Haunt (Bayonet Scars #6) Read online

  Contents

  Haunt (Bayonet Scars, No. 6)

  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

  COMING SOON

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  a Bayonet Scars novel

  Haunt

  Love is never more beautiful than when it consumes you.

  JC Emery

  Series & Titles By JC Emery

  Bayonet Scars

  Ride (No. 1)

  Thrash (No. 2)

  Rev (No. 3)

  Crush (No. 4)

  Vow (No. 4.5)

  Burn (No. 5)

  Crave (No. 5.5)

  Haunt (No. 6)

  Cease (No. 7)- coming soon!

  Want to stay up to date on my new releases? Join my Jewels Group on Facebook for exclusive content, giveaways, and more! Facebook.com/groups/jcemeryreaders

  Haunt (Bayonet Scars, No. 6)

  Copyright © 2016 by JC Emery

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either 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.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a reputable third-party website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design by Brenda Gonet at Star Bound Books

  Formatting by JC Emery www.jcemery.com

  Editing by Michele Milburn

  Mature Content Warning

  The Bayonet Scars novels are a dark and gritty romance series which features graphic sexual content, violence, and foul language that is intended for a mature audience. Each novel features a different couple, though it's not recommended that they be read out of order due to the series story arc.

  KINGS RULE MEN. QUEENS RULE KINGS.

  Wyatt Strand is a hard man. He has hard features, speaks with harsh words, and has a hardened heart. Having served the Forsaken Motorcycle Club as Vice President, Wyatt is used to taking responsibility for his brothers, but when he’s handed the gavel everything changes. His brothers are now his men and the threat from the Italian mafia still looms in the distance. A president needs focus, but that’s nearly impossible when his old lady blows back into town and drops two very large bombshells on him.

  Amber Wallace is a tough woman, but an even fiercer mother. She once told a lie to protect her unborn child that tore her away from the man she loves. And now, years later, she’s coming home to make amends. Wyatt’s changed, but the club hasn’t. Women are to be obedient. Unfortunately for Forsaken, Amber’s not about to let a few rules stop her from living the life she always imagined.

  The Forsaken Motorcycle Club started a war with the Italian mafia and they’ve paid dearly for that choice. With a new president at the helm, the wheels are finally in motion to take down Mancuso once and for all. Even if it means taking the fight back to where it began.

  Love is never more beautiful than when it consumes you.

  For Mandie,

  I couldn’t do this without you.

  PROLOGUE

  June 2001

  I reach out from the warm cocoon I’ve created for myself in our bed. My hand slides across the cold sheets as if I’m going to find him there. I know he’s left me again. I felt him get out of our bed the moment my breathing evened out and he thought I was asleep. Just like every other night since he accused me of being pregnant.

  In all fairness, I am. But still. We weren’t trying, but we weren’t being very careful either, so in a way, we should have expected that second blue line to show up.

  We’re happy about it.

  Well, I am.

  His daddy used to be.

  Now I’m not so sure.

  During the day, Wyatt is devoted and loving but still a badass. He’s the man I fell in love with back when he was still a boy. But as the day wears on, he becomes less and less of the man I know and more of a cold-blooded soldier for the club. I hate it. I used to party with him, but now he has me tucked safely into bed every night while he does things he thinks I don’t know about.

  And I’m sick of it. Sick of everything. And he’s too stupid and self-absorbed to see what’s really happening here.

  It’s not the baby that makes me sick to my stomach every morning. It’s the overwhelming smell of perfume and sex that radiates off of him as he crawls into our bed. He doesn’t even shower before wrapping me in his arms and rubbing my belly.

  “Don’t give me any trouble tonight, you got that?” I say to my rounded stomach. Our baby is a little hellion. He acts up at all hours, but especially at night. He kicks at my ribs and pushes on my bladder, and the only thing that calms him down is if I give him some attention. All I have to do is be busy doing something else and he starts acting like I don’t talk to him all freaking day and we don’t spend every single second together. Lord help me if this is any indication of what’s to come once he’s born. I might have to follow in my own mother’s footsteps and add a little whiskey to his bottles.

  Baby Z—that’s what Wyatt likes to call him—adjusts his position and sits his little baby ass right on top of my bladder. While he makes himself more comfortable, he makes me uncomfortable. Not that he cares. As my dad keeps reminding me, it’s not about me anymore, and it’ll never be about me again. My dad’s words play in my head on repeat as I waddle to the bathroom to get ready.

  “It’s not about you anymore, kid.”

  I try to fight off the sinking depression that settles in as I flush the toilet and wash my hands. The girl I see in the mirror is unrecognizable. She’s not the fun, crazy girl I was seven months ago. She’s not full of life and so in love that it borders on obsession.

  No, that girl’s gone.

  That girl was sixteen.

  The girl I see in the mirror is seventeen. She’s already somebody’s old lady. She’s about to be a mother. And she has no clue what she’s doing anymore.

  “Let’s see what your daddy’s up to.” My eyes are fixed on my little boy—well, of his current accommodations—who is kicking at my ribcage. I give him a poke and try to explain the situation so he’ll settle down. “I can’t bust balls if you keep kicking me this hard. Quit knocking me off my game.”

  A woman walks by my SUV and turns her nose up in my direction. My window is down, so I know she heard me. People do this—especially lost girls. They either judge me for talking to my kid, or they judge me for being knocked up with my kid—all the time. I wiggle out of the SUV and straighten my back as I waddle toward the front door of the clubhouse. She’s walking ahead of me, purposefully slow, and when she gets to the door, she holds it open for me.

  “Trying to figure out who the dad is?�
�� she asks in a snide voice.

  I roll my eyes and pull my long, reddish brown hair over my shoulder so she can see exactly who she’s talking to as I walk by. I spent twenty minutes hunting for this top specifically. It’s an old Forsaken tee that’s all cut up and tied back together on the sides and over the shoulders to give it a sexy vibe with the back shredded down to my bra strap. It’s one of the few sexy things that fits me these days, and it perfectly displays the large tattoo of my man’s name on my back.

  Turning around and giving her a cocky smirk, I say, “Bitch, please.”

  The clubhouse is dark inside, but not nearly as dark as the one in Detroit. I don’t know if I like it or not. Everything here is so different than it is back home.

  This is home now, I remind myself.

  Mom died and Dad lost his shit, gave up the gavel in Detroit in favor of leading the California Nomads, and moved me and Michele out here—to Fort Bragg. Just like he promised, Wyatt followed, and just like my dad promised, the Fort Bragg Forsaken have accepted me as one of their own. It wasn’t a given that Fort Bragg would recognize me as Wyatt’s old lady since Detroit was where I was voted in, but they have. Not that it means much right now, because Wyatt still wears his Detroit patch. He’s hesitant to talk to Jim about being patched in to Fort Bragg—mostly because it means leaving Rig, his mentor, but also because his mom is still in Michigan—but I have faith that the longer he continues to work with the brothers out here, the more comfortable he’ll feel making this change permanent.

  “Shouldn’t you be at home?” my sister asks from behind me. She’s one to talk. The little twerp is barely sixteen. I’d know her voice anywhere, but especially here. It’s one of the few things that remind me of a time when our mom was alive and everything was normal. Mom died just over a year ago, but it feels like it’s been eons since she took her final breath.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” I turn around, waiting to roll my eyes until she has the benefit of seeing my displeasure for herself, and place a hand on my belly. “Does Dad even know you’re here?”

  “I doubt he even knows where he is,” she says and rolls her eyes. I don’t argue because she has a point. Since Mom died, our dad’s been semipermanently checked out, and ever since he dumped us in Fort Bragg, he’s been MIA except for the few times he’s popped into town to make sure we’re still alive. “Besides, it’s not like anything’s happening tonight anyway.”

  “Just don’t get anybody arrested,” I say and give her the best of my serious expressions. She likes to flirt with the brothers and prospects, but she’s way underage, and I don’t want to see anyone doing time for tapping her—even if she’s asking for it. Mom was great at dirty looks. Michele never acted like this when Mom was still alive. Our mom never failed to convey her displeasure with a single look. She seriously gave the best hairy eyeball I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot of hairy eyeballs. I don’t do them nearly as well as she did, judging by the flippant expression on my little sister’s face. She’s such a little bitch sometimes.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she says and walks off toward the front door. I have to give up trying to play mom with that one. Pretty soon I’m going to have my hands full with my own kid, and Michele is going to be left to her own devices.

  God help her.

  I leave all thoughts of my sister behind as I make my way down the hall to the pleasure palace. We don’t talk about it, but I know damn well that Wyatt hangs out in here more than he should. And considering his old lady is knocked up and waddling, he shouldn’t be hanging out in here at all. But the brothers play by their own rules, and they don’t give a damn what I think. The chaos of the clubhouse dies down the farther I get down the hall. Men walk by me, some in cuts and some not. They don’t pay me any mind, and I like it that way. I’m not supposed to be here, and anybody who knows me well enough knows that. It’s not like Rage gives a shit what I do, but Wyatt told me to stay home in front of everyone, and that means I’m to stay home. Your old man’s word is law when it comes to the club, and it doesn’t matter that it’s total bullshit. It only matters that that’s what he wants, and so I’m to stay home.

  But it doesn’t feel like home, and I don’t like it there. I don’t like my bed because it smells like other women no matter how many times I change the sheets. It’s not the kitchen my mom used to make pancakes in. It’s not the bathroom I used to fight with Michele over. As much as I want to make this place work for me—for our little family—it just doesn’t feel like home yet.

  Knowing my man is here with other women and high off his ass makes staying home feel like a prison sentence. And my only crime was falling in love with a liar.

  The double doors of the pleasure palace open, and a group of people stumble out. I move out of their way and steel myself for making it through those doors but pause when I see a familiar face. Rig, Detroit’s new president and my dad’s former VP, stands in the doorway with his eyes fixed on me. Great.

  “Go home, babe,” he says with a shake of his head.

  “That an order?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and looks around, then says, “No, but it should be. Your old man’s gonna be pissed.”

  “I know,” I say. Rig’s always been good to me. He doesn’t treat me like a kid like a lot of my dad’s brothers do. “I can’t take it anymore. I know the code, Rig, but he doesn’t even try to hide what he’s doing.”

  “You remember what we talked about when you were voted in?”

  I try to keep a stiff upper lip and not show my hurt at the memory.

  “This is the life. Brothers do what they’re gonna do, and old ladies turn the other cheek.”

  “Yeah,” he says and waves me over. He opens his arms and wraps me in an awkward hug. My belly gets in the way of everything these days. I’ve known Rig for years now. This isn’t the first hug he’s ever given me, but it is the first one since I became an old lady. I’m not to be touched and we both know this. The only man who’s allowed to touch me, unless it’s for my safety, is my old man. Nobody would give a shit if my dad hugged me, but a patched brother putting his hands on another brother’s old lady is a no-no. The only thing worse would be if a stranger did it, but this is Rig—it’s not like that between us.

  “Those rules are bullshit. We tell our women to turn the other cheek, but you bitches never listen. I ain’t gonna rat you out, but I didn’t see you either,” he says.

  I pull back from our hug, but he holds me tight to his body. His hands start to move and rub my back in a slow, circular motion. This doesn’t feel okay anymore. I feel his head dip and his nose brush against the top of my head as he sucks a deep breath in. I don’t want him touching me or breathing me in or anything. Rig’s my old man’s president, so I can’t just push him away. I mean, I probably could, but the prospect scares me for some reason. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something in the way Rig’s holding me that sets off my warning bells.

  “Man, found your girl wandering around alone,” Rig says as he clears his throat. My hands fall to my sides immediately. He releases me, and I step back and swing around as quickly as I can with my burgeoning belly.

  Wyatt stands halfway down the hall with his arms folded over his chest. His glare is icy, and even from here I can see how tense he is. My man is hot as hell. He’s always been hot, but the more he works out and the bigger his muscles get, the sexier he is to me. His short dark-brown hair is mussed, his broad shoulders heave, and his incredible jaw is locked in place. My hormones are so out of control that I actually have to remind myself that I’m mad at him.

  “Good thing you found her, boss.” Wyatt is responding to Rig, but he’s looking at me. His words are clipped. There’s so much anger emanating from him that it’s starting to freak me out.

  I’m angry.

  He’s cheating on me.

  No. He’s cheating on us.

  My hand finds its way to my belly in a protective manner. Wyatt won’t hit me, but this situation has my hair
standing on end. I don’t like my baby being in the middle of this, but since he goes where I go, I don’t have a choice.

  “If you’re busy, I can take her home,” Rig says. Wyatt’s body jerks at his president’s words, and he storms down the hall toward us. I make the mistake of taking a step backward—a move my man doesn’t miss—giving him the wrong impression. In a second, he’s on me, his hand hooked around the back of my neck, and pulls me into his side. It’s not loving like I want him to be. He radiates anger and hate in a way I’ve never felt from him before. We’ve had our fights, and they get heated, but this is different.

  “You wear that patch, so I’ll give you the respect it calls for,” Wyatt says as he shoves a finger at Rig’s president patch. “But you’ve been put on notice. This woman belongs to me. The next time you touch her, I’ll rip your fucking arm off and fuck your mother with it.”

  Rig smirks and places his hands on his hips like he’s enjoying this. When he finally talks, I’m wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut. “Your woman came to me, son. She’s lonely and looking for something you’re obviously not giving her. You want to fuck someone, maybe you should try fucking your girl so she’s not up on my dick.”

  With the flip of his wrist, Wyatt sends me for the wall behind me. My shoulders and head hit the exposed brick at the same time. I lose my vision for just a moment, but it’s long enough for Wyatt to jump Rig and the two men to have each other locked in death grips with their noses shoved together.

  “Wyatt, baby, he’s lying,” I say. My head throbs and my shoulders ache, but I have to tell Wyatt the truth. I don’t know what game Rig’s playing at, but he’s full of shit. I’m not up on his dick, nor have I ever been. “Calm down. Don’t do this.”

  If someone else was here, Wyatt would probably be in the clear because Rig fucking taunted him. But we’re alone, and it’s the president’s word versus a non-office-holding brother and his old lady, and our relationship isn’t exactly picture-perfect right now. Wyatt won’t lose his patch over this, but it won’t end well for him either.