Hidden Heat (Brothers of Mayhem #1) Read online

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

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Carla Swafford

  Excerpt from Full Heat by Carla Swafford copyright © 2016 by Carla Swafford

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Full Heat by Carla Swafford. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eBook ISBN 9781101886106

  Cover design: Okay Creations

  Cover photograph: Gromovataya/Shutterstock

  readloveswept.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Carla Swafford

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Full Heat

  Chapter 1

  Cassidy Ryder swung the bat, testing the weight and reach, as she marched around the line of motorcycles. Wrinkling her nose, she ignored the sharp, pungent smell of marijuana drifting across her path.

  Huddled in the shade beneath the building’s eaves, men with greasy hair and beards puffed on tightly rolled joints and eyed her with mild curiosity. As long as she stayed away from their well-loved bikes, they’d let her move on without interference.

  Her body trembled with suppressed fury. She almost wished they’d try to stop her. Anything to give her a reason to release the pressure building inside. With a snort of derision, she straightened her back and stalked into the Skull and Bones Bar.

  The thumping beat of Kid Rock blasted from the speakers, competing with the rowdy conversations shaking the large, smoky room. Though mostly rural, Sand County had a law against smoking in any public establishment. In pure defiance, a blue-gray haze hovered around the dim bulbs spotlighting the long shelves of liquor and above two pool tables in the back.

  She hesitated. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she ignored the tall, lanky bartender strolling along behind the counter and heading her way. The rest of the crowd ignored her entrance. Did they often see people carrying a bat into the place?

  She didn’t care. Time for someone to listen to her.

  With a swing of her whole body, she brought the bat down, sweeping several glasses from the long bar. The loud pops and tinkling of broken glasses immediately quieted the room just as Kid’s “American Bad Ass” faded out. Several of the leather-and-denim clad men stood and stepped toward her.

  She lifted the bat for another swing.

  “Damn it to hell! Wait!” The bartender slid over the top of the counter to stand in front of her. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Speaking of badass, with his broad shoulders and tats down both arms, he’d draw anyone’s attention just by entering a room. But add in the dark hair cut tight on the sides, long on top and brushed back to his nape, he especially caught the eye of every woman in the place. She’d noticed too, but she had more important things on her mind.

  Her arm muscles tensed as she pulled her weapon higher over her shoulder.

  He stopped a bat length away and raised his hands. “Cassidy…” He hesitated as if he waited for her reaction to the name. Was she that forgettable? She’d been there several times over the last month, to drag her brother back home. When her eyes narrowed, he continued. “Whatever has you riled up, can we talk about it?”

  Emphasizing each word, she pointed the bat as if it were a finger. “I came in here yesterday and asked, real polite, if you or anyone here had seen my brother. Each one of you looked me in the face and lied. This morning, I get a call, telling me he was seen yesterday, hanging out back, talking with Stonewall.” She glanced around, keeping the bartender in her peripheral view. “Where’s the bastard? I want answers about my brother’s whereabouts.” Proud of how her voice remained even and carried across the room, she jutted out her chin. What would they lie about next?

  The Brothers of Mayhem Motorcycle Club never took kindly to threats. She didn’t care. Violence was the only way they would respect her, and she was prepared to do more, if that’s what it took to bring her little brother back home. Storm had never stayed gone this long.

  “Put the bat down before you get hurt.” The bartender’s soft command sounded so reasonable.

  Screw reasonable. She’d been fair and understanding for the last three days while she searched for Storm. Her patience had disappeared with the only member of her family worth a damn. No way would she fail him again.

  “I will when you—”

  Brawny arms wrapped around her chest and squeezed. She gasped for breath as someone hauled her against his chest and off her feet. The bartender grabbed the bat from her loosened grip and threw it to the side. It hit the floor with a loud clanking.

  “Little girl, we don’t know where your brother’s at. We didn’t lie about that.” The deep voice of the club’s VP, Mac McGee, came from above her head as he squeezed again in warning. “Maybe I need to teach you some fucking manners.”

  She squeaked from the pain, her ribs near the breaking point. With little blood circulation reaching below her waist, her kicks were no more than taps to the mountain restraining her. She pushed at the tight arms as her head dug into his sternum.

  “Please,” she pleaded with a hiss of precious air.

  “Mac, let her go. I’ll handle her.” The bartender rested his elbows on the countertop behind him, crossed his long legs at the ankles, and waited.

  The big guy released her so quickly she barely caught herself before falling at their feet. Asshole. Taking cautious breaths in case of a cracked rib, she regained a little of her composure.

  Handle her? In his dreams. Shoulders thrust back and head held up, she asked, “Where’s my brother?”

  The bartender sighed in frustration. “You’re the most hardheaded woman. Mac told you yesterday, and today is no different. We have no idea where your brother is.”

  Then it struck her what the big guy said a moment earlier. She turned and looked into the angry bloodshot eyes of Mac. “What did you mean when you said ‘We didn’t lie about that’? What did you lie about?”

  With a shake of his massive, shaggy head, the big guy reached for her, but the bartender knocked her to the side and stepped between them, one arm out to keep her back. “Go on. I’ll take it from here.”

  “Never could stand bossy old ladies,” Mac drawled with a sneer.

  She leaned over the bartender’s arm and shouted, “Who are you calling old lady? I’m no one’s old lady! You old fart!” She knew what
he meant, that it had nothing to do with age, but with belonging to someone. At the age of twenty-one, she refused to let anyone call her that. At sixty-one, she would damn well still refuse.

  “Who would want you as their old lady, with that bitchy attitude,” Mac said, more as fact than a question. “You need your ass beaten.” Then he walked away as he raised one finger in her direction.

  “Yeah, but at least I look human and not like a grizzly bear, what with all that fur on your face!” How lame.

  She really needed to shut up before they got tired of her mouth. As a kid she’d grown up around surly men like Mac, but her father’s reputation had protected her from worse. Besides, what about her promise to be a good girl? Her foster mother tried her best to teach her self-control. Yet Cassidy often let her temper get the better of her. Remembering how her hissy fit had caused her brother to leave home in a huff the other night, a sharp pain roiled in her stomach.

  As she opened her mouth to apologize, the bartender’s hand cupped the back of her head, clutched a handful of hair, and twisted. At the same time, his other hand covered her mouth.

  “Shh,” he said softly. Concern darkened his blue eyes as he shook his head.

  Bending her back, he caused her to lose balance but held her tight. Her feet remained on the floor as he aligned his body with hers, almost touching his nose to hers.

  “If you don’t shut your trap, you’re going to get more than you asked for,” he whispered. “Your brother isn’t here. He’s turning eighteen in a couple days, right?” Without giving her a chance to answer, he added, “Then he’ll be an adult. At least one who can vote and die for his country. So, I think it’s in your best interest to go home. When he’s ready to talk, he’ll show up.”

  She wasn’t sure why it happened. The last few days had been stressful. She wasn’t one of those girls who did it at the drop of a hat, but her eyes welled with tears.

  “Ah, shit. Don’t do that,” he said between gritted teeth. He moved his hand from her mouth, pressing her cheek to a broad shoulder as he lifted her upright.

  Unable to stop, she dug trembling fingers into his leather vest and sobbed.

  Why is he being so nice?

  The strong hand in her hair remained, but the other one rubbed and patted her back. He acted as if he had all of the time in the world while she bawled like a little kid.

  “Shh. Everything will be okay.”

  She glanced up and her heart skipped a beat. The guy had a gorgeous smile; there was even a dimple beneath the stubble on his face.

  A gravelly voice nearby said, “Get me a beer, Thorn, before you fuck her.”

  Her body stiffened.

  Stonewall had arrived.

  —

  With a calmness he didn’t feel, Thorn looked over at Stonewall, the president of the mother chapter and the Skull of the club. From day one, each national president was referred to as the Skull, and during formal proceedings, the Brothers of Mayhem were called Bones. All taken from the design on the club’s center patch: bones surrounding a skull.

  Stonewall wasn’t much to look at, with his droopy left eye and crooked nose. Rumor ran he’d been hit with a two-by-four some years ago, but it hadn’t damaged the man’s brain. He was known to be a wily bastard. It took more than brawn to lead the pack of deviants the old man had recruited over the last few years.

  Only a small handful of the Brothers joined the club solely for the camaraderie of riding in the wind whenever and wherever they wanted. The majority wanted more, and there was a good reason they were known to be an outlaw motorcycle club; members were also called one percenters. A magazine article a long time ago said 99 percent of motorcycle riders were good, upstanding citizen.

  The leftovers thought nothing of cheating, stealing, and selling to bring in the needed cash to work on their bikes and buy even bigger and faster ones. From what Thorn had seen, the majority of the club believed freedom was living a life filled with parties, booze, women, and drugs, and having the money to do it all.

  Thorn checked the room for a place to be private and talk. Deciding a back room would take care of what they needed, he first waved over some help.

  The woman in his arms tightened her hold and pressed her face into his vest. He inhaled her light, flowery scent and ran his hands up and down her back. Her mouth reached the center of his chest, perfect for wrapping her in his arms and keeping her safe.

  Without releasing her, he said, “Pull a glass for the Skull, Prospect.”

  The kid who wore a patch on his jacket designating his lowly status jumped over the counter and headed toward the tap. Not voted into the club yet, he had to follow any patched Brother’s orders. So he did all of the grunt work in the hope he could wear the club’s colors, a leather jacket with the sleeves cut off and the Holy Grail of a center skull patch.

  Stonewall’s gaze narrowed, but he remained quiet. Thorn knew he walked on thin ice with the man. Stonewall trusted him as much as he did any of the newer members, and that was very little.

  “I need to take care of some business,” Thorn said, smirking as he glanced down at the woman in his arms.

  He tugged Cassidy toward the office in the back, the only place most of the Brothers would leave them undisturbed. As he expected, she stiffened her legs and tried to pull away. He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “You bastard! Put me down!” Fists thumping his back, she struggled to be released as he held tight to her legs.

  When she tried to throw her body to the side, he slapped her ass a couple of times. She quickly settled down. Damn, that felt good. Probably, someone should’ve spanked her years ago.

  “Stay still!” He tried his best to keep his mind off those sweet red cheeks as he strolled along the back hallway. Once they were in the office, he closed the door with a light kick, and he let her slip to her feet, relishing the slide of her body down his. The urge was almost too strong to ignore. Who would blame him? A little demon in the back of his mind nagged that there had to be some benefit from saving her stubborn little neck.

  She scrambled around the old steel desk and shot hate out of those beautiful, big, brown eyes. One hand found its way to her back end and rubbed before she caught his grin. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest and grimaced when her butt pressed against the wall. He chuckled, and she shot him an eat-shit-and-die look.

  “What are you planning on doing to me?” Her gaze darted to the door, but she was smart enough to not make a move. Yet.

  From the first time he’d seen her, a few months ago, he’d been fascinated by her gutsy, sassy attitude. She’d turned up at the bar obviously tracking down her brother. She’d chewed out Storm from the moment she spotted him talking with Stonewall until she shoved him into the car. Her brother, a head taller, let his sister fuss and shake a finger in his face, the whole time grinning ear to ear.

  Yeah, the girl—no, scratch that—the woman was trouble, but he always had a thing for strong women. Sex was so much more fun and interesting when they surrendered.

  His dick twitched.

  To regain control of his body’s reaction, he gave her his back long enough to check for eavesdroppers. He peeked up and down the hallway. No one had followed. He closed the door again and faced her after curbing his wayward response.

  “Lower your voice. The walls are thin.” He needed her to understand the danger she was in. Over the years, he’d done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of, but hurting a woman wasn’t one of them. Besides the few slaps he’d placed on her ass would sting for only so long. But if Stonewall had heard her demanding the whereabouts of Storm, the pain the prez dished out wouldn’t be so easily forgotten.

  “Let me go. I’ll pay for the broken glasses, but I demand you tell me where Storm is.” She lifted her chin, and her chest rose and fell beneath the tight tee shirt.

  Pulling his gaze back to her face, her pink cheeks warned him that she’d caught him staring. What could he say? He was a heterosexual, red
-blooded male.

  “Listen, sugar, I’ll tell you about your brother, but you need to keep your mouth shut.”

  “What is it about you people? I can say whatever I like. This is a free country.”

  He let his disappointment show on his face. “You’re smarter than you’re acting.”

  “I’m smart enough to know—”

  He slapped the wall, frustrated that he couldn’t make her understand. She straightened, face pale and eyes wide open. That got her attention.

  “For Christ’s sake, listen to me before you get us both killed,” he said, grinding his back teeth in impatience. She finally closed her mouth. “Storm is running an errand for Stonewall. And no, I can’t tell you more than that. I’m taking a chance as it is. He should be back by midnight and then I’ll tell him to call you.” Finally, in control of his body, he walked around the desk and grabbed her arm, wanting to emphasize the danger she was in. He leaned down. “Go home,” he whispered.

  Her eyes searched his. Probably trying to guess his game. All he wanted to do was keep her safe, but she refused to believe it. For now, they had one more problem: how was he going to explain to the club about their time alone in the office?

  He had only one solution.

  Moving a little closer, he added, “Before you head home, you need to look like we went at it hot and heavy back here.”

  “What?” She took a step back, confusion on her face as she glanced around.

  “There is only one reason for a Mayhem Brother to take a female in the back office, and that’s to fuck her. Unless you want me to do it for real, you need to look the part.”

  “Huh?” She frowned. Why was she having such a difficult time imagining anyone wanting her in that way?

  Whoa!

  Had no one ever come on to her? Were the bastards around there blind? He sighed and then tightened his grip on her arm.