Biker Blues_Morgan [Part 1] Read online

  Biker Blues: Morgan

  Part 1

  Dale Mayer

  &

  Tasha Lyons

  Books in this series:

  Biker Blues: Morgan, Part 1

  Biker Blues: Morgan, Part 2

  Biker Blues: Morgan, Part 3

  Biker Baby Blues: Morgan, Part 4

  Biker Blues: Morgan, Full Set

  Other books in the Biker Blues world:

  Biker Blues: Salvation, Part 1

  Biker Blues: Salvation, Part 2

  Biker Blues: Salvation, Part 3

  Biker Blues: Salvation, Full Set

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Back Cover

  Complimentary Download

  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

  Author’s Note

  Complimentary Download

  Excerpt from Skin

  About the Author

  Also by Dale Mayer

  Copyright Page

  Back Cover

  It would be a mistake to take him back.

  Morgan had broken her heart once. She didn’t dare let him hurt her again. But with the death of a man who could be his brother, Jazz finds herself embroiled in a series of murders and the only tie between them is a tattoo – one of her designs.

  Morgan has made a lot of mistakes, but he made a monumental one when he walked out on Jazz. He thought he’d done it for the right reasons. Instead, he’d believed the tales he’d been told and lost his one chance at happiness. Now things have changed and even though it sounds impossible, he wants her back.

  But as the bodies pile up, and the lies unravel, the truth has never been further away.

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  Chapter 1

  Jazz stroked a shadow along the edge of the back tire of the Harley with her favorite pencil. She needed the design to be slightly darker. This image was for Stengel. He’d been in and out of the shop for years trying to find the perfect one for his left butt cheek. She figured this fit his requirements, but did it have that special pizzazz he was looking for? Who knew? She’d been working on him for years. There wasn’t much skin left. However, this biker scene was close to his heart. His brother, Dormer, had died riding three years ago. They had been working on the right design ever since.

  She laid her pencil down and stepped back. She’d known Dormer for years, as well as most of the guys in his motorcycle club. She had a soft spot for anything on a bike. His death had been a shock, like many others over the years. Watching Stengel go through the grieving, then healing process had been wonderful. This tattoo was her gift to both of them.

  The phone rang in the background.

  She pushed back the mass of blonde hair and looked around, still trying to pull herself out of the power of the sketch. The phone rang again.

  Where was Roxy? She frowned at not seeing her best friend and business partner anywhere close. Damn it.

  At the third insistent ring, she forced herself over to the front counter and picked it up. She never got a chance to say a word.

  “Jazz?”

  Heat and pain, fire and ice, sexual longing and sheer fury flooded her psyche and her body, the contrasting signals frustrating her and pissing her off more.

  “What do you want?” she said with a chill in her voice. It was the only way she could deal with the mess that Morgan had brought into her world and into her heart. He’d been the hottest thing in her bed since chocolate was invented. He’d ripped through her and the sheets and ripped back out of her life, leaving a crater-sized hole behind. Sex had never been as good since. He’d been able to turn her on with his voice, make her come from the heat in his eyes, and melt from the touch of his hand.

  Not anymore.

  The pain… his anger… the whole damned mess had the phone shaking in her fingers. She wanted to beg for him to come back and that made her voice even colder. Fool her once…

  “Well?” she snapped impatiently. “Stop wasting my time.”

  There was an odd silence over the line and, for the first time, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t Morgan. Oh, hell. She opened her mouth to apologize when Morgan said, “I need to see you.”

  “Screw you.” She slammed the phone down.

  In her mind, she could hear his laughing voice saying, “I already did, sweetheart. Many times. And I doubt you’ve forgotten.”

  Forgotten? Never. So not possible.

  The phone rang again. She glared at it as if it was a rattler ready to jump out and strike her – again.

  She turned her back on it.

  It rang again.

  She closed her eyes. No way in hell was she going to answer it.

  It rang again.

  Goddamn it.

  On the next ring, she spun around and glared at it.

  Then snatched it up.

  “Go away.”

  And went to slam it back down again.

  “Wait,” yelled Roxy’s voice. “Jazz? What the hell are you doing?”

  “Shit.” She lifted the phone to her ear again. “Sorry. Morgan called earlier.”

  Roxy gasped. “He what?”

  “He just called and said he wanted to see me.”

  “Oh no,” Roxy groaned. “Not him again. We could barely live with you when he walked out last time. If it hadn’t been for his brother Billy, you might have gone completely off the deep end.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Jazz snapped, glaring out the window of the store at the empty street outside. It was late. Somehow, time had run away from her again.

  “Hey, don’t bite at me,” Roxy said. “I had to leave a few minutes ago and called out to you that I was racing out, but I doubt you heard me. You didn’t, did you?” she accused.

  “No, I didn’t.” Jazz closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Thanks for calling and letting me know that I don’t have to panic when I can’t find you,” she finished. Her ability to get completely absorbed when working caused consternation among her friends. She’d likely not recognize that the building was on fire until the flames lapped up against the edges of her design.

  “Yeah, now I’m going to worry about you,” Roxy said, strain evident in her voice. “He destroyed you last time. He’s a user. A taker. Don’t let him back into your life.” She waited a moment, then in a harder voice added, “And for God’s sake, don’t let him back into your bed.”

  Bed. Morgan. Sex she’d not known was possible and hadn’t experienced since. She’d tried. Lord, she’d tried. But there’d never been that weakness, that need, or that searing heat to be filled as only Morgan had been able to make her feel.

  Damn if her body wasn’t already starting to respond, anticipating Morgan’s presence, even after a year without him.

  She hung up the phone after promising Roxy that she was fine, and no, she wouldn’t work late or too hard. She’d get into bed alone. She’d have promised anything to get Roxy to chill.

  Now, emotions crawling through her and setting fire to her nerve endings, she paced the front of the store. The two of them had been best friends since forever. They had been running their own tattoo shop for close t
o ten years now. Both had a dozen relationships to their history and countless other close relationships that didn’t quite make it to the same level. Roxy had even tried marriage. Jazz would have in a heartbeat. Until Morgan walked.

  Hell, he damn near raced away. She’d never gotten an explanation or an excuse. She’d have loved one or the other. Instead, it had been just a cut-and-dried end, one rife with questions and self-doubts.

  The lights on the front of the store gave a weird colored hue to the street outside. She stood in front of the huge window, appreciating the wonderful colors. September was a beautiful month in Kelowna, BC, with the leaves turning and the temperature moderate. Except for the rain. Was there no end to the rain?

  This wasn’t normal for here. This was coastal weather, and they were not coastal. They were in the interior and in wine country. That was the good thing about the location. She had been raised in Vancouver, but the whole big city thing wore her down. There were more customers in the city, but the ones here were easier to get along with. Besides, she was making a name for herself and people were starting to come in from all over the damn place.

  There was also a large biker presence here. So far they’d been steady clients. She’d hung with a few until Morgan rode into town. Then there’d only been him. Thankfully, the others kept coming into the store.

  Letting her breath out in a heavy gust, she strode back to the coffee pot, hating the way her nerves jiggled inside. They needed to let up. Except she’d never known Morgan to take no for an answer. She couldn’t imagine this time would be any different.

  She glanced at the phone once more. Would he call again? She reached into the cupboard below the coffee maker and added a shot of Baileys to the mug. It was just that kind of day. Her joy at finally having the design she wanted for Stengel was now gone. Her complacency with a job well done, how far in life she’d come, her satisfaction with where she was now had been shot to shit.

  The room was silent, empty. She snorted. She could fix that. She walked over to the stereo system and put on the local rock station. Anything to chase away the haunted feeling in her heart. Standing at the side, listening to the music fill the room, she took several sips of her heavily-laced coffee then finally smiled.

  Life was good. She just had to focus on how good.

  The door jingled as someone opened it.

  She turned to smile at her next customer and froze.

  Morgan.

  *

  Morgan knew he’d thrown her. It had been over a year since he’d walked out. And after six months of screwing each other like minks in the morning, afternoon, and night. She’d been the best thing in his world. The hottest thing in his bed. He’d loved her. Then hated her. Now…

  Now he needed her.

  From the darkening of her gaze, he figured she was still stuck in that dark place of hating him. Shit. She needed to get over it and fast. No. He’d thought he’d had good reason for his actions. But once again, Billy had thrown his life upside down until he no longer understood where he was anymore.

  Maybe even more.

  He’d at least been honest.

  “Jazz,” he said quietly. “It’s good to see you again.”

  She snorted, her gaze hard, cold. Angry. “Really? Well, you could have walked in anytime in the last year and seen me. It’s not as if I’m the one that took off in the middle of the night to never be heard from again,” she snapped, sarcasm oozing in her voice. She stood, her hands on her hips, the ripped jeans he knew covering the most luscious ass he’d ever seen, her feet splayed apart. Ready to launch herself at him – or ready to run.

  He’d forgotten that part. At the time, it had seemed like the easiest way to leave. Without an argument. Without recriminations. Without… a woman’s tears. Especially deceitful tears.

  Now he wondered. But the chances of getting a second chance weren’t looking so good. And that was too damn bad. What he’d done – for all the right reasons – had lost him something so precious, its value hadn’t been fully realized until it was no longer there. Worse, he’d lost the whole reason he’d backed off as well.

  That was double the pain.

  He’d not even told her yet.

  “You’re right,” he said simply. God, she looked wonderful. If he’d been wrong… He hated himself for his actions, not knowing how he could have done this any differently and hoping maybe over time she’d forgive him. More than that wasn’t going to happen, which was a grief he’d have to live with. Jazz hated as much as she loved. Having been on the receiving end of those wanton lips and roving hands, he knew she’d put him through the wringer first before she’d let him off the hook.

  Hoping to cut to the chase and get them past this awkwardness so they could get down to business and hopefully stave off much of her ire, he said truthfully, “I need you. Billy needs you.”

  At the mention of his brother, her gaze narrowed and a soft hissing sound escaped from those lips. He blinked and waited. The play of emotions on her face made him wonder. According to his brother, the two had moved in together, and he was getting ready to ask her to marry him.

  Had been planning to ask. Past tense. And he hated that instinctive reaction that said, “She’s free. Here’s your chance. Don’t blow it.”

  It was why he’d come in person, even though the thought had damn near crippled him. For Billy, he could do this. It’s what Billy would want Morgan to do. To treat Jazz with the dignity of a future sister-in-law.

  In slow, measured tones that he couldn’t read, she said, “What about Billy?”

  He took a deep breath. “When did you last see him?”

  Her gaze narrowed, pinning him in place. “None of your business.”

  “Oh shit.” A lovers’ quarrel. A horrible feeling sank inside his gut. Surely it had not been so bad that Billy had taken his own life. No, his face was unrecognizable from the shotgun blast, but had the Medical Examiner actually considered suicide? If it was, he eyed the woman in front of him with mixed emotions. There would never be a future for them anyway, but if his brother had committed suicide over her, then he’d see her roast in hell.

  “Answer the question,” he said in a low, deadly voice. He shoved his leather jacket off his arms and pulled out the horrific image he had stored in his back pocket. He’d never in a million years subject anyone to this type of nightmare, but if she’d been the cause of it, well, she deserved everything she got.

  Including these nightmares.

  He might have had something to do with sending Jazz down a vengeful path that led her to hurt his brother, but she should have picked on him, not Billy.

  She shoved her chin into the air. “Fuck you.”

  “Right. In that case…” he tossed the picture onto the table to the left of her. “Look at this instead.”

  She glanced down, and her gaze widened, her mouth opening in horror as she stared at it, then she raised her gaze slowly to meet his. “Please tell me that’s not Billy.”

  Chapter 2

  She couldn’t breathe. Neither could she rip her gaze away from the monstrosity in front of her. A male body on its side. The face was hamburger meat, with the remnants of an ear dangling toward the area that used to be a neck. White spots stark against the dark red and black.

  The room swayed.

  She reached out for the closest chair.

  “Shit.” Morgan grabbed her and guided her to the chair, pushing her down into it. “Sit and get a hold of yourself.”

  So hard, so angry. So very mean. “Why did you show me that?” she asked, staring at the image, trying desperately to not find anything in there that would trigger recognition – a name, a familiar face that she’d no longer see. “Why would you do something like that?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Know him?” she turned a bewildered gaze to Morgan. “How could anyone know him? I couldn’t even tell it’s a male.”

  He crouched down so he could look deep into her eyes, as if searching to see the truth
in her gaze. “That’s not true. Someone who’s worked on enough bodies as you have should be able to tell the sex of this man.”

  She turned her gaze back to the image, noting the flat chest, built up pectoral muscles, the hair. The silver nipple ring, not one she recognized, and she’d seen many. “Yes, I can see it’s a man,” she snapped. “But I wasn’t looking to see that. I was… distracted… by the rest of him.”

  With a deep breath, she reached out and flipped the image over, then spun in her chair to look at him. “Who is it?”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment. He picked up the image and stared at it, then walked over to switch a second chair around before sitting down on it backwards to stare at her.

  “Maybe Billy.”

  She gasped, an icy chill washing through her. Just as fast as the cold slid down her, heat raced up. “And you thought I’d know that was him?” she asked in shock. “How could I possibly know that?”

  He pursed his lips and pulled out a second picture from his jacket pocket. The one he’d planned to show her from the beginning. He dropped it on the table.

  “What about this one?”

  Jazz reached out and picked it up slowly. She studied the long male body lying on his stomach. The head up at the top of the image was mostly off the page but from the bit showing, she could see it was the same male. From this perspective, the male appeared leaner and longer. She studied the hairy legs and large bare feet with the odd bruising pattern, then let her gaze rest on the bare buttocks and the small tat on the left cheek.

  Her breath caught in the back of her throat. A small dragon flew toward the crevice between the cheeks. Her signature tat. One she only used for lovers. Only lovers she cared for.

  With one big difference.

  “Who is it,” she asked, tears clogging her throat at the pain this poor man must have gone through. “Tell me,” she said in a stronger voice.

  “You don’t recognize him?” he asked incredulously. “Do you always sleep with men that you don’t know well enough to recognize them?”