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The Club Betrayal : Sons of Lost Souls MC - Book Eight

Ellie R. Hunter

  The Club Betrayal

  #8 Sons of Lost Souls MC series

  Ellie R Hunter

  The Club Betrayal

  #8 Sons of Lost Souls MC series


  Ellie R. Hunter

  Ellie R. Hunter

  The Club Betrayal

  © 2020 Ellie R Hunter


  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.


  Also, by Ellie R Hunter


  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


  Also, by Ellie R Hunter


  A Dance of War

  The Lost Souls MC Series

  Biker Bait

  Biker Faith

  Biker Bound

  Biker Born

  Biker Saviour

  Biker Taken

  Biker Torn

  Biker Ruined

  Biker Salvation

  Sons of Lost Souls MC: His Father’s Son

  His Selfish Love

  His Ride or Die

  Her Crazy Life

  His One Regret

  His One Choice

  Their Fractured Souls

  His Last Chance

  The Club Betrayal


  I move the food around on my plate, the shepherd’s pie long gone cold. Mom’s no more interested in her dinner than I am, with both of us more focused on the untouched plate sitting at the head of the table. I get why she cooks for him every night, but more often than not, he’s a no-show. It’s been three months since he last ate at this table with us, and with each day that passes, Mom grows more anxious, and can barely look me in the eye.

  While Mom’s anxiety reaches new levels, I feel nothing but anger toward him. I don’t understand why she lets him get away with it. My father works for the government, though I don’t know what it is he does exactly, as I’m repeatedly told it’s none of my business. He rarely, if ever—especially in front of me—talks about his work when he’s home. But, on occasion, I’ve heard him whispering to Mom in their bedroom, which to me, only proves how important and secretive his job is.

  “Eat your dinner, sweetheart,” Mom urges.

  “When’s Dad coming home?”

  I ask this every day, getting only her usual response of “soon.” But tonight, she sighs, and drops her fork onto her plate. “I don’t know.”

  “Have you spoken to him lately?”

  For the first time in my life, I’m witnessing my mom worry, and that in itself worries the hell out of me.

  “Not in the last two weeks,” she admits, finally meeting my gaze.

  Two weeks? That’s unheard of!

  “Is he coming home? Are you two having problems I’m not aware of?”

  “No,” she snaps. “There’s no problem. Your dad always comes home to us, and this time is no exception.”

  I’d believe her if her voice didn’t tremble.

  “If you’re not going to finish your dinner, you can clear the table and start on the dishes. I’m done.”

  I rarely argue with my mother, being that I know when to push the boundaries with her and when not to. The atmosphere tonight is telling me not to demand answers I know she won’t give me. Maybe even answers she doesn’t have.

  Pushing up out of my chair, it scrapes against the tiled floor, breaking the silence.

  Her gaze darts past me, the wheels in her mind spinning out of control, but I keep my mouth shut and grab our dishes. Taking them over to the sink, I scrape the leftovers into the trash when someone bangs on the back door.

  Mom jumps up from her seat and runs into the kitchen. Dragging a stool from the island, she climbs up and reaches for something on top of the cupboard.

  Staring at her, confused as to what she’s doing, another round of banging pulls my attention away from her, and I go to open the door.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  Stopping, I turn around to find her spinning the chamber of a gun and cocking it, a look of determination on her face. First, what the fuck? And second, how does my mother, a woman who teaches art and history at the local school, know how to handle a gun? A gun, I add, I didn’t know was in the house.

  “Go to your room, and don’t come down unless you hear me tell you to.”

  No longer is she the worried wife or secretive mother. She’s someone I’ve never met before.

  “Are you crazy? There’s no way I’m leaving you. Jesus, you’re holding a fucking gun!”

  “Do as you’re told,” she hisses. “And curse at me one more time, you’ll regret it.”

  Trust Mom to scold me for my language when she’s the one acting like The Terminator.

  Heading out of the kitchen, I hover in the hallway, out of sight. There’s no way I’m leaving her to fend for herself.

  “Who is it?” she calls out, sounding like a chirpy, 1950s housewife, walking slowly toward the door.

  Another round of knocking echoes through the house, but this time, its rapping sounds unique, like a code. A code my mom apparently understands, because she slams the gun down on the counter and rushes to open the door.

  Dad falls through it, and lands on the tiled floor in a heap. Even from here, I can see he’s been badly beaten.

  My feet move before my brain can instruct them to, and I’m at his side, dropping to my knees.

  “What happened, Dad?”

  He drags his eyes away from Mom, who’s busy checking him over, and looks at me. A ghostly smile surfaces, but then Mom is twisting his face forward so he’s looking at her.

  “They know,” he tells her.

  “Who? What do they know?” I demand.

  Mom doesn’t question him. Instead, she instructs me to help get him up.

  Together, we get him into a chair at the table, causing him to clutch his side, wincing in pain.

  “How bad?” Mom asks.

  “He got me in the side, and everywhere else you can see. Angelo figured me out, but luckily, it was just me and him, though the club will know by now who I really am.”

  Club? I take another look at him, and as my eyes roam down his body, I n
otice the leather and patches he’s wearing.

  Grabbing a bowl of soapy water and a handful of towels, she snaps,

  “I thought I told you to go up to your room?”

  “You did.”

  “Son, you should listen to your mother. This is nothing.”

  Nothing? I find nothing funny about any of this, but an incredulous laugh escapes past my lips.

  “I’m not leaving. I want to know what happened to you, and why you’re dressed like something out of a movie?”

  Mom’s concentrating on cleaning the blood from dad’s face, but his attention is on me.

  “Then you should sit and listen very carefully to what I have to say, because after tonight, we’ll be gone from here, and you’ll never be able to contact your friends again.”

  Pulling out a chair, I drag it closer to my parents.

  “You’ve always wondered what I do for work. The reason I’ve never told you is because I work undercover for the FBI, infiltrating criminal organisations to help bring them down. Most of that work involves motorcycle clubs.”

  Okay, now I understand the patched leather vest. Everything is finally making sense.

  “And Mom knew?”

  She remains quiet as he nods.

  “It’s how we met. The first time I met your mother, she had just killed her father, the president of a violent, powerful motorcycle club, and she wanted to die.”

  I gasp, and he takes a moment to clear his throat.

  “You wanted to know, so listen. I was undercover for a rival club, and things got messy. Her father’s men wanted her dead, and they nearly succeeded by shooting her. Luckily, it was in the leg. She survived, as you can see, because I hid her at my place. I made it my mission to protect her, even though she’ll tell you she didn’t need it.”

  Mom smiles at Dad, and he returns it. “In the end, a lot of men were arrested and sent to prison. Most of them are still there.”

  I have so many questions, but the one that first comes to mind is, “Why did you kill your dad?”

  “Like your father said, he was a very powerful man whose brothers always came first, even before me, his daughter. I grew up around men you couldn’t even begin to understand, but to me, it was normal—something I was used to. My father only understood loyalty. You were either with him or against him. You followed his rules or you paid the price, and I paid the ultimate price. He found out I was planning to run off to college, which was at the same time one of the brothers killed a woman. Instead of having the police find her, and to keep them from sniffing around his club, he told me I would have to take the fall. I refused, of course, When I refused, he had his men hold me down, poured whiskey over my hands, and used a blowtorch to burn them to a crisp. I passed out from the pain, and when I woke up, I was lying beside Maria’s dead body with the police surrounding us. The bastard set me up for her murder, and I spent ten years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit.”

  “Not only that, but she endured brutality there you couldn’t begin to imagine. Your mother has suffered terribly—”

  “Until I met your father.”

  With Dad’s face cleaned of blood, I can see the cut above his left brow and the gash in his bottom lip. He’s going to have some shiners come morning. But it’s the wound below his ribs that concerns me the most when Mom lifts his shirt.

  “You two told me you met at college over in England. Is everything you’ve ever told me a lie?”

  “Yes, and we’re not going to sugarcoat or hide it any longer. You’re old enough to understand and know the truth,” Mom replies matter-of-factly as she inspects dad’s stab wound.

  “So this is why we move every couple of years? Because you get found out by the bad guys?”

  “Yes, son. So many innocent people get caught up in this world, and I’m doing what I can to try to save them.”

  Scrubbing my hands over my face, I blow out a heavy breath, trying to digest what I’ve been told.

  Everything I’ve ever known is a lie. My parents have been living in a world much different to the one they’ve created for me. They’ve kept me safe, given me anything I’ve ever wanted, all while Dad’s been trying to save the fucking world.

  I don’t even know what to think right now, but to follow in their footsteps seems like the right path forward.

  Chapter One


  Jogging up the stairs feels like I’m climbing a mountain I’ll never reach the top of. Eyes are everywhere, ears listening to every conversation. Trust has all but vanished, the patch the only thing tying the brothers together.

  In my room, I’m careful to lock the door behind me, twisting the knob to double check that it’s locked.

  Dragging the rug out of my way, I use the old rusted crowbar I found out back to lift the floorboard where a burner phone and my notebook are hidden. Leaving the book, I reach for the cell and punch in the one number I have memorised. It rings and rings, and I’m about to hang up when the only person I trust in the world answers.


  “Fucking hell, Ethan! It’s about time you called. Where the hell are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter where I am. I’m calling because Bert Collins is here.”

  The line goes silent, and then I hear him shuffling around, no doubt finding a quiet place he can talk.

  “Where is here?”

  I relent, knowing I won’t get answers unless I offer him some information in return.

  “I’m with the Lost Souls MC. Trouble was coming for them, and it turned out it was because of him.”

  “Dammit, son. What the fuck are you doing with them?”

  “It doesn’t matter right now. I need to know if Bert would know I existed?”

  Sitting on the bed, I run my hand through my hair, awaiting his reply.

  “He shouldn’t. He was locked up a long time ago, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Why?”

  “Because he kept glancing at me, like maybe I looked familiar. And before he left, he told the club they have a rat.”

  When my father is angry, he balloons his cheeks and blows out his frustrations, which I can hear him doing now.

  “Get out of there, now—today! Do you realise what they’ll do to you before they kill you, especially if they find out your dad’s a fed?

  Memories of my father falling to the kitchen floor, stabbed and beaten. My mother’s scarred hands cleaning his bloodied face and tending his wounds. Yeah, I know why I’m here. Clubs like this don’t deserve to get away with the murders they commit and the pain they cause to others. It was completely by chance that I stumbled across the Lost Souls. They were on one of their runs, so I followed them to Willow’s Peak. It was easy enough to get a prospect patch from there, and the rest was history.

  “I can’t do that, Dad. I’m so close to ending them. I have a literal gold mine of information.”

  With that, I hang up before he can argue with me, turn off the phone, and place it back in its hiding spot. Putting the board in place, I cover the floor with the rug and take a seat on the edge of the bed.

  The plan was simple. I would prospect, earn my patch, collect information and evidence, and finally take them down. Then, I would go home, knowing I had saved innocent people from having to die at the hands of men who don’t wish to live by the law.

  Nothing was really happening until the Hayward’s came sniffing around, wanting to partner up, and now I have more than I ever thought I’d collect. However, I need to come up with a new plan; one that sees me getting out of here faster than originally planned.

  Heading back down to the bar, I seek out Cas and Sparky, who are sitting with Pope. For tonight, I’ll keep my eyes alert and my ears to the ground, concentrating on what the brothers are doing and saying.

  Ordering a beer, I slide onto a stool and keep my head down, making out like I’m minding my own business.

  The tension in my shoulders relaxes a little when I hear a few brothers voicing how they believe Bert is full of s
hit, and what better way to undo the bond of the club than to cast doubt among the men? But then, the tension’s back when one of the brothers say, “There’s no smoke without fire.”

  Victoria catches my attention when she slides onto a stool at the other end of the bar—another victim of the so-called “brotherhood”—where the prospect hands her a bottle of water. She’s lost her hearing, all because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, around men acting like they can get away with anything. Hell, she doesn’t know any different. She was born into this life, and will suffer because of it.

  When Luca sidles up beside her, she freezes. No one talks about their relationship, as most people don’t give a shit. Others blow it off, acting as if they don’t see them sneaking around, and they definitely don’t talk about how she bolts now when he’s close since our trip to Mercy. Case in point: she shrugs away, leaving him sitting at the bar, and doesn’t look back as she takes a seat with her dad and brothers.

  I shake my head, telling myself they’re not my business. Turning back to drink my beer, Zara walks in, her arm looped through another girl’s—a girl I’ve never seen before. I’d definitely remember her if I had. Her dark red hair lies straight, hanging down her back. Her wandering green eyes are bright enough for me to see from here, and her tight stomach is barely hidden beneath the belly top she’s wearing, paired with a short little skirt. Zara points to something across the room, then tips her chin toward the bar. Facing the liquor bottles, I take a long pull of my beer and grin when she leans on the bar top next to me.