Dutch (Lucifer's Breed MC Book 4): Lucifer's Breed, #4

By Ryder Dane

Sometimes being a nice guy and doing the right thing turned around and kicked a man in the head. The weather was against him, and when Mother Nature gets mad at a man, she can get her point across without the help of a certain delusional blonde.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vinvatar Publishing
• Release date: Oct 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781945012969

Book preview

Dutch

(Lucifer’s Breed MC)

By Ryder Dane

This Work is fiction.  All organizations, events, and characters named or referenced in this work are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. 

ISBN-10# 1-945012-96-X

ISBN-13# 978-1-945012-96-9

© Copyright 2016 Ryder Dane

Edited by Vinvatar Publishing

All Rights Reserved

No part of this work can be used or reproduced without written permission.

Artwork by Jess Buffett Graphic Design

Published by Vinvatar Publishing

Website: Vinvatar.com

D:\Dropbox\Vinvatar Publishing\Epub FIles\VinvatarPublishing.jpg

Prologe

If it wasn’t for the fact that one of their own had died, and was the reason for tonight’s party to send him off in an acceptable fashion, Stalker would have enjoyed himself a lot more.  As it was, he was pissed off that he wouldn’t be riding with Dutch to take care of Roark’s remains. 

He was obligated to stay in the area because Baron had to make a run to Ohio to help with renovations at the new clubhouse.  Gunner was on baby momma duty trying to keep their woman out of trouble for the next two months.  The pregnant mother was high risk, and she was keeping the two men on their toes. 

Normally it wouldn’t matter.  Dutch seemed too quiet about the task ahead.  He knew that Roark and Dutch had been in tight situations before.  They served together in the middle east.  Dutch came home with his shit together for the most part.  Roark was a crazy motherfucker to begin with, fighting people that were as crazy as he was just fueled it as far as Stalker could see.  The firefight that killed Roark was still disputable is all Stalker knew.

As far as the official report, the club had ridden almost into the middle of a trap.  It was his opinion that the trap wasn’t exactly a trap.  The opportunity presented itself, and the Rats had been over confident, thinking that they would be tough enough to kill off the Breed’s president and as many soldiers as they could mow down.  The dumb fucks hadn’t understood that men that were former military knew how to defend themselves and each other. 

If any of the Swamp Rats had served in the military in any capacity it had to be a fluke.  Those men were more animal than human most of the time, and Pappy D was one fuck up from losing his shack that they called a clubhouse, not to mention his worthless life.

Stalker had served in the Air Force.  He had twenty five in, and took an early out to help his family.  His father had gone down on his scooter with his mother perched behind him.  The old man had been celebrating a little bit too much and misjudged a turn off.  The result was that his dad was now in a chair powered by batteries, but the old man kept his shit together by joking that at least he could run his wheels down the sidewalk to feel the wind in his hair.  His mom had been pretty busted up, but she was a tough old gal.  She healed and raised hell with the family until she fell over a year ago from a heart attack.  The shock of her loss had been hell to the family that loved her. 

Stalker had had enough of death to last him for years.  Loved ones, Club members, it didn’t much matter who.  Roark showed up a few months back and Dutch began acting like that crazy fucker, so Stalker backed off.  He didn’t like Roark, never had, but he wasn’t a fucking nursemaid and wasn’t going to start with a man that he’d long considered his friend.

Maybe when Dutch got back from his mission, they would sit down and talk.

Chapter 1

Dutch had no idea which way to turn on this back woods road with nothing to recommend it to a biker like him but isolation. Roark gave him one last task to do just before he’d died, and Dutch had no intention of letting a damned dirt road stop him.

He’d come to bring Roark home.  He’d carried his ashes for a week now, and he was finally on the last leg of his journey.  This was more than club business, this was personal.  The two of them had ridden thousands of miles together as brothers over the past year, and before that, they’d served in the Army together.  They’d met in a firefight, and Roark had died in one.  It was fitting in a way, the man had a grin during times of stress that made everyone question his sanity.  No one seemed to understand why the big blonde haired man would laugh in the face of death.  It’s what made him so deadly in combat.  They would look at each other and one would shrug, indicating that they were ready to fuck someone up.

Neither man had anything but the Breed to come home to.  Before he went into the service, Roark had patched into the club in the Ohio branch of Lucifer’s Breed MC.  About the same time, Dutch was getting his first taste of club life with his uncle Thor as his sponsor, and his mentor in Juanita.  He was practically raised in the club, so it was a no brainer for him to join as soon as the club allowed his membership.  He’d been doing prospect duties since he was twelve years old and there had been no objections to his acceptance as one of them.

When his uncle died in a crash on a run, Dutch was left with no one to call his own as far as blood relatives went.  They’d all witnessed the gas truck attempt to stop, but the brakes wouldn’t hold the full tanker, when the driver steered towards the median, he failed to see Thor in his rear views.  The old man was getting it on his new scoot when he was sideswiped by the tanker that kept going sideways on the asphalt, taking the bike with it.  They went through the median and into oncoming traffic, hitting the rear end of a bakery truck.  The fireball was enough to melt both trucks and the drivers were incinerated within seconds. Thor had no chance to escape. 

Deep down Dutch knew that his uncle would have enjoyed knowing that he’d died in such a spectacular way.  The old fucker did love being the center of attention.

Roark never shared much about his past, only that anyone he might have care if he lived or died would maybe be his mother.  They’d talked about dying many times in combat, but he’d never really thought about being the one left behind to take this last ride.  He’d talked to Roark as if they were still both alive and rehashed their shared history.  Taking his brother home was the end, and since Roark’s mother had long since passed away, he hoped the currant property owners would understand and allow him to spread the small bag of ashes he had in his bags.  If they were going to be stupid about it, he would deal with them, and complete his mission anyway.

The washboard roads were a bitch to navigate, but he kept his chopper upright.  The old farm house sat on the right hand side of the road, just like Roark had told him.  The place was falling down, and he wondered if anyone lived there.  He had to ease past the deep washed out holes in the long driveway.  A mangy orange cat sat in the overgrown yard watching him.

He drove right up to the dirt path near the backdoor of the house and saw a small female figure pulling on the rope of an electric generator with no success.  She looked over her shoulder, the expression on her face suspicious.  She was a pretty little thing that appeared to be as feral as the mangy cat.  Her face was all angles and her eyes were squinted as she attempted to see who was visiting her home with the sun behind him.

He smiled at her in what he hoped was a friendly way, and set the kickstand as he shut the loud machine down.  She appeared to be ready to run away. He didn’t want to frighten her, so he stayed in the saddle and waited for her to come to him.

Kylie Jane Willard watched the big man that rode up to the house on his equally big bike and wondered if the bank had decided to take possession early.  Was this the new owner of her home?  Not that it was much of a home, but it was where her brother had dumped her off and left her with his friends eight years ago. 

The people she stayed with, Naomi and Job, had gone to prison for manufacturing Meth last summer, and she’d been doing her best to stay alive and try to keep her head above water, but she was drowning fast. If she couldn’t get the generator running soon, the few items left in the freezer would be ruined, and she would be without food once the stuff thawed.  After that, she was not only homeless, but she was going to be forced to leave this place.  How Billy would find her if she left was anyone’s guess, but she was at the very end of her resources.

The electric company had shut off the electric this morning, so if the generator could keep her in electric for a day or two, she could at least have dinner.  Usually she paid the bill by walking into town and stopping at the One Stop and Go.  They had a counter where you could buy Money Orders and pay your utility bills.  Since she bought the few grocery items that she needed at the same time, she didn’t bother going elsewhere.  It was easier than walking another half mile to the other side of town where the big box store was located.  When you were carrying a heavy sack of groceries that extra half mile counted a lot.  Since the truck got repossessed a few weeks ago she’d learned to make the most of her trips to town.

She walked towards him slowly, and stopped about ten feet from where he sat on his bike.  He was handsome enough, with close cropped dark blonde hair, and she liked the fine line of whiskers running his jawline to where they met a short goatee and mustache.  The wrap around shades hid his eyes, but the rest of him was inspiring and intimidating at the same time.  The thick forearms and biceps decorated with tats, and the gold earring only added to his allure.  The man was sex on two wheels.  The black leather vest he wore had several patches and pins on it and she sighed, this guy must be one of Job’s customers.  The name Dutch was embroidered on the upper chest.  It was a damn shame that a man as handsome as this would run drugs, but who knew what people would do for money to keep body and soul together nowadays.

Job is in prison doing time so if you’re here to see him you’re out of luck, and Naomi went along for the ride to the pen.

He was shaking his head by the time she finished speaking, so she waited to find out what he wanted.  When he did speak, she held her breath for a minute, savoring the deep voice, and sad smile.

"I’m not looking for anyone in particular.  I have a favor to ask of whoever lives here, and if they say yes, I’ll take care of my business and leave. Since I don’t see anyone else, I guess the person I need to talk with is you.

I have the ashes of my friend who was raised on this farm.  His last request was for me to bring him home and spread him around the field behind the barn.

Kylie expected anything but this, she nodded her head and made an open handed gesture indicating for him to have at it.  What kind of person would refuse a simple last request like that?  Well mister, you go right ahead and take care of your friend, I don’t own the place, like I told you, they’re doing time and the bank takes possession in a few days anyway.  No one will know but you and me, just watch out for chuck holes out there, the damn critters have been building a regular community in that field.

She watched as he got off the powerful machine and dug through the saddlebag hanging off the back fender.  He straightened up and she saw that he held a plastic bag in his hand.  He didn’t even look at her again, he just started walking towards the barn. The patch on his back was a skull with wings and she had to smile.  Her brother Billy was a biker and wore his cut, too.  They were from different clubs, but she wasn’t going to say anything to this man, it had no bearing on what he was here to do anyway. 

She’d never heard of Lucifer’s Breed MC, but then she hadn’t been around the lifestyle since her parents died, and Billy brought her here.  They had been the kind of people that rode on weekends and holidays. She couldn’t remember anything about an MC Club that they might have been members of.  Until Billy had come to take her away, she had loved riding behind her father on the big loud machine.

Here, life was simple, you did what you needed to do to get by, and you didn’t make friends with many people.  You certainly didn’t trust groups of people.  Well, at least not MC groups anyway, the drug mules didn’t count.  They were always arrogant and drank a lot of Job’s beer.  Most of the time they would get to the farm house early in the afternoon, and leave within minutes of walking into the barn with Job or Naomi. 

Kylie tried to stay out of sight when the customers showed up.  Especially after the time the still burned out, and the ‘shine was ruined.  A big hairy guy on a bike showed up and dragged Job around the place like he was a dog that shit on his boot or something.  The Club was having a party and wanted the shine for the party goers.  When the man caught sight of her watching them from behind a bale of rotting straw, he punched Job upside his head and began stalking her through the barn.  She’d ran up into the loft and had no choice but to take to the huge beams that held the barn’s roof up. 

The biker must have thought more of his acrobatic abilities than he actually possessed, because he tried to follow her across the eight inch wide beam stretching over the expanse of the barn loft.  His creative use of words to describe how he planned to pass a few hours letting her suck his dick, and fucking her in the ass, kept his brain on his plan and not on his task of staying on the beam. His boots weren’t made for balancing on a wooden beam twenty feet from the planked flooring, and he over corrected his balance and fell, crashing to the hardwood boards. 

Job got the old riding lawnmower running and dragged the man’s body down the road in the middle of the night, dropping the body in one of the swamps.  He kept saying he hated to do it to such a nice ride, but the bike went into the murky water, too.

She went back to the generator, and fiddled with the carburetor.  The needle valve had fallen in the bowl, so she turned the gas valve off, and put a plastic pan under where the remaining gas would fall as soon as she loosened the screws.  She had a knack for repairing small motors and appliances, and that talent had come in handy over the years, especially in situations like this.  She had so much to do, and no time to worry about a handsome road warrior doing something as honorable as this guy named Dutch was doing.

Since the truck was repossessed over a month ago, and the only transportation she had to use was an old dirt bike with bald tires and expired tags.  She had never owned much in her life, but that was a good thing as far as she was concerned. At least she wouldn’t have to leave anything that meant much to her when she walked out the door for the last time. 

The old generator sputtered and choked, as she pulled the cord time after time, but her arm wore out way before the damn thing started.  She pulled the sparkplug, and saw that the porcelain was cracked on the plug, causing it to arc, and there was no way it would be usable.  So much for electric tonight. 

Now she was going to have to either cook the food that was left, and rethink her plans, or she would have to bury the stuff so it wouldn’t rot in the freezer.  It’s just one more problem heaped onto the rest Kylie, you need to learn not to be so blasted optimistic all of the time.  Face it, bad things happen more than good things.  How many times Job had said that, she couldn’t remember, but the fact was, she still held out hope that she would be fine.  Some way, some how, she would make it.

As she built the cooking fire in the old charcoal grill base, she hoped that the big biker was hungry.  There was no way her and the cat could eat all of that food, and maybe she could get some information about Billy or his MC from this guy.  Billy was all that she had left, maybe he’d changed his mind or his circumstances by now.  Hopefully he would help her.  It still grated on her that he had never tried to make contact with her in all these years since the day he’d dumped her here.

Over the years she’d learned not to look for him to pull his big bike into the driveway and take her away from the grinding poverty that they lived in here.  After Job and Naomi were locked up, she found the answer to one of the puzzles about why the couple had taken her in.  Billy had been paying for her keep.  She opened the mail, and found money orders made out to Naomi five times now, and she had forged Naomi’s signature every time for enough money to keep herself going and tried to save some back each month.  Two months ago, when the bank had sent the foreclosure papers to the house, she knew that she was going to be on her own. She stopped paying the electric bill, and didn’t bother to order another tank of fuel oil.  The mail tomorrow should yield another money order, and that one would be added to the eight hundred dollars that was in her backpack. It would have to last her until she found a place to live.  She written five letters begging Billy to come and get her, but only had a post office box in Prindale for an address, and so far, he hadn’t responded.

On the one hand, she was happy that he hadn’t forgotten her existence, but on the other hand it was depressing as hell.  He remembered her, but chose to ignore her.  Either way, someday she would track his ass down and get her answers.

She pulled the last of the meat from the freezer, and set it in a bucket to carry outside to the lean