Gunner (Ride Series Second Generation Book 4) Read online

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

  Gunner, The Ride Series Second Generation

  Copyright © Megan O’Brien 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Photography by Golden Czermak

  Book design by Maureen Cutajar, gopublished.com

  To my husband and kids for giving me inspiration every day.

  And, to my amazing beta readers:

  Leah, Emily, Nikki, Shari and Melissa,

  from the bottom of my heart, thank you!

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  EMMIE

  The sun was just dipping beneath the horizon as I walked to my truck after an exhausting shift at the hospital. I loved being a nurse, but the chaos of the hospital wasn’t for me long-term. I’d put in an application with a family practice in town and had my fingers crossed as I waited to hear back.

  Club tonight!!!

  I groaned at the text from Grace, my best friend and roommate. With every exclamation mark she used, the probability of me talking her out of something decreased significantly. Her using three pretty much spelled my doom.

  It wasn’t that I wanted to avoid the Knights’ clubhouse. With my brother Cole the prez and my father, Cal Jackson, the former prez, I’d all but grown up there. Its members were both literally and figuratively my family.

  It wasn’t the club at all that had me wishing I could retreat, but one of its members. A man who’d been part of my life for as long as I could remember. My brother Max’s best friend.

  Gunner Pierce.

  He constantly teased me about what I wore and criticized just about anything I did, but God forbid someone look at me wrong—he lost his shit even faster than my brothers did. To say our relationship was complicated was putting it mildly.

  But never more so than now, at least for me. When he’d been shot recently while protecting Francesca, Maddox’s wife, it was as though every feeling I’d denied having for him for so long swept me off my feet in a tidal wave I was still struggling not to drown in.

  Now, with him thankfully recovered, his standard barbs and indifference struck deep rather than the surface bruising I was so accustomed to.

  When I pulled up to the bungalow-style home I’d shared with Grace for the last few years, the door was opening before I’d even left my truck.

  “You’re not getting out of this,” she warned, her gorgeous red mane down in soft waves around her shoulders, her green eyes full of familiar determination. “Layla’s coming,” she added with a raised brow.

  I sighed in defeat. Layla was new to Hawthorne and to the Knights’ way of life. Plus, she’d found some trouble in her short time in town. She’d become a good friend, and Grace knew I wouldn’t deny a chance to make sure she felt comfortable at the club.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “I have no idea what I’ll wear though.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Em, how long have we known each other?” she demanded in exasperation. “I already picked you out three options. They’re lying on your bed.”

  “Only three?” I quipped with a grin.

  “Go get dressed,” she ordered.

  An hour later, I sat on the familiar club couches surrounded by my girls, dressed in the black jeans, boots, and tank top Grace had picked out. It had been the most modest option of the three.

  The club was packed, music blaring as a low tension drifted through the air that only those paying attention would notice. The Black Riders, a former adversary club with whom we’d developed a fragile truce, had joined tonight’s party, and the air was permeated with barely restrained violence.

  When Gunner stalked over and picked up a pool cue to begin a game nearby, I tried desperately to ignore how handsome he looked. With his shaved head magnifying his expressive dark eyes, full lips, and muscular body decorated with black and gray tattoos, I couldn’t believe I’d denied my feelings for so long. The man made my palms sweat and heart pound.

  Not that I’d ever let anyone know.

  My solution for surviving an evening with Gunner so close was to keep the alcohol flowing.

  When our couch was bumped by an unfamiliar biker, nearly sloshing my beer and Layla’s, she gave me a nervous smile. “Crowded tonight.”

  Ginnie watched the man who’d jostled us with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, and with a lot of Riders.”

  “You think there’s gonna be trouble,” Grace surmised.

  “A bunch of drunk men from formerly rival clubs? What could go wrong,” Ginnie replied dryly. Always one to speak her mind, she was also usually right.

  Gunner’s eyes drifted toward us, locking with mine, narrowing on the beer in my hand before refocusing on the pool table.

  When the same man knocked into Wren, Max—my brother and her husband—appeared as though out of thin air. Before I could take another breath, the two were throwing punches.

  All hell broke loose as another Rider joined in, ganging up on Max. My brother could handle himself, but it still made my blood boil to see him attacked.

  “Stop. Now.” Cole’s shout of authority was like a whip lashing across the room just as Max sent the Rider flying right into Layla and Ginnie.

  Layla held a hand to her face, and I winced with realization that she’d been kicked in the face.

  I held my breath as Cash looked her over. When she grinned up at him despite the welt on her face, I was assured she’d be okay.

  I stood up, my legs a little wobbly underneath me. “Maybe the two clubs should do trust falls or something. Kill all this tension.”

  “Are you drunk?” Gunner demanded.

  I looked at him as though that should be obvious. “Hell, yes, I’m drunk. Aren’t you?”

  “To bed with you,” he grunted, and before I could protest, he was hauling me over his shoulder and carrying me out of the club while I shrieked in protest.

  “Put me down!” I cried as he stalked toward his black truck.

  “There.” He grunted as he sat me in the passenger seat. “You’re down.”

  I glared at him. “This isn’t what I meant, and you know it. I was having fun.”

  He put his hands on his hips, glaring down at me. “There are punches being thrown in there, and you’ve had enough to drink. I’m taking you home.”

  “You are so annoying,” I mumbled as he
shut my door and walked around to the other side.

  “Seat belt,” he ordered as he fired up the engine and began the drive to my house.

  When we arrived, I was out of the truck like a flash, stalking inside with him hot on my heels.

  In my frustration and inebriated state, I struggled to get my key in the lock.

  “Dammit,” I cursed.

  His large hand came over mine, sliding the key in and turning it as my heart raced at his touch.

  “What are you even still doing here?” I demanded as he followed me into my bedroom. I turned on the light. “You brought me home, ended my fun; mission accomplished.”

  His jaw clenched. “Are you good? After tonight? I didn’t see anyone touch you, but….”

  My anger deserted me, replaced with the all too familiar sense of confusion when it came to him. How could he seem to dislike me and worry about me in equal measure? “No,” I assured him. “No one touched me.”

  “Good.” He nodded, watching me with conflict raging in his eyes.

  “You were worried about me,” I murmured, as though challenging him to deny it.

  His nostrils flared. “Yes.”

  I stepped closer, watching in fascination as his pupils dilated. Maybe it was the alcohol or the adrenaline from the fight still coursing through my veins. Whatever the cause, I shocked the hell out of myself as I rose to my tiptoes and took what I wanted, had wanted for so long.

  His mouth.

  It was as though I’d thrown gasoline on an already smoldering fire. The moment my lips touched his, his arms pulled me closer, his full lips forcing mine open to accept his tongue as he backed us toward the bed. He growled low in his throat as he lay me down, his body rising up over mine as he took my mouth in a bruising kiss.

  In that moment, I finally believed what everyone had been saying for so long: Gunner wanted me.

  Badly.

  My hands moved to the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing the cut muscles and tattoos that spanned most of his gorgeous skin.

  His lips moved to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, making me moan in agonizing lust. Every inch of me was buzzing with need.

  “Gun, please,” I begged, needing him to soothe the ache in a way I instinctively knew only he could.

  His head lifted; his brown eyes made darker by his dilated pupils. “Please what, Em?” he growled, his voice raw and demanding.

  “Take me,” I replied without hesitation.

  His nostrils flared as he dipped down as though scenting me like an animal. “Christ, you smell good.” He pressed his forehead to my neck as I ran my hands over his muscular back, which trembled under my touch. My hands traced the contours of scar tissue and muscle with equal hunger. I didn’t know what the scars were from. He didn’t talk about them. He’d also never made an effort to hide them. I was starving for his touch as I waited for him to move, to kiss me, to do something. Anything.

  “I can’t.”

  His quiet rebuff was louder than a crack of gunfire in the small room, and far more painful.

  For a moment the hurt was so potent, I was frozen on the spot.

  “You can’t.” My words were spoken through numb lips as I tried to make sense of what he’d just said.

  He shoved away from me. “I’m trying to protect you,” he growled.

  I sat up, wrapping my arms around myself. “Protect me from what?”

  He paced in front of me like a caged bear. “I can’t explain. Fuck!” he exploded, his eyes tortured when he looked at me. “I should go.”

  “Are you joking?” I demanded as he whipped his tee back over his head. “After all these years being such a jerk to me, you finally act like you want me only to reject me? Is this just a game to you, Gunner? Are you really that cruel?” I demanded angrily.

  “It’s probably easier if you think that’s true,” he rasped brokenly.

  “How could I think otherwise at this point? For years, you’ve criticized my outfits or made some joke at my expense. But there were those mere seconds where underneath all that bravado, I thought that maybe I meant something to you. Those seconds where I thought that maybe, maybe there was something here worth waiting for. Worth fighting for, even. I thought maybe you could have been the one. God, I’m so stupid.” I snorted at my own expense. “I guess I should thank you for making it crystal clear that I need to move on. Now get out.”

  He stared at me for a second, as though warring with himself about what to say, what to do. But in the end, he did what I knew he would. He turned on a heel and walked out.

  I made sure to wait until the door closed to let my first tears fall. I’d be damned if he saw me cry.

  * * *

  A few days later found me in the middle of a very different type of nightmare. One that had me fighting for my life.

  “Go!”

  Layla’s panicked scream sounded behind me as another crack of gunfire blasted through the otherwise silent woods around us. We’d agreed to this. If only one of us could escape, we’d keep going in order to get help for the other.

  Trouble had caught up with Layla, and I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’d dropped by Layla’s house to deliver some coffee and a treat and gotten kidnapped in the process.

  My feet paused, every instinct in me wanting to turn around and fight for my friend. But I’d tried that already, back at Layla’s house when the man had attacked us. Even between the two of us we hadn’t been able to gain the upper hand.

  I doubled my pace, determined to rescue Layla another way.

  It felt like I’d been running forever when I broke through the tree line and onto the road.

  I staggered from both exhaustion and relief. I’d made it at least this far.

  “Fuck!”

  The deep bellow was tortured and out for murder. His voice, so familiar while at the same time such a source of torment for me, was the last I’d expected to hear, while at the same time, the only one I wanted to.

  Gunner.

  I’d avoided him ever since his swift rejection several days before. And now here he was, sweeping me up in his arms before I could take another step.

  “Was Layla with you? Is she okay?” Cash demanded.

  His fear for his fiancée had me fighting back tears. But I knew I had to hold it together long enough to give them the information they’d need. “We escaped together. I was a bit ahead of her when Marty fired his gun. She told me to keep going.” My voice shook. “I can’t believe I left her. But I was trying to find help.”

  “You did the right thing,” Gunner assured me as he carried me toward Cole’s truck. It was only then that I realized he and my pop were here too, their blue eyes bright with fury.

  Gunner sat me carefully in the passenger side of the truck, stooping down to look me over. His gaze roamed over my bruised face, and though I hadn’t had a chance to look at it, I could tell it must look awful. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he demanded.

  I shook my head. “Layla was okay when I left her, but he had a gun, and I don’t know if something happened to her.” I whimpered, conveying my deepest fear.

  Cash stepped to Gunner’s side. “I’m gonna go get her. First, I need you to tell me what we’re dealing with,” he ordered.

  I took a deep breath, not hesitating to tell them everything I knew. From when the masked man appeared in Layla and Cash’s home right as I was about to leave, to the following struggle resulting in my injuries and Layla being drugged, and lastly, the horrid little shed we’d been kept in until we’d escaped.

  “You didn’t see a woman?” Gunner asked as he carefully swept a damp cloth over my face to clear the dirt away.

  He was being so tender with me, his typical aloofness replaced with a concern I desperately wished wasn’t brought about by such tragic events.

  “No. Just Marty and the guy who helped him. Layla got him pretty good on the head. But I don’t think she killed him.”

  “You two ready?” Cash dem
anded of Thorn, his father, and Max, who’d been hanging back. It was clear Cash was done talking and ready to take action.

  “Cash, brother.” Gunner gave Cash his full attention, his tone full of turmoil I didn’t understand.

  But obviously, Cash did. The two had a conversation without words as only men as bonded as they were could.

  “I’m straight, Gun. See to your girl,” Cash replied to Gunner’s unspoken dilemma.

  His girl?

  “Let’s get you seen to,” Gunner directed, turning his full attention to me as the others focused on getting to Layla.

  “I just need some ibuprofen, ice, and a shower,” I murmured, feeling like I could sleep for a week.

  He stooped down, his dark eyes peering into my face with a focus I’d always wanted from him and now wasn’t prepared to manage. “You’re sure? I’d feel better if we took you to the hospital.”

  I shook my head. “I’m just banged up. Nothing they can do for me. I just need rest.” I wrapped my arms around myself protectively. The thought of being under those bright hospital lights, all that noise and chaos, felt like a new kind of nightmare.

  As though he could read my mind, he relented. “All right, I’ll take you home. But if you feel worse, you have to tell me,” he directed firmly.

  I nodded tiredly, allowing him to guide me toward his truck. He opened the passenger door and then shocked the hell out of me by sweeping me up in his arms and depositing me carefully inside, even going as far as to put my seat belt on.

  I laid my head back and shut my eyes, unable to process his bizarre behavior.

  “We’re here, Em.” His voice roused me what felt like seconds later.

  I barely had a moment to open my eyes before my seat belt was off and I was once again in his arms.

  I was too exhausted, too raw to fight him. Instead I gave in to what my body craved and snuggled closer, relishing the feeling of his strong arms holding me.

  He got us into my house and headed straight for my room, laying me so carefully on my bed, it was as though he worried I’d shatter into a million pieces.

  “What can I do?” His eyes were dark with torment as he stared down at me.

  Surprised he wasn’t leaving right away, I told him, “You could get an ice pack, though it’s probably too late.” I gestured to the mess that was my face. “And some water and ibuprofen.”