SPARROW (ODIN’S FURY MOTORCYCLE CLUB Book 2) Read online

  SPARROW

  ODIN’S FURY MOTORCYCLE CLUB #2

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Note From Author

  About the Author

  SPARROW

  Copyright © 2021 by Victoria Jayne

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: September 2021

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-410-5

  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.

  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 husband, Josh, who supports my dreams and tells me to keep pursuing them. Thank you, Bill, for being my resource for all things, biker. And Booktok After Dark, thank you for always being there.

  Chapter 1

  Jacob “Romeo” Karolsson

  Rolling his head to crack his neck, Romeo stepped out onto the concrete when he exited Lewis and Clark County Jail. His third conviction for assault meant he received the maximum penalty in Montana—six months in the county jail and a five hundred dollar fine. The annoyance was a mere money-making scheme for the county. He swore the cops viewed Odin’s Fury Motorcycle Club as a cash piñata. Every fucking quarter was a damn shakedown in the form of arrests of club members, or potential members, usually prospects.

  It wasn’t that he was sloppy, on the contrary. His first conviction had been him taking the fall for a patched member while he prospected. The second had been unexpected when the girlfriend of someone who owed the club money was where she wasn’t supposed to be. This last one, the third one, well, he’d trusted a prospect to cut the closed-circuit cameras. He missed one. He should’ve known the fucker was too green.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he’d be running for political office anytime soon. Everyone wearing a one percent patch did time at some point. It wasn’t just a decorative patch—it meant something. Their club wasn’t exactly on the up and up with everything they did. Sure, they had a few legitimate businesses—the auto repair shop, the strip club—but really, their substantial income didn’t come from anything Uncle Sam knew about. So, it was inevitable someone would get caught occasionally. There was no such thing as the perfect criminal. It’d just been Romeo’s turn. Again.

  Running his tongue along his bottom teeth, he squinted into the bright midday sun and smiled when his gaze landed on his bike, shining, freshly washed. Going without pussy, though annoying, was easily managed while in jail. But not being able to ride was enough to drive a guy crazy. He didn’t know how any patches could stand being away from their bikes for years or even lifetimes. He had a newfound empathy for his brothers serving life sentences with no possibility of ever feeling the wind on their faces again. There was just something about riding that soothed his soul. It was in his DNA.

  Seeing his Fat Boy had his palms itching for the throttle. He was mere steps away from the vibration between his thighs and the wind through his hair. This was what he dreamt about while behind bars. This was his world.

  Some guys dreamed of their families or the women they could be fucking. Not Romeo. All he could think of while locked away were the miles he could have ridden—the curves he could have leaned into—and all the sunny days he missed on his bike. Bikers are a different kind of breed of man. Born into this life – he knew nothing else.

  A squeal drew his focus away from his baby when Molly jumped and ran toward him. Goddamnit. Reflexively he’d caught her—another thing he regretted. He glared at his bald, stocky sponsor while the brassy-haired club slut he’d been tapping on the regular before he got locked up dangled from his neck.

  The shit-eating grin meant Dash hadn’t lost his sense of humor and he knew exactly what he’d done by bringing the woman.

  “Finally!” Her high-pitched chirp rang in Romeo’s ear when her arms and legs wrapped around him like she were some sort of baby lemur monkey. Rolling his eyes, he did his best to try to peel her off. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought her to be part octopus. Every time he thought he freed himself of a limb, she took hold again somewhere else.

  This was supposed to be a good day. He was reunited with his bike, he’d sleep in his own bed tonight, and he’d be with his brothers again. But no. Dash brought this fucking club whore who clung to him like a leech, peppering him with annoying kisses.

  Doing his best to dodge the shower of pecks she bestowed upon him, Romeo continued to try to kill Dash with his eyes. Now would be the perfect time to develop one of those cool super powers from the comic books where he could shoot lasers from his eyes.

  The older biker snickered. Fucking bastard.

  “I missed you so much,” she said between affections. Holy hell, she needed to back off.

  He didn’t know what got the message through, but she finally relented. Somehow, in his many yanks and swats, he got her to unhook her ankles. She unwrapped her legs from him but still hung off his neck.

  Trying not to trip over her, he took awkward steps forward while the woman kissed him. She blocked his view of his bike. The one thing he’d looked forward to for the last six months, and she stood between him and it. If she didn’t move out of the damn way, he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t throw her.

  He wanted his bike, not pussy right now. Pussy could wait. There was plenty of pussy, but he had only one bike.

  Once he got close to Dash, his sponsor held out the leather. “Kept it safe for you, brother,” he said. “Want a butt?”

  “Jesus-fucking-Christ-on-a-cracker, Molly, get off for a second,” Romeo hissed. “Nah.” He waved a dismissive hand toward Dash. “Quit inside.”

  Pouting, she peeled herself from him and stood watching as he slid his well-worn leather over his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to reacquaint himself with the feeling of his cut. Six months was a long ass time to be without a part of himself. It’d been like missing a layer of skin.

  The rectangle patch on the front which read his road name, Romeo, carried smudges from wear. Gone was the blaring white newness from when he’d first received it. His fingers trailed along the letters on his side, FFFF. Forever Fury. Fury Forever. The corner of his mouth slid upward into half a grin as he found the errant thread from the final F. He reminded himself to stitch it on better, despite the comfort he found in that Forever F still
hanging on.

  He hadn’t gotten a chance to get club ink yet. His cut was all the club colors he had. Odin’s profile with his axes crossed over his shield. The symbol of his club—the purpose of his life—the reason he got up the morning. Being away from his cut had been like having his arm severed from his body. He needed to rectify anyone being able to take his colors from him. Club ink. That was third on his agenda of things to do now that he was out—get a club tattoo. So, he’d never be truly without again.

  “Do we need to start calling you Nancy?” Dash broke into his moment of peace.

  Still only a member while the bald biker was an officer, all he could do was glare, and he could only do that because it was just the three of them. If anyone else had shown up, he would’ve had to show restraint.

  Chuckling in response, his club brother whistled. “Come on, girly, we gotta go to the clubhouse.”

  Molly’s brown eyes widened before they darted between the two. “Wait.” She slipped her hand against Romeo’s. “You’re not gonna let me on the back?”

  Romeo snorted. “Fuck no.” The words came without a moment of hesitation. He stepped away from her and mounted his bike with a blissful groan. It felt good to have her between his legs again. Sliding his hands over the rubber grips, he flexed his fingers. “Get in the truck with Dash. I need to take my girl for a ride.”

  Firing up the bike, he let out a proud chuckle. She sounded spectacular, if not better than when he’d left her. Busy in his admiration for his bike, he ignored the daggers Molly threw as she stared at him. Instead, he focused on the feel of the bike rumbling beneath him while he shoved the helmet on and buckled the straps beneath his chin.

  Molly wasn’t his. She wanted to be. You’d have to be deaf and blind not to see it, and fuck Dash for bringing her along. He knew. Goddamn shit-stirrer that he was.

  She’d made it clear as hell the two times out of four she visited Romeo. The first time, he was curious about why she bothered. Doing time got lonely and he didn’t have anything else to do. Then she started talking about when he got out, and he knew her intentions. However, the jail wasn’t the place to turn a bitch down. So, he’d let her talk.

  When she showed up twice after that, he refused to go out of his cell. Nope. He wasn’t about to involve himself with that shit. Romeo would avoid drama at all costs if he could. Club whores, if given too much leeway, brought nothing but drama. Growing up around the club, he’d seen it far too many times. Brothers who didn’t keep the limits clear with those women found themselves in a world of shit.

  No thank you. He didn’t need that shit.

  The fourth time, when she clearly didn’t understand, he agreed to go to the visitor’s room, but only because she’d forced his hand. He couldn’t have her keep coming. Eventually, she’d cause a scene. He needed to put a stop to it. So he came out of his cell to see her. However, he only stayed long enough to tell her to stop showing up. He didn’t even linger for her shocked protests.

  He’d thought she understood. She stopped coming. He’d thought she’d gotten the hint. Apparently not. Another talk was on the horizon, and he hated having this talk.

  She was still a club slut. Molly wasn’t even a girl a guy reserved. Sometimes, guys took a shine to a girl and didn’t want to share. He’d sort of permanently reserve her. The brothers wouldn’t go to her, but it didn’t make her his Ol’ Lady. Romeo hadn’t done that.

  She could’ve fucked all of his brothers while he’d been locked up. That was fine. It didn’t bother him any, but she wasn’t the type of woman Romeo wanted. If he ever took an Ol’ Lady, it would be someone from outside the club. And that was a big if.

  Walking the bike back, he pushed that out of his mind. He pushed Molly out of his mind. There was plenty of time to think about Molly and her bullshit. Right now, he needed to focus on something he enjoyed. He wanted to feel the wind against his face and the vibration of his bike beneath him. He’d cut her off completely after this. He had no need for a bitch who caught feelings. There were plenty of willing women waiting at the clubhouse.

  Maybe he’d find a brunette this time. He’d always liked brunettes—with curly hair.

  And freckles.

  Green eyes.

  Okay, now that was a thought he really needed to push out of his damn mind.

  Pulling the clutch, he revved the bike a few times just to hear the beautiful music she could make. He let out another orgasmic groan only for his ears, beneath the deafening bursts of power. He missed her. Releasing the clutch, he twisted the throttle and the bike shot forward with a thunderous roar.

  Six months behind bars. Six months of sharing a cell smelling someone else’s body odor and farts. He needed this. This was freedom. The open road, nothing between him and the wind.

  Lifting his chin, he let it flow over him, around him, past him as he picked up speed, pushing the bike again. Not too hard. It’d fucking suck getting a speeding ticket within minutes of getting out of county. The idea gave him a laugh.

  Ten minutes on his bike and already the shit ass mood Molly put him in had evaporated. Riding was the only therapy that worked. It settled his mind. It made everything better.

  Two hours later, Romeo punched the code into the gate, and it slid open. Easy on the clutch, he rolled his bike through the gate, waiting for it to close behind him before he continued his way down the drive toward the clubhouse.

  Grinning when he saw the line of bikes outside, he parked at the end. Leaning against the wall, Jennings, the prospect who’d missed the surveillance camera, watched over the bikes. He took a second to just revel in the moment. His bike was in line with his father’s and the other members of Odin’s Fury. He wore the same club colors and had a full patch. He was a member. He’d earned his patch and he was home. Closing his eyes, he took a deep inhale of the free air.

  Fucking amazing.

  “Romeo, dude, I—”

  Holding up a hand, Romeo shook his head. It didn’t matter. Undoing the buckle of his helmet before he pulled it off, he regarded the tall bulky army vet wearing dark jeans and a white shirt under his prospect cut.

  “It was on a different system,” he offered the excuse. It did no good holding grudges against brothers or future brothers. Dismounting the bike, he hugged the man with a slap on the back. “You might have just given me the out I need to get Molly off my ass.”

  Jennings laughed and scrubbed the back of his neck when they parted. “I wouldn’t mind her ass,” he commented.

  With a laugh, Romeo nodded. “Have at it.”

  “Hey-o, Nancy!” Dash’s high-pitched whistle cut through the air followed by his shout. “Get your ass inside. Prez needs to see you.”

  Sharing a look with Jennings, Romeo took a deep breath and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Monty, the president of Odin’s Fury Motorcycle Club’s mother chapter, rarely spoke to members privately. Usually, all orders came through the officers or while they were in church—their club meetings. So, to be called to see Monty, well fuck, he’d been locked up, what could he have screwed up to earn the president’s attention?

  Keeping his head high, he walked through the roaring party in the clubhouse behind Dash. Once he’d trudged up the steps, at the top he turned to go to Monty’s office. No weaseling out of it. The anticipation coursing through him was laced with curiosity and only a bit of anxiety.

  He couldn’t fail at being a brother. He couldn’t shame his father like that. It just wasn’t acceptable. It wasn’t something he would allow to happen.

  “Here,” his sponsor said, standing in the doorway of church.

  Blinking a few times, Romeo couldn’t make his feet move. Church?

  His sponsor wore his typical resting asshole face, which gave him absolutely nothing. Or did it? Goddamnit, was he being purposely grave? This couldn’t be good. Fuck. This wasn’t good. Fucking bad—so fucking bad. Clenching his teeth, he finally got his body moving.

  Church was to vote on club business. He’d been out of
jail for less than a day. What the hell kind of business did the club have that Monty needed him there? Shit. The kind of business that would mean his ass—that’s what kind.

  There were only a few steps between Monty’s office and church. That gave him plenty of time to run scenarios through his head. Was it three strikes and he was out? Shit. Fuck. Arrests happened. There wasn’t a patched member who didn’t have at least one arrest.

  What was he going to do? Argue with them? Debate them to keep his patch?

  Steeling his expression, he entered the large room behind Dash. The huge oak table with the Odin’s Fury emblem carved into it was at the center of the room. High-back office chairs surrounded it. At the head sat Monty, gavel in hand. To his right sat Tex, the Vice President and Romeo’s father. Clark, Sargent at Arms; Rooster, Road Captain; Teller, Treasurer and Romeo’s uncle; and all the other officers filled most of the remaining seats.

  There was no more intimidating sight than the leadership of a one percent club staring at him. Even though he’d known most of them his entire life, there was something different in their gazes. These weren’t his uncles anymore. These were the men of Odin’s Fury, Montana—the mother chapter. These were the men who’d decide his fate.

  Romeo took a deep breath and held it.

  When the door closed behind him, he leaned against it as though he needed it to stand. There was an empty seat at the foot of the table after Dash took his. Romeo didn’t take it. It felt like a trap.