Nero (Made Men #1) (32 page)

Chapter
Forty-Nine

Happily Ever After

Elle and Nero had returned to school for the last week
, and it was the best week of her life. Nero made her quit the diner and put in an application to the local University for her. He assured her that, even though it was late, there was no way they wouldn’t accept her with her 4.0 GPA. He also told her if it took more than two days to do so, he would make a trip down to the admission office. She was now one day away from graduating, and Nero had somehow managed to talk her and Chloe into walking across the stage to take their diplomas.

Elle pinched herself every
day, wondering if it was all real. Her last first day of school had ended up being the worst day of her life.
Or
so I thought.
She now realized it had turned out to be the best day in her existence because, if she had never witnessed the murder, then Nero would have never been forced to talk to her in the first place.
I would have never gotten my happily ever after
.

Brring
.

For the first time ever
, that was music to her ears.
I am free. Free at last.

Nero and Elle smiled at each other as everyone ran out
of the art room, screaming. Nero stood and took Elle’s hand, helping her stand up.

“Where are we going?” Elle laughed as he started dragging her.

Nero led her towards the back of the room and opened the art supply closet before pushing her in. “It’s the last time I’ll get this chance, and I have been fantasizing about this ever since I brought you in here the first time.”

Elle tried to stop Nero from closing the door
. “Nero, we can’t—”

Nero shoved her
back against the door and planted his mouth on hers. She lost all sense as Nero thrust his tongue deep in her mouth. She opened wider for him and rose to her toes.

Nero began unbuttoning her red and white plaid shirt
. He pulled it down her shoulders, making it drop to the floor. His eyes then fell down her body to her pink, lacey, push-up bra and blue jean shorts.

Elle’s chest began to rise and fall heavily as she looked up at her hungry wolf’s
emerald gaze.
I fucking love him.

Nero’s
gaze returned to her big, blue eyes. “Pick it up.”

Enjoy
an excerpt from Jamie Begley’s book

Razer’s
Ride (The Last Riders, #1)

Chapter One

Beth pulled her little car into the vacant slot in front of the Buy-Low Market. Grabbing her list and oversized purse, she glanced at her watch, calculating that she had an hour to finish shopping for Mrs. Langley. The frail old woman had hired Beth to do what tasks she was not able to do for herself any longer. She was one of many clients that Beth had accumulated over the last five years. She had even hired a co
llege student part-time to do the chores she was not physically capable of completing. Cleaning out garages, heavy lifting, and lawn work were often requests that she once would have had to turn down. Since she had been able to hire Blake, those jobs were contracted out to him while still being able make a small profit for herself.

It didn’t take long for Beth to complete the list. Frowning at the sparse list of groceries, she worried about Mrs. Langley’s decreasing appetite; she knew it wasn’t her finances that were responsible for the small list. Beth handled most of her f
inances, having earned an accounting degree in college; the extra task of balancing Mrs. Langley’s checkbook took little of her time. It had actually made her feel better about using the neglected skills that her monthly student loan payment reminded her she had worked hard to earn.

When she had graduated, she had literally stumbled into her business when her next-door neighbor became ill. Beth had volunteered to run errands for her until she recovered. From there, word of mouth had created a clientele that had provided a steady income, but left little free time. Her clients had started calling and asking for minor tasks to be completed that they were more than able to perform for the
mselves, often to fill the loneliness of their lives. Beth thought it was sad that they called her instead of their children, who often lived near, yet were unwilling to stop what they were doing to see to the parents who had raised them. Mailing her a check when she billed them provided a salve to their conscious.

Beth was putting the groceries into the trunk of her car when the sound of loud motors filled the late afternoon air. Tensing, she looked over her shoulder and saw the large group of motorcycles pulling into the parking lot. The tiny town of Tre
epoint had a motorcycle club that had taken over the peaceful town three years ago. Slamming her trunk lid down, Beth quickly opened her car door and got in, closing and locking the door. As she put her keys in the ignition, she watched as the bikers parked closely together.

The Last Riders were a motorcycle club whose actual home location was u
nknown to the majority of the townspeople. Many believed it to be nestled in the mountains on the border between Kentucky and Virginia. When they got in trouble, as they often did, the two bordering police departments often foisted the crimes onto the others precinct; therefore none of the crimes they were believed to have committed were ever prosecuted. They were growing larger and stronger in force with both bordering communities becoming frightened of the intimidating strangers that lived and played hard. Fortunately, they stayed to themselves and what trouble they got into stayed within their own cloistered group as well as the unlucky bars they picked for the night. The aftereffects would often leave the bar closed days for repairs. Usually one of the members would show up the next day with a wad of cash for the owner plus extra to silence them. It had become a regular source of income for the small business owners.

Beth watched from her car as the large group walked into the store. The men were all dressed in jeans and leather jackets with their emblem on the back. Ever
yone in the small lot gave them a wide berth, not wanting trouble. Seeing others panic as she had made Beth feel guilty, they had not acted any different than any other shopper going into the small store.

Several women were interspersed throughout the men. As one of the young women laughed, it drew Beth’s attention. Mrs. Langley's granddaughter, Samantha, was walking with her hand through one of the larger men’s belt. His arm was casua
lly draped around her shoulders as he walked beside Samantha while talking to another biker, totally ignoring the scattering patrons. Sam was dressed as Beth had never seen her clothed before, and she had already developed a reputation before the bikers had made their presence known in town. She wore tight jeans that left her hips and stomach bare with a glinting belly ring that drew attention to her flat stomach along with a skimpy top, which left the globes of her breasts bare. Motorcycle boots completed the picture of a biker babe that Beth was sure would give her grandmother heart palpitations.

Sam was several years younger than her and, at
nineteen, her body was lithe and firm, unlike Beth’s own short, chunky frame. Beth was not overweight, but because of her small, five-foot stature, the weight seemed to pack on no matter what she ate. Thankfully, her job and exercise kept her from being a pudgy mess. When they entered the store, Beth carefully pulled out of the lot. She was worried for the young girl, though being well acquainted with Sam, she knew she would not appreciate any concern. Beth knew Mrs. Langley would be worried sick if she knew whom her granddaughter was hanging out with while Sam’s father would be furious.

Vincent Bedford was president of the local bank. He was aloof and arrogant, sa
ving his charming demeanor for the upper class of Treepoint society. Beth had talked to him when his mother-in-law had hired her when Mrs. Langley had surprised Beth by asking her to keep up with her finances; her son-in-law had agreed without a second thought. Vincent Bedford was not interested in what little his mother-in-law had, instead he kept busy kissing the ass of every rich and widowed woman in Treepoint. Beth turned onto the small lane that led to Mrs. Langley’s house to drop off the few groceries she had requested. She was already planning ahead to the next assignment awaiting her attention; hopefully she would make it home before dark.

*  *  *

“Did you see that?” Razer asked the girl hanging on to his side.

“How could I miss it? She practically jumped into her car she was so scared. I bet she pissed herself.”

Razer laughed and the others close by joined in, having also seen the luscious little blond scurry to her car.

Inside, they split up, gathering supplies for the coming week. Massive amounts of meat, chips and beer filled the three carts to overflowing.

“How are we going to get all this back to the house?” Sam questioned Razer as he pulled out the large denomination bills to pay the exorbitant checkout ticket.

“Maybe we should hire your granny’s scared little mouse to deliver them,” he joked.

“Don’t joke. I bet she ran right to my grandmother’s to tattle on me. Nosy bitch.”

Train walked up behind her, running his hand over her ass and pulling her close to his jutting crotch. They ignored the gawking customers and sales clerk who were not used to such blatant sexual behavior in public.

“What’s she gonna tell, Sam? That you’re fucking one of us? What ya worried about? It’s not the truth.” He snickered, pulling her even closer.

“Don’t worry, Sam, it wouldn’t occur to that old woman that you’re fucking them all,” Evie muttered snidely as she pushed her to the side with one of the overloaded grocery carts and moved toward the sliding doors. “Put the groceries in my car,” she directed the bikers, ignoring the angry glare directed her way from Samantha.

Sam turned bright red at the disrespect shown from the popular Evie. Feeling herself under scrutiny by the open mouthed clerk she snapped, “What are you staring at, bitch?”

“That’s the way, Sam.” Train eased his tight grip before dropping a kiss on her mouth, providing a show for the stunned people at the checkout. Angrily, Sam pulled herself away, stalking away from the audience that had formed in the busy store.

*  *  *

Beth let herself into Mrs. Langley’s house, juggling the groceries carefully. The large home was more than the older woman could handle anymore. The formal fu
rniture and decorative ornaments required constant dusting. The gourmet kitchen had long lost it’s usefulness with no one to cook for but herself.

Quietly, she put them away before going in search of the older woman. She found her lying on her couch, taking a nap.

“Mrs. Langley?” Beth was about to turn away and leave her to her nap when she heard a tired voice respond.

“Beth?”

“Yes, it’s me.” Beth moved further into the room so that she could be seen without making the woman rise from her reclining position.

“I thought you might be Samantha. She was supposed to stop by for a visit this week.” Sadness shone from her pale blue eyes. Beth felt a lump in her throat, so many of her clients suffered from loneliness.

Feeling compelled to sit for several minutes, Beth listened to several anecdotes of Samantha as a child. As she listened, she found herself wishing to shake the girl in question for ignoring her grandmother, yet she knew it was useless to feel anger about something that was beyond her control. She was simply following her father’s example; Sam’s mother had been Mrs. Langley’s daughter and had died in a car accident when Sam was fourteen. Waiting until the woman wound down, Beth interrupted her between stories.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your nap. I just wanted to let you know I dropped the groceries off and put them away. Blake will be by this weekend to clean out your gutters and store away anything you no longer need.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without your help.”

“I am sure your family would be more than happy to help.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Now don’t nap too long or you’ll be unable to sleep tonight. I’ll see you Saturday. I’ll lock the door on the way out.”

Beth left her already dozing back off and was locking the heavy door when the loud sound of motorcycles again drew her attention. They were driving slowly down the speed-restricted lane, passing directly in front of the house Beth was leaving. Samantha was on the back of a large, black motorcycle, holding tightly to a different biker than she had walked into the store with. Beth felt her eyes on her as she passed and waved her hand in acknowledgment. Samantha turned her head in the other direction, blatantly ignoring the casual greeting.

Beth shrugged to herself, not upset at the snub. Samantha had never been friendly when their paths had crossed, often being downright
unfriendly
. She had tried not to let it bother her, but Beth couldn’t understand why the girl disliked her so much.

The walk to her car seemed like a mile instead of the few feet it actually was. As
she walked to her car, she glanced toward the bikes again as they passed. If it hadn’t been so obvious, Beth would have gone back into the house until they were out of sight, but she was unwilling to make a fool of herself twice in the same day. She blew out a relieved breath as the last bike passed. That biker had been the one with his arm around Samantha at the store.

He looked her way as she walked towards the car. The breath she’d been relea
sing caught in her throat at his rugged beauty. His dark brown hair reached the collar of his leather jacket and was tied back with a skullcap. Sunglasses hid the color of his eyes, although they didn’t diminish the strength of his gaze on her. Feeling scorched as their eyes met briefly, Beth saw his lips twist into a wicked grin as if he knew the feelings storming her body.

She moved more quickly towards her car, tearing her eyes away from the pas
sing motorcycle and refused to turn when she heard him rev the bike's motor as if he was laughing at her.

Beth’s fingers trembled as she fit her keys into the ignition. She didn’t know why the bikers made her feel so uncomfortable. The only conclusion she had reached was that they incorporated every vice her father had warned against. Beth’s parents had been born and raised in Treepoint. Her father had been the local Baptist preacher and her mother devoted to his work. Their expectations of her had been high and the community had kept their eyes on her, telling her father of each infra
ction that they felt, in their righteous way, was against his teachings. He had responded with hours of lectures and days of reproachful looks, making Beth feel often inadequate and bad.

Experiences that young girls often enjoyed, such as dances and boyfriends, b
ecame associated with feelings that brought displeasure to her father. Beth had two choices when it came to the demands her father’s position in the community commanded; either to rebel or to submit. Beth was no fighter; she had caved to her parents’ demands because of her sister. It had not been hard caring for Lily; while Beth felt smothered by her parent’s restrictions, Lily had embraced them. The rules had provided safety and structure to the traumatized girl.

In showing an example of charity, her parents had adopted a little girl, Lily.
Beth’s mind shied away from the memories of her first meeting with the little girl, but she was truly thankful her parents had rescued the sister of her heart, if not blood. She was everything Beth was not; tall, slim, and radiantly beautiful, both inside and out. When you saw her, you could not take your eyes off her; it was as if you would miss something vitally important. To look at the pretty 19 year old, you would never know the hell her parents had dragged her from.