

  21. Sloane

  22. Sloane

  23. Chaser

  24. Sloane

  25. Sloane

  26. Sloane

  27. Chaser

  28. Sloane

  29. Sloane

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  Chapter 1

  Sloane

  There were two things that pissed me off in life.

  Money and assholes. In no particular order.

  People needed money to pay for things like rent and food, and, in my case, college. It was the greatest evil the world had ever seen. Little shiny coins and bits of paper stood between us and our next meal.

  That’s where the assholes came in. To get the money, you had to go through a wall of smelly, opinionated orifices. Everyone had a butthole just like they all had an opinion.

  Teasers Gentlemen’s Club was one of those openings. While I should’ve aimed a little higher, at least I was paid more than a job flipping burgers at the local ‘Golden Arches.’ It wasn’t so bad even if I had to watch a six-hour rotation of pole dancing from behind the bar.

  Pouring whiskey and beers for minimum wage and crappy tips wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Friday nights, especially with the sleazeballs who frequented the place, but I had to earn a living somehow. I’d lost count of how many variations of ‘show us your tits’ I’d heard over the last year. If I were lucky, they were called breasts and not the lower class names of cans or jugs. Still, they could never tip me enough to coax my T-shirt up and my bra down.

  Glancing across the club, I narrowed my eyes as a scantily clad woman swung around on a pole. Her stilettoed feet pointed into the air as her tits bobbed up and down. When she approached a row of men watching from the side of the stage, she bent over and gave them a good gawp at her slit before kneeling for the goods. Money was shoved down her garter belt, and off she went again.

  Knowing how often those poles got disinfected—which was never—I always wondered if the strippers rubbed STDs on one another. At least they could all save a little cash by handing around their topical cream backstage. Sharing was caring.

  Shit, I couldn’t really say anything about how they supported themselves. I was part of the problem. Alcohol and lap dances went together like sunshine and rainbows.

  “Hey, Sloane,” a voice said behind me. “How’s it going?”

  Turning away from the glitzy exploitation of the female form, I smiled as my one and only friend approached.

  Every time I saw Yvette, I died a little inside from jealousy. She was a tall, busty blonde with big blue eyes, who got all the tips and then some. The other night, she was slipped a hundred for little more than fluttering her long eyelashes. No boobs required.

  There were two requirements for getting a job at Teasers Gentlemen’s Club. Being pretty and having a great rack. Yvette had both in spades. The slimy manager had tried to convince her to ‘dance,’ but she’d declined, saying she wanted to set an example for her daughter. She was a single mother trying to earn enough to keep a roof over her little girl’s head and send her to school. It was cliché, but after her boyfriend found out she was up the duff and bolted, she had no choice.

  Yeah, not everyone here was living on the same rung that was the sleazy ladder of life. I should learn not to be so judgmental. Call it a character flaw, which was hypocritical considering where I’d come from. I’d sprung from the loins of a career criminal.

  “It goes,” I replied. “Same shit, different day.”

  “How’s the depth?” She flashed me a wink.

  “Above the flood marker. Worst in fifty years, they say.”

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She tied a knot in the bottom of her T-shirt so she could show off her trim midriff. “It isn’t that bad. Hector pays us and doesn’t keep the tip jar.”

  “Yay,” I drawled. “At least there’s always the jar.”

  “What have you done to your hair, girl?” Reaching out, she grabbed the long braid that’d fallen forward over my shoulder and tugged it.

  “Ow! That hurts, you know.”

  “Do that again. I’ll give you five bucks,” a man called out from the other end of the bar.

  Flipping him the bird, I cursed and complained as Yvette undid my hair. Once it was loose, she combed her fingers through my long chocolate brown locks, fluffing them up.

  “There,” she said. “Much better. The braid has given it a sexy kink.”

  “That’s what she said,” I declared.

  “You’re much prettier if you wear your hair out,” Yvette continued. “You should put a little gloss on your lips, too.” She grabbed me again and tied the hem of my T-shirt into a knot like hers. The material rode up, exposing my stomach, and I flushed.

  “Yvette,” I complained.

  “There.” She stood back and gave me the once-over. “You’ve got a hot bod, Sloane. That’s so much better. Your tips will be, too.” She eyed me and tried to fight a smile from pulling at her lips. “Say it.”

  I rolled my eyes and slumped my shoulders. “Thanks, Yvette, for the extra dollar.”

  “Oh, no, you didn’t!”

  I ignored her pouting and turned to serve a customer who’d leaned against the bar. I readied myself for the inevitable eye contact with my boobs, but when my gaze met a pair of ‘knock the wind out of me’ hazel eyes, I nearly choked on my own spit.

  I, like any other red-blooded woman, had vivid fantasies about the perfect man. Rough, devilish, iridescent eyes, messy hair, stubble, leather jacket, and tight jeans that left little to the imagination. You know, the works. But when it stood in front of you, it was another game. That game was called ‘Sloane loses her ability to sass and creams her panties on the spot.’

  This guy checked off all items on my list. Pair the bullet points with a strong jaw, a tattoo peeking out the top of his T-shirt, and the direct eye contact, and you had the perfect man.

  Just don’t open your mouth unless it’s to use your tongue to explore my mouth and my lady bits, I thought to myself.

  I shoved away my stupid fantasy, knowing it was just frustration talking. He was bad news. He was hot as sin and then some, but I didn’t need it. Life was complicated enoug
h as it was without a dick fucking it up. Even a little sex on the side was too much work. Man, I was really screwed up if I was considering turning down a one-nighter.

  Truth was, I didn’t even have time to finger myself let alone bend over for a quickie with a stranger. Between shifts at this shithole, I had a heavy course load and no one to help me with it. No study group, no teacher’s assistant, no lectures. Just an ancient laptop, the Wi-Fi at the local fast-food joint, and my brain to piece it all together.

  Trying to get a college degree online sucked balls, but when you didn’t have the time or money to go in person like normal people, you had to make do. Besides, it was much easier to enroll with a fake ID on the Internet. No one checked your picture.

  “Sloane,” the man said, my name sounding like a dirty word on his lips. “That’s what you call yourself these days?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s nice.” He tilted his head to the side and looked me over again.

  I was starting to doubt the eye contact had a single thing to do with picking me up. Things were becoming uncomfortable. Big time.

  “Look, I don’t know who you are, but if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll have to call the cops.” I backed away from the bar, wishing I was packing heat. A nice little twenty-two millimeter down the back waistband of my jeans.

  “There’s no need to call anyone,” the man said, leaning forward. “I’m here for your protection.”

  I snorted and laughed.

  “That’s a good one,” I said, gesturing at him. “You? Protect me? Worst pick-up line ever. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  I turned to walk away, but his hand shot out and grasped my arm.

  “I don’t think you get my meaning,” he snarled. “This isn’t an offer.”

  I tensed. “Let me go.”

  “Your father sent me,” he said.

  Well, that escalated quickly.

  My hackles rose, and my lip curled. “Then you can go right back and tell him I said a big fuck you.”

  Now it all made sense. Daddy dearest wanted something out of me so desperately he’d sent one of his lackeys to track me down like a bloodhound. Looking at the guy in front of me, I made a face. He might be handsome with his scruff and hard jawline, but now he’d played his hand, I could see he had dog written all over him.

  “If I can find you, so can they.”

  “They?” I narrowed my eyes. “What is it this time? Did he fuck some guy’s daughter, and now her daddy is looking for payback? Or was it an expansion job that’s turned into a turf war? Did he try to steal someone else’s corner by the local bodega so he could sell his little packets of shitty powder? I know how these things go. Revenge begets revenge, and that revenge begets more revenge. Why do you think I left? He wasn’t my father. At least, he wasn’t the one I needed.”

  “Still, he is your dad and—”

  “Look, whatever your name is…” I waved my hand at him.

  “Chaser.”

  I snorted. “Really? That’s your name? I thought it was something like Bulldog…or li’l bitch.”

  “This isn’t a joke.” His eyes narrowed in warning.

  “It never is.”

  “Is everything okay here?”

  I glanced at Yvette, who’d approached when things had become heated. We had a code behind the bar. When things got tense, check in. If things got out of hand, call in some brute force. We had a zero tolerance asshole policy in place for a reason.

  “Li’l Bitch was just leaving,” I snapped.

  “You’ll regret it,” Chaser said, not even glancing at Yvette. “It’s bad this time.”

  “Exactly,” I shot back. “This time. There’s always a time, and I’m not interested.”

  “Do I need to get Bobby?” Yvette asked, glaring at Chaser.

  I pointed toward the exit. “No, he was just leaving.”

  Chaser held up his hands and smirked. His lip pulled up on one side more than the other, giving him a devilish allure that would look fantastic wrapped around my clit. Too bad he was on my dad’s payroll.

  “No need,” he said. “I’m not into guys. I can take myself.”

  I made a face as he walked away, giving him the once-over so, you know, I would recognize him again. Hiding from your psycho daddy and his criminal organization—aka Fortitude Motorcycle Club—so you could start a new life kind of restricted your movements.

  Chaser shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and strode through the busy club like he owned the joint. People—who I knew were their own special breed of violent—stepped out of the way to let him through, which didn’t bode well. Other dogs knew when to bow down to an alpha.

  “What was that about?” Yvette asked, her forehead creasing. “Is everything good with you?”

  “Just an old boyfriend rearing his ugly head,” I lied.

  “Old boyfriend?” She whistled and shook her head. “He’s hot, Slo, but I can spot a mean streak a mile off. That guy…”

  “Is capable of anything,” I finished.

  Just as he was about to walk through the exit, he glanced over his shoulder. His gaze caught mine, and he smirked, looking pleased with himself and then some. Turning my back, I knew it wouldn’t be the last time Chaser graced me with his presence.

  Looked like I had a fight on my hands.

  Chapter 2

  Sloane

  As predicted, things got weird the next night.

  My shift got off to a good start when I scored a ten-dollar tip—that I shoved down my bra so I would get to keep it—but when the place filled up, it raised my anxiety levels.

  It had always been a possibility certain people might find me, but I knew how to handle myself. Eighteen years growing up in a house full of men whose full-time jobs were illegal hardened you the fuck up pretty quick. Let’s just say, I knew how to make a shiv and use it if I had to.

  Still, my gaze darted around the club, looking for threats where there were none. It was another bluff courtesy of dear old dad. His specialty was bribing and manipulating, so why was this time any different?

  Seven years, I thought to myself. That’s what’s different.

  The night wore on, and in the darkest and dingiest corner of Teasers, I spotted a familiar face.

  Chaser.

  “Who’s that you’re staring at?” Yvette asked, then gasped as she realized who it was. “Wasn’t he here last night?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, glaring across the club. I could forgive her for forgetting about his appearance since her little girl was a handful and then some. One afternoon and a cup of strawberry milk down my top later, I was glad to get out of there. Kids and I didn’t mix.

  “He’s a real hottie.” She licked her lips. She actually licked her lips like she wanted to eat him all up.

  “I’d forget about him if I were you.”

  “He’s not even looking at the girls,” she went on. “If he’s not here to get his rocks off, then…” She glanced at me.

  Sure enough, he was nursing a bottle of beer, his gaze sweeping the room, but it wasn’t focused on the snatch waving around on stage. He was sizing up the patrons—the ‘gentlemen’—who were congregating around it. Every once in a while, he would glance toward the entrance, then over to the bar where Yvette and I were staring at him.

  “Oh, shit,” Yvette said, turning around. “Do you think he saw us?”

  “Yeah,” I drawled, giving Chaser the biggest stink eye I could muster. “He saw us all right.”

  “He was your ex?”

  “I kinda lied about that,” I replied sheepishly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He works for my father. I want nothing to do with him, or whatever it is he wants.”

  “Oh…” Yvette widened her eyes. “He touched you?”

  “No!” I dumped the money from my last customer into the cash register and slammed it closed. “We just don’t get along… In a manner of speaking.”

  “That guy is
hot…” She’d resumed perving on him. “But he doesn’t look like the loving kind of guy, if you know what I mean.”

  “He’s a hired thug.”

  “Maybe he’d be good for a night pumping the springs, but I’d toss him back straight after.”

  “Yvette!”

  “You’re so tense, Slo,” she said, grasping my shoulders and massaging. “You’re one big knot. The quickest way to work it out is with no strings attached cock.”

  “I’m not fucking that guy!”

  “You can fuck me, sweetheart,” a man drawled from across the bar. “As long as you suck my cock a little first.”

  “If you don’t pull back, you’ll be sucking Bobby’s cock,” I declared, pointing toward the bouncer at the door. He was the big, bald tank, who just loved tossing out slimy perverts and kicking the shit out of them in the alley around back.

  The man held up his hands and backed away, muttering a halfhearted apology.

  “Ugh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You want me to have sex after that? This place is enough to turn any woman celibate.”

  “Hot stuff is staring at us.” She pouted and nudged me with her shoulder. “Go for a ride…just a little one.”

  “I’m not touching him.”

  Even if he weren’t here to kidnap me ‘for my protection,’ getting mixed up with a guy who looked like an underwear model and hung out by himself in dark corners of strip clubs was not what I needed right now. What I needed was peace and quiet to study for my midterms. A cocky cock with the worst timing was the fastest way rile up my inner bitch.

  Speaking of…