Birds of Hell MC Read online

  Birds of Hell MC ©2023 Glenna Maynard

  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.

  Welcome to Hell, Tennessee, home to Birds of Hell MC.

  An outlaw motorcycle club who rides hard and loves harder.

  Contents

  Death’s Desire

  Dedication

  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

  Fisher's Return

  Dedication

  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

  1. Dedication

  Freya's Devotion

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgments

  About Glenna

  Available Now

  Death’s Desire

  Freya is my unspeakable truth.

  My one desire.

  Tempting.

  Forbidden.

  Untouchable.

  Yet I ache for her while praying she moves on.

  Finds a better man.

  One who deserves her beauty.

  Her devotion.

  Most of all her love.

  Because if she stays, I’ll only ruin her.

  Forsaking her for any other.

  I’ll drag her down to Hell and together we’ll burn in the ashes of all she holds dear.

  To love that sets your soul on fire.

  Chapter One

  Three years ago

  “Fuck, baby.” Fisher fists the base of his cock as I wrap my lips around him, teasing the tip with my tongue.

  Rule number one of being with a biker, never let him leave for a run without getting him off first.

  I always send my man off with an orgasm that will have him thinking of nothing but how good I give head. I’m not stupid. I know what happens when he’s on the road. Well not him, but when brothers of his club go on the road for days or weeks at a time. If men aren’t thinking about sex, they’re having it. And I don’t share. I don’t do the whole what happens on the road stays on the road bullshit my father put my mother through.

  I heard her cry one too many times when she emptied his pockets and found phone numbers and condom wrappers.

  That ain’t me and never will be.

  I smile around his thick cock as he slides further between my lips. Hot. Needy. Greedy. Eager to come.

  Six pumps into my mouth and he’s erupting on my tongue—salty and sticky.

  I swallow all he has to give then lick my lips. He tucks back into his jeans wearing a sated grin on his rugged face, flashing me a glimpse of his pearly whites behind the dark hair of his beard he spent all winter growing and grooming.

  “Gonna miss this sweet mouth tonight when I’m alone in that dank ass motel.”

  “I’ll be sure to think of you later when I’m playing with my pussy.”

  The rough pads of his fingers grip my chin. “Whose pussy?”

  “Yours, baby,” I tell him as he squeezes me a little harder.

  “I gotta get on the road.” His grey stormy eyes meet mine, holding my gaze for a beat before his lips graze my forehead. “I’ll text you later.”

  “You better.”

  “Don’t I always?” he runs a hand through his dark wavy hair that’s tickling the lobes of his ears and the back of his neck.

  “Yeah,” I say softly as the door to our apartment closes.

  A shiver moves through me as his bike roars to life in the parking lot. I make it to the window in time to watch him drive off. No matter how many times I watch him go it never gets any easier.

  Present day

  “Hey, it’s me again. I thought you were meeting at ten thirty to drive down to Nan’s with us. Dad was a no show too. I’m leaving. If you change your mind, you know where we’ll be. Love you, sis.” I listen to my sister’s third voicemail. She left it hours ago. I don’t reply.

  I should, but I don’t.

  I continue standing at my living room window staring out at the parking lot of the apartment building like a freaking dork watching the snow fall. I can’t do it this year. Put on a fake smile and pretend everything is fine when I am anything but fine.

  The truth is I’m lonely.

  For once I’d love to meet a normal guy. A guy who isn’t in the life—a regular man who is interested in me and not climbing the ranks. It’s why I refuse to date bad boys like the ones I grew up around. They want status or are so fearless that it scares me. I can’t be with another guy like Fisher. He followed my father’s path. Johnny Crow has a reputation. He’s not known for his kindness. He’s a ruthless man who serves as national president of Birds of Hell MC. An outlaw motorcycle club. He’s got an arrest record longer than a drugstore receipt.

  Fisher’s doing time. I try not to think about him though. If I go down that road, I’ll end up in bed curled up with one of his old tees wishing he were lying next to me. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still smell his cologne mingled with the scent of smoke and sunshine. Thoughts of him seem like a dream. It’s been three years and yet it’s as though it was only yesterday, he was promising me forever.

  Forever is short lived when you do what he did.

  He’s written to me. Called even, but I can’t do it. I can’t see him, talk to him, or read his letters. Thinking about what we could have been what we could have had makes me sad. He could have been anything. But he chose to be like my father. The beauty of the love we shared is tarnished and stained with the ugliness of his crime and mine.

  I’m guilty of loving him when I shouldn’t and he’s guilty of so much it hurts. His betrayal cuts me to the bone still after all this time.

  I shake my head and swipe a finger under my left eye. I promised myself I wouldn’t shed another tear for Riley Fisher.

  He made his choice.

  Made his bed.

  Now I’m the one left sleeping in it alone.

  I clutch the letter in my hand that arrived today. I want to rip it to shreds, but I don’t.
I smooth the wrinkles I made in the envelope and put it in one of the drawers of my coffee table with the rest. I already know what they say. More promises waiting to be broken and even more lies.

  The snow continues to pelt along my window sill, etching designs in the corners of the glass as it begins to stick.

  It’s Christmas and I’m alone.

  Dad is off who knows where with who. It’s nothing new. Not since Mom left and started a new family with who she calls a better man. Sometimes I think my father and Yara hate me a little because I look so much like her. I share her smile and have her hazel eyes that are mostly green with specks of gold and brown. My brothers don’t seem to give a shit one way or the other.

  Yara keeps telling me I need to face reality. I’m not cut out for dating outsiders. Meaning non club members. Like she would know. She’s only ever been with Whiskey. Since she was six, she knew he was the one for her. When he joined our father’s club that cemented the deal. Not like he ever had a choice in taking a different path. His father has been a member as long as mine.

  I’m not like Yara. I’ve not met the one man who sets my soul on fire. I envy her in a way. She’s never had to wonder if a guy was into her or worry about our father’s reputation putting someone off her. As far as I know Whiskey’s never stepped out on her. She’s one of the rare few who has never known what a broken heart feels like.

  A man has never ripped her heart from her chest and squeezed the life out of her. Like Fisher did to me. Like our father did to our mother.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  This is an alert from the Emergency Weather Broadcast System. Heavy snowfall expected. Power outages are likely. Beware of icy roads and fallen power lines.

  I check the weather radar after reading over the text alert.

  Ugh. Looks like the storm of the century is heading right for us. The lights flicker or maybe I blinked.

  I can stay here alone and wallow in my sadness or I can head to the clubhouse where at least if we lose power there will be a generator and liquor along with the company of the brothers who had nowhere else to go for the holiday.

  Mom and the other ol’ ladies used to prepare a feast at the clubhouse, but they’ve not done that in years. She was the one who kept a lot of the traditions going. No one has stepped in to fill her shoes. Not that anyone could.

  The lights dim then flicker once more. If I’m going to leave, I’d better do it now before the roads are closed to emergency travel only. Last time we had a winter storm of this nature it was coupled with ice that left us without power for two weeks.

  I pack a bag that should get me through a few days at least, lock up my apartment, and head out.

  Birds of Hell MC compound is located at an old hunting lodge that once served as a resort back in the 1960’s. I think before that it was a summer camp. There’s twelve cabins and a private lake nestled in the Great Smoky Mountains in a town named Hell. Yes. Hell.

  Some say the devil himself founded our town and that if you travel far enough into the caves in the area, you’ll find the gates to the underworld. I’ve never been much for superstitions. Besides, my family has been mining gemstones and gold out of them for decades.

  The snow falls faster and heavier as I drive the winding road to the clubhouse that makes the Tail of The Dragon seem like a cake walk. My father swears he can take these curves blindfolded. I’ll take his word for it and hope he never tries to prove the ridiculous claim.

  There’s no gate. No one shows here uninvited. No one would dare to fuck with the Birds on their home turf. They know better. Like I said, my father has a reputation. One that isn’t made up of hearsay. He’s done the terrible things people accuse him of and makes no apology for it. You can’t rule a golden dynasty built by outlaws and not be heartless and cruel. Except with his girls. He has a weak spot for Yara and me. My brothers are another story entirely. They are clones of our father and like him they’ve likely found a whore to shack up with somewhere for Christmas. They put the Ho in Ho Ho Ho, but I love them dearly.

  There are a few trucks parked near the front of the large log building. No Harleys this time of year. Some brothers of the club keep a permanent residence here in a few of the cabins. There’s always someone around. I don’t see any of my father’s vehicles but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here or my whore brothers.

  I shut off my car and grab my bag from the backseat, hoping that this wasn’t a terrible idea.

  Chapter Two

  The front door of the clubhouse swings open. I look over from where I’m perched on a stool at the bar knocking back another swig of smooth Kentucky bourbon. Freya motherfucking Crow. Five feet six inches of sin personified. Snowflakes glittering in her dark hair as she stomps her boots on the welcome mat, shaking off the excess white powdery shit. Her red lips tip into a smile as her gaze meets mine.

  She’s a sexy little minx in her black leather jacket and tight jeans.

  “Hey, D.”

  “Freya,” I mutter my hello and suck back the rest of my drink, keeping it casual.

  “Got any of that for me?” She drops a bag on a nearby table.

  “Help yourself, darlin’.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Afraid it’s just you, me, and my buddy Jim Beam.”

  “Oh.” She drops her sweet ass onto the stool next to mine. “You happen to know where my dad is?”

  “Nope.”

  “What are you doing here looking like a kicked puppy?” her right shoulder bumps my left as she reaches around me for the liquor bottle.

  “Babe, think we both know I’m closer to needing put down than being a pup. Better question is what the fuck are you doing here? It’s Christmas Eve. Shouldn’t you be helping Yara wrangle her hellcats?”

  “And miss the chance to have a drink with my favorite drinking buddy?”

  I roll my eyes. We both know I’m far from her favorite biker. That idiot fucked up and is spending his days with lefty and righty locked in a steel cage. I watch her swallow a healthy swig of liquor. She sputters and coughs, rubbing a hand over her mouth.

  “Easy, killer.”

  Her eyes cut to me narrowed into slits with an expression that says, ‘shut the fuck up.’

  The radio hums with another winter storm advisory. We get hit with as many inches as they’re calling for neither of us won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

  “You here to ride out the storm?”

  “Something like that,” she grumbles and takes a bigger drink.

  Shit. She’s running from something. Most likely thoughts of Fisher. Dumb fuck was sentenced a few days before Christmas a few years ago. Probably tainted the holiday for her. Fucking sad. Stupid sack of shit. Freya’s gorgeous and loyal to a fault. To this day she hasn’t looked at another brother or hell any man that I’m aware of. Probably wrote all men off because of that clown. A damn shame. Seems like a real waste of a good woman.

  “Why are you here if everyone else is gone?”

  I shrug. “Someone had to stick around. Got nothing better to do.”

  “Belinda doesn’t mind?”

  I chuckle. “Bitch doesn’t care what I do long as I keep my nose out of her business. She’s poolside somewhere with her bestie. They took Bensen on a cruise or some shit. I don’t much give a shit what she does.” What I don’t say is I only married the cunt because I knocked her up. She’s never loved me either. We stuck it out for Bensen. Hell, it didn’t hurt that her father was a judge either. When you lead the life I do, it doesn’t hurt to have friends in high places.

  “I suppose that’s a fair trade to put up with you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve heard stories about you.”

  “Yeah, and what’s that?”

  Blush creeps over her cheeks. “They aren’t words I should repeat.”

  “Guess you’ve heard I fuck around behind Belinda’s back.”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “Yo
u brought it up, sweetheart. Yeah, I stick my dick elsewhere. Bitch doesn’t mind as long as she doesn’t see it or hear about it. She knows who she married.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you that she’s okay with that? Don’t the two of you….”

  “You asking if I fuck my wife?”

  Her fingers slide to the label on the liquor bottle, fidgeting with the corners. Peeling them down then smoothing them back. “I’m sorry.” Freya shakes her head slightly, her dark waves cascading down her back bouncing with the movement. “That was highly inappropriate.”

  Her father, my prez would have both our heads if he heard us talking about this shit. In his eyes both his girls are pretty little princesses still, but both are far from innocent. When Crow and his boys aren’t around Whiskey brags about what a kinky freak Yara is in the sheets.

  Can’t say I haven’t thought about Freya either. Heard her and Fisher going at it one night and curiosity got the best of me. I’m old enough to be her father and should have had more respect, but I couldn’t look away.

  Couldn’t keep myself from fantasizing it was me she was moaning for. My dick she was taking. I’m ashamed to confess I’ve played out the fantasy many times on lonely nights. I’m a sick bastard but fuck me she’s gorgeous and any man would be lucky to have a taste of her sweet.

  “We haven’t. Not in years. At least ten.” Fuck. I don’t know why I’m telling her any of this.

  “Ten years?”

  “Yup. We have an understanding.”

  “Why the hell would either of you stay…unless there’s something else you’re getting out of the deal.”

  “How the fuck do you think I’ve managed to keep your father out of prison permanently or how he got custody when your mom walked out. He’s not exactly a model citizen or father of the year.” I grin.

  “What’s any of that have to do with Belinda?”

  “My father-in-law is Judge Thompson.” Prick is retired now but doesn’t mean he still doesn’t have reach. “Between you and me…she made me an offer that was too good to refuse at the time. I could give her something she wanted and in return she’d help the club with their legal troubles. At the time I wasn’t in a position to refuse. There are things money can’t buy.”