GINGERSNAP: ODIN’S FURY MOTORCYCLE CLUB #4 Read online

  GINGERSNAP

  ODIN’S FURY MOTORCYCLE CLUB #4

  Victoria Jayne

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  GINGERSNAP

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  Copyright © 2021 by Victoria Jayne

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: December 2021

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  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

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  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

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  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-629-1

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  For my amazing husband. Thank you for always being in my corner, reminding me never to forget my wins, and to stop focusing on my losses. Ghost and Shy, words cannot express how grateful I am to have you in my life. Lastly, Booktok After Dark, thank you for all your love and support.

  Chapter 1

  Dash

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  Parties at the clubhouse had the potential to get wild. They were often rowdy. With Aerosmith’s Toys in the Attic album playing on the speaker, Dash’s brothers drank to the memory of their president. The only drinks served that night were Bowie’s favorites: Wild Turkey bourbon and Miller Lite. While these were not Dash’s favorite drinks, he would enjoy them and the time with his brothers.

  For now, it was just members of the club, no hang arounds, no club whores, no Ol’ Ladies. Just men with a rocker. Prospects took up their posts at the door and behind the bar. Drinks were flowing as easily and swiftly as the memories of Bowie.

  As the afternoon turned into evening and the men got drunker, their need for entertainment kicked in. The club sluts trickled through the door, welcomed by both in-state and out-of-state brothers. The tone of the evening shifted away from mourning and more toward the celebration of Bowie’s life and memory.

  A few of the Ol’ Ladies made their way to the clubhouse and Dash watched as Sparrow sought out Romeo. His young club brother, since hooking up with her, never indulged in the free pussy thrown at him. As a legacy patch, with much higher ranks in his future, Romeo was targeted by many a thirsty bitch who wanted that ride.

  Loyalty was a code his brothers lived by. Now, that didn’t necessarily mean that loyalty extended to the women. Even when a guy claimed one as his Ol’ Lady, he may still dick around with club ass. Loyalty was expected to be to the club and to his brothers, anything else was inconsequential. Not Romeo, though. He was only interested in his wild-haired lollipop-loving girl.

  As he switched his focus, he noted a few other men greeting their women. Each woman wore her property vest proclaiming to whom they belonged. Each also had a nickname stitched on it, their equivalent to the road names of the men. Dash, Romeo, Clark, Monty—none of those were their given, legal names. His lip pulled up slightly and he shook his head. Dash couldn't remember the last time someone called him by his given name.

  That realization made him think of Gingersnap, and her proper name. Sipping his bourbon, he stared off, watching Blue, topless, straddling Mooky as he licked a shot off her tits. He didn’t know Blue’s actual name, nor did he care to. Gingersnap—he wanted to know her name. He wanted to know more about her, all about her.

  Maybe it was the bourbon, maybe it was his survivor’s guilt again, but Dash slid off his barstool, slapped Cajun on the back, and headed toward the back door. Pulling both his phone and his cigarettes from his pocket, he decided it was time to know more about Gingersnap, but he wanted to focus. Sitting in a bustling clubhouse with tits and ass a plenty, plus so many people talking, there’d be no way he could concentrate.

  With a cigarette hanging from his lip, he exited the party. Cool air slapped him in the face as he stepped outside. The door closed behind him, muffling Cherry Pie by Warrant as he dropped his bulky frame onto one of the patio chairs.

  PRK: Lotion?

  He sparked his lighter, puffing his cigarette to life. Tilting his head upward, he looked up at the passing clouds as he exhaled a long stream of smoke.

  Gingersnap: Done already. How are you doing?

  Of course she did it already. She was smart and obedient. The lotion wasn’t just an assignment. It would help her skin heal and decrease any risks of scarring.

  PRK: I’m all right. How are you?

  Shaking his head, he pulled his cigarette from his lips and mentally kicked himself. He wanted to be in contact with her but had nothing to say. Considering he never engaged in idle chit chat with his play partners, this felt awkward for him. He never concerned himself talking to the previous women when they weren’t playing because he never wanted any sort of connection with them. Resting his phone on his knee, he pinched at the bridge of his nose. Fuck, he had it bad.

  Gingersnap: I’m fine. Interesting funeral. I don’t think I’ve been to one with so many motorcycles.

  With his cigarette resting between two fingers, he reached up, pinched a section of beard between his fingers and twisted, thinking of a response.

  If she were a decent woman, she’d not want to be involved with him. If she were a sane woman, she wouldn’t get involved with him once she knew the full extent, or to the extent one can know without a patch. That didn’t mean he was ready to give her up.

  PRK: He was a loyal brother and deserved a proper sendoff. Sorry about ditching you, but thank you for coming.

  Gah, he sounded like a goddamn tool. Since when did he apologize for that stuff, for club business and mean it? Sure, it was rude, but his club came first. He never felt bad for that.

  It had been far too fucking long since he actually dated anyone. Not that they were dating. Were they dating? Shit, he wanted to date her.

  Gingersnap: Thank you for inviting me.

  She was fucking perfect. All right, time to nut up. He had to stop acting like a fourteen-year-old with a boner next to his crush.

  Putting his cigarette between his lips, he inhaled deeply. The burn of the nicotine and the smoke in his lungs reminded him of who he was—vice fucking president of Odin’s Fury, Ohio Chapter. Closing his eyes, he exhaled out of his nostrils and enabled dragon mode.

  PRK: Your marks have to be fading. Can’t have that. You up for another session soon?

  Gingersnap: Absolutely.

  Her response was quick, and he sat forward. Leaning hi
s forearms on his spread thighs, he smiled at the phone. Gingersnap may have it as bad as he did. At least he had that going for him. A chick who was into him would forgive a lot of his awkward fuck ups.

  PRK: Tomorrow. Dinner first.

  A date. Yes. He wanted a proper date. Taking the cigarette between his fingers, he studied the cherry on the end. She was a proper lady, after all. She deserved dinner before he beat her ass. The thought of her ass, round, glowing bright red from his paddle had his cock stiffening in his pants. Gripping the crotch of his jeans, he shifted, trying to get comfortable.

  Gingersnap: I have work. I won’t be available until around 9.

  That worked for him. He could handle club business during the day and play time at night. Pulling his cigarette from his mouth, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he’d tried. He’d been handed the ideal set up for a biker—a chick busy during the day, and free at night. Bonus points because she was kinky as fuck like him.

  PRK: I’ll pick you up at 9.

  Gingersnap: On your bike?

  Fuck. His bike? She wanted to ride on his bike. Of course she did. The thing was sexy as hell. He may be into her, but putting Gingersnap on the back of his bike sent a message he wasn’t necessarily ready to send.

  Gingersnap: I just wanted to know how to dress. I imagine a skirt wouldn’t be a good idea on a bike.

  When her second message came in, he realized he may have taken too long to respond. Slipping his smoke back between his lips, he considered the idea of her in a skirt before he texted back.

  PRK: Nah, too cold to take the bike at night now. I’ll get you in my truck.

  Liar. He’d ride in the snow if he wanted to.

  Gingersnap: Okay. Sounds great.

  He tried to chase the pang of guilt away with another drag of his cigarette.

  PRK: You got a name?

  That had to be the clumsiest topic shift he’d ever done. He’d blame the bourbon. Craft beers were more his style. They came in a bunch of quirky flavors, and he liked quirks.

  Gingersnap: Liz. You?

  More smiles. Liz. Envisioning her, the name fit. It made him think of Queen Elizabeth, and he thought she had red hair, like his Liz.

  His?

  He needed to pump the brakes on those types of thoughts. She wasn’t his anything, nothing more than a woman he wanted to get to know and liked to hit. It didn’t make Liz his.

  PRK: Very regal.

  He dodged the question about his own name. He wasn’t sure he wanted to offer it. Though she did deserve something. Something beyond his scene name.

  PRK: My friends call me Dash.

  There. That would do. Besides, she’d seen his road name on his cut by now. She’d just been a classy bitch and not asked about it.

  Gingersnap: We’re friends now?

  Ah. His playful—nothing. She wasn’t his. He really needed to stop thinking shit like that.

  PRK: We sure as shit ain’t enemies.

  Gingersnap: LOL. Fair point. Though, do you often hit your enemies?

  PRK: Only the ones I really like.

  “Someone’s in a good mood.”

  Blue’s voice was far too close, and it snapped Dash out of his goofy good mood. He’d been distracted flirting via text and hadn’t been aware of his surroundings. He hadn’t even heard the door open. The smile left his face. He had an image to maintain, afterall.

  The still topless woman led Mooky to the patio section. Once he took a seat in an Adirondack chair, she slid into his lap and offered his club brother a joint, the only drug permitted on their club house property. She extended a hand toward Dash and flipped her fingers in a gesture meant to beckon something from him.

  He gave her the lighter.

  “So many morose motherfuckers in there,” she commented as Mooky puffed the weed to life. “It’s nice to see some smiles.”

  “Those guys are having a good time.” Dash jerked a thumb toward the clubhouse. The men had pussy and booze. Most bikers viewed that as a perfect evening.

  She shrugged as she snuggled into Mooky. “Not as good as you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting.”

  Mooky chuckled as he passed her the joint.

  Snuffing out his cigarette, Dash snorted. His phone vibrated, and he stuffed it in his pocket. He wasn’t ready to share Liz with his club yet. Another realization he wasn’t prepared for. He stood, nearly knocking the chair back. “I think I need another shot.”

  “Out of Wild Turkey.” Mooky nipped at Blue’s earlobe, using his free hands to fondle her breasts.

  “Thank Christ.” Dash scrubbed his face. “Tequila?”

  “Always,” Blue all but purred as she pulled the joint from her lips and exhaled.

  He turned to leave. He suspected they’d fuck in front of him if he’d stayed. He wasn’t in the mood to watch that, not when he had a text from Liz burning in his pocket. Plus, he wasn’t that much of a voyeur, anyway.

  Opening the back door to the clubhouse, Halestorm’s The Familiar Taste of Poison filled his ears, and he smirked. If he were a superstitious man, he’d think it a sign. Amused, he headed for the bar to get some tequila.

  Chapter 2

  Gingersnap

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  “Ane, there are four outfits laid out on my bed. I’ve tried them on about fifty times. He’ll be here in ten minutes,” Liz dropped yet another shirt onto a pile of clothing she had rejected to wear that evening. “I haven’t been on a date since, well…” She trailed off, not wanting to even mention him while talking to her friend on speaker phone and choosing an outfit.

  No need to taint an evening that she truly expected to be fantastic. She lifted another blouse and sauntered over to her full length mirror to hold it up to herself.

  “And definitely haven’t been on a first date in years. Help me stop overthinking things.” Shaking her head, she threw the top over her head and covered her face in frustration. She’d never get dressed at this rate.

  Pacing in her bedroom, she wore a lacy teal bra and panty set she bought earlier that day specifically for that night. She snaked her fingers through her hair, ruffling it, thankful she hadn’t done it yet.

  She hadn’t done her hair yet. Jesus, it was late enough and now her plan was to make him wait for her while she did her hair?

  She’d always thought of herself as a low-maintenance woman. She prided herself in not requiring manicures, a metric ton of makeup, or a linen closet full of hair care products. Normally, she was confident enough to be herself. She couldn’t figure out what it was about PRK—Dash that left her so insecure.

  “First of all,” Anemone began in an easy tone. “You need to breathe and remember that he’s just a person. Remember that? People. And it’s not like you haven’t hung out with him before. One last thing.”

  Her voice picked up pitch and Liz could imagine her getting animated on the other end of the phone.

  “You already had your first date—the coffee shop.”

  Stopping in her tracks, Liz blinked repeatedly. They already had their first date? “That wasn’t a date.”

  “No?” Ane challenged in her gentle, yet stern way. “Two people alone, drinking coffee, listening to a bad acoustic cover of 90s soft rock. That’s a date, sweetheart.”

  “No.” Liz shook her head as though the unseen gesture would convince her friend of the denial. “We didn’t meet up, it wasn’t planned.” She ticked her reasons off on her fingers, then paused. What was she doing? Who, exactly, was she trying to convince? And why? Why did she need to convince anyone of anything?

  Ane let out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, now you’re just being sad. All I’m saying is that you’re putting too much pressure on this thing. You two get along, you jive, and he’s into you. Why are you stressing?”

  Raking her fingers through her hair again, she turned to see herself in the mirror. Listen to reason, she told herself. Ane was right.

  “You’re a confident, successful, beautiful woman,” Ane
pumped her up. “The only thing you need to worry about is if he is good enough for you.”

  Her doorbell rang. “Shit!” Startled by the unexpected noise, Liz bobbled her phone. Catching it, she held it in front of her face and spoke directly into it as though it were a walkie-talkie. “He’s here. Gotta go. Love you, bye.”

  With a tap to the screen, she tossed her phone to the side, and wrapped her satin robe around herself.

  Strong. Sexy. Confident. That was her plan.

  Answering the door in her robe with her hair a tangled bun atop her head wasn’t exactly what she’d intended. That wouldn’t project that image at all. Too late, though. She had to embrace it.

  Wearing only a few strokes of mascara and glossed lips, Liz opened the door. She leaned against the frame and offered him a sexy smile.

  Black boots, dark wash jeans, and a simple dark button-down shirt which he wore untucked. The outside light reflected off his bald head. Had he combed his beard? The thought had her recalling the unexpected softness of the blond facial hair along her shoulder before he whispered dirty things into her ear and a slight chill of excitement rippled through her.

  When her gaze met his, he gifted her with a lop-sided smile. “You are significantly under dressed.”

  Joining him in a slight chuckle, she suspected that her state of undress, while unexpected, was appreciated. If that didn’t stroke her ego, she didn’t know what would. She stepped back, opening the door wider to allow him entrance.