Stolen by the Biker: Southern Crows MC Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, 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.

  Stolen by the Biker copyright @ 2016 by Laura Day. 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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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  BONUS BOOK – BLAKE

  MORE BOOKS BY LAURA DAY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1

  Teagan Rainer wiped her brow as she glared at the frozen exhaust manifold bolt as if it had personally insulted her. Mrs. Barker’s 1965 Lincoln Continental was a gem, a perfectly maintained example that her husband had once purchased brand-new. Teagan’s family had been maintaining the car for the past fifty years, starting with her grandfather. But as nice as the car was, fifty-year-old bolts still rusted and stiffened, especially in the humid and salty summer air of Bayou Coteau, Louisiana.

  Mrs. Barker brought her car in like clockwork, every two thousand miles, to have the oil changed and for any other repairs, the car might need. Like today. Mrs. Barker drove the car ten miles a week, two miles to church on Sunday, and two miles home. On Wednesday, she drove the car three miles to the grocery store, and then three miles home. That was it, and the car never exceeded thirty-five miles an hour. If she needed to go to Lafayette or somewhere she wasn’t comfortable driving to, she would get a friend or relative to take her.

  Teagan was a firm believer in that cars should be driven, so with Mrs. Barker’s blessing, she’d started taking the old girl out on Highway 90 to stretch its legs. The first time she did, she probably wiped out half the mosquito population of Iberia Parish, thick clouds of black smoke pouring from the exhaust as she blew the carbon out of the engine. But after an hour and four or five full throttle roll-ons to open the secondaries on the carburetor, the big Lincoln finally cleared its throat. Now it was part of her routine maintenance, a quick thirty-mile loop to get the car up to full operating temperature so the giant 430 cubic inch V8 could clean its pipes, and the land yacht was running better for it.

  Unfortunately, her ripping around was uncovering some weak points. When Mrs. Barker brought the car in, this time, she could hear the distinct tick of an exhaust leak, which meant a new exhaust manifold gasket, which meant she’d need to get that damn bolt off. She lit the torch and applied another round of heat to try to break the corrosion bond, then doused the bolt with penetrating oil as it began to glow red.

  While the bolt cooled, Teagan finished changing the alternator on a nearby Ford Taurus, replacing the serpentine belt at the same time since it was showing some wear. Rainer Garage had been part of Bayou Coteau since just after World War II when her grandfather started the business after returning from the Pacific.

  It drew business all the way from Lafayette, forty miles north, and specialized in cars from the 50s, 60s, and 70s. Teagan grew up around cars and had graduated from the engineering program at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. She’d had big plans, and had been picked up by Ford as an entry-level powertrain engineer, but then her father had become ill. It had started out as headaches, but when he finally went to the doctor, he was diagnosed with a grade IV glioblastoma brain tumor, and it was spreading.

  He’d hid his condition from Teagan for a year, but when he was no longer able to work due to his condition, she’d returned home to help him with the business. He was still alive, but it broke her heart to see the once vibrant man reduced to the point where he couldn’t even feed himself.

  That was two years ago, and she’d put her goal of designing car engines on hold. Now she was changing out alternators, water pumps, and brake pads six days a week. The sole bright spot was the reputation Rainer Garage had, so she got to see a lot of classic Detroit iron in the shop.

  She started the Taurus and checked to make sure the alternator was charging properly. Satisfied, she pulled off her gloves, slammed the hood, and backed the car out. Another job successfully completed.

  When Teagan had first taken over the garage, some of the classic car guys were unsure about her touching their babies, but she didn’t have that problem anymore, and the reputation of the garage was secure. She had an affinity for engines and could tune one to near perfection with nothing but her sense of touch and hearing. Teagan would lay her hand on the engine to feel the smoothness of how it idled, listening to its song as it revved, and using the diagnostic tools in the garage only for the final tweak in.

  “Hey, Dad, the Taurus is ready,” she said as she stepped into the office and held the keys out to him.

  Jim Rainer looked up from staring at nothing, and his eyes cleared, pausing before he reached for the fob. He then carefully hung the key on the pegboard behind the counter. He could no longer speak, and his ability to function was steadily decreasing as the disease destroyed his mind, but deeply ingrained patterns, such as hanging car keys on the board, he could still do. Teagan smiled as her dad looked at her, her heart almost breaking. It wouldn’t be much longer before he would have to go into a hospice for full-time care.

  “You need anything?” she asked.

  He looked at her for a moment, processing the words, then smiled and shook his head.

  “Okay. You sit tight. As soon as I get this manifold gasket changed, we’re calling it a day. How’s that sound?”

  There was another pause, then a nod.

  She gave him a big grin before she stepped back into the garage, her smile disappearing as soon as the door shut behind her. Her dad had hung on six months longer than the doctors said he would, but she could tell it wouldn’t be long now.

  She forced her mind back to the task at hand so she didn’t have to think about it. Donning a fresh pair of gloves, she reached up to the stuck bolt and put her thirty-six-inch breaker bar on it. She dug in and got both hands on the bar.

  “Come on you bitch,” she groaned as she strained against the bolt. She paused and wiped the sweat before it could run into her eyes, leaving behind a light smear of dirt.

  “Fine, be that way.” She walked to the wall and picked up the six-foot piece of pipe propped there. “I bet you come off now,” she said as she slid the pipe over the bar. Getting a grip on the pipe, she leaned into it as she prayed to all the automotive gods that she wouldn’t twist the bolt off. Having to remove the head to fix tha
t would suck big.

  The bolt held a moment and then shrieked before letting go. She removed the socket with a mental cross of her fingers and sighed in relief that the bolt was intact. The bolt was fighting her every turn, but with her big ratchet, she was making short work of it.

  “Can you help me?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Teagan peeked out from under the car, then hopped up. “Sure. Whatcha need?”

  The girl was young and very pretty, but her dark eyes were wide with fear as she looked behind her. She was panting and drenched with sweat, her top sticking to her like a second skin with her dark hair plastered to her scalp.

  “I need a place to hide!”

  “I’m sorry, you what?”

  “I need a place to hide! Some men are looking for me! Please!”

  Teagan looked at her for a moment. “You want me to hide you? Are you in trouble? Are you running from the cops?”

  “Not from the cops! Please!”

  Teagan watched her, trying to decide the girl’s game. When the girl looked behind her again, one hand twirling around the fingers of the other, she made up her mind. “Get in here,” she said.

  “Thank you!” The girl ran into the shop.

  Teagan lowered the Lincoln then carefully opened the door. “Get in there, crouch low, and don’t move around or make a sound.”

  The girl squeezed in and Teagan shut the door, and then raised the Lincoln back to its former height before stepping back under the car and going back to work.

  She’d just gotten the manifold off when two men on Harleys roared by. She could tell from the patch on their back, a cruel looking man wearing animal skins, an iron helmet, and clutching a spear as he rode a motorcycle, they were with the Hun Brotherhood.

  It wasn’t unusual to see the Hun Brotherhood in town or the Southern Crows. Bayou Coteau, or BC as the locals called it, was situated on the border between the two clubs and was neutral ground. Teagan knew the clubs fought savagely, and hated each other, but they largely kept out of BC because there was nothing of value to them there. If the girl was running from someone, and it wasn’t the cops, it was mostly likely one of the clubs.

  She shook her head as she began scraping the old gasket off the engine. She’d never understand why anyone, much less a woman, would become involved with a biker, especially an outlaw biker. That could lead to nothing but a whole heap of trouble.

  Teagan whacked the underside of the car with the scraper. “You doing okay up there?”

  “Yeah,” the muffled voice came back. “It’s hot, but I’m okay. Thanks for doing this.”

  “Who are you running from anyway?”

  “The Huns.”

  “Why?”

  “Why am I running? I made a mistake. A big mistake.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I just want out.”

  “And they won’t let you leave?”

  “Something like that. Can I roll a window down a little?”

  “I don’t think the keys are in it.”

  There was a pause. “They’re not.”

  “No way to roll the windows down then. I saw the Huns go by a minute ago. I don’t want to let the car down and risk them seeing you.”

  “Okay.”

  “So why do you want to leave?”

  “I decided it wasn’t for me. I thought I liked bad boys, but I’ve decided that bad boy is just a polite way to say asshole.”

  Teagan snickered. “You just figured that out?”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a slow learner.”

  “Quiet,” Teagan said as the Huns returned, slowing and turning into the parking lot.

  Rainer Garage was one of the first businesses that people saw as they came into town if they headed east on Highway 14. Since the Huns’ territory was to the west, and the Crows’ was to the east, it made sense that they would start with the garage if they were looking for the girl.

  Teagan continued with her work, scraping off the rest of the old gasket as she waited for the men to dismount.

  Chapter 2

  “What can I do for you?” Teagan asked as the two men stepped into the garage.

  “We’re looking for a girl. My sister,” one of them said. “We found her car out on Highway 14 with a flat. She called me and told me to come help her, but when I got there, she was gone. Have you seen her?”

  “Don’t know. What does she look like?” Teagan asked.

  “About this tall,” the man said, holding his hand at eye level. “Dark hair. She’s wearing a red shirt.”

  Teagan pretended to think for a moment. “No, can’t say I have. I don’t sell tires, but I can recommend a wrecker service if you need someone to pick up the car.”

  The man smiled. “No, that’s okay. She locked the car and took the keys with her. Once we can get into the trunk, I can change the tire for her.” His eyes scanned the garage. “You have a coke machine? I’m dying.”

  “In the office,” Teagan said with a jerk of her thumb.

  “Nice car,” the second man said as the Hun stepped into the office.

  “All original and unrestored. It belongs to a little old lady who only drives it to church on Sunday. I’m putting a new exhaust manifold gasket on it.”

  “You’re the mechanic?”

  “And owner. Why? You don’t think women should work on cars?”

  The man held up his hands and chuckled. “No offense intended. You’re just the first one I’ve met.”

  Teagan grunted. “None taken.”

  “Let’s ride,” the first man said as he stepped out of the office.

  “You didn’t get your Coke?”

  “Didn’t have change,” he told her. “Thanks for your time.”

  “If I see your sister, you want me to tell her you’re looking for her?”

  The two men looked at each other. “No, that’s okay. I’m sure we’ll stumble across her. Thanks anyway.”

  She watched as they mounted up, and rumbled out of the parking lot, back toward BC. “You better stay in there in case they come back,” Teagan said to the girl. “Did you really leave your car on the road?”

  “No. I hitched. There’s no car,” the girl replied. “That guy wasn’t my brother either.”

  “I figured.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me.”

  “You can thank me later.” Teagan paused for a moment. “I’ll be right back.” She walked into the office and got a bottle of water from the fridge in the back, along with the keys to the Lincoln. “Hey Dad,” she said as she passed, but he gave no response. “Open the door…carefully!” she said so the girl wouldn’t ding the door on the lift posts.

  When the door opened, Teagan handed up the water and the keys. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Leila. Leila Kenny.”

  “I’m Teagan. You can crack the windows to get a little air. I can’t have you sweating all over Mrs. Barker’s seats. Just stay in there until I close, in case someone comes looking for you again, then we can figure out what to do with you.”

  Leila closed the door and bumped around in the car before powering it up. A moment later all four windows rolled down about an inch. “It doesn’t help much but it’s better than nothing I guess,” Leila said as the car clicked back off.

  “Better than being caught down here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just hang tight. I should be done in a couple of hours.”

  ***

  Jay Healey, Heels to his brothers, watched as the two Huns pulled out of Rainer Garage and rode past the diner again. They had already stopped in at the diner for a quick look around then ridden down the road to the garage and stopped again. Leila was late, and the Huns were on the prowl, obviously looking for something or someone, which wasn’t a good sign. The Southern Crows had agreed to spirit Leila away if she made it to Bayou Coteau, a deal he’d been working for two weeks.

  The Hun
s and the Crows had been at each other’s throats for years, but in the past six months, it had gotten worse. The Huns dealt guns, both legally and illegally. Not only were they a small time arms dealer, but there were rumors that they could also supply heavy, and unregistered, hardware. They previously dealt mostly in small arms, but were working hard to break into the big time, and now the Crows heard the Huns could obtain anything, from Glocks to grenade launchers, and everything in between. The Huns were growing, and fast, and were beginning to press the Crows.

  While the Huns’ focus was on destruction, the Crows’ was on pleasure. They owned a string of bars and strip clubs scattered around the region that serviced the hard men in the offshore oil industry. That was the legal side of their operation. They also provided drugs and pussy, dealing out of their bars and clubs, if you were looking for something a little harder than booze and lap dances.