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Biker Born: The Lost Souls MC Series (The Lost Souls Series Book 4)

Ellie R. Hunter

  Biker Born

  The Lost Souls MC


  Ellie R Hunter

  Ellie R Hunter

  Biker Born

  © 2015 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.

  Cover Design by

  Also by Ellie R Hunter

  Incurable Hearts…An Eternal Love Story

  The Lost Souls MC Series

  Biker Bait

  Biker Faith

  Biker Bound

  Table of Contents

  PART ONE– 1984
















  PART TWO – 1990





























  PART ONE– 1984



  “Cheers, may they rest in peace, brother,” Michael snorts, as I raise my beer to him and lounge back against the couch at our booth in the corner of the bar.

  “Michael, please,” urging him to talk to me. “When are you going to acknowledge they’re not coming back?”

  In a tragic car accident one year ago today, our parent’s died on impact when a trucker, drunk off his ass, ploughed into their car.

  “Oh, I acknowledge it Mark. Doesn’t mean I want to raise my fuckin’ glass to their deaths.”

  Neither Michael nor I were around when it happened and it eats away at my brother more than it is me. I was in the Marine Corps and didn’t find out until two days before their funeral. I barely made it back in time to see their coffins lowered into the ground. Michael hadn’t been told about their deaths until I told him myself on the next prison visit that I could get with him. He wasn’t allowed out for the funeral, he was handed a two year sentence for assault and was deemed too much of a risk to be allowed out to say goodbye. I was surprised he was released at all. Since he got out six months ago, I have tried to get him to say goodbye at their graves in the cemetery but he always refuses. Up till now he has refused to talk much about it at all. I know my brother, if he doesn’t put himself in a position where he has to front up to it then he can make himself feel better thinking it never happened.

  He was already in lock up for a year before it happened and had shunned our mother’s insistence to visit him, a choice he now and will forever regret.

  “Then raise your glass to their lives, to raising us and giving us everything we possibly needed,” I spit, beginning to lose my patience with him.

  “They were good people, Mark. They didn’t deserve to die. We should be tracking down the asshole that got away with murder,” he growls.

  So this is what he has been holding to. I take a deep breath wondering how to reach him so he understands. Michael has always been a ‘hit first and ask questions later’ kind of guy. It only served him well until it didn’t and I wasn’t around to keep him out of trouble, and trouble has a habit of following my brother around on a daily basis. He has no direction, no level of control that would help him look at the bigger picture around him. I have always tried to do this for him but when I left he had no one. Our parents couldn’t understand where his anger came from. No one could.

  Sitting here now, I look at him. He’s a grown man and a very strong one. At six foot one inch, he’s more than capable of looking out for himself. He’s underestimated a lot of the time because although tall, he’s slender and lean with it. Unless you catch him with his shirt off you wouldn’t know he’s muscular with each muscle defined to the point he looks like an action man doll. It’s then I realise I don’t know how to reach him because I’m just as lost as he is. When I think of my sweet, loving mother sprawled along the roadside it takes everything inside me not to track down the guy myself and make him disappear.

  “What do you need to get past this?” I ask him.

  “Get past it? Fuck, Mark. They were our parents, do you think we should be able to get over it, ever?”

  “I will never forget them, they will always be with me. But there will come a time when we move on with our own lives like they would want for us. So tell me, what do you need?”

  He leans forward on the table between us and dips his head closer to mine.

  “I need him to be buried deeper than our parents are. If it wasn’t for him they would still be here and I wouldn’t be on my own.”

  The pain in his voice slices through me like a hot knife through butter and knocks me back. He has always had a quick temper and from what I’ve heard since I came home, a short fuse for violence. But what he needs is murder born from his own hands.

  I stare at him still unsure of what to say, he’s deadly serious and maintains my stare until his lips pull up at the corner and he grins, looking almost evil.

  “Then you’d have to live with that for the rest of your life,” I say.

  The laugh that erupts, from deep down in his gut takes me back. “Do you think I’d lose sleep over that little fact?” he says, continuing to laugh.

  He shakes his head and drains the rest of his whiskey in one mouthful.

  “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, marine boy. I know you’re capable of it and you know I am too. For our parents, you know what we should do.”

  “Yeah, and who are the cops going to come looking for first when they find his body? We’d be prime suspects. Go home and stop drinking before you do something that will land you back behind bars for the rest of your breathing days.”

  “You’ve always been the same,” he mutters, going to raise the glass in his hand to his mouth, only stopping when he remembers it’s empty.

  “Promise me you won’t
do anything stupid yet, and not on your own. Just let me think about it,” I say, hoping this will placate him enough tonight not to rush into any half-hearted plans.

  He knows he has me where he wants me and knowing my brother, he will bide his time for me to stand by his side.

  “Found any work yet?” he asks, casually.

  And just like that the violence in his eyes is gone. I flow with the shift in the tension between us and shake my head.

  “I don’t have much cash left and if I don’t find any work soon I don’t know what I’ll do,” I admit.

  “Let me get you another drink then so you don’t have to cut into your grocery money,” he chuckles.

  Before I can decline he is at the bar with the barmaid’s attention solely on him. I’ll give him his dues. He has women all over him wherever he goes without even having to try.

  Old habits I guess, but I watch his every move. With Michael, trouble can happen in the blink of an eye and it seems tonight is no exception.

  He leaves the bar with our drinks grinning like the cat who got the cream and is holding on to a beer mat, no doubt the barmaid’s number. Halfway between the bar and our booth a drunk knocks into him from the side causing his whiskey to topple out of his hand and smash to the floor.

  I jump out of my seat knowing this isn’t going to end well. Keeping my eyes on Michael every second I know he isn’t going to walk away from this without kicking off.

  The drunk guy stumbles back as Michael shoves him away from him and he holds his hands up, but I know this won’t be enough for Michael.

  “I don’t want no trouble,” the drunk guy slurs, noticing Michael was the wrong guy to stumble into.

  Michael rolls his neck and turns to face him.

  “I don’t want you near me but here we find we don’t always get what we want.” Michael sneers.

  I move closer as the look in Michael’s eyes become like a predator about to pounce on his prey.

  When he takes a step closer to the drunk I grab onto his arm. He tries to shrug me off never turning away from the drunk guy but I squeeze tighter.

  “Learn when to walk away, choose your fights, Michael. This punk isn’t worth going back to jail for,” I urge, trying to calm him down.

  The guy is drunk and should be at home sleeping it off. From what I saw he didn’t intentionally cross Michael’s path, so for the sake of an accident and my brother’s freedom, I try to defuse the situation.

  Michael looks to me and for a minute, I think I have gotten through to him.

  “Yeah, walk away, man.”

  For less than a second I close my eyes and wish the drunk guy would just have kept his mouth shut.

  For his own good and before Michael makes matters worse, I reach out and slam the drunk guy’s head on the table and watch as he drops to the floor. No more messing around. I force Michael out of the bar and push him towards our bikes.

  As soon as I release him he turns on me and I see the younger version of my brother before I left him to join the Marines. He looks so lost and angry at the same time.

  He swipes his black hair away from his eyes and glares at me.

  “You tell me to walk away then you knock the guy out yourself. You’re such a fuckin’ hypocrite,” he yells.

  I know he has a point but I try to justify myself anyway.

  “Yeah, I did. I left once he hit the ground though, you wouldn’t have would you? You wouldn’t have stopped until you found that release you seem to need.”

  “You always do this, you come steaming in trying to be the hero…”

  I cut in because I can’t listen to this bullshit again.

  “All I want is for you to think more. I’m not completely fuckin’ clueless. I know you’re going to get into fights, it’s who you are but I want you to control yourself. That guy was simply too drunk to walk and accidently fell into you. Instead of laughing at him, you wanted to rip his head off.”

  “I have control,” he grinds out.

  “Then fuckin’ use it,” I snap, feeling his weight on my shoulders.

  “Fuck this, I’m out of here.”

  I stand there surrounded by the glow of the street lamp and watch him swing his leg over his bike and ride off. It’s becoming harder to watch him go down like this. When we were younger I never needed to watch out for him when it came to school yard fights, most of the time it was he who was the cause of them. Neither of our parents had to ask for me, as his big brother, to look out for him in that sense. I looked out for him because I needed to make sure he never went too far. I’d hoped he would grow out of it but at twenty-four he only seems to be getting worse and the death of our parents hasn’t helped.

  Throwing my own leg over my bike, I bring the engine to life and pull away from the bar and head for home where tonight sleep will hopefully find me.



  I don’t know if it’s the sun blinding my eyes or someone banging on the door that wakes me first, probably a combination of the two.

  Rolling onto my back and keeping my eyes closed for a moment while the banging seems to have stopped, I try to fall back into the darkness that I only found a couple of hours ago. When the next round of banging starts I throw back the sheets and go to see who the hell is trying to pound their way through my door.

  I yank open the door to find Micky with his hand clumped in a fist ready to bang again.

  “You better have a good God damn reason for waking me up this early,” I warn him. We’ve been friends since we were six years old and would race our beaten up bikes up and down our street.

  “It’s after ten, man. You should tuck yourself in a little earlier if you call this early,” he chuckles, walking past me and into the kitchen.

  I may never have needed to look out for Michael when we were younger, but Micky sure needed a little help. Because he was smaller than every kid at school, not just the boys but most girls too, he was always targeted by the bigger kids. They thought he was easy pickings, he would never cry or run away but his size stopped him from being able to fight back, he was always overpowered. That was until myself and the third friend in our little group, John ‘Oak’ Johnson stepped in and took him under our wing.

  He stands at only five foot eight, but like Michael, Micky is also underestimated because of his size. They see his size as his weakness but Micky long ago learned to use it as his strength. He is unbelievably fast on his toes and unless you hit him first, he will take anyone double his size down.

  Realizing I have no coffee in the cupboards, I grab two beers from the fridge and tell myself it isn’t too early these days. It isn’t like I have a job to go to.

  “So what has you banging down my door?” I ask, taking a seat at the small table with him and sliding his beer over.

  He raises an eyebrow at me, questioning my offer of a beer before shrugging his shoulders and popping the top off.

  “Oak wants us to meet him,” he says.

  “Where? And why this early?”

  “He didn’t say much apart from he’ll meet us at a diner at noon, it’s about a two hour ride from here.”

  “Where the hell is he?” I ask, thinking back to the last time I saw him. He hadn’t mentioned anything about leaving town.

  “In some town called Willows Peak.”

  Like Micky, I have known Oak since we were kids. The three of us together day and night every day. Micky was the only one out of the three of us that didn’t join the Marines. He always wrote to us though, every month without fail. Apart from the last couple of days, I always know Oak’s whereabouts and with the shit with Michael I haven’t noticed he hasn’t been around.

  I know my friend, and if he wants us to ride out for two hours to a town we haven’t heard of before it will be for a good reason. He wouldn’t give us the run around on a whim.

  With that in mind and knowing I probably won’t hear from Michael till he calms down, I get dressed and ride out of town.

  Three hour
s and two wrong turns later we finally pull into the car lot of the diner that Oak told Micky to come to. We both see Oak’s bike parked near the entrance and know we’re finally in the right place.

  “What’s he doing out here?” Micky asks, as if I suddenly have the answers.

  I shrug and open the door before sliding my sunglasses off and scanning the diner for our friend. The place looks new and it is relatively quiet for lunch time. Oak is sitting up the counter and laughing with a waitress. He turns to us when Micky calls out.

  Sliding off the stool his huge frame stands tall and broad. Wide set shoulders branch out, hence his nickname, which he gained as soon as he hit puberty and grew to the size of a fucking tree overnight.

  “Oak, man. What the hell are you doing out here?”

  “You made it,” he smiles, walking over to us.

  I pull him into me and slap his back, “Good to see you, man.”

  “Yeah, you going to tell us what we’re here for?” Micky asks, desperate to know.

  Oak slides into a booth by the window and Micky and I follow.

  “Hi guys, I’m Flo, I’ll be your waitress for today. What can I get you?”

  It is the girl who Oak was chatting with when we walked in. As soon as Micky looks up from the menu he’s a goner. The waitress’s dark brown hair all tied back away from her face lets him see her round, tanned, flawless complexion. When he looks into her deep, brown eyes I doubt he will be able to pull himself back out of them. Oak and I watch with amusement as Micky lets his eyes roam from her face down her body and if it was possible in the last thirty seconds it looks like he has just fallen head over ass in love.

  As much as this little scene amuses me, I’m hungry and desperately in need of coffee.

  “Excuse me, I’ll have a coffee, black, with eggs and bacon,” I say.

  Oak rattles of his order and Micky is still sitting there with his mouth hanging open staring at the waitress before him.

  Oak being closest to him, shoves his elbow in his ribs to snap him out of it.