Creatively Crushed (Reckless Bastards MC Book 6) Read online

  Creatively Crushed

  Reckless Bastards MC

  By USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author

  KB Winters

  Copyright © 2018 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Creatively Crushed

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Free Book!

  More From KB Winters

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  Cross

  “Where are all the bitches? I need my ego stroked,” Stitch announced as he strolled up pulling a big ass cooler behind him.

  I’d set everything up in the back where we had a grill and plenty of picnic tables, the perfect place for a cookout. Which was what I had planned for the Reckless Bastards tonight. “No Bitches, just the Bastards,” I told him, greeting him with our handshake.

  Stitch grinned wide like the easygoing guy he was. “Cool. I’ll just have a shot of Patron and a beer to get started. You cooked?”

  That was so typical of Stitch. The man was so relaxed all the time. He found happiness in the simple things, where I could barely remember what the simple things were.

  Shit had been messy and complicated for so long that simple was a distant memory. Things got less and less simple as time went by, they got violent and bloody, dangerous and life-threatening. Not simple. Anything but simple, that was for fucking sure.

  “No,” I said, “the Bitches cooked and set everything up for us.” Because it was their duty and they were happy to do it, but also because I bought them a night out at their favorite biker bar.

  “Damn, lookin’ good, Prez! With this spread I’m okay goin’ without some lovin’ from the ladies.” Another laugh erupted from Stitch and he shot a playful frown at Golden Boy and Max as they arrived. “Old married dudes gotta wait, ‘cause you fuckers get fed at home.”

  Max grinned and stole Stitch’s beer when he was close enough. “My woman cooks all the time but she’s painting with Moon and Rocky so this meal here is what I would call fortuitous.”

  “Yeah? Well I just came from Bungalow Three.” Stitch’s casually spoken words had the desired effect.

  “Asshole.” Max grunted out the word and shoved the bottle back into Stitch’s hands before it ever touched his lips. “Glad I didn’t have to kill you,” he told the still laughing prospect who had more than proven himself over the past few years and took beers from the cooler, handing one to Golden Boy.

  “My woman never cooks,” Golden Boy offered after taking a long pull from the cold beer. “But she’s oh so grateful when I do.” Truth was that Golden Boy was a damn good cook and being with Teddy had helped him get his anger—at the club and the world—under control so it was nice to see the man he was before he’d spent six years in prison for a murder he didn’t commit.

  Max laughed along with his brother’s innuendo, shaking his head. “So what you’re saying is that you have to bribe your woman to fuck you?” It was good to see Max wearing a smile so easily. Before Jana came along I was pretty sure we’d lose him to his demons, his PTSD that was pulling him further and further from the club and from life in general. But one petite blonde had changed all that.

  My men, my brothers, were changing. They were improving, living better, happier lives. Except the club. The Reckless Bastards had seen a lot of shit over the past few years. Shit that made me question my own leadership skills, made me wonder if they would do better without me. I knew it was sad bastard talk but shit, some days I wanted to give up and run the fuck away.

  Until I remembered that this club was the only fucking thing I had left in my life to care about. Without it, who knew what would happen to me. But I had a feeling that it wouldn’t be pretty.

  “Yo, Cross, what’s up?” Gunnar strolled in just a few feet behind Jag, who hadn’t been the same since his woman had been carted off by the CIA. All because she wanted to keep Jag and his brothers safe. Another instance where I failed my club. Gunnar wore his usual scowl.

  “What’s up is that we have food and booze for an unofficial meeting, so sit down, get comfortable and chill the fuck out.” A wide smile spread across my face that I didn’t feel, but it was intended to help everyone relax.

  Except Jag, who grabbed a beer and set it in front of him, unopened, and stared off into the distance. There was nothing I could say to reach him, not now anyway. I didn’t know if Jag blamed me but I knew that I did. Right now wasn’t the time to get into it, but I would.

  Soon.

  “Things have been pretty fucked up around here lately,” I began, hesitant at first.

  “You can say that again!” Lasso whooped, wearing a big ass grin the size of Texas as he strode up to me and handed me a shot. “To our Prez, for getting every one of our sorry asses out alive. Every. Fucking. Time.” His own shot glass was high in the air and the others joined in.

  “Prez! Prez!” Gunnar pounded the table and the others joined in until they chanted so loud I could almost forget why we were gathered here tonight. Almost. Their praise only made me feel worse. Like a goddamn fraud.

  I threw the shot back because I needed it and ten more, but for now the one would have to do. “We have more shit to walk through and then this city, Mayhem, will be ours.” They cheered again, more amped up from the free booze and food than my words.

  “These Roadkill assholes think they can come after us, after our women and our businesses and we won’t fight back. They’re wrong and I’m ready to prove them just how wrong they were. It’s gonna get ugly.”

  “No uglier than Jag’s mug,” Gunnar laughed and shoved Jag’s shoulder, but the man didn’t move. He didn’t react.

  “Really ugly and bloody as fuck. Then everyone will know that the Re
ckless Bastards are not to be fucked with!”

  “Fuck yeah!” Lasso was energetic enough for the rest of us. It was definitely his wife Rocky who had taken the cocky playboy and turned him into a cocky ass family man who lived and breathed for his wife and son.

  Everyone was happy. Everyone but me and Jag, though I had a feeling his unhappiness was a temporary thing whereas mine seemed to be a lifelong condition. Nevertheless, we sat around the tables, eating enough food to feed a small army, laughing and shooting the shit, making crude jokes the way men did when they were alone together. It was a good time.

  A damn good time.

  And if I had known what was coming, I would have savored that night even more.

  Chapter Two

  Moon

  I loved Friday nights at my art shop. Mostly women showed up who wanted a different kind of night out. Tonight my own circle of friends gathered along with a bachelorette party and some regulars. The Rainbow Canvas sold art supplies as well as finished art in almost every medium imaginable. Local and even regional artists brought their creations to my little shop and gallery because they knew what I knew: art was subjective. Art that made one observer cry might make another wince, or recoil in disgust.

  When everyone had gathered around me I said, “Okay ladies, tonight we have something a little different. Since you were a little too rambunctious for Mario last week, we have…well, let me just show you.” I pulled back the sheet to show off the sketch I’d worked on all week.

  “You have outdone yourself tonight, Moon.” Jana smiled at the scene laid out for them. I did the outlines and the women filled it in.

  “Thank you, Jana. Choose any portion you’d like to paint or take a crack at the entire thing. Ladies’ choice tonight.”

  I went to the front room to turn on some low music—Creedence Clearwater Revival—and lock the door. The shop wasn’t technically open this late and all the events were by reservation only. It was nice to be in a room filled with people having fun, doing normal things. I didn’t have a lot of that in my life, not as the single parent of a child with severe asthma. But these nights, I did.

  Rocky waved me over. “Hey Moon, come on over and chat with us!” A big sparkling grin on her face, red hair tumbling half way down her back because she hadn’t cut it in months. Who had time with a four-month-old child at home?

  “Hey Jana, Rocky. How’s it going?”

  “Good,” Rocky began. “Now that I’m back to work, business has been better than ever, and Lasso promised to build a shed to keep my inventory in, and to keep baby Dallas out of said inventory.” Her laugh was beautiful and melodic, bouncing off the walls and mingling with the beginning strains of Bad Moon Rising.

  “How is little Dallas?” I hadn’t seen him since he left the hospital, but I remember red curls covering pale, milky white skin and big blue eyes exactly like his cowboy daddy.

  “Not so little. I swear he’ll be bigger than me by the time he’s six years old.” She laughed affectionately, happiness written all over her face.

  “And Jana, how is pregnancy number two treating you?” She smiled and some days I envied her, having a partner to help her through her pregnancies.

  Her skin glowed beautifully. “I’ll be happier than I can tell you when this one is out of me. Max has been overprotective as hell. Some days I’d like to kill him if it wouldn’t leave me on my own with two children.” She gave us a small chuckle that actually spoke volumes about her love for her guy.

  “You know Lasso and I would help,” Rocky offered up with a cheeky grin.

  “Yeah thanks, Rocky.” Jana rolled her eyes but I saw the barest hint of a smile she tried to hide. “What about you, Moon, are you seeing someone?”

  “Not at all. Between the shop and Beau, my life is booked solid every single day.” That was the truth, if not the whole truth. “Of the ones I have found, none of them have been worth rearranging my schedule for.”

  “Bullshit,” Rocky said in her usually sharp way. “There’s always time for love. Hell, I managed to find it while running for my life from a psycho, so I know of what I speak. You should listen to me.”

  “The difference, my crazy little friend, is that you came here for that man. Your paths were aligned to cross, which puts everything in an entirely different light.”

  “I’m calling bullshit again, but this time I’ll say it with homemade peach soda. I made enough for three, Moon, even though you can still drink the hard stuff.”

  I didn’t bother telling her I didn’t drink often, mostly because people reacted strange to that bit of information. “I don’t usually drink soda, so this is fantastic. Thank you, Rocky.”

  “Wait, hold the phone,” Rocky said in her usually flamboyant way. “You don’t drink soda? Like, at all?”

  I shook my head with a smile. My aversion to sugar was another one that drew strange looks. “No. In fact—”

  “How did I not know this? It makes a weird kind of sense, though so never mind. I’m no longer surprised.”

  Jana rolled her eyes before returning her gaze to the table in the center of the room. “Well I’d like to hear Moon’s answer.”

  “Sugar increases inflammation, which can make Beau’s asthma worse. I’ve never really been a fan and not having it in the house makes it easier all around. I don’t want to run the risk of him getting into it by accident.”

  Jana’s green eyes widened and then filled with apology. “Does that mean I shouldn’t have brought the extra white chocolate lemon cake balls I made?”

  My smile grew wide at her words. Both her concern and the gesture reminded me of what it was like before I avoided all connections with the world away from my son and my shop. Having girlfriends who gave out hugs for no particular reason, drinking and eating cake because being together was enough of a celebration. Those days were distant in my mind and hanging out with these women helped me remember.

  “You definitely should have brought it. Lemon cake is my absolute favorite and your deserts have made me up my exercise game considerably.”

  Rocky laughed and squeezed my bare arms. “You do have pretty amazing guns. What do you do?”

  “Yoga, Pilates, running. If Beau is up to it, we go bicycling.” Despite his asthma, I wanted my son to have an appreciation for the outdoors. So far, it was a love affair.

  “Does that mean I’m slacking?” Jana asked. “Because we go to the park. The end.”

  I lifted my bottle of peach soda in the air. “To good friends and doing the best you can.”

  “And to good soda,” Rocky added with a wide smile and a wink.

  “And to good times,” Jana added, her giggle lighting up her whole face, which was on full display thanks to one of Rocky’s homemade headbands she’d bought at a recent crafts night.

  “To all that. And to art,” I said seriously. “And the crazy creative fools who love it.”

  “Cheers!” Jana and Rocky shouted loudly, slamming the sturdy bottles together with a loud clang.

  “Cheers again!” Several of the women from the bachelor party held up their own plastic wine glasses, narrowly missing expensive shoes and barely touched canvasses.

  All the women were laughing and smiling, having a good time after putting in their forty hours or more at an office. It was a good feeling. Camaraderie. Belonging.

  The sound of gunfire and breaking glass tore through the air and the room fell into caos. “Gun! Everyone down!”

  My gaze darted around the room, searching the front of the shop where the larger windows allowed for a perfect view inside. A bright yellow car that looked a lot like Beau’s favorite Transformer idled right in front of the broken glass and I stared at it for a long, terrifying moment.

  More bullets flew, and I held my breath against the hard wood floor of the shop, easels and stools overturned. Several bottles of wine spilled over the table, staining the tablecloth, chairs and the floor below. An automatic sent a torrent of bullets raining down on us. It felt like they would ne
ver stop. The sounds of women screaming was all around me. I took several deep breaths, willing my body to remain calm. “Stay down!”

  There it was. A brief reprieve. Silence, along with the distant metal-on-metal sound of a gun being reloaded, a sound I’d grown familiar with during my time in Panama. Then I heard it, another sound.

  Gurgling.

  My eyes darted around, first to the left where the bachelorettes seemed shaken but physically safe. With a sickening feeling I looked to my right and found Rocky curled into a ball and breathing too fast.

  “Rocky,” I whispered. “Breath slowly or you’ll pass out. In with me and out like me,” I told her until her breathing matched my own. Panic attack but otherwise okay.

  I ignored the cries and whimpers behind me as bullets continued to fly and my gaze landed on Jana. Her long golden blonde hair was spread out on the floor but the rise and fall of her chest was off.

  “Jana!” I crawled as quickly as I could without rising more than a few inches from the floor while the bullets continued to spray the shop, ruining everything in sight. “Jana, say something!”

  “I…” that was it other than more gurgling sounds and my chest squeezed so tight I had to take a minute. Thankfully the bullets stopped and tires peeled away.

  There was a long moment of silence before someone yelled. “Oh my God! What the fuck?” I didn’t know who said that, only that her thoughts echoed pretty much everyone inside the Rainbow Canvas.

  Jana coughed and that’s when I saw it. The blood spurt out of her neck. It wasn’t a good sign and in that moment I’d never been so grateful to my overbearing parents who insisted I go pre-med at Columbia, or for the time I spent working as an EMT in Panama and then in New York. It all came back to me as I watched Jana bleeding out at my knees. “Okay Jana save your energy. When I ask you a question, squeeze my hand. Once for yes and twice for no. Okay?”

  One squeeze. Two.

  “Perfect. Vision blurry?”

  Two squeezes. No.

  “Nausea?”

  Another no.

  “Pain?” She squeezed my hand as hard as she could and I had to blink back tears and move into action.