Ruger: Demented Souls, #1

Chapter 1

Krissi stopped inside the bar door and let her eyes adjust to the dim interior. There were no windows and only a few scattered lights. Several seconds passed before she could see well enough to tell there were maybe twenty men in the shadowed room, a couple sitting at the bar but most sitting at the tables dispersed throughout the place.

From the large patches on the few men with their backs to the door, they all appeared to be the same. The patch took up most of the back of the kuttes, hooded, scythe-bearing reapers looming from behind a motorcycle, and left only enough room for top and bottom rockers that told her they were the Demented Souls. She wondered about the Demented Souls. Men wearing the patch came into the diner a time or two, but she didn’t know anything about them. It wasn’t a club name she was familiar with, but it didn’t matter much what name they went by. This was a motorcycle club hangout. The row of bikes out front hinted at but had left the possibility it was unaffiliated with a club; now, there was no doubt. The bikes were why she’d chosen this particular bar. Having grown up amid a club, even though she’d left her hometown and the trouble of her dad’s club, she missed the atmosphere. She ached with longing for the sense of family she’d felt from the very same club that she couldn’t live with anymore. Krissi had passed the bar many times—resisting the urge—before finally stopping.

The man behind the long, polished bar was tall with dark hair smoothed back into a ponytail low on his neck and multicolored tattoos spreading down both arms.

What can I do for you? he asked as she slid onto a cracked, red vinyl stool.

Give me a double of Patron.

I gotta see your ID first, Krystal. He shook his head and held out one hand. Krissi frowned, wondering how he knew her name. He pointed at her shirt, near her left shoulder. Your name tag.

I forgot I even had it on. Krissi pulled her identification from her pocket and slid it across the bar. He reached for the card, still watching her, and Krissi was captured for a moment by his honey-colored eyes. Light eyes with dark hair wasn’t all that common, but somehow it was perfect on his face.

Picking up her driver’s license, the bartender tilted it in the light. She knew he was not only checking her date of birth but was also looking for the hologram to make sure it wasn’t fake. It didn’t worry her. She’d used fake IDs before, but she didn’t need to anymore. This one was real. Passing the card back, he pulled a glass from behind the counter and poured the drink. He was reaching for a saltshaker and a slice of lime when she shook her head.

Don’t need that shit. Krissi picked up the glass and threw it back, swallowing the liquor in two long swallows. Perfect. The glass thumped as it hit the bar. How about a bottle of Corona?

The man behind the bar shook his head and pulled the beer from the cooler. You want the lime with this one?

Nope. She watched as he popped the top and set the bottle on the bar.

That’ll be thirteen dollars.

Krystal slid her debit card across the counter. Start a tab. His fingers brushed against hers as he reached for the card, and she shivered. Krissi hoped he hadn’t noticed as he turned away and put it beside the register. Picking up the bottle, she spun on her stool so she faced the rest of the bar.

Of the maybe twenty men in the room, less than a half dozen were not wearing the sleeveless leather vests typical of motorcycle clubs. Hell, even the man behind the bar wore one. He seemed to be all muscle with tattoos down his arms. Krissi wanted to watch him more closely but didn’t want to get caught doing so. Only a couple other women were in the bar, other than the waitress, and neither wore club colors. If they were connected to the club, they weren’t ol’ ladies. As she scanned the bar, Krissi noticed the few men without the patch-covered vests weren’t off on their own. Except for one, who sat at the end of the bar nursing a mug of beer, they were as scattered as the bikers and sat at tables with two or three club members.

In one corner hung a dartboard, a pair of barely-there thong panties pinned to it with several darts. Framed photos, mostly snapshots, littered much of the wall space. She was curious about them but knew better than to get up to inspect them, at least not on her first visit.

Turning the stool, she studied the place. Krissi took a long pull from the bottle in her hand as she turned back to face the bar and mirror behind it. Above the mirror hung a mangled front wheel and twisted handlebars. Someone had been in a spectacular crash. She wondered if they’d survived and how long it had taken them to recover if they had.

Krissi’s eyes went to the man behind the bar. He checked on the man at the end, filled orders for the single waitress making rounds, and kept himself busy washing dirty glasses and straightening things behind the bar in between orders. She let her eyes play down his slender but well-muscled body and found herself wondering what he looked like under the jeans she could just see the top of. Looking away, she forced herself to think about something different. She had a plan. Get her degree, though in what she wasn’t sure yet, make some decent money, and stay as far away from her father as possible. The last thing Krissi needed was to get involved with a man, much less a biker.

The bartender moved to the far end of the bar to help the patron sitting there, and Krissi used the opportunity to get a better look at him. Her eyes skimmed the bright tattoos covering the bartender’s arms again as she looked him up and down. There was nothing there that made her think this club was like her dad’s. None of his tattoos had specific meanings she’d learned from her dad’s club. No teardrops, no 1%, no gang affiliations that she recognized. Krissi had left her home to get away from the shadow of his club and didn’t want to get involved with another group like them. Not anytime soon. Not ever.

Can I get you something else? the bartender asked as Krissi drained the last swallow from her Corona. She suspected he’d been keeping tabs on how much she had left to time the offer. Unsure how she’d missed him watching her when she’d been watching him so closely, she shrugged.

I don’t know. She hesitated, checked her watch, and sighed. Sure, one more. Then I’ve gotta go.

Got somewhere you’ve got to be? He pulled the bottle from the cooler and popped the top.

Kinda. She met his gaze. He had warm eyes that made something deep inside her flip-flop.

Kinda? He lifted one brow and smiled.

Krissi shrugged again and made a face. Homework.

His smile spread to a grin. Homework, huh? What are you studying?

I’m not sure yet. She ran one finger over the label on the bottle in her hand, wishing she had picked a brand with a stick-on label she could pick at to give her fingers something to do. This is my first semester. I haven’t figured out what I want to do yet. She found herself telling him more than she should.

When she walked in, she’d just wanted a drink or two to help her unwind after work. She’d chosen Drifters because the bikers would make her feel more at home. She didn’t want to talk or tell anyone about herself. Something about this guy, though, made her chattier than she’d intended.

I’ve never seen you in here. You new to this side of town? the bartender asked.

I’m new to town, period. She couldn’t help the wry smile that curved one-half of her mouth. She might feel compelled to tell him more than she’d intended, but she wasn’t telling anyone about her dad’s club or why she’d moved so far from home.

Oh? Where are you from?

Albuquerque. There. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t said too much, either.

How long you been here?

A few months. Long enough to find an apartment and a job.

And enroll in school.

And enroll in school. She nodded and took another long pull from the beer in her hand.

Have a rough day? He seemed friendly, but she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t fishing for more.

Nothing I can’t handle, but I can only take having my ass grabbed so many times before I need a drink.

His eyes scanned up and down what part of her he could see over the bar. I can understand why some would try, but you don’t seem to be the kind to put up with that. Why don’t you just slap them? Tell them hands off without permission?

’Cause it would cut into my tips. I have to pretend to be friendly and maybe even receptive or I get no tip—or worse, a big mess.

Sounds like you’re working in the wrong place.

She looked at her half full bottle. Maybe, but it’s what I’ve got, and I can’t quit unless I can find something else. There’s not many places willing to work around my class schedule.

He silently watched her for a moment. That’s quite a problem.

Yeah, but it’s my problem. Krissi drained the last of the beer from her bottle. Close me out.

No problem. He turned, totaled her tab, and ran her card. I’m not sure you should be driving, though. How do you plan to get home?

No worries. I’m riding the bus. There’s a stop not far from here. She signed the ticket and tucked her card into her pocket.

Come in any time, Krystal. We need more pretty faces like yours around.

I might. She gave him one last smile and headed out the door.

The bus stop was a couple hundred feet away, so she walked over and sat down to wait the ten minutes until the next bus was scheduled to arrive. She tried to focus on her assignment due in just a few hours, but the tall bartender kept edging his way into her mind—his eyes, his voice, the corded muscles that moved under the brightly decorated skin of his arms. Krissi couldn’t help but wonder if he had more tats and what they were. The squeal of brakes brought her back to the present.

Standing, she stepped onto the bus and made her way to the first open seat and tried to pay attention. She had to keep track of the stops or she’d end up passing her apartment building. Yesterday, she’d tried reading her textbook during the ride and had ended up a mile and a half past her stop. She’d walked all the way back, her feet already aching from her shift. This time, she was determined not to let anything distract her. That walk wasn’t something she wanted to have to do again.

Ruger watched as she left, her full, round ass swaying with every step. Man, he’d like to get his hands on that. His cock ached, and for the first time since God knew how long, he knew no other piece of ass would cool the burn.

Shaking his head, Ruger went back to work. There was something about the girl, and it wasn’t the tight white shirt or nearly painted on black shorts that drew his attention. He couldn’t put his finger on it, though. He’d like to see her again, but there was no reason to believe she’d be back. Too bad he hadn’t thought to ask where she worked or get anything more than her name. Krystal Montoya, her driver’s license and credit card had said. Montoya was a common enough name, though Krystal wasn’t a common spelling. He might be able to run a check on her name, but how would he explain how he’d found her?

Yo, bro. Give me another. Stretch’s voice from the end of the bar broke Ruger’s thoughts. He refilled the old man’s mug and set it on the bar. Who was she? the old man asked before picking up the heavy glass and taking a long swallow.

Some girl after a couple drinks, Ruger said with a shrug.

Bullshit, she wasn’t just some girl. The older man set his glass down with a thump.

What makes you think so?

The way she acted.

What do you mean?

She was too comfortable. Most chicks walk in here, and even on some guy’s arm, they’re nervous, unsure. She wasn’t. She walked in like she owned the place, sat down, and ordered a drink. She looked the place over as if she was making sure things were the way they’re supposed to be.

So?

So, she took in the whole place. Even that—he jerked one thumb over his shoulder at the panties on the dartboard—and didn’t even blink. To her, this place and all of us in it were normal. There’s something about that one. I’d keep an eye on her if I were you.

Ruger shook his head. She may not even come back. But if she does, I’ll be careful. Okay, old man?

Stretch watched him a moment then nodded. Just be careful. There’s something off about her.

A half dozen brothers came in, stopped at the bar, and ordered drinks. Ruger went to fill their orders, but thoughts of Krystal kept creeping into his mind.

Chapter 2

Throughout her classes the next day and her shift at the diner afterward, Krissi couldn’t keep the tattooed bartender out of her head. The memory of his deep, rumbling voice as he asked where she was from made her skin tingle. She tried not to think about him, to focus on her classes, then her job. But by the time her shift ended, she couldn’t resist the urge and had to stop at the bar again. The need to see him at least one more time was overwhelming. She didn’t have time for a relationship. Not while she worked on rebuilding her life. But what about a single night? Who would blame her for taking a little bit of pleasure where she could? Besides, while today hadn’t been as rough as the day before, she could use a drink or two before heading home.

Her shift finally ended at eight. Business had been slow, and she would have sworn she’d been on her feet for twenty hours instead of six. To add insult to injury, she had made a whopping eighteen dollars in tips. Definitely not her best day. Krissi gathered her backpack full of books and walked the two blocks to the bar. She stood for a moment after pushing the door open and stepping inside. After several seconds, she saw a tall woman who looked to be probably sixty behind the bar, not the man she’d been looking for. Her shoulders fell.

Krystal. That familiar, deep voice came from the other side of the room. Blinking, she turned, looking for the source. There, sitting at the table in the corner. But he wasn’t alone. She hesitated to join him. Instead, she went to the bar and slid onto the same stool she’d used the day before.

What do you want? The older woman’s voice was rough from years of smoking.

Krissi took a deep breath and looked at the taps. Give me an MGD.

I’m gonna need ID. The bartender looked like she expected an argument from her. Krissi just handed her driver’s license across the bar. The woman looked at it then back at her as if double-checking that the photo was really her.

She’s good, Marge. The deep voice was beside her now. She knew it was the man she’d hoped to see. The one she still didn’t have a name for. I checked it good yesterday.

Krissi turned and watched as he slid onto the stool beside her. He wore the same kutte he’d worn the day before with another white t-shirt and jeans. Without the bar in the way, she could see he wore heavy leather boots like most people wore while riding. It fit. And it didn’t help her libido. Her stomach flip-flopped and heat pooled low in her belly.

If you say so, boss. Marge passed Krissi’s license back and went to pour the drink.

Boss? Krissi asked, turning back to the man sitting beside her.

Yeah. He shrugged. I run the place. He stared for a moment. Another rough day, Krystal?

She cringed at his use of her full name. Actually, it’s Krissi. And today wasn’t too bad, other than being slow and taking forever. She drew the word out.

Krissi, huh? It fits you. He reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Krissi turned her cheek toward his hand, wanting to lean closer, but Marge set a frosty mug in front of her.

That’ll be three dollars, the older woman said.

It’s on the house, the man next to her said without breaking eye contact.

If you say so, boss. The old woman moved away to tend to other patrons further down the bar.

Thank you— Krissi picked up the glass and took a sip —for the drink. You know who I am, but I don’t even know your name.

I’m Ruger.

Ruger? She lifted one eyebrow. Like the gun?

Yep. He sat quietly, eyes on her as if waiting for her to make the next move. She glanced around, not sure what to say. So, if today wasn’t as bad as yesterday, and you didn’t want a drink or two to relax, why’d you come in? He paused a moment. I’m hoping it was to see me, he said with a cocky grin.

Krissi pretended not to notice his grin and took a drink. Seeing you might have been part of the reason I stopped. She watched him through her lashes.

Do you have plans for tonight?

Not really. I was going to study, but I don’t have anything that must be turned in tonight. Why?

I was thinking about going for a ride. Thought you might like to go.

She took another drink while pretending to think about it. It had been months, and she missed watching the world slide by from the back of a bike.

How do I know I can trust you? She wasn’t worried. She carried a folding knife in her pocket and a pistol in her backpack. Krissi knew it was illegal to bring it into a bar, but where was she going to leave it? It’s not like she had a car to leave it in. She glanced around the room again. It didn’t look like any of these guys expected the cops to show up and check, either. She could see the outline of at least one pistol, and she suspected a second as she looked around the room. She returned her attention to the man beside her. With a name like Ruger, chances were good he was carrying something, too.

Ruger looked a little surprised at her question. I’d never do anything you don’t want done. He met her gaze. I may not be the best guy around, but I’ve never hurt a woman. Well, not one who didn’t want it. He grinned.

Krissi narrowed her eyes at him, letting him know she wasn’t impressed with his lip.

All right, she said after a moment. She tipped her glass back and took a long swallow. It was more than half gone now. You want to leave soon?

Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Ruger looked her up and down. The clothes will do, but do you have any better shoes? We can swing by your place so you can change if you want.

I’ve got a pair of boots at home. She took another drink. I’d like to change clothes, too, if you don’t mind. These smell like greasy food and coffee.

Whatever you like. He watched as she drained her glass.

All right, let’s go. She set her glass on the counter with a thump, stood, and dug a couple of ones out of her pocket. Dropping them on the counter beside the empty glass, she turned back to Ruger. What? she asked at his surprised look.

Nothing. Ruger shook his head and motioned for her to precede him to the door.

Outside, Krissi found what little light there had been when she’d entered was gone. The sun had long since set, and the only light left came from the streetlights and the neon signs of storefronts. Ruger led her to a shiny black Harley. She couldn’t make out the model in the dark, but the long fork told her it was custom. She circled the bike for a moment, taking it in. She’d always thought you could tell a lot about a man from his bike. It was well cared for—custom but not flashy. This was a good sign. The chopper fork was longer than standard, but not one of those ten-foot-long jobs that screamed LOOK AT ME.

Well, what do you think? Ruger asked. She glanced at him and found he was watching her with one brow lifted. Did she pass inspection?

She passes.

Tell me what you see. He tilted his head to one side as he watched her.

She told him her thoughts then ended with, It tells me you’re confident, secure in your place, not only in the club, but in the world. She met his gaze and waited for his reaction.

He nodded then picked up his helmet off the seat. Here, I only have the one with me, so you wear it. He held it out toward her.

Trusting to leave it unsecured. She took it and slipped it over her head, fastening and fitting it with practiced ease.

No one would touch it here. People know who we are and not to mess with our shit. He swung one leg over the bike. So where do you live?

She gave him the address and waited while he kicked the bike to life. When he was ready, she climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms around his torso. He pulled out onto the street, and she was glad her borrowed helmet didn’t have a facemask. The wind on her face and the rumble of the bike between her legs made all her troubles slide from her mind. What replaced them were thoughts of the thickly muscled thighs her own were wrapped around and the taut stomach beneath her hands.

As they moved through the city, the bike roaring down streets and rumbling content at traffic lights, Krissi caught hints of the scent of leather, soap, and a warm musk that made heat build low in her belly. In less than twenty minutes, Ruger pulled into the parking area in front of her apartment. It was faster than taking the bus, but she knew it would be. She would like a car but didn’t have the money for one.

Right now, Krissi was saving every extra penny she could to cover her tuition and books until she earned her degree. She really shouldn’t have spent the money at the bar yesterday, much less stopped again today, but she’d needed a break. And today’s drink hadn’t cost