Grim: The beginning (Black Rebel Riders' MC Book 1) Read online

  Black Rebel Riders' MC

  Book 1

  Grim

  The beginning

  Glenna Maynard

  Grim Glenna Maynard ©2014

  Second edition © 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, business, establishments, locals or events is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, business, organizations or locals is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction Harley Davidson.

  Dedication

  This series is dedicated to some people who have meant the world to me. Their love of Harley Davidson and rock 'n roll is something I will always carry with me. Foxy Roxie, Elmer Lee (Cowboy) and my parents Glen & Alice. Thank you for all of the wonderful influences you placed upon me. Roxie, Elmer and Dad, I hope you all are riding on that highway in the sky.

  Black Rebel Riders’ MC Series Reading Order

  Grim The beginning

  Rumor

  Baby

  Striker

  Romeo

  Heart of A Rebel

  A Rebel Love

  A Rebel In the Roses

  Blood of A Rebel

  The Devil’s Rebel

  Moonshine & Mistletoe

  Grim

  The Beginning

  My name is Grim, and this is the beginning... This isn't a fairytale romance or for the faint of heart. Deep in the hills of Drag Creek Kentucky, there is a group of outlaws, whose love of moonshine and Harley Davidson runs through their blood. We are known as the Black Rebel Riders' MC. For the past twenty years my club has been at war with a rival MC, The Devils Rejects.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Reading Order

  Blurb

  Preface

  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

  Bonus Scene

  Acknowledgments

  Author Note

  About The Author

  Available Now

  Preface

  The Black Rebel Riders' MC is located in Drag Creek Kentucky. They are a group of outlaws who live and die by their way of life. For them it has always been about moonshine, brotherhood, and motorcycles. Black Rebel Riders' MC was founded by Slim Black and Grim Jones—two friends who were looking to get out of the killing game, but with everything comes a price. A price that Slim and Grim have been paying for years for turning their backs on the Devils Rejects and starting their own MC. That price is war. Hook, the president of the Devils Rejects and his MC have been hellbent on revenge for the past twenty years. This is the beginning, this is my story...Grim.

  Chapter 1

  There was nothing but the open road, my chopper between my legs, and the moon. Just the way I liked it too. There’s nothing better than the sound of a motorcycle roaring down the road, nothing sweeter. At least that’s what I thought until Gypsy Red put her spell on me...

  The night I met Gypsy Red my world was turned upside down. All of my self-imposed rules died like a slowly burning ember fighting for oxygen. She came out of nowhere, literally. It was the night and me, and then there was her. One minute the road laid out empty for miles as far as my eyes could see under the pale of the moon, and then I saw her. She was lying across the hood of her broken down, rusty Nova. I might have missed her if it weren’t for them long white creamy legs, and her fire engine red hair. Looked like a damn cotton swab on fire in the dark of the night.

  First, I thought she was dead as I came to a slow roll, as I was passing her by. I don’t know why I felt compelled to stop. I suppose I had a few manners left in me, even if I was a dirty son of a bastard, and the vice president of the Black Rebel Riders’ MC. Women are to be cherished and respected and damn it if I ain't a fool for a woman in need of help. Had I known Gypsy Red, I’d known she didn’t need no man to take care of her; she clearly could handle her own. Like I said, I thought she was dead, she was just lying there, like a fish, hours out of water.

  Parking my bike, I approached her real slow. It could be a setup. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman was used to lure me and my brothers into trouble. But then I heard the soft sobs and the closer that I inspected the woman her chest was heaving uncontrollably. Even if she didn’t want it, she needed my help.

  This is the beginning of my ride to hell and back. This is my story told the way I want to tell it. So strap on your brain bucket and let’s fucking ride.

  “Humph,” I clear my throat to get her attention. “Miss, are you broke down?” You see Highway 32 is not a place you’d want to run out of gas or have a breakdown. Many besides my brothers and me don’t travel this road. Doesn’t she know this is the road to hell? The only place for miles is our bar, The Roadhouse. You see my brothers and I own and run a beer and pizza joint, but it is really just a cover for our moonshine business. The Roadhouse serves as our clubhouse. We take care of our own and we only deal with our own kind, if we can help it.

  Anyway, back to my story…

  “Go away.” She wipes her tears and slowly peeks out at me through her slender hands.

  “Now look here, I might look scary, but I won’t hurt you. Just want to see if I can assist ye. There ain’t nothing for miles and the only people this far out are on their way to hell.” Shit, I am a scary looking son of a bitch. I already have full sleeves tatted up both arms and scars on my face to prove how tough I am. I ain’t pretty to look at. Most women look down at their feet when I talk to them. I haven't found one I’d make my top bitch. I figure I have plenty of time. Fuck. I am only twenty-seven years young. But at twenty- seven I have done seen my share of shit. More than one ought to go through, but I didn’t choose the life it chose me. Being a bastard is in my blood. I smell of asphalt and wear my leather like a badge of honor.

  She gasps, clutches her chest, and then she lets out the most musical laugh I have ever heard. It is like a damn siren singing in my head. I need to get close to her…I need to see her face. “Well that’s where I’m headed—hell.” She starts laughing again like some sort of loon this time. I swear the crazy bitch just slapped her knee like I just told her the funniest thing she has ever heard.

  “Are you high?” I question, because I can’t stand a bitch that’s tweaking.

  “No, I got a busted tire and I think my battery’s dead and well, I ain’t got no gas either.” She laughs again, wiping tears from her cheeks.

  “Well shit, you is in a bind ain’t ya, Red?” I look to the moon wondering what in the hell I am to do for her. I’m no good Samaritan. “Here’s your choices, you can stay here hoping someone bigger and meaner than me don’t try to drag you off for some fun, to leave you in a ditch later. Or you can come with me and I’ll bring you back tomorrow to get your car situated.” I walk closer to her. I am only going to offer my hand to help her off the hood and she flin
ches. “I said I ain’t going to hurt you, damn it.” I mumble to myself that I shoulda just kept rolling by. That’s when I see her face. She has been sliced up really good across her top lip. Fuck, I don't know who done this, but I don’t like no man putting his hands on a woman. The moonlight hits her cheekbone casting light on her bruised jaw. I run my finger over the bruise, and she winces as a hiss escapes my lips. “Who hurt ye, sweetheart?”

  “Don’t worry about me, you should see him. But I guess he won’t be seeing much since I killed that sorry bastard.” Her lip curls up with a proud smile, earning her my respect. I like a person who can own what they have done. I don’t know what to say to that. But whatever that sorry bastard did, by the looks of her, I am sure he deserved it.

  Hell, I should be careful. The bitch might try to kill me next. You never can tell about crazy bitches but there is something about her that calls to me. Maybe the killer in me recognizes the killer in her. “Well that’s that. You comin’ or not?” She looks at me really funny like, but without any hesitation or doubt she puts her hand in mine. With her bag slung over her shoulder, she climbs behind me on my chopper, and I take her home with me. Normally a brother doesn’t bring a piece of strange to the clubhouse, but Red is different. I don’t know why but she just is.

  Maybe it was the moon that night or the fire in her eyes, but I couldn't leave her there. I couldn’t help myself, something inside of her calmed the beast raging inside me.

  We ride thirty miles in silence before I turn down the dirt path that leads to the back of the compound. You wouldn’t know the secret path is hidden behind the brush unless you are a Black Rebel. The road twists and turns so much a normal person would never be able to stay on the narrow path, but we have it like this for a reason. Any of my brothers could drive this route blindfolded but anyone else would end up nose first in a tree. You don’t live the life we lead and not have ways to protect your livelihood. We have a trailer park behind the bar, but not all brothers have one of their own. The trailers are reserved for the families and higher-ranking members. The other brothers live in the rooms over the bar. However, being Vice President I get my own trailer, but if one of the brothers were to take and start a family and needed it, I’d give it to them. Not because I would have to, but because I would want to because I rarely use the place. All I need is a place to lay my head. Though I confess having my trailer to escape to for a few minutes and have some privacy isn’t so bad, especially right now.

  We hit the clearing that is home to all the trailers, the place looks like a redneck dream. When they were put in there was no rhyme or reason to how the lots were assigned. It’s like a damn maze if you don’t know your way around the place. I have one of the larger ones since I am Vice President, but I really don’t have much use for it since I don’t have a family to house in it. I am not the settling down type. All I have is my club and I have just broken two rules— one bringing Red here, and number two bringing her in on the back road. I feel like a kid trying to sneak dessert before dinner. I bring my bike to a stop and take out a flashlight from my saddlebag to light the pathway to the steps.

  I could have turned on the outdoor lights, but I don’t want to draw any attention to my guest. Struggling to unlock my door about damn near makes me embarrassed. This woman is doing funny things to my brain. I have only just met her and everything in me is screaming out to protect her—to have her. The urge to sling her over my shoulder all caveman like—throw her down on my bed and do bad things with her is knotted up in my chest. But seeing she is in a bad way, I don't see that sittin’ too well with her. Instead of claiming that sweet body and having those milky legs thrown over my shoulders, I invite her in.

  My life was never the same after she crossed over my doorstep...

  Giving her a minute to take in the place, I light up a joint to wind down. This woman has me all keyed up, my fingers are twitching for something to do.

  I imagine this is not what she was expecting when she got on the back of my chopper since I look pretty fucking rough. My appearance is scary, and I like it that way— motherfuckers know I don’t mess around. I have red teardrop tattoos trickling down my neck to symbolize the number of men I’ve killed. I almost look like my neck is bleeding raindrops. I am a cold-blooded killer— a gun for hire. I don’t do roses and candy. I am not in the killing business anymore, but that doesn’t change the evil that has tainted my soul. I'm not a good man. I have hurt good people for a dollar. I like to get my nuts off and be done with a woman.

  But Red, she had different plans for me, I just didn't know how different at the time.

  My place is clean, and my furniture is well kept. Like I said, I have one of the nicer trailers and being VP has its rewards—free housekeeping. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to have little shits of my own roughing up the place. My thoughts are interrupted— thank God— by Red, gasping when she fully sees my face and how fucked up it is. I’m glad for the interruption. Like I said, crazy bitch is messing with my head. I just pictured little red headed flaming Q-tips fucking up my spot. I take a hard drag off my joint and hold it out to her as a peace offering. She declines and continues studying the place. I look around the living room too wondering if she thinks the place is a dump. It’s nicer than the cockroach and mice infested shithole I grew up in. My cunt of a mother never was much on keeping house or cooking or doing anything that a mom ought to do. She was always too worried about chasing her next high. She never gave damn what I was doing or if I was hungry or not. All I was to her was a pain in her ass and a responsibility she couldn’t be bothered to take seriously.

  “Bathroom is third door on the left and you can have your pick of a bedroom, I don’t sleep here much. I’m usually at the clubhouse.”

  She purses her lips and then she does something real strange and unexpected. Red walks over to me and kisses the ugliest of my scars on my face and she whispers, “thank you,” her voice so light her breath feels like a feather tickling my ear. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Names Jack, but most people call me Grim.”

  “Thank you, Jack. You’ve shown me more kindness in an hour than most have shown me my whole life. You can call me Gypsy Red. I’m a wanderer, don’t stay put long if I can help it.”

  I grunt. “Heard that.” I let her make use of the bathroom and go in the kitchen to see if I can rustle up some grub. That joint has me starving with the damn munchies. I could eat a whole fuckin’ cow right about now. I pull out some stuff to make a couple sandwiches hoping she likes turkey and ham with provolone cheese and spicy mustard. I eat mine quickly and then while I’m waiting for her to get out of the bathroom, I eat the one I made for her too. I make two more and leave them on a plate on the counter for her. I could probably eat them too, but I refrain. I’m not used to taking care of someone else.

  I wasn't used to having a woman around or having to feed one.

  I keep my whores where they belong—at the clubhouse. They suck and fuck me and then I’m done with them. But Red— I wouldn’t mind if she stayed. Never wanted a woman to stay before now and I don’t even know why. Something about her makes me want to take care of her. I just don’t know how to.

  Christ, my breath catches in my throat when I hear the bathroom door open and Red emerges in a barely there towel. Her vanilla cream ass is hanging out and I want to spank it. I have it in my mind that I’d liked to bend her over and beat that ass. There’s a fire in her eyes that tells me she’d like it too. I have never seen eyes look like hers, they are a golden, honey, brown shade, with flecks of orange, and the red color of her hair makes the flecks look like tiny flickers of a candle.

  She flips her hair upside down and wraps it in another towel. “You got any clothes?” I know I had better get something to cover that sexy body on her fast. “My room is the first door on the right. Go on in and take whatever you need for the night. I’ll get ya something nice to put on in the morning.” She looks at me like she is about to cry. Jesus, I only o
ffered her a place to lay her head and a shirt. What in the hell has she been through? “After you get eh...dressed I made ye a sandwich.” Red nods and I turn on my TV and start watching an episode of Cops. These dumb sons of bitches crack my shit up. I love it when they say, “these aren’t my pants officer.” I sit back and watch half of an episode.

  Kicking off my boots, I start to wonder what happened to Red, she never has come out of my room. I make my way to my bedroom and the door is open. There she is curled up in the middle of my bed wearing my favorite shirt. It says: “I’d rather have a sister in a whorehouse than a brother on a Honda,” across the chest. Her eyes flutter slightly, her body tensing, and I can tell she is having a bad dream. Sinking down on the bed, I curl up behind her stroking her cheek. I whisper in her ear, “Shhh, baby, Grim’s got ya. Ain’t anyone going to hurt you. You’re here with me now.” She seems to relax at my words, and she snuggles her ass right up to my crotch. I respect women to a certain extent, but fuck me running, she isn’t wearing any damn panties, and that creamy ass of hers is teasing my dick. A man can only handle so much. Pulling back from her to get some distance, I place a pillow between her ass and my dick. I spend most the night watching her sleep. I observe her face, staring at that cut above her lip, hating whoever put the wound there. She is the most beautiful wounded heart I have ever seen. I pull her hair out of the wet towel and toss it on the floor. Goosebumps pebble across her skin so I pull the blanket up over her.

  “Sleep tight, sweetheart.” Combing my fingers through the cold wet strand of her red hair I can’t help but feel content. Like I finally know what’s been missing from my life.

  Chapter 2