Breaking Free: A thriller, M/F, erotic romance

  Breaking Free

  Danielle Aretino

  Copyright TripleDDD Publishing

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 1

  "D'you think she's any good at giving head?"

  Red Parker stared at the man who'd posed the question, blinked twice, then took a swig of his beer.

  "Wouldn't know," he grumbled over the din of the gang's favourite bar. "Haven't had the pleasure."

  "C'mon, Red," Dan laughed as he slapped his arm. The sting of the hit bit through Red's leather, and he wondered if the revered leader of their biker crew had meant to do it on purpose. "You gotta sample the merchandise one of these days."

  He forced a smile, hoping it came across crude enough to make Dan happy, then watched as the man he'd known for almost seven years staggered off his chair and made a beeline for the prostitute hanging around the pool area. Without a word, Dan grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the backdoor, a fire exit whose warning signs no one gave two shits about, and then disappeared into the grimy alley outside.

  "Piece of shit," Red muttered. Another swig of beer emptied the bottle, and he handed it off to a gorgeous blonde waitress who just happened to be passing by. Her smile could light up a room, so what the hell was she doing working in a place like this? He knew for a fact that despite him and his gang, Death Before Dishonour, pouring thousands of dollars into this shithole on a pretty regular basis, the owner paid his staff next to nothing. He'd heard him and Dan laughing about it one night, though he'd been too drunk at the time to remember the whole conversation.

  Hopefully Blondie here wouldn't stoop to hooking with fuckers like Dan. The guy was out back now, probably getting head from a too-thin hooker who gave discounts to guys in Red's crew. Sometimes for protection, sometimes because the girls thought it made them tough to wear a biker's jacket after the deed was done. Red had yet to "sample the merchandise", and he never planned to.

  Running a hand through his thick black hair, he was just about to call it quits on the night when a few other members of Dan's sketchy inner circle—a circle Red had somehow found himself drifting toward over the years—sank into the empty chairs around his table. Somewhere by the bar, a few of the guys were getting rowdy with the bartender, but the hired security busied themselves at the arcade, not once checking to see if there was a problem. Probably the smartest thing for them to do on a night when Morrison House was full of bikers and their entourages.

  "You seen Dan?" Tony, a gruff-talking Scot, asked as he settled into the seat next to Red. The guy's beer slopped over the side of his glass, but he seemed not to notice. Red nodded toward the backdoor.

  "Went out there with one of the girls," he said. Who the fuck was he to hide Dan's cheating ass anyway? Everyone in the inner circle knew their rough and tough leader had a thing for whores. The men around him exchanged bawdy cheers at the news, and one tried to get the name of the girl out of Red, but he kept his mouth shut. He wasn't about to give some poor woman up for these assholes to gossip about her tits or ass like a bunch of teenagers.

  "Oh shit."

  Arms crossed and body slumped in the uncomfortable wooden chair, Red glanced over his shoulder to see what might have caused the Dan-Prostitute conversation to go stale, and he sat up immediately as soon as he saw her. There she was. The primary reason Red thought Dan, the guy whose emblem was sewn onto Red's jacket, was a huge scumbag.

  Missy. No last name that any of them knew of, not even in the inner circle. She'd been Dan's girl since she was seventeen, back when Red was first initiated into the gang, and she was still Dan's girl at twenty-four. Unlike the many of the women who hung around with the gang, Missy was the epitome of refined class, even if she wore leather and smoked like a chimney. Her movements were always gentle, her long limbs and slim wrists delicate whenever she gestured with them. Vibrant red hair, thick and wavy, rolled down her back, but she usually kept it up in a ponytail to show off her various ear piercings and the tattoo of a heart on the back of her neck.

  Dan branded her with it when she turned eighteen. Red remembered him boasting to the inner circle one night not too long ago. A lot of the gang dismissed her, even if she was Dan's main girl, and for the most part, Red just felt sorry for her. Poor thing had a university education—that she'd earned online—and a soft voice. This wasn't the place for her. Dan wasn't the man for her—everyone knew it.

  "Lemme get Dan," Tony muttered, downing about half of his drink before standing up. "He hates it when she just shows up."

  "Yeah, fancy that," Red said under his breath. "A grown woman going wherever she damn well pleases."

  "What?"

  He shook his head, eyes still glued to Missy. She was a hard one to look away from. "Nothing."

  "Go stall her," Tony ordered, pushing Red out of the chair by the shoulder. "Don't let her ask these idiots where her man is."

  He could have stayed seated, and for anyone else he might have, but keeping Missy from finding out Dan had his dick in some whore's mouth—even if she probably guessed that's what he was doing tonight—was important to him. So, he stood slowly, as if this was some great effort, and smoothed his hands over the soft leather of his jacket. Normally he'd hang it over the back of his chair, but he hadn't planned to be at the bar for long tonight.

  But if Missy was going to spend another night nursing a beer while Dan got progressively drunk and beat some guy into the hospital with a pool cue, maybe he'd hang around.

  "Well, hi, Red," she greeted once he was close enough to hear her, the familiar southern lilt of her voice warming him from the inside out. He grinned, suddenly a little sheepish under her inquisitive gaze, and scratched at the back of his neck.

  "How about a drink, Missy Mae?" he asked as she perched atop a barstool, a few of the cretins clearing out to give her some space. Even if the inner circle didn't take the woman seriously, the lower rungs would lick her feet twice-over if she asked. Anything to get on Dan's good side.

  "Just a beer," she said, slipping out of her jacket and hanging it over her lap. "Lite, if you can manage."

  He placed a hand on her arm, her bare skin creamy and smooth compared to the rough brown hue his hands had acquired over the years. "Anything you want."

  "Have you seen Dan anywhere?"

  He'd be straight up with those fools in the inner circle, but he didn't want to see the hurt on her face that his honesty would bring. So, he pointed to the beer tap and asked, "Bud okay for you?"

  She nodded, quiet for a contemplative moment, but quickly bounced back. Dan wasn't a conversation Red wanted to have with her—not here.

  By the time he'd flagged down the bartender and got her drink ordered, Dan came stumbling up through the bar. Missy's expression faltered when she spotted him, her vibrant smile losing a bit of its power, her laugh lines disappearing around her eyes. Red took a step back, respectful of the archaic system that said Missy was Dan's property, and tried to keep the rage out of his stare. He and Missy were just getting into the swing of conversation too—and then he barreled back in.

  Red looked away when Dan grabbed the back of Missy's neck and dragged her in for a kiss. His ears twitched at the sounds they made, Dan a groaning fool and Missy squealing against his lips.

  "You didn't tell me you were coming in tonight," Dan barked at her, and there was a slight slur clinging to the ends of his words. One quick glance down told Red that the guy's fly was stil
l open. Fucking asshole.

  "I wanted to surprise you," was her response, that soft voice music to Red's ears. "You weren't answering your phone—"

  "You here to spy on me, woman?" Red's eyes narrowed at the accusatory hypocrisy in Dan's tone, and he practically saw red when Missy flinched back. She shook her head, that thick ponytail bouncing, and before he could get a word in, Dan had pulled her off the barstool and taken her to one of the darker corners of the bar.

  She looked back at him once, a look in her eye he'd become familiar with over the years: help me.

  But he didn't. He couldn't. Not here. Not now. So, Red swallowed down his rage and pushed his way out of the bar, knocking shoulders with lesser members of DBD, not caring when they called him an asshole. Gotta get out before he pounded someone's face in, pretending all the while it was Dan he was beating into the ground. Couldn't stay here. He needed a smoke.

  And maybe a few shots of gin to forget to look on Missy's face before the darkness swallowed her whole.

  Chapter 2

  Red winced at the beating his truck's suspension took on the unpaved driveway that led to Dan's house. Tucked away behind the towering pines, the leader the DBD biker gang had an old bungalow that Red and the inner circle had helped him fix up over the years. He'd learned a long time ago not to bring his bike out here: it was the most expensive thing he owned, the item he prized above all other possessions, and the driveway scratched the shit out of it. Not to mention if the weather had been bad, the rain would leave a layer of mud that would splash from the base of the wheels to the top of the handlebar.

  It wasn't worth bringing the bike out here. Dan always encouraged him to do so: he said it warned the neighbours not to fuck with him, but Red suspected the poor folks who were subjected to Dan's drunken shouting and raving parties probably knew not to mess with the guy. He wasn't exactly the warm and fuzzy kind, not even from a distance.

  If he could help it, Red didn't venture out there unless under an extended invitation, but he'd been trying to talk to Dan all week about a parade the DBD had been signed up for in a few months. He was concerned that the community wouldn't come out if they knew a notorious biker gang was riding along, and the charities who built floats probably needed the crowds. It didn't seem fair. DBD wasn't the kind of gang to escort children to courthouses or rescue puppies from abusive homes. They were rowdy and destructive—a parade was just another place to further slander their reputation.

  So, after a microwave dinner in front of the TV (plus a beer), Red climbed into his pick-up and headed for the sticks to confront Dan face-to-face. He could only hope the guy was alone: he was easier to persuade without the rest of the inner circle goading him on. Sometimes, there was even a flicker of reason in that psycho's brain, and Red hoped he might find it tonight.

  Situated in wooded clearing, the bungalow had a few lights on when Red arrived. Dan's bikes were out front, pristine, and Red figured he'd had Missy detail clean them sometime recently. Shaking his head, he cut the ignition and hopped out, slamming the door behind him. The curtains were half-open, a beacon on the dark spring evening, and as he approached, he swore he saw one rustle.

  He waited on the little rickety porch, rapping his knuckles at the front door a few times, and then contemplating lighting up a cigarette. Inside, the TV volume lowered, and the dogs—hounds, most of them—howled from the kennels behind the house. When there was no immediate answer, he knocked again, and the door finally opened—barely—as he fished his lighter out of his pocket.

  Red frowned at the face staring back at him, the features obscured by shadows. "Missy?"

  "Dan's not here," she told him, and her words trembled noticeably. "Don't know when he's coming back. Maybe tomorrow."

  Against his better judgement, he wedged his foot in the door to keep her from shutting him out, and when he stepped closer, he saw the damage his leader had done to the poor woman's face. Her lower lip was swollen, possibly split down the middle, and a hint of blood collected under each nostril. It was no surprise to find her eyes red, totally bloodshot from crying—if it was anyone else he might have assumed drugs, but aside from alcohol and cigs, Missy was totally clean.

  "Jesus Christ, Missy Mae," he said softly, hoping the pet name would calm her. "What'd he do to you?"

  "Nothing." She sniffled, still trying to close the door on his foot. "Look, why don't you come back later? Dan'll be around then, and—"

  "You think I'm just gonna leave you here like this?" Red finally shouldered his way in, the familiar scent of smoke and alcohol tickling his nose. "What happened?"

  "Nothing," she said again, arms wrapped around herself as he shut the door. He lowered his face so that their eyes could meet, but she refused to hold his stare. "I just… It was a fight. I pushed him."

  "So he beat the living shit out of you," he finished for her, and she pulled her head back when he tried to brush some of that beautiful red hair away from her face. "Do you want me to take you to the hospital? That lip doesn't look good."

  She shook her head, scuttling around him to shut off the TV. "No. I've had worse. It'll be fine."

  I've had worse. The words broke his heart, and his shoulders slumped as he sighed. A woman like Missy didn't deserve even 1 percent of the crap she put up with.

  "Well, let me at least have a look at it in the light," he said, wanting nothing more than to make sure she was okay. Who gives a shit about a parade, anyway? She hesitated, her arms crossed as she studied him, and then finally relented as she crossed the entryway to the small bathroom by the front door. He waited until she was inside and had the light on to follow.

  Dan's shabby décor carried over into the bathroom, a bathroom Red had puked his guts out in once or twice over the years. The awful yellow paint and the grimy tiles made Missy look out of place, but with the way her face was, not by much.

  "He really did a number on you," Red mused from the doorway, scowling at her darkening bruises. "Do you have anything to clean it with?"

  She rooted through the small cupboard for a few moments, eventually producing rubbing alcohol. Red grabbed some toilet paper and wadded it into a ball, then let her pour some of the liquid on.

  "This'll sting a bit." He recognized the irony behind his words. Missy nodded, waiting, and flinched back slightly when he touched the damp wad to her lip. "I'm sorry."

  "It's okay," she whispered, her eyes tearing up. "I'm fine."

  He knew she wasn't. Hell, the whole world probably knew she wasn't, but for some reason, she was still here, taking Dan's shit like she'd always done. If Red had just shown up a little earlier, maybe skipped the leisurely beer he'd enjoyed on his front porch, he might have been able to stop Dan—or, at the very least, spare Missy some of her injuries.

  She chuckled weakly as he examined the rest of her face, moving in closer to make sure her nose wasn't still bleeding. "At least he didn't break anything this time."

  Red failed to see the humor, but he gave her a small smile anyway. She was so beautiful up close. Long, thick lashes—not common on the other redheads he'd met—framed her perfectly shaped green eyes. A witch in the wrong era. An angel. A siren. Skin unblemished, aside from what Dan had done to it. Soft. Elegant. Too good for anybody in the DBD gang, Red included.

  He'd been staring for too long, well after he'd checked her wounds. Just as he was about to step back, he realized she was watching him with the same cautious scrutiny. Those dangerous green orbs, so seductive yet pure, swept over his coarse facial hair, down to the scar on his chin, then back up to his eyes. Instinctively, he leaned in, wanting to drink her up, taste how perfection might feel on his tongue.

  Missy tilted her chin up, raising her lips to his, but stepped back at the last possible moment.

  "I'd be no better than him," she muttered, crossing her arms again and sitting on the closed toilet. It was then that he remembered how to breathe properly again, and he exhaled as he leaned against the doorframe.

  "But you can do better
than him," Red told her. He didn't mean him. It could have been anyone—at this point, anyone was better than Dan. Though, deep down, he would have liked her to choose him. "You're always better than him, Missy. Don't you forget that. You could have anyone you wanted—"

  "No, I can't," she snapped, her voice taking on the tremor it had when he'd first arrived. "I can't be with anyone else… He's told me what'll happen if I leave him. He said he'd…" She trailed off and licked her lips, her gaze distant. "It won't be pretty."

  In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to grab a knife from the kitchen and shove it into Dan's throat. He was basically keeping Missy hostage at this point—and it was horrifying to know the hold that monster had on her. Right now, Red could guarantee that Dan was in one of two places: the bar or with a hooker. If he wasn't with Missy or at a gang meeting—and he knew for a fact there were no meetings tonight—booze and sex were the only things that could get Dan out of the house.