Corrupted: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Blacktop Sinners MC) Read online

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

  Corrupted: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Blacktop Sinners MC) copyright @ 2019 by Kathryn Thomas and E-Book Publishing World Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

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  Contents

  Corrupted: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Blacktop Sinners MC)

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

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  Corrupted: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Blacktop Sinners MC)

  By Kathryn Thomas

  Every stroke of my c*ck corrupts her more and more.

  It only took one night to change her life.

  One raw f**k that left her craving more and more of me.

  But I can’t stay here.

  Not with an innocent young thing like her.

  I’m too scarred by my criminal past. Too corrupted to lay my dirty hands on the pretty little virgin nurse.

  So I break her heart in order to save her life.

  Leaving Tess was hard.

  But getting her back will be even harder.

  Because just when I think I’ve severed all ties, my enemies find her, the only weakness I have left.

  Now, I’ll have to fight a war to protect my woman.

  If that’s what it takes, so be it.

  I’ve spent my whole life preparing for this moment.

  And I’ll spill every last drop of their blood to keep her safe.

  Prologue

  “You know the drill,” Spike Nash, President of the Blacktop Sinners motorcycle club, hissed to them as they turned off their lights and parked their bikes quietly at the side of the warehouse in question. “We go in, keep our weapons concealed. Ain’t no way I’m going to give up my piece or my knife when that place is crawling with the Death’s Head crew. I don’t care what they say about peace.”

  Derek Allanson stroked a hand through his short brown beard and nodded. As the head enforcer for the crew, he’d been on dozens of assignments. Most of the time, it was because of a dispute and problems that needed to be put down. It was rarer when another group called on them to have peace talks or rehash territory layouts in a “civilized manner.” Frankly, he’d been on more than one peace treaty runs that turned into traps, so he thought it was a smart move by his president to order him and their other party member, Ron Jackson, to keep themselves at least packing inconspicuous things. After all, who’d ever truly heard of biker gangs playing fair?

  He sure as shit hadn’t. While he was loyal to his own crew to a fault and had bled a hundred times over for them, Derek also knew that alliances or deals between different clubs were beyond tricky. There just wasn’t a system of honor that extended to rival drug dealers and gangs. He’d served as the club’s enforcer for three years and kept his president, Spike, alive just as long. He was damned if now was going to be the time that he ended up blowing such a respectable streak.

  Beside him, Ron flashed a feral grin, his white teeth contrasting with his red hair and few scattered freckles. A tough ginger. Hell, someone you better never mock for his red hair. He’d seen a few probies at the clubhouse who’d thought to mock him make a few snide Ron Weasley jokes. The first one who’d ever tried that ended up with a broken wrist. The second? He ended up with a black eye that earned him the probie nickname of “Raccoon” from there on out. After that, even the new probationary members knew better than to mock Ron. While he wasn’t an official board member for The Blacktop Sinners, he was still one of their best enforcing agents. Basically, Derek’s right hand or, as the case may be, fist. The man could bring anyone to their knees in under ten seconds, and that was the kind of muscle their gang needed. It was what helped them keep ahead and in charge in Boone, N.C. and the surrounding townships.

  The three of them together were a fairly indomitable force. That said, Derek wasn’t sure why they hadn’t insisted on negotiating for more of them to come to the meeting. They were the dominant crew in this area of North Carolina. They’d torn apart at least two encroachers who’d tried previously. Of course, that was before a few of their own members had gotten busted with the new county sheriff cracking down on prostitution. A few of their toughest guys had gone down the river with the girls they’d been running. All that aside, it felt too dangerous for there to be only three of them on Death’s Head territory.

  But Spike was president, smarter than he was and best at schmoozing with the cops and keeping the club running. He was good at hitting things, making them bleed. If the big boss thought they could hack it, who was Derek to start doubting now?

  As he eased his leg over the saddle, Derek marched to the front and nodded to Ron, who fell into step third in line. That was the deal. They would flank their leader and ensure he couldn’t be attacked from behind or with a head-on rush. It was just the smartest way to go. Taking a deep breath, Derek held his shoulders high and set off at an easy pace. For him, it was a numbers game that would test his strength. He was close to six feet, six inches tall, and as one of his foster parents had said, was big enough to be called a damn grizzly bear. His beard, only sometimes kept neat and trim as it was now, would add to the wild man look. That said, even a guy as big as he was couldn’t fight off an onslaught of five or six men rushing him at once.

  Keep Spike safe, done that a hundred times. This is no different.

  He knew something was wrong when they entered into the abandoned warehouse. It wasn’t the location that was questionable. They had their own former logging factory that they’d overhauled or meth production and dealing more seamless. Most clubs had their own version of gentrification, taking over an abandoned site an
d using it to help keep their enterprises running. That said, their warehouses usually had the lights running. As they stepped through the doorway, Derek gritted his teeth and slipped out a flashlight from his jacket pocket. It was one he’d stolen off a cop once, heavy enough to be a weapon in and of itself, with a powerful beam of bright white light streaming from it.

  All he saw as they moved forward into the opening was the old wires and machinery of the factory, whatever hadn’t been stripped by thieves. There was the occasional rat crawling by at the edges of his light, but that was all he could make out. There didn’t seem to be anyone else here besides the three of them, at least not another being who didn’t also have a long, naked tail and beady little eyes.

  Turning back to his president, Derek shook his head. “This reeks of set up. You know that it does. Either the boys in blue kept them from showing tonight, or they never were going to. We need to get out of here before this place blows or something worse happens.”

  “Fuck,” Spike said, pounding his right fist against his open palm. “Should have known that Trent wouldn’t play fair. Those bastards just want to steal territory any way they can. I try to give them one chance to remap territory and look where that gets us.”

  He turned then, and Derek stayed positioned close behind him, his own Bowie knife drawn and readied in his left hand. He was a southpaw on a mission tonight.

  “Sure, just get out and then figure out what the fuck the Death’s Head Crew actually wants…” Ron started before shouting. There was a thud, and his friend was no longer visible in the arc of the flashlight.

  “Ron!” Derek called, trying to rush forward and then feeling someone grab him from behind by the leather of his jacket.

  Chapter One

  Tess Everhart yawned and put her golden curls back up in a sloppy bun. It was the twelfth and final hour of her emergency department shift, and she was counting down the next thirty minutes of her shift like the life line they were. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her work; she did. However, this was day two of a four day shift, and, frankly, it was Friday at almost two a.m. She’d been thrown up on already today by some drunk college kid who eventually needed his stomach pumped, almost bitten by a thrashing psych patient, and chewed out by an elderly woman who thought she looked “too young” to know anything about the treatments she was assisting with.

  In general, saving a life was the greatest, most uplifting experience one could live through, but, by the end of the shift when she was operating on coffee and blisters keeping her awake, she was glad to go home. In that spirit, as she was between patients, Tess snuck into the break room to grab her sixth cup of coffee for the night. It wouldn’t give her a heart attack, but as a nurse, she knew she shouldn’t be doing this. She’d get better sleep tomorrow; that was all.

  She always slept poorly this time of year, and considering everything she’d been through, that was only natural.

  Still, a bit more caffeine in her system would make the twenty-nine minutes and fifteen seconds left (Tess was nothing if not exact) breeze by. At least, she hoped it would.

  “You know,” Lizzy said, slipping into the room as well and taking out a yogurt smoothie from the fridge.

  That girl was always trying something. A month ago, it had been a cayenne pepper cleanse. Last year was all grapefruit diet. Tess had never understood why. Her Latina friend was a bit curvier than average, but still gorgeous and definitely had most of the guys hitting on her at bars. It often felt like a contrast between her and her best friend. She was tall and willowy with blonde hair she could never get to do anything but lay flat, and though she had a prescription for contacts, she often wore her glasses at work and out to drink after. Sometimes, when Lizzy had a shot too much, she’d call Tess “the librarian.” Tess would just play it off, even if, sometimes, the moniker hurt. She was adventurous; it was just that the other nurses didn’t know it yet.

  And after Jason…

  Adventure had its place, and playing it safe was better in the long run.

  Tess shrugged and held out her mug. “Guilty as charged. I just need a bit more java to make it through the day, then sleep calls.”

  “Yes, that must be exciting.”

  “It’s a feather mattress, and I bought new sheets last week. I am living the sweet life.”

  Lizzy rolled her eyes. “Ricardo said that you should come out with us again tomorrow night if you feel like it. I think he feels a little guilty we’re in our honeymoon phase. I…well, even he pointed out that I haven’t been hanging with you as much as I should be.”

  Tess offered her friend a tight smile. That was true, but she didn’t hold it against Lizzy. The other girl was just a hopeless romantic. She fell hard, had rollercoaster relationships, and then spent the next few months after a break up cursing all men on principal. Tess had nursed her through at least three of these whirlwind affairs, but she liked Ricardo Jimenez the best so far. He was someone they knew in common before, a police officer who, unfortunately, often brought in some of their clients after robberies gone wrong or high speed accidents.

  “You’ve been fine. There’s nothing wrong at all. I’m the one who is like old and married without the married part. I think it’s just that I’ve been so busy studying to get my nurse practioner’s license and shifts here that I must look like a damn hermit.”

  “Nah, but you do need to still cut loose once in a while. I see those circles under your eyes. I know that this time of year sucks. So, maybe not tonight if you’re already up to your next dose of coffee, but we should do it this weekend, just us girls on the town, or you and me and Ricardo doing dinner.”

  Tess kept her smile in place even if it felt hard to do. She didn’t begrudge Lizzy her happiness, not one bit, but she’d never been fond of feeling like a third wheel either, and that was what it felt like sometimes, especially as gone on each other as those two were. She just wanted to find someone special, someone who would love her too. She was twenty-five and not dead, but sometimes it felt like it was impossible to find someone. Maybe her sister was right, and moving all the way to Charlotte would be better. It was too small a pond in Boone, and on top of that, everyone knew her story.

  She could dig anonymity, finding someone who didn’t see her as just a pity case.

  However, instead of making up an excuse, she said, “I’d love to. We can do all three of us at the sushi place by the campus, what do you say?”

  “Perfect, I’ll get reservations for Saturday.”

  “That’s awesome, but I am not doing puffer fish, no matter how hard you work to convince me it’s safe, alright?”

  “You have no risk-taking sense. Fogu is even safe. The chef there is amazing and---”

  The intercom blared then:

  “Nurse Everhart and Nurse Alacron, you’re needed in emergency bay seven. STAT.”

  Tess sighed and dumped her coffee as her friend shoved her smoothie back into the refrigerator. “Well, our work is never done.”

  “And our debate about Fogu is not over. I’ll get you out of your shell yet.”

  “Dream on, Lizzy,” she said as they rushed back to their stations.

  Chapter Two

  The lunge threw his momentum off and caused him to drop his flashlight. Growling to himself, he got low and tackled the man who’d attacked him. There was a satisfying crunch of bone as ribs snapped under his weight. His blade, however, hadn’t made contact with flesh, but merely had torn the bastard’s leathers.

  Derek rolled off of the other man, who was gasping too hard to even try to get up. Rushing as best around the other fallen Death’s Head crew member as he could, he scrambled for the flashlight as well. His hands kept coming up empty because he was dividing scrambling for the light with hopping back up to check out for other gang members coming for him, Spike, and Ron. Finally, deciding discretion was the better part of valor and that it would be safer to rush than keep fumbling for something that could have slid under a machine anyway, he rushed forward to try an
d find his crew. There was a shout from Spike and Derek broke into a run, praying his president was still alive.

  When he got to the shouting, he watched in the darkness as a shadow rose from a crumpled mound. He tensed again, not sure if whoever had won that match was Spike or whoever had attacked him. Gripping his weapon close to his side, Derek didn’t move. He remained taut and ready to spring.

  “Make your move,” he growled from the darkness.

  “I don’t need to,” Spike said, pulling out his cell and illuminating everything with the light of his flash. “Damn, shit got more real than I thought.”

  Derek frowned down at the body before him. He recognized Gunner, the vice president of the Death’s Head crew. The large man’s face was pale, and there was a huge gash in his temple by his dark hair. His hands were tied in front of him, but the most obvious thing about him was the large switch blade jammed through his breast bone and the blood still guzzling from it.

  Spike hunched down and pulled out his blade, wiping the blood off on his jeans. It was then that Derek wanted to curse all of them for being so foolish as not to wear gloves on a run like this, but it was supposed to be a summit not anything devoted to wet works, at least not until now.

  “I felt him lunge at me, but,” he started, gesturing to the man’s bound ankles and wrists. “I think someone flung him at me.”