Double Dare You: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance Read online

  Double Dare You

  A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance

  Ruby Dixon

  The Motorcycle Clubs

  Contents

  Double Dare You

  What Has Gone Before

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Author’s Note

  Bedlam Butchers Reading Order

  Also By Ruby Dixon

  Want More?

  Double Dare You

  Becka isn’t the daring sort. She’s a chemistry nerd on vacation from college. She certainly wasn’t supposed to be stolen by a rival MC and sold as a plaything. Now, she needs a hero…or two.

  Locke and Epic might be ride partners, but they’re not yet friends. Epic is freshly patched and Locke’s carrying a lot of baggage from the betrayal of his last partner. But when they’re given a new task – find Becka and bring her home – the men have to work as a team to protect her.

  And, as the threesome spend time alone, they realize that not only are they better together, but that a few teasing dares just might bring them closer…in a lot of sexy ways.

  What Has Gone Before

  The Bedlam Butchers are a motorcycle club that runs territory centered around Albuquerque, New Mexico.

  Recently, things have been getting messy. There’s the issue of Taco, one of the Butchers who turned traitor and was executed. And there’s a rival club, Hard Nine, that has been causing problems. The Butchers and the Nine recently came to conflict over a shipment of guns that went awry. Add this to the fact that the club’s VPs – Handlebar and Crash – went missing, victims of the underground Cage fights.

  .

  Meanwhile, Becka was visiting her older sister Lucky (a fellow Butcher and Solo’s partner) for the summer when they argued. Lucky got angry and left Becka at a shop. A bike pulled up, and Becka, thinking her sister had sent along a club member to give her a ride, hopped on the back.

  Becka never returned.

  1

  BECKA

  When I was a child, I loved horses. I’m pretty sure all kids love horses, actually. There’s something about the big, majestic animals that can be tamed and ridden that sings to the adventurous soul of a little kid. A creature that will follow my every command as long as I hold the reins? Yes, please.

  As an adult? On the other end of the reins?

  Let’s just say it’s killed every childhood fantasy I ever had.

  I hold the bars of my stall and press my cheeks against it so I can peer out. They’re keeping us in stables, me and the other kidnapped girls, though I don’t know more about the place other than that. I don’t know where I’m at. I don’t know who’s in charge of this or why they nabbed me. For the last five days, I’ve been living in a square horse stall with hay on the floor to sleep on, a bucket for my needs, and a small portable vanity in the corner—I shit you not—so I can fix my hair and make-up when customers come calling.

  Which sounds crazy, of course - if you’ve been kidnapped, the last thing you want to do is look pretty for anyone. But I’ve seen what happens to other girls when they don’t obey, so I keep my hair and make-up decent. What can I say, I’m a coward at heart. My captors are already irritated enough at me that I don’t want to wake up with a knife in my throat.

  Or worse. Unfortunately, there is always worse.

  Like right now. There’s a curdling in my gut as I press my face to the stable bars. The stable itself is mostly wood, with metal bars running along the top, I guess so the horses can’t escape. I keep my vanity (aka folding table) on this side so when someone comes in, I can climb on it and see what’s going on.

  The not knowing is the worst about all of this.

  I peer down the length of the stable, like I’ve done every day since I’ve arrived. In the distance, I can hear the soft sobbing of a girl, and the quiet murmur of other female voices. I can’t see much from my vantage point, but I count at least three other heads. When I came in, I was blindfolded, so I don’t know how many people are here.

  As if someone up above senses that I’m awake, the stable door opens and sunlight pours in. A man in a leather vest decorated with patches and skulls saunters into the barn, his hand on the gun at his hip. There are two other men behind him.

  Shit. I immediately climb down from my vanity and check my hair and make-up. If I don’t look like I’m at least trying, I’m going to get a black eye. I add a bit of gloss and run a comb through my hair, hating myself for doing so. Truth is, I think I’m safe…

  For one more day, anyhow.

  I huddle near the door of my stable, listening in.

  “This here’s our pony stable,” the man in the leather vest drawls. He’s the stable master and a familiar sight around here. I hate him, and hate the casual sound of his low, gravelly voice. “You need a sweet little ride, we can sell you one for a fair price. Branding’s free, too.”

  I shudder, rubbing my arms. I can still smell the stink of burned flesh and hear the screams from yesterday as two girls were taken away. Whenever I think the nightmare can’t get any worse, it does.

  “Kinda lookin’ for somethin’ sweet,” one of the strangers drawls. “Candy-ass little piece. Young. None of that old pussy.”

  “They’re all young. Unless you mean underage? Got a few of those.”

  “Nah. I like ’em about nineteenish. Old enough to have real tits, you know? That kiddie shit’s just weird. Right, bro?”

  I’m too far away to hear the other man’s response, but the stable master laughs.

  “So anyhow. Young. Virgin’d be good, too,” the man with the thick drawl says.

  I curl my lip. Disgusting.

  “Can’t sell you a virgin, friend.” The stable master’s boots clomp on the concrete floor of the stable. “Those are already claimed.”

  “Claimed?”

  “Yup. You hearda the Cage?”

  The one with the drawl whistles. “You’re gonna toss the virgins in to fight?”

  Cage? Fights? I feel cold with fear. I don’t know if that’s better or worse than being sold as slaves.

  “No, you dumbass,” says a third voice, growling and low. “They’re prizes, ain’t they.”

  “That’s right,” the stable master says. “Prizes and party favors for the bigwigs. But I can still sell you something tasty.”

  “Our party’s tonight. Wouldn’t mind having something right away,” the one with the drawl muses. “Take her home with me, get her ready for the frat and all.”

  Ugh. These guys are pigs! I’m utterly revolted by what I’m hearing.

  “Your buddy looks a little old for a frat,” the stable master says. “What college did you say you go to again?”

  “Arizona State,” Frat Boy says proudly. “The blue and gold, baby.”

  Huh? Arizona State’s not blue and gold. It’s maroon and gold.

  The stable master doesn’t catch this, though. “Whatever, buddy. You got cash?”

  “Right here.”

  “Are we selling you one girl for the both of you?”

  “Yup, just one.”

  There’s a long pause. “This ain’t some Butchers shit, is it?”

  I freeze, my heart thudding. The word ‘Butchers’ fills me with hope. My brother is co-head of a biker gang called the Bedlam Butchers and they pair up, both in bed and out of it. It’s always weirded me out a little, but right now? I’d give anything to peer over my stall and see two Butchers.r />
  “Butchers? What’s that?”

  “Never mind, then,” he snorts.

  I climb up on my vanity and peer over the edge, because I have to know. Has someone come to rescue me? Please, oh please. I take back every bad thing I thought about these guys if they’re with the Butchers. The three men have their backs to my stall, though. They’re across the way, talking near another girl’s stall, and I see a plaid shirt and a football jersey. No leather jackets or patches that designate that they’re Butchers. Disappointment knifes through me.

  The guy in the plaid shirt turns and his eyes lock with mine. He’s young, a few years older than me, and sexy in a lean sort of way. He’s also a pig and I hate that he’s cute. Can’t he get a girl on his own?

  He nods over in my direction, acknowledging that he’s spotted me. “What about that one? Not a bad face on her, though I’d want to see her tits.”

  Fuck. Fuck fuck. I drop right off my vanity again and hide behind the wooden slats, holding my breath. The last thing I want is to be sold to a pack of dirty frat boys for a fucked up kegger party.

  “Bloody Mary?” The stable master snorts. “She’s bleedin’, man.”

  “Bleeding?”

  “Time of the month. Ain’t gonna be no good to anyone with a bloody punane.”

  All three men laugh.

  Let them laugh. I’ve thanked God every damn day that I started my period the day I was kidnapped. Someone’s been looking out for me upstairs, and I’m grateful for it. I don’t care if they think it’s gross or joke that I’m ‘Bloody Mary.’ I wish I could bleed for an entire month straight if it meant no one would touch me.

  Because then maybe the Butchers would have a chance to find me. Maybe Penny and Brian will figure out where I am.

  “’Sides, we’re saving her,” the stable master says. “Once she’s off the rag she’s being shipped out to the Cage.”

  “That’s a shame,” the frat boy says. “She’s got a pretty mouth.”

  Ugh. That is one of the grossest things a man can say about a girl. Seriously. I shiver and huddle against the wood slats of the stall, praying that they’ll go away. That all of this will go away. I can’t cry, because if I smudge my make-up, I’ll give the stable-master an excuse to come harass me. He likes it when the girls cry.

  “Bleedin’ ain’t no good to you,” the stable-master says.

  “What if we pay extra?” Frat Boy asks.

  “She ain’t for sale,” the stable-master says, and I feel a thrill of relief.

  “But—”

  “Fuck off, man,” the third guy says, finally speaking. “If she ain’t for sale, leave it alone. I don’t want some bloody chick anyhow.”

  “I guess,” Frat Boy says. “I just like the name Mary. I got a gun named Maria. It’s almost the same thing, right?”

  “Whatever, man.”

  These guys are idiots. Gross, despicable idiots. I’m so thankful I’m not for sale.

  “I got another gun,” he muses as they walk away. “Named it Rebecca. And another one named Penny.”

  “Great,” his buddy says. “I got two fists named ‘Shut’ and ‘The Hell Up.’”

  I freeze. Guns named Rebecca and Penny? My sister’s name is Penny. I’m Rebecca. Is…is this a hint to me?

  This ain’t some Butchers shit, is it?

  Oh God! It is. The Butchers sent them! Frat Boy’s letting me know that they’ve come for me. I bite down on my knuckles to keep the excited sob from escaping my throat. The last few days have been pure hell. I’ve been thrown in the trunk of a car, hog-tied, passed from one gang to another, and manhandled more times than I’d care to count. I’ve been threatened, harassed, burned with cigarettes, and slapped around. And all in all, I’ve been lucky compared to what I’ve seen some of the other girls go through.

  But I know my fate is going to be the same as theirs. The only thing saving me right now is that I’m on the rag. Once they realize that I no longer need the tampons they keep throwing into my stall? I’m for sale.

  Thank God the Butchers are here. I’ve never been a huge fan of my brother’s alternative lifestyle because it just seemed strange—both crossing the law and having a third bed partner. But right now? I don’t care about any of that. He can sleep with everyone in his motorcycle club. I just want to go home. I want to forget all about this nightmare.

  So I tense and wait by my door. They’re going to come back and retrieve me.

  Except…I don’t hear them coming back.

  “What about this one?” Frat Boy says down at the far end of the barn. “She for sale?”

  I climb back onto the tiny table and peer through the stall bars. All three men are at one of the front stalls, and as I watch, the stable-master opens the door to one of the stalls and beckons. A timid girl with long, dark hair stumbles out, hugging herself.

  “Show ’em the goods,” the stable master says. When the girl hesitates, he twirls a finger.

  She looks uncertainly at the men, and when no one moves, slowly turns around.

  Frat Boy reaches out and slaps her ass. “Nice jiggle to that.”

  The other guy just nods.

  The girl swipes at her cheeks, wiping away silent tears.

  I recoil as if stung. These are my saviors? I slide down off the table, horrified. I’m wrong, I think. These guys aren’t here to save me. They’re here to buy a chick for themselves. I’ve been so desperate for a rescue that I’ve missed all the clues. They start to haggle over the price as if she’s an object.

  “Wait, she clean?” Frat Boy asks.

  “Yup. You wanna check her?”

  I put my hands over my ears, not wanting to hear any more of this. Despite my best efforts to be strong, I start to cry. I wipe at my tears, but it’s no use.

  No one’s coming for me.

  LOCKE

  I wait until we get to our rental car before I let in on Epic. Fuckin’ dumbass.

  The girl we just ‘bought’ stands between us, caged in by our bodies. She’s wearing a skimpy little tight dress, zip ties binding her hands together, and tears keep rolling down her cheeks. She’s got a fresh brand on her arm, courtesy of the fuckhead in the stable, but there ain’t much I can do about that, not if I don’t want to blow our cover.

  Epic already did a fuckin’ bang up job of that.

  My ride partner gets in the back seat with the girl while I drive. We head down the long, gravel road. “Act normal,” I murmur and pretend to fiddle with the radio. “There’s security cameras in the trees.”

  “Gotcha.” Epic puts his arm around the girl’s shoulders. “You tell me when it’s all clear.”

  The girl just cries pitifully, the sounds soft and heartbreaking. Can’t blame her. She thinks she was just sold off to a couple of college idiots. I stare straight ahead as we drive down the long, winding road to get back to the highway. “You’re a damn fuck-up, E. What was that shit you were pulling back there?” My voice is smooth like butter, as if I’m discussing the weather. I keep a smile on my face, too, just in case the cameras can get a better look than I think. “You nearly blew our cover.”

  “Me?” he sputters. “What the fuck did I do?”

  “Calm down,” I say, low and easy. “And you don’t know? Come on. Your guns are named Rebecca and Penny? Why not just draw a fuckin’ arrow right to the girl?”

  “He doesn’t know who they are,” Epic protests. “No one knows who Penny is, and I doubt he stopped and asked Becka for her full name.” He thinks for a moment, then adds, “Or any name.”

  “He knew enough about her to know she was on her period,” I point out, but maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just being overly cautious. Hard not to be after all the shit I’ve been through in the last year.

  “It’s all good,” Epic says lazily, grinning at me as I glare at him in the rearview mirror. “We found her. Now we just gotta extract her before they sell her to the people running the Cage.”

  He’s not wrong. At least we’ve found Becka. Gem
’ll be pleased. Lucky, too. Even more pleased to find out that their little sister hasn’t been raped by every Eighty-Eighter from here to California. Being a sex slave isn’t exactly a bed of roses, but it sounds like Becka’s been spared the worst so far. I grunt acknowledgment so Epic knows I heard him, slowly turning the car onto the service road that leads to the highway. I’m going two miles below the speed limit, because the last thing we need is to get pulled over. The coast looks clear, though. “I think we’re good. You can untie her now.”

  “Sweet.” As I watch in the rearview mirror, he pulls out a knife and saws through the zip ties holding the girl’s hands tight. “There. That feel better?”

  Her small, quiet sobs dry up. “You want me to get on my knees?”

  “What? No! I’m just untying you.”

  “What are you gonna do with me?” she asks, her voice quavery and uncertain.

  “Gonna find a bus station and drop you off,” I tell her before Epic can volunteer us to drive her to Grandma’s house or some shit. “Give you some money so you can get home.”

  She sucks in a breath, then asks, “You…you guys are cops or something?”

  Epic just laughs. “Baby girl, we are the opposite of cops.”

  “Thank you,” she weeps. “You don’t know what they did to me—”

  “I don’t wanna know, either,” I say before she can tell us the entire sob story. If she does, Epic’s gonna want to go white-knighting in there and save all the girls, and our task is just to save one. I wouldn’t save a single person if it meant jeopardizing our mission, but Epic thinks he’s some sorta hero or some shit. Wanted to save at least one girl since we were there. He still swears it’s a good cover.

  I don’t trust that. But then again, I don’t trust anyone.

  I look back in the rearview mirror again and Epic’s flexing his hand, a sour expression on his normally cocky face. We haven’t been ride partners long enough for me to know his moods, but I’ve been watching him for a while. Ever since he was a prospect, I’ve both despised and admired the guy.