Red (Hell’s Jury MC #5)

1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Red

I pull up to my new house. It’s a 30-year-old bungalow with a garage, finished basement and a workshop in the fenced back yard. It needs paint, landscaping and furniture. But that’s irrelevant. The most important feature is that it’s located in a sleepy residential area of Sagebrush where the neighbors are mostly empty nesters with a couple of families here and there.

The house fits the bill perfectly. The middle-class neighborhood is my first step in becoming a responsible adult. It’s part of my plan to get unsupervised visitation rights with Gabby, my six-year-old daughter. I want nothing more than to reconnect with her. Bring her here and keep her for a weekend. Just me and her.

The short, supervised visits I have with Gabby are meaningless because they only ever happen at her mom’s house. Erin’s my ex and her presence makes it impossible to connect with my daughter the way I want to. I don’t know what Gabby likes to eat or her favorite toy or movie. I’ve never soothed her when she’s skinned her knee. Never heard her sing. Never read her a good night story or combed the knots out of her hair.

I lost access to her when she was one years old. Erin and I split shortly after Gabby was born. I fully admit it was my fault, even though I want to blame Erin and her new husband, Theo. Erin and I got married when we were kids and Gabby was a surprise package that neither of us were mature enough to cope with.

But Erin, she found a way and me, I was out-of-control. She finalized the divorce while I was in the slammer for eighteen months for stealing a piece of shit car. The sentence was harsh but my juvie record, my size, my attitude, my tats. It all worked against me. I’ve been out for a couple of years and tryin’ my best not to fuck up again.

I’m an ex-con, a biker. No girl, no roots, nothing. Or it used to be the case. Now I have a fucking three-bedroom house with a swing set in the backyard. Gabby will have her own bedroom and a princess bed when she visits. Everything she wants she’ll get. I’m gonna spoil her rotten. The only thing left is to convince the courts that I can be trusted with my daughter.

I sigh as I turn off the engine of my badass 2023 Harley-Davidson CVO Road Glide, kick the stand and remove my helmet. The house needs a lot of work but at least it has a two-car garage and I was able to move my restored ’65 Mustang Shelby Fastback into it. I have two other restored cars, which are currently sitting out front of Hawkeye’s Auto shop. Brings in business.

Hell’s Jury has a number of legit businesses they use as fronts for money laundering and since I got my colors a few months ago, I was appointed manager of Hawkeye’s. Short of owning it myself, it’s my dream job, and the stability of it gives me more ammunition to get my daughter back.

I flip open the garage door and stroll to the Mustang, taking a look inside the open hood, then grab a wrench and twist the lug on the battery. It’s gotta come out so I can get better access to the motor.

The sound of a car draws my attention and I nearly thump the top of my head when I look up. Hazards of being a tall fucker. Almost worth the pain though when I see the car. It’s a 3 rd Gen Firebird Trans Am - early ’80s, I think. My heart twists - it needs restoration work, but the engine purrs like a kitten. I’m already thinking what I’d need to do to prime this baby up when the car pulls into the driveway of the house directly across from mine.

I take a deep breath, trying to quell my thumping heart. I wanna buy that car, I wanna fix that car. I’d even marry the owner if that’s what it took to get my hands on it. Then the car door opens and a pair of long toned legs swing out.

Holy shit. Classic car and legs like that. I’m havin’ a good day.

I wipe the oil off my hands on a rag as my stomach coils in anticipation. I’m a leg man, so much so that I could use an intervention. Then the rest of her emerges and I’m left breathless.

She’s fuckin’ tall, at least 5’11”, and loose limbed. Not skinny by any means, but athletic and graceful. The headband she’s wearing does little to tame the unruly curls of her short reddish hair. The weather is cool for the shorts and T-shirt she’s wearing. Both are baggy enough to hide her curves. The tee, which she smooths down the front of her, has a logo I can’t make out from my vantage point. She looks down at her feet, then crouches to retie the lace on one of her black high-tops.

I’m fuckin’ fascinated, not just because she’s attractive, but girls like her, the tall ones, tend to slump a little, self-conscious of their height. Try to hide it. But this one, she holds herself straight-backed and confident like a woman who has her life in the bag.

My groin tightens at the thought of fucking her, of those strong arms and long legs wrapped around me. Maybe in her car. She’s young though and I can almost smell her freshness. I prefer my women older than me or more jaded. That way any expectations are parked at the door.

She hasn’t noticed me, or actually anything else but the basketball net in the driveway. I watch as she stretches her neck, moves her head side to side like she’s got some tension in her shoulders. She feigns a dribble, feints to the right, then tosses the imaginary ball through the hoop. I can almost hear the swish of the net as she whoops and pumps her fist in the air. Then she grabs her purse and shuts the car door.

Her hips sway as she walks up to the front door and raps lightly. Even in the baggy clothes, I can tell she doesn’t have the figure most women have. A bit boyish with slim hips and small breasts, not generally a body type I find attractive, but for some reason it turns me on. She turns me on.

When there’s no answer, she raps again, tries the handle. Must be locked because she steps back and places her balled-up hands on her hips. “Mom?” she calls. “It’s me. Open up.”

I blow out a breath to quell the hard-on growing in my jeans at the sound of her sweet easy cadence. Jesus, now I’m a voice guy too.

Still, no response and with a huff, she digs in her purse and produces a set of keys. She tries to open the door, but it doesn’t give. “What the heck!” She looks at the offending key and tries again, digs out her cell phone and stabs at it. The grimace on her face is cute as she waits, then finally hangs up.

“Damn!” she huffs as she walks back to the car. She tosses the phone in her purse and her purse in the car, then looks around like she’s run out of options. Hands on hips, she scans the neighborhood, each house, each yard, until she finally gets to mine.

First the house, the open garage door, my Mustang, then the bike and finally me. She twists her lips like she’s puzzled, then waves and heads towards me, her curls bouncing with her long strides.

My dick gets thicker like it used to back in high school when I was around an attractive girl, but this time it’s more than that. It’s begging me to make a move. My thumping heart seems to agree.

Sweet thing stops at the edge of the driveway. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Stella.”

I toss the cloth I’m holding on the cement and saunter towards her. “Hello, darlin’.”

Smooth, Red, smooth.

“No, Stella.” She look’s me over like she’s drawing a map highlighting all the points of interest. Interesting though, her eyes hold curiosity. Maybe intrigue. Not fear or calculation.

“I heard,” I reply. “I’m Lachlan.” Don’t know why I give her the name I was born with. Seems the right thing to do.

She offers a small smile, then flicks her attention to my house. “The Rose house finally sold.”

“Rose house?”

“Yeah, this house. It’s been on the market forever.”

My lips droop at the corners as I follow her gaze. “Don’t know why. Nice house, decent price, good neighborhood.”

She puffs out her lower lip and shades her eyes with her hands as she looks at it. “Probably the massacre.”

My heart lurches. “Massacre?”

“Yeah, Mr. Rose came home, killed the in-laws first, then his wife, and finally the kids. Three of them.” She takes a small breath as she catches my eye. “With an axe. Cops said they’d never seen so much blood in one place.”

I stare at the house for a full moment as cold floods me. What the fuck? The realtor said nothing about a massacre. “When did it happen?” I rasp as I turn back to her.

She’s wearing the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. Big enough to melt my heart.

“You’re fuckin’ with me.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah. Couldn’t help it. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

I chuckle. Silly bitch’s got my attention in a way that makes her even more appealing. “Thanks.”

She looks past me towards the front door. “Your wife home?”

My heartstarts pounding again. She’s beautiful and interested. And young, though I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

“No wife, just me.”

“Just you?”

I may as well lay it on the table. “And my kid, when I have her over.”

“Ah,” she nods, her moss green eyes dancing. She’s got the most expressive face I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah. Gabby. She’s six.”

She looks me over. “You must’ve been young when she was born.”

“Yeah,” I reply. She ain’t gonna get my life history. At least not yet.

She squeezes her shoulder as she looks at the house she came from with a frown.

“You locked out?”

“Not exactly. That’s my mom and dad’s house. Mom called and asked me to come over and now she’s not answering.”

“And your key don’t work?”

A shadow flits across her face. “She changed the locks I guess.”

“Piss her off, did you?”

She grins. “Maybe it was the new addition to the neighborhood.” Her eyes wander to my bike, my car, then me, lingering on my face. “My mom can be… uh… judgy.”

Goddamn I like her. “Happens a lot.”

“I guess I’ll just wander back and sit on the step. Wait for her.” She takes two steps backward. “Nice to meet you, Lachlan.” A small wave of her hand and she turns her back.

Don’t let her go, my head, heart, and dick beg. They’re right. “Hey, Stella.”

She stops and faces me.

“Drink beer?”

She pouts. “I’m only twenty.”

“Didn’t ask your age. Asked if you drink beer.”

She shrugs as she steps closer. “Well, if you’re willing to risk a citation for contributing to a minor’s delinquency, then I’m willing to risk drinking underage.”

I have to convince my fingers not to stroke her face. “How ‘bout we sit on my step and I’ll get us a couple of beers?”

She pauses for a beat then nods. “Sure.” She gives me this bright sunny smile that melts my fuckin’ heart.

“I’ll get the brews. Be right back.”