Aching to Exhale

Aching to Exhale

By

Debra Kayn

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Aching To Exhale

1st Digital release: Copyright© 2013 Debra Kayn

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

www.debrakayn.com

Dedication

CSC Motorcycle Club – The epitome of family, loyalty, and badass belongs to the CSC MC. Tags are worn in honor and commitment. I will proudly wear mine forever.

Feet to the pegs, behind handlebars!

To my readers…

Almost instantly after the release of Breathing His Air, I started receiving emails and messages asking for another book set in the world of Pitnam and the Bantorus MC. I was already hard at work writing the next book— despite my heavy writing schedule and book contracts with my publishers. Like you, I fell in love with the characters, the men, the women, and couldn't let them go.

Raul Sanchez spoke to me halfway through BHA, his smooth talking soul needed his own book. By the end of BHA, Crystal stood up and started screaming at me. Trust me, that girl can scream! She was worried about being set on a bus and kicked out of Pitnam, never to be seen again. Ah, she should know me better than that. I like nothing more than to take an anti-heroine, someone readers might not have liked, and reform her. Or in Crystal's case, let her be who she is and enjoy her life.

I hope you love Raul and Crystal's story as much as I do, and getting a glimpse of Rain and Tori, and the Bantorus MC too.

Chapter One

Close to twenty motorcycles, parked in one perfect line, took up the sidewalk outside High and Dry Lounge. Crystal Rose hesitated for a heartbeat before continuing to walk through the parking lot. The eleven months since losing Raul Sanchez and the Lagsturns Motorcycle Club had reduced her to paranoia.

Every biker driving by left her weak. Men of Latino descent caused her to take a second look, half hoping it was Raul, and panic at the thought it could be him.

It was never him.

Crystal hurried through the double doors into work. She'd stayed too long in one place for her comfort. That had to be the reason why her legs shook and her nerves were raw and on edge. She hefted her bag over her shoulder. In two more weeks, she'd have enough money to move on.

"Crystal, you're late." Dean, her boss, hurried out from behind the bar and pushed her through the lounge toward the back dressing room.

"I'm twenty minutes early." She glanced behind her as she walked. "I took the number three bus to make sure I arrived before my first set."

"I switched your schedule with Ella. Her kid's sick and she's not going to make it in to open the show. I would've called, but you haven't left a phone number in the office." Dean planted his hand on her back and catapulted her through the swinging door to the dressing room. "You've got five minutes to get on stage and make the men happy."

"Shit," she mumbled, throwing her bag down.

She stripped out of her old baggy Jimmy Hendrix T-shirt and black yoga pants she'd bought at Goodwill when she'd arrived in Palm Springs. Staying in the rough part of town forced her to take precautions with her appearance. She dumbed down her style to make sure no one followed her to the job or back to the motel after work. Dancing for money was a filthy job, but she was good at what she did.

In a desperate need to hide against the reality of her life, she stood in front of the mirror, applied heavy black eyeliner, and sprayed her hair out so far from her head Whitesnake would hire her over Tawny Kitaen for their next video. Then she dressed in her skimpy two-piece, deep purple colored bikini she'd altered with silver sequins and black tassels.

Five minutes later, she sauntered out onto the unlit stage. She looked below the dim lounge lights at the men crowding the stage, and raised her gaze to the darkened shadows standing in the back. Everything appeared normal, if not a bit quieter than usual for a Saturday night.

Grabbing the pole, she waited for the lights operator to put the spotlight on her. Prepared for the onslaught of blindness, she swung into her routine with practiced ease. Her show was simple, really.

She pretended she was alone. The pole was Raul. He'd often stand in the middle of the room at the club and let her dance circles around him. Too tough, too smooth, too guarded to let himself have fun in front of the other bikers, but there was always something about the way he watched her when she danced for him that told her he enjoyed what she was doing.

She could almost feel the soft denim of his worn jeans in her mind. She hooked her calf around the pole. The warmth of his body, rock solid, standing there, soaking her all in. She let her head fall back as her hair swept the floor. How many times had he whispered
'mi vida'
with his silver tongue, knowing it made her wet for him?

Her circular momentum stopped and she straddled the pole. She reached above her and pulled herself against the apparatus. Hand over hand, the pole warmed to the touch by the lights shining on her gave the illusion it was alive. Raul always put up with a lot from her, but the moment she finished dancing, he'd hook her neck and pull her in for a kiss.

God, the man could kiss. He made love with his tongue, caressing her soul, and she was powerless to deny him anything he wanted. She turned and leaned her back against her prop, reached above her, and slid into a squat.

The music quickened, and she grasped the pole with both hands, took two running steps, and held herself horizontal to the floor as she descended. Around and around, until her foot skimmed the floor and the lights went out. She lay there, dizzy.

She should've eaten today.

She pushed herself off the floor and straightened. Three steps toward the back of the stage, she ran into a solid wall. She braced her hands against the barrier and clutched leather. She inhaled. Sweet mint and leather with a hint of tobacco curled her toes.

Adrenaline flooded her veins, fear stole her breath, and despite her fight or flight response, her fingers sprawled against his chest, grabbing as much of him as she could before she escaped. She pushed. "Let me go."

"Not this time. Scream or fight me and every man in here will wish he hadn't come tonight." Raul slipped her hand into his, holding her solidly in place and led her off the stage.

She tugged on her arm to get away, but he never budged and he wasn't letting go. A scream built in her chest, but stayed locked inside of her. For how much she feared being in the hands of the Lagsturns MC again, she couldn't make herself bring trouble down on Raul's head.

Outside in the parking lot, she jerked her hand out of his grasp and faced him under the glow of the streetlight. The only man who could cause her heart to stop beating stood in front of her, his eyes blacker than death. Her chest tightened, making her ache to exhale. Raul Sanchez's appearance back into her life meant trouble wasn't far behind.

Confident, on the verge of cocky, Raul rocked back on the heels of his biker boots, slipped his fingers into the pockets of his faded black Levi's and gazed at her intently, waiting her out. She dropped her gaze to his chest. A white T-shirt with the arms cut off to fit his muscular frame—he hated the tightness across his shoulders—and the Lagsturns' cut proved she wasn't dreaming. She swallowed in distress, but the way her stomach tightened at seeing him called her a liar for being afraid.

His Latino charm and drop dead sexy good looks made her a devote believer in what could only be described as her cult-ish love for him. Her breath hitched in her chest and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

She soaked in the man who'd owned her for nine months, treated her better than he did his Harley Davidson, showed her the world from his eyes, and set her body on fire—in the best possible way.

Then he'd changed.

"Are you done?" He lifted his brow.

She straightened her back and crossed her arms, suddenly aware she only had on three triangles of purple material and sequins, and he'd caught her ogling him. "I have two more shows."

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it." He stepped forward and lowered his voice. "I can make you come with me or you can relive old times and climb onto the back of my bike, plaster yourself against my body, and love doing it."

She shivered remembering how much she enjoyed riding with him and going by the upward curl of his lip, he knew what she was thinking. She planted both of her hands on his chest and shoved. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I need to work."

Instead of letting her leave, he dipped and grabbed her around her thighs, throwing her over his shoulders. Disoriented and upside down, she grabbed on to the back of his jeans and kicked her feet. "Damn you, put me down."

He slapped her ass. She screamed, hating the way the desire to escape him fled. Each step away from the lounge marked by an exhale pushed out of her body as she bounced on his shoulder.

Raul stopped and heaved her off his shoulder and into his arms, letting her slowly slide along his rock hard body until she stood on solid ground again. She held on to him as the world righted itself and she was no longer dizzy.

Her reflection shone in his dark obsidian colored eyes. She looked away out of guilt.

In the past, she'd begged, bargained, used, lied to earn her way back into Raul's good graces, and failed miserably. In her desperation to save their relationship, she'd made a fool of herself and found herself escorted onto a bus heading out of town and fearing for her life.

That fear kept her from returning to Southern Oregon, home to the Lagsturns Motorcycle Club. Back to the one man she loved.

Not that she regretted her time with him, never that. She'd go back in a heartbeat if it was safe to stay with him. It was the guilt of keeping secrets from Raul that she regretted. She wasn't good enough for a man like Raul Sanchez, and she'd never be able to tell him what forced her into hiding from the world.

Raul hooked her neck, bringing her attention back to him. "I'm going to get on my bike, and you're going to climb on behind me."

That's when the truth hit her upside the head. Whatever Raul asked her to do, she'd do her best to make sure she made him happy. Because in her heart, she could never tell him no…and that was part of their problem.

She swallowed hard, glancing down the line of riders waiting for her to follow their president's orders. God, she missed them. "Fine. Let me get my clothes and bag first."

He walked over to his bike, opened his saddlebag, and tossed her a pair of jeans and his leather coat. "There's no time. We need to roll."

She shoved her legs in his jeans and held the waist. He helped her on the back of his bike. Before she could question him, he sped off into the night. She wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes. For now, she'd take what she could from him. When he calmed down and allowed her to talk, she'd ask him to let her go, for both their sakes.

Chapter Two

Raul veered his Harley Davidson off the interstate, signaling for the rest of the Lagsturns members to continue riding toward the northern border of California. He cruised into the public rest area, parked near the bathrooms, and held his hand over his shoulder for Crystal to get off his Motorcycle first.

He followed her and stood, stretching his back. "You've got five minutes. Don't think about running, because I will catch you."

Crystal hesitated, her lips trembled, and the lack of fire in her eyes pierced his soul. He clenched his teeth together, tapping down the frustration over finding her dancing in all places—Palm Springs.

He'd thought she was dead and to find out she was so fucking close pissed him off. He tapped down his anger.

"Go, Crystal," he said, softening his voice.

His jacket and extra pair of jeans he forced her to wear outside the High and Dry were falling off her slender frame. She turned away, stepping diligently across the grass in her high heels. A pang of regret hit him low in the stomach. The whole time they were together, she never once gave him any insight into her life. He had no idea what brought her to his lap one night at the club, but she'd consumed his every thought and he'd asked her to stay.

She came from money and a privileged life. Her manners deeply ingrained, she looked for the salad fork when eating and seemed surprised when it wasn't beside her plate. He followed her a few steps to encourage her to use the bathroom. Trained to read a person, to take every action/reaction and profile them into neat little categories, he never pinned down Crystal's motive.

A few things were clear to him though. Crystal Rose wasn't her real name, and she wasn't bitch material. She was a world full of beautiful for a man like him.