Wreaking Havoc (Dead Presidents MC Book 2) Read online

  Come on. This had to be some sort of setup. No way was a man like Havoc searching for a book about flowers. I wanted to laugh and tell him I was on to his and Laura’s little game, but his expression remained serious, making me second guess myself. Fingers hovering over my keyboard, I considered the circumstances that would send him after a book about flowers. Maybe it was a gift? For whom? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so I decided to fish.

  “Who’s the gardener?” I asked. “You or your significant other?” It was a blatant, shameless line, but I’d cast it, and there was no reeling it in now. At least not until I saw whether or not he’d bite.

  He watched me, his expression curious and a little amused. “No significant other. Just me.”

  Okay. Apparently big, buff motorcycle men who beat up rapists did garden. Who knew? I started a digital search through my inventory while a voice in the back of my mind kept pointing out that he was single. Not only had he shown up in my bookstore, but he was unattached. And, he would make a perfect date for the wedding. The old me would have manipulated him into accompanying me, but being ostracized had stripped away my confidence in that particular skill. I needed the perfect bait to snag this local hero. Since I no longer had power or influence, I had to figure out something else of value to offer him in exchange for his help.

  “What sort of flowers are you trying to grow?” I asked.

  “A variety. Here, let me show you some pictures. That might help.” He whipped out his phone and swiped through images of a flower box, pointing as he called out their types. “These ones are daisies. Those are daffodils. I can’t remember what that one’s called. There’s a tulip. I transplanted them about a week ago. They did well for a couple of days, and then they all up and died on me. A friend suggested I find a book that’ll tell me what I did wrong and how to keep the next batch alive.”

  He was telling the truth. Holy crap. Marcus “Havoc” Wilson, the man, the myth, the legend who’d brought Mayor Kinlan to justice, was trying his hand at gardening and had come to me for help. Right when I needed help. An idea began to form in my mind.

  “Come with me,” I said, putting a little extra sway in my hips as I circled the counter and headed toward the non-fiction section of the shop. Scanning the gardening books, I selected the thickest, most dreadfully overwhelming books I could find and stacked them on top of the shelf. When I finished, the stack was six high and made Justine’s pre-med textbooks look like easy reading. “I suggest you start with these.”

  His eyes widened. He picked up the top book and thumbed through pages. “Don’t you have an abridged version, or an easy start guide or something?”

  Yes, I did, and no I would not be offering it to him. It was a dirty trick, but I was desperate. I needed his help, and this was all I could think of. “I take it you’re not a reader?”

  “I like reading stories that interest me, but I don’t think a…” he flipped to the last page, “six hundred and thirty-six page book on gardening will provide much of an interesting story.”

  Big pages, too. It would be a snooze fest for sure. “Maybe we can work something else out?” I plucked the book from his hands, closed it, and returned it to the pile.

  “What do you have in mind?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

  He was so big. Scary big. Could I trust him? The on-line news articles labeled Havoc and Dead Presidents Motorcycle Club as ‘Helpers of the City.’ But what if they were wrong? What if he was dangerous? Then again, I didn’t have any other options.

  Swallowing back my fear and anxiety, I replied, “A deal. An exchange.”

  He continued to watch me. “I’m listening.”

  “My parents have an excellent gardener. One of the best in Seattle. He owes me a favor, and I could arrange for him to take a look at your flower bed and let you know what’s going on and how to fix it.”

  He nodded. “And in return…?”

  How could I ask a perfect stranger to accompany me to an event as important as my sister’s wedding without sounding like a complete loser? If only there was a book on that. “I need a date.”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise as his gaze raked over my body, and there was no mistaking his interest. Score. “You’re asking me out?”

  “Yes. To my sister’s wedding.”

  “To a wedding?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit. You don’t fuck around. Look, miss…”

  “Julia. Julia Edwards.”

  “Julia.” He said my name like a treat he was tasting for the first time. “You’re an attractive woman. I’m sure you’d have no trouble finding a date and you don’t know shit about me. And I’m not stupid.” He checked out the shelf and selected a small, no nonsense guide about gardening. “I know how to find a book. I’m also familiar with the internet. I just stopped by here because it was on the way home and I try to support local businesses, so why are you trying to play me like I don’t know my ass from a hole in the ground? What’s really going on with this wedding?”

  More lies flooded my mind. I could have employed flattery, flirted for all I was worth, or bribed him to do it, but I was rusty, and Havoc had already seen through my bullshit. He was a down-to-earth good guy, and he deserved an honest answer. “Because, you’re a helper of Seattle and I need help. I need… protection.”

  Havoc

  I COULDN’T SEEM to wrap my mind around what the fuck was going on. The hot, curvy redhead with porcelain skin and big green eyes had been checking me out and flirting with me since I’d walked into her bookstore. Not that I minded her attention. Not in the least. In fact, the way her eyes darkened every time her gaze went to my chest and arms was downright ego boosting. She walked past me, and a sweet, soft scent caught my attention. The broad smelled incredible.

  While following her to the correct section of the bookstore, I got an eyeful of her round, juicy ass. She had one of those natural, perfect hourglass figures, heavy on the top, heavy on the bottom, and the kind of shapely legs that were no stranger to the gym. Just thinking about the things I could do to that body was making my pants uncomfortable. I adjusted myself and tried to pay attention to the big ass books she kept piling on top of the bookshelf.

  I knew she was up to something, but damn, I had not been prepared for what she wanted from me. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t opposed to dating her—hell, I’d be all over that—but to a wedding? What kind of broad tried to trick a perfect stranger into going to a wedding with her? The crazy kind. I took a step back, knowing I should get the fuck out of there, but her eyes… those goddamn green headlamps glowed with so much pain and desperation I was having a hard time walking away from her.

  “I need… protection,” she said, sounding desperate and scared.

  Those were the magic words. They made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my feet stick to the ground. I couldn’t go anywhere until I found out what was happening and made sure she was safe. Link has called me a sucker for a sob story, and goddammit, I know he’s right. Especially when that sob story comes with a nice rack and a round ass.

  “Is someone trying to hurt you?” I asked. I didn’t put up with men roughing up women. Never have, never would. If some asshole thinks he’s big enough to slap around a girl, he should be big enough to take me on. And I’d be more than happy to let him try.

  “Not physically.” She took a deep breath, and her big tits bounced as she let it out. “My little sister’s getting married and my ex will be there with his flavor of the week.”

  Sounded like the kind of drama I didn’t need in my life. Still, she was sexy as fuck and flashing me all good signs, and everyone knew that weddings made bitches horny. Yes, my mind went there as my gaze drifted back down to her tits. What could I say? I’m a man, and she had the type of body that made smart men do stupid shit.

  Also, she’d asked for my help. Not like I thought I was some sort of hero. No, my problem was the opposite. I’d destroyed so much in my life that helping people gave me the chance to balance the scales a little. A shot to make right on somebody else’s wrongs. So, I decided to feel out the situation and figure out if I could handle her level of crazy. “Your ex is going to your sister’s wedding?”

  “Our parents are good friends and business partners. They’re extremely successful and wealthy. They don’t let little things like the comfort or happiness of their children stand in the way of business dealings and public impressions.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “Power comes with an expensive price tag. You must bid high and be willing to sell everything to make the payment. That’s what makes it so appealing.” The smile she shot me was self-deprecating, and I could tell the shit she was spewing had been spoon-fed to her. Her demons were strong and had probably been there most of her life. But she was smart, and a fighter. I could help a smart fighter.

  “And you’re afraid of your ex?” I asked.

  “No. Oh, hell no.” She chortled. “I’m afraid of me. I don’t need your protection from Wesley. I need you to protect him from me. No, it’s more than that. I need you to contain me. To keep me from reverting to my old self.”

  This was getting interesting. “What do you mean?”

  “Wesley is weak. Stupid.” Her face twisted in disgust. “I could ruin him. I could ruin most of them if they pushed me too far. But I don’t want to be that person anymore. I need someone with me who’s big, strong, and smart enough to keep the power-hungry bitch inside of me and off the playground. I read that you used to be in the Special Forces, so I know you’re smart and strong.” I eyed him up and down. “And you’re obviously big.”

  “Yet you tried to pull that shit with the books on me.”

  “And you called me on it,” she said. “Which means I won’t be able to manipulate you. I need that. I’m trying really hard to be a decent human being and leave my past behind me, but this wedding will threaten my resolve.”

  “Where and when is the wedding?”

  “This coming Saturday at three p.m. at the Shoreline Country Club on Bainbridge Island.”

  Ritzy place. Julia wasn’t playing when she said her parents were loaded.

  “I know it’s short notice and I’m sorry.” She winced. “It’s a suit and tie event, so no bikes. But we could take my Mercedes.”

  Her assumption that I only had a bike rubbed me wrong. Sure, I wouldn’t be hosting any parties on Bainbridge Island, but I did all right for myself. I had a house and a yard to keep up. Couldn’t exactly put lumber and a lawn mower on the back of my Fatboy. And even if I didn’t have some sort of cage, I’d rent one. No way in hell I’d let her drive me to a wedding of rich white people. Be the black man in the passenger’s seat? Fuck that.

  I should walk.

  I should get the fuck out of that bookstore and never look back.

  But the fear and desperation in Julia’s eyes held me hostage. I could help her. As crazy as she sounded, I understood her. I too had a beast inside of me, and he was a motherfucker to contain. Last time he’d gotten free, I’d put Noah Kinlan in the hospital. I could have just ripped his scrawny ass off of that girl and called the cops, but the beast needed more. It needed the sound of Noah’s bones breaking and the scent of his blood. I probably would have killed Noah if the guys from the bar hadn’t shown up. Yeah, I understood Julia’s predicament all too well, and I needed her to know I wasn’t the hero she was looking for.

  “No matter what you read about me, I’m no saint, Julia.”

  She took a step closer, invading my space with her floral-scented tempting body. She knew what she was doing, how she was affecting me. I could see it in the smile that ghosted her lips and the shift in her stance. The way she stuck her tits out. “Good. A saint wouldn’t survive two seconds in my world. I need a devil who’s figured out how to lock himself away.”

  She was tempting me, inviting my beast to come play, testing me to see if my resolve was strong enough to contain him. She was showing me that she understood my struggle and saw who I really was. Helping her would be a gamble. Get us together, and we could either save the world or destroy it.

  I never could turn down a good challenge. But I wasn’t careless and needed to make sure she was committed to the cause before I agreed. “I have three conditions.”

  “You’ll do it?” she asked, her eyes wide as she grabbed my arm. “You’ll be my date for the wedding?’

  I nodded. “As long as you agree to the conditions.”

  She eyed me, making it clear she wasn’t used to resistance. “Okay…?”

  “I’m driving. I’ll pick you up.”

  “Great. Not a problem. What’s the second one?”

  “No more lies. No trying to play me. No games. At the first hint of any of that bullshit, I’ll bounce. I can’t help you unless you’re straight up with me. Nothing but honesty from here on out.”

  She filled her cheeks with air and then slowly blew it out. “That’s a toughie. It’s like second-nature for me to push and pull and—”

  “I’m on your side, Julia. I’m trying to help you and I won’t put up with that shit.”

  Her gaze raked over me again, and her eyes darkened. She liked that. It turned her on that she couldn’t push me around. I filed that little tidbit away for later.

  “Okay.” She took another deep breath. “Nothing but honesty from here on out.”

  “Third, if I do this, not only will you hook me up with this gardener, but you’ll also help me out with something next Saturday. My club is hosting a dinner for the homeless and—”

  “You want a donation? Sure. Absolutely. How much?”

  “I don’t want a donation,” I said with a chuckle, amused at how quickly her mind went to money. She’d definitely been raised rolling in it. “I want you to come and serve food to the homeless.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You want me to serve food to the homeless? After everything I just told you? Have you been listening? I’m dangerous, Havoc.”

  “Only to the people who can offer you something. You’re like an addict, babe.”

  She stared at me for a beat and I could almost see the wheels in her head spinning, trying to follow my thought process. “I think you’re oversimplifying my condition.”

  I shook my head. “You’re complicating it.”

  She folded her arms. “Okay, I’ll bite. How am I like an addict?”

  “You did something you regret, and you want to get out of that lifestyle. But now you have to attend this party where you’ll be tempted to use again. You’re afraid you won’t be able to withstand the temptation, so you’re calling in the big guns.”

  Her gaze went directly to my arms. “You do have big guns.” She let the rest of what I’d said sink in for a few moments, then sucked in a breath and took a step back. “Shit. Okay, I am like an addict.”

  “And when addicts want to change their behavior, we have to get them out of their own mind. Get them to step away from their own problems. We encourage them to serve. To do something for someone else. So, that’s my third condition.”

  “And you’ll be there?” she asked. “You’ll keep me from freaking out on anyone?”

  “Yeah. I’ll have your back. There and at the wedding.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “Why not? Sure. I’ll come and serve homeless people next Saturday, I’ll try this whole honesty thing with you, and you can drive. Now, you’ll need a suit. If you follow me to the front, I’ll get you some cash to cover the expense.”

  After all the progress we’d made, that felt like a slap in the face. “What the fuck?” I asked.

  She paused mid-turn. “What?”

  “What about me makes you so sure I don’t own a suit? You think I need your money, Julia? That I can’t buy my own suit?”

  Confusion crossed her face, and then her expression softened. “No. That’s not what I meant. Your financial status is none of my business. You’re doing me a huge favor, and it would be rude if I didn’t at least offer to pay your expenses.”

  Her explanation softened the blow a little, but it still rankled.

  “I’m a man, Julia. I’ll buy my own goddamn suit.”

  I expected her to be scared or upset like most women were when they got a glimpse of my temper, but Julia’s eyes lit up with something else entirely. Excitement? Arousal? She liked it—liked me—of that, I was certain. Biting her lip, she nodded in agreement. “Of course. I see that now.”

  Her voice was deeper. Huskier. Yep, she was turned on. Maybe I’d get a little something out of helping her after all. Before I could think too much about that, my phone buzzed. I tugged it from my pocket and saw I was being dispatched to an accident site. As one of three tow truck drivers for Formation Auto Repair (the shop owned and run by the Dead Presidents MC) I was on call today. Lousy timing, since I’d really like to spend more time trying to figure Julia out.

  “I gotta run. Work calls.”

  Her eyes hardened as she watched my phone slide back into my pocket. Did she think I was blowing her off? There had to be history there. Hot as she was, she sure came with a shit-ton of baggage. But as my gaze drifted over her fan-fucking-tastic figure once again, I decided she might be worth the trouble.

  “Hand me your phone and I’ll put my number in it,” I said.

  Without hesitation, she passed her cell to me. I sent myself a text and handed it back.

  I needed to jet, but there was something else I had to know. “Your family… they’re not racist, are they?”

  Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. It’s not very becoming to be racist these days, and the Edwards always keep up with the latest trends. Besides, we have a wealthy African-American family on the guest list.”

  The country club’s token black family. Bet I’d fit right in.

  “Thank you again for doing this,” she said.

  That heat was back in her eyes, making me want to explore the depths of her gratitude, but I had a crash to get to. “Yeah. No problem. Don’t forget to send me the information for the gardener.”

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