Ride to Fight: A Biker Erotic Romance (Free Guns MC)

This is a work of fiction. Any 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.

Ride to Fight copyright @ 2014 by Joanna Wilson. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

RIDE TO FIGHT

Kat smiled at Solomon, looking into his piercing blue eyes as the cry came from inside the group. Blood trickled from Solomon’s forehead, dripping onto his navy shirt, but he never stopped looking at Kat.

“You got spared, Parker,” Kat holstered her gun and turned to the voice that had issued the cry.

Billy, the new hire from the bar, was pushed toward Kat. Watching as Billy stumbled and shook, Kat didn’t feel an ounce of pity for the kid. He’d had plenty of time to come to Solomon’s rescue and say that Solomon didn’t kill the old president, but he waited until the last possible moment to do so.

Luckily for both men, Kat was a fantastic shot and she’d flicked her wrist at the same moment the gun had fired, grazing Solomon’s forehead.

“You got some nerve, kid,” a member sneered as Billy looked Kat in the eyes.

Kat stared into his brown eyes, wondering why he of all people had stepped forward and held off Solomon’s execution. It wasn’t that Kat wasn’t grateful for the kid. She was.

Taking a life was something she’d never thought she’d have to do, but being the president of the Free Guns meant that sometimes she needed to bloody her hands a bit for the good of the club. She’d seen Jamison do it and Kat knew that if she wanted to fill his shoes, she’d have to do it too. So she’d put aside her own budding feelings about the ruggedly handsome biker Solomon Parker, and done her duty.

... or would have, if it weren't for the kid.

“What is it, Billy?” Kat turned toward the kid and gave him her undivided attention.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” Solomon growled from his place on the forest floor, and was met with a swift kick in the side.

Kat turned to the member who had kicked Solomon–the same one who’d kicked him before. Voice deadly calm, Kat stared at the young man. “Do it again, Ryan, and you’re going to lose something.”

Ryan took a step away from Solomon. Kat smiled internally, reveling in the authority she’d just wielded. It was yet another sign of her place in the club, her position. She had it, no one wanted it, so she wielded it any way she wanted.

“Answer my question, Billy, or I put one right between his eyes,” Kat warned as she touched her gun meaningfully. She wouldn’t do it though; Solomon Parker had already faced death once today, she wasn’t going to put him through it again. Kat might have been willing to be a murderer two seconds ago, but times changed, and one adapted.

“He didn’t do it,” Billy whispered, his hands shaking so badly it pained Kat to watch.

Peering closely at the kid, who looked like he was barely out of high school and far too pure to be working at a biker bar, Kat took her time. There was something about the kid that didn’t sit right with her, something that gave her pause.

Kat watched Billy’s chest expand as he sucked in a breath, noted the shaking hand he used to push back his black hair as he exhaled, “I did it. I killed Jamison.”

***

The clearing grew deadly silent, as every member turned and looked at the young bartender. Billy didn’t flinch away from everyone’s gaze or take a step back; he stood his ground and stared at Kat defiantly.

“You,” Kat drew out the word as she crossed her arms and cocked her hip in disbelief, “killed Jamison St. John?”

Kat eyed the kid up and down, trying to see the murderer beneath the scrawny arms and legs, those innocent eyes. The kid didn’t have the mark of a killer, didn’t give off any strange vibe. In fact, the only vibe Kat got from him was a protective one.

Billy nodded his head vigorously as his eyes darted to the still-kneeling Solomon Parker, “Yes, I—”

“Shut your mouth!” Solomon barked angrily at the kid, surprising everyone. Kat turned her head to look at the dark-haired rider, taking careful note of his features. The man looked pissed, like he was about to clean up a child’s mess.

Turning his head to Kat, Solomon growled, “He didn’t do anything. Idiot’s just trying to protect me.”

Kat carefully shifted her gaze from one man to the other, and slowly realization dawned on her. They both had rainwater eyes and midnight-black hair, but whereas Solomon was ripped and corded with muscle, Billy was scrawny with youth. She didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it before, but under the bright light of the moon, the similarities couldn’t be missed.

A collective gasp escaped from the club members as Kat said the words clearly and loudly. “You’re Solomon’s brother.”

Goodness. Things are getting confusing,
Kat thought as she rubbed her head. The Free Guns began to murmur and whisper, theories flying across the clearing. It was hard to know what to believe with a relative that no one knew thrown into the mix. But on top on everything, it was late, emotions were running high, and Kat didn’t want to make a mistake she would regret the rest of her life. She’d been a millisecond away from one already tonight.

Taking her hand away from her eyes, Kat looked out at the sea of bikers clumped in small groups. Kat could see the dissension in the group and knew that it needed to stop. The Free Guns needed to stay together and stay strong, and Kat needed to remind them of that.

“Everybody be quiet!” Kat shouted over the voices, pitching her voice high so she could be heard.

Heads whipped in her direction with lips curled in anger and distaste. “I suggest all of you go home. It’s late, emotions are high, and no one wants to do anything they might regret in the morning.”

Mindy broke from her group and walked toward Kat, arms spread wide in anger. “Solomon did it, Kat! The monster killed my husband! Now put him–”

Kat’s voice was deadly low, her eyes so hard that they stopped Mindy’s tirade immediately. “I suggest you go home.”

There were a few more tense moments before members finally began to get on their bikes and leave the grove. Kat turned to the men surrounding Solomon and called them by name. “Joseph, Dominic, and John, stay.”

Once the other bikers were gone, Kat turned to the few men still left. “Dominic, take Billy. John, take Solomon. Joseph, you’re riding in front. I got the back.” The orders were issued with speed and certainty. Not a single man protested as they followed her orders, nor did a single one question her authority. It was at that moment that Kat realized she hadn’t needed to kill Solomon to become a leader. She just needed to overcome a challenge. And now that she’d done so, she knew she was the president. In practice if not yet in name.

Climbing on her sleek and shiny crimson bike, Kat nodded to the men as she tugged on her matching red helmet. “Let’s head to the bar.”

***

It was a little past two in the morning and the bar was all but dead. No patrons turned their way as Kat and her men pulled Solomon and Billy into the back room and locked the door. It was a biker bar; the men had seen plenty worse.

Kat nodded toward the round table and chairs in the middle of the room. “Put ‘em in the chairs.”

The back room of the bar was cramped, smelly, and cold, but it served its purpose. This was where they had their private meetings, where only the higher-ups were allowed. Kat couldn’t remember when she’d first been invited to the back room, but she knew that when the members had started looking to Jamison
and
her for answers, she’d transformed from member to leader.

And now president,
Kat reminded herself as all eyes turned to her. Pulling out a chair for herself, Kat propped her legs up on the table and leaned back, trying to assess the situation rationally through eyes clouded by sleep.

Taking a deep breath around a wide yawn, Kat said, “I want you both to explain what’s going on.”

Billy looked about ready to pee himself, while Solomon had a sardonic smirk on his face. It was crazy to see them look so similar, but act so differently. While Billy was wet behind the ears and tried to play it off with bravado, Solomon was a hardened criminal, a man who’d earned his scars through blood, sweat, and tears. It was the difference between a boy and a man.

“I-I killed Jamison,” Billy stammered as sweat and tears streaked his face.

Kat swung her head to look at the kid at the same moment Solomon backhanded Billy and sent him flying from the chair onto the floor. Everyone was quiet, stunned as they looked at Solomon’s calm face and Billy’s shocked, wide eyes staring up at him.

“Y-you hit me,” Billy whispered, shocked and hurt.

Solomon turned to Kat, ignoring the kid and the three hulking Free Guns in the room with them. “Call off your dogs, Kit-Kat, and let’s talk.”

Tense seconds stretched into minutes as Kat regarded Solomon through half-lowered lids.
I know it’s not a good idea, but…
Where Solomon was concerned, rationality flew out the window.

“Out. All of you.”

Four heads turned toward her, and as many jaws dropped.

“But Kat…”

“You heard the lady,” Solomon snickered, giving Kat a burning look.

“Kat, don’t let him–”

“How many of you think Solomon or Billy did it?” Kat interrupted, as she took her feet off the table and planted them firmly on the floor.

Looking every member in the eye, Kat raised a questioning eyebrow. “Seriously, who thinks these guys murdered Jamison?”

John, Dominic, and Joseph all looked at each other, then at Kat, and finally at Solomon and Billy. Solomon lounged in a chair, completely at ease, while Billy remained on the floor, a hand covering his swollen cheek. A few more seconds of awkward deliberation and the men shook their heads.

John stroked the back of his neck and regarded Kat. “I don’t think they did it.”A murmur of agreement came from the other two men.

Thought so
. Kat had known early on that Solomon wasn’t the killer, but he’d been willing to take the blame, surrender his life because it would have made them all sleep better. For her part, Kat had been willing to put down an innocent man, a man whom her most trusted guys didn’t even think it was guilty.

Pushing away from her chair, Kat turned her back on the group and steeled her voice. “When I asked if anyone thought Solomon Parker was innocent, I got silence,” she stretched out the word, forced it through her teeth. “Fucking silence.”

In a whirl of black leather, Kat spun around and slammed her fists into the table, tears shining in the corners of her eyes. Every man flinched except for Solomon, who didn’t twitch a muscle.

“I’d been ready to kill a man tonight, stain my soul with his blood–” she paused and looked at Solomon, things she couldn’t say shining in her eyes. “Leave. Get the fuck out.”

Her most trusted men—no, —
she’d
—almost sold her soul to the Devil. And for what? It all seemed meaningless now. A man’s life for a motorcycle club. How the hell did than even itself out?

Scuffling shoes and the click of a lock were the only indications that the men had gone, and the silence meant they’d taken Billy with them. Kat held her body stiff as she heard Solomon’s chair scrape against the wood floor. When he touched her, she flinched.

It wasn’t a harsh touch, he didn’t grab her. His fingers were soft on her arm. But Kat would have liked it if he’d been rough, if he'd gotten angry, if he screamed and hit her. She would have been able to call it even, or at least she would have felt a little less bad about almost taking his life. But that wasn’t how Solomon Parker worked.

Another gentle caress on her arm made her flinch even harder. “Don’t touch me!” Kat lashed out as tears streamed from her eyes.

Strong arms closed around her like a steel embrace, and Kat raged on. “Don’t touch me!”

She screamed the words, anger and despair making her voice hoarse. She thrashed in his arms as he held her, kicked and clawed in an attempt to get away. She couldn’t handle him being gentle; treating her like porcelain when she’d nearly killed him. It was too much.