Cutter's Hope

A novel of The Kraken MC

CUTTER’S HOPE

The Virtues Book I

AJ Downey

Second Circle Press

Hope’s lost her younger sister, but she hasn’t lost her namesake. It’s been almost two years since Faith vanished, but Hope hasn’t given up the search. She’ll either find her sister or some answers.

Cutter had given up on finding a woman when Hope sauntered right into his bar. With her straight talk, toned figure and military training, she can disarm a man in more ways than one. But the mission she’s on will shake up Cutter’s world. Can Cutter keep his club out of trouble and help the siren in his bar on her mission?

One can only hope...

Author’s Note

The events of this trilogy take place
after
the events of Damaged & Dangerous, The Sacred Hearts MC Book VI. If you have not read the SHMC series, references and events that are talked about in this book may not make sense to you. I highly suggest reading the SHMC series first.
Shattered & Scarred
is the first book.

Dedication

To the first responders. No one knows what you go through… I include Dispatch, Police, Fire, Medical, and Military in there. If I’ve missed anyone or any particular branch of the first responder tree I apologize. Just the same, you save people and that takes a real toll, especially knowing how badly people can treat one another.

The Virtues Books In Order

1. Cutter’s Hope

2. Marlin’s Faith

3. Charity for Nothing

Prologue

Faith

You never imagine it would happen to you, but it happened to me. I was sold, that’s right,
sold
like a prime piece of meat at a butcher’s counter, which is what I felt like at the moment. Like so much tenderized raw meat.

The drugs were wearing off and it had devolved into this… hoping that my captors would bring around the next dose of whatever they injected me with. Praying for the sweet bite of the needle and wishing for the oblivion and euphoric haze. Whatever they kept me on would give me at least a mockery of peace as it rushed through my system, through my blood. I needed it. I craved it. It was the only thing I had to look forward to nowadays.

I didn’t need the drugs to keep me docile anymore. I figured out quickly that fighting them was no use, it only made them hurt me more.

I drew my knees up to my chest, listening to the steel chain padlocked around my ankle scrape across the cement floor of the storage locker. This is where I called home while they weren’t using me. It wasn’t much. A vinyl covered mattress on the floor. A bucket in the corner. A dim lightbulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

Fuck that fucking cunt Tonya.

I never should have gone. Never should have trusted her or let her talk me into coming here. It was supposed to be just me and her, a girls’ weekend in the Big Easy. I never should have tried to save money by living off campus, never should have answered her ad for a roommate. I never, I never, I never… but I had, and she’d sold me.

Sold me and I didn’t even know for how much… not that it made a difference. Now my only hope
was
Hope.

I had to have
faith.

Faith.

Hope, Faith, and Charity…

God, would I ever see Charity again? Would Hope find me?

The lock on the outside of my storage locker rattled and I sat up, smoothing my hair behind my ears as the door opened. The light from the corridor cast him in shadow but he was only here for one thing… they all were. He stepped into the unit and shut the door behind him and I found myself bitterly wishing he was what I called a one hit wonder; as in he stuck it in, a stroke or two, and he’d come so I didn’t have to deal with him being on top of me for very long.

This is what my life had devolved into and I honestly didn’t know how long I’d been here… or how long I would stay.

Chapter 1

Hope

I stopped in front of the bar and double checked my notes on my phone. This was the place. For
sure,
this was the place. The Plank. The sign was just as the name implied, a plank of wood nailed above the doors, the name burned into the surface in big block letters, but below that in a flowing gilded script the words ‘
It’s beachy, it’s manly, it’s made of hard wood
’ were inscribed which made me choke on a laugh. That part hadn’t been in my notes, just ‘The Plank’ and the street address. I put my phone into my concealed carry purse, not that I really needed a gun. I was almost more lethal without one.

I quickly assessed the bikers standing around the line of motorcycles that were backed in at an angle to the curb. All of them were so much shiny chrome and black leather, the brightly painted gas tanks sparkling under the punishing Florida sun. I was a California girl, so I was used to sun and even heat, but the humidity here? Only one word for it: gross.

I continued up the sidewalk; back straight, lightweight summer halter dress ending mid-thigh, swishing against my legs. I knew I looked good to these guys. I didn’t need the lascivious grins to tell me that. I was a tall girl with a lot of toned leg and tanned a deep bronze. My hair, I kept tightly braided with a flirty length of side swept bangs. My make up? I kept it natural, but every bit of it I used to full advantage to accentuate my wide brown eyes. I looked like a pretty doll. You’d never guess I was a defense contractor by trade and that I went from city to city assessing police forces and their hand to hand combat skills.

That was me. I went in, assessed the personnel on the force with a series of tests then created a training regime to fill in all the gaps. My specialty? Non-lethal tactics designed to disarm an armed assailant. I was damned good at my job and had a hell of a resume to back it up. A decorated Army Veteran with an exceptional record and a specialty in Krav Maga. With the recent race relation media explosions over cops versus citizen scenarios playing out over the nightly news, yeah, business was booming.

So why was a girl like me about to step into the den of a motorcycle gang notorious for their illegal dealings up and down Florida’s coast? One word: family. My sister to be exact. She’d gone missing almost two years ago on a vacation to New Orleans with her roommate. The roommate hadn’t exactly stuck around after my sister had disappeared either. Hopping from one place to the next. Her last known whereabouts had been with a motorcycle gang from up north of here, The Suicide Kings. The Private Investigator I’d hired had finally come across some information that Little Miss Tonya had last been seen with these guys, headed to Florida.

Armed with an almost three year old mugshot of the girl from when she’d been busted shoplifting, I was here to try my luck with these Neanderthals. The door to the bar was open. No air conditioning…
Great.
I stepped into the dark of The Plank and lifted my sunglasses off from over my eyes and perched them on my head. Several guys in denim and leather turned from the bar and eyed me. I gave them a flat look back.

“Man in charge?” I asked raising my eyebrows. One of them, a young man behind the bar polishing the top with a rag jerked his head toward an alcove at the back. I stepped in that direction but was immediately blocked by a wall of muscle going soft around the middle. I sized up weak points on the man who looked to be in his fifties before I could blink. I held my ground and shifted my weight onto my back foot.

“Who might you be?” he asked and I half expected him to add ‘little lady’ to the end of his sentence.

“You’re not the man in charge,” I said slowly, with my most disarming smile.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the man in charge doesn’t hold court out front. He keeps his business private and in the back.”

The man who was taller than me crossed his arms over his chest and smirked down at me. I glanced at the name tag on the front of his vest, it read ‘Tiny’ and under that ‘Sgt. at Arms’. I gave him another once over. Again, he was muscular, but it was starting to go soft with age. He held himself tall, but it was a posture filled with arrogance, not with any kind of military precision. His graying hair was held back by a wide swath of orange bandana across his forehead. His hair was shoulder length and, curled above his shoulders which were broad and tinged red by too much time spent in the sun. His light blue eyes were sparkling with smug humor and he almost reeked of bully, but bullies had never bothered me. His gaze skated over my tits, or really what passed for them. I was almost as flat as a teenage boy but I couldn’t be too sorry about it. It was hard to hold onto feminine curves when you were all lean muscle, and I would take
that
over boobs any day of the week.

I felt a trickle of sweat slide down my spine as we stood there, neither one of us budging, both of us just coolly assessing the other. Finally with a chuckle the man stepped aside. Yep, that was me, all harmless and girly, no threat here,
now get the fuck out of my way
.

I smiled sweetly and silently stepped past him. I could feel him check out my ass as I went by and I fought not to roll my eyes and do something unladylike, like kick him in the balls. There were way more of them than there were of me, and while I was pretty sure I could handle most of them, some of them might give me a run for my money…

Like the man in charge, the cocky son of a bitch.

He lounged in an electric chair, either a replica, or a real relic from some mothballed penitentiary, I couldn’t tell… I didn’t really care either. The man on the ‘throne’ which sat on a slightly raised dais screamed ‘
danger’
in every sense of the word. He worked out, clearly, but it was more than just chiseled abs and corded arms. It was the way he held himself. He appeared nonchalant, leaning to one side, leg hitched up over one arm of the chair. He wore a pair of frayed cargo shorts and no shirt, just one of the leather vests that seemed to be the uniform code around here.

“You Anders – ”

He held up his hand abruptly and my voice stilled in my throat. I swept him one more time. Tattooed, sure, but one of them was damn sure a war memorial. A tattered American flag decorating the swell of one shoulder. He was more attractive than not and he knew it which should have been a total turn off, but hey, it’d been a while, okay?

“We don’t use last names around here, Sweetheart. Truth be told, we don’t use first ones either.”

“What do you want to be called then, Sunshine?” I asked warily.

“I’m Cutter.”

I snorted, “Right.”

“What’s a pretty
Civilian
girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked and he was smiling but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. I took my eyes off him and opened my purse, a flicker of movement brought my attention up and I stilled. He’d sat up abruptly and I looked him over warily. His hair was a little longer than mine and curled in a loose horsetail over his shoulder. He had a neat, trim beard that was graying at the corners which matched the gray at his temples. He didn’t look that old, late thirties, early forties maybe? He moved quickly though. Quick and quiet.

“Problem?” I asked sweetly. Couldn’t resist yanking his chain juuuuust a little.

“We aren’t a big fan of sudden movements around here.”

I raised an eyebrow and withdrew the mugshot from my purse holding it out in front of me. “Seen her?” I asked. He stared at me and didn’t even bother to look at the picture, his eyes were a warm brown with those golden undertones. Not like mine which sparkled with hardness, a cold deep brown, almost black. Like obsidian or coal.