A Leap In The Dark

By Layla Wolfe

Kiss slowly. Play hard.
Oaklyn: That arrogant, loathsome bastard, leader of the Lost Boys, had the nerve to move to Avalanche. Levon left behind his empire of sleaze to invade the tiny, sleepy town I’d decided to call home. I wanted to get away from smut and abuse and into a fresh, innocent place where nobody knew my name, only to be followed right into my very house by the King of Corruption himself.
I could handle it if he was physically gruesome. But he struts around with his muscles bulging and his cornflower blue eyes sparkling. I’m a nurse, a practical, sensible gal. But when Levon needs my help, I put away my pride and come running. And he’s going to need a lot of help to go up against the dirtbag Avalanche mayor, blackmailing Levon with his shameful past.
Levon: She’s proud, conceited, and holier-than-thou—everything I hate in a woman. But maybe it’s been too long since I had one, because when she steps up to the plate to help me, I’m doomed. I had to knock her down a few pegs once she knew I wanted her. Joining the Assassins of Youth motorcycle club and giving Oaklyn a few sessions over my knee just seemed to increase her yearning, though.
She’s a sizzling hot tornado of a woman. I need her to fight back against the fucking corrupt politicians in this town we’re trying to transform. I might have come from a sordid, disgraceful background with my group of Lost Boys. But I’m determined to move into the light and the purity that will make this town great.
Publisher’s Note: This is a full-length, standalone novel with a HEA and no cliffhanger. Possible triggers include male prostitution, mild consensual BDSM, sexual abuse, and crooked municipal blackmail.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Layla Wolfe
• Release date: Dec 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370690596

Layla Wolfe

Layla Wolfe is a wannabe biker's Old Lady who is satisfied with a leather jacket, one bad-ass pink camo compound bow, and a vicarious outlaw lifestyle.Layla has published 25+ erotic romance titles under the name Karen Mercury.

Book preview

Kiss slowly. Play hard.

OAKLYN

That arrogant, loathsome bastard, leader of the Lost Boys, had the nerve to move to Avalanche. Levon left behind his empire of sleaze to invade the tiny, sleepy town I’d decided to call home. I wanted to get away from smut and abuse and into a fresh, innocent place where nobody knew my name, only to be followed right into my very house by the King of Corruption himself.

I could handle it if he was physically gruesome. But he struts around with his muscles bulging and his cornflower blue eyes sparkling. I’m a nurse, a practical, sensible gal. But when Levon needs my help, I put away my pride and come running. And he’s going to need a lot of help to go up against the dirtbag Avalanche mayor, blackmailing Levon with his shameful past.

LEVON

She’s proud, conceited, and holier-than-thou—everything I hate in a woman. But maybe it’s been too long since I had one, because when she steps up to the plate to help me, I’m doomed. I had to knock her down a few pegs once she knew I wanted her. Joining the Assassins of Youth motorcycle club and giving Oaklyn a few sessions over my knee just seemed to increase her yearning, though.

She’s a sizzling hot tornado of a woman. I need her to fight back against the fucking corrupt politicians in this town we’re trying to transform. I might have come from a sordid, disgraceful background with my group of Lost Boys. But I’m determined to move into the light and the purity that will make this town great.

Publisher’s Note: This is a full-length, standalone novel with a HEA and no cliffhanger. Possible triggers include male prostitution, mild consensual BDSM, sexual abuse, and crooked municipal blackmail.

A Leap in the

Dark

Assassins of Youth MC

Book Two

Layla Wolfe

Copyright 2016 © Layla Wolfe

Smashwords Edition

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Cover Art by Natasha Snow Designs

Edited by Claudia Heikhaus

Regarding E-book Piracy

This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Table of Contents

About the Book

Title Page

Copyright Page

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

About The Author

More Books from Layla Wolfe

Seek not to follow in the footsteps of men of old; seek what they sought.

~ Matsu Bashō

CHAPTER ONE

OAKLYN

Bountiful, Utah

Even as a seasoned nurse, I was horrified by what I saw at his house.

By the age of thirty, Levon Rockell had amassed a small fortune preying on the innocence of others.

At first, I loathed him.

I’ll tell you why.

He was a Lost Boy, one of those pitiful, heartbreaking teenagers ruthlessly dumped on the side of the road by those Cornucopia wingdings. As a Lost Boy with absolutely no idea of the outside world, he’d fallen on hard times. These Cornucopia parents, at the slightest mention from their whacked Prophet that maybe their boy had been seen wearing a short-sleeved shirt or watching a horror movie, raced to fling these misbegotten boys into their cars. With the assistance of the nearby Avalanche police, these miserable boys, children really, were driven into the desert and literally dumped by the side of the road without so much as a by-your-leave.

Allred Chiles, their demented Prophet of the past thirty years, would dismiss them, basically sending them to their deaths, with such heartwarming platitudes as, I bid thee farewell. That’s what he said to a sixteen-year-old Levon fifteen years ago when he’d dared to date the daughter of some muckety-muck. The greatest freedom is obedience. Now you’re an outcast, an apostate, among the damned. An apostate is the darkest person on earth. You are led by your master, Lucifer.

You’d think they’d fail to believe such nonsense. But these poor Lost Boys are trained since birth to view girls as snakes, as something fearsome and slimy, I suppose. The few boys who dare date daughters of elders are summarily thrown out, because they are surplus trash. Daughters are at a premium and need to be married off to other creepy polygamist elders. They need to be sheltered, savored. Boys are just useless sacks of flesh that need to be taken out with the garbage.

Levon called his house—somewhat tongue in cheek—Liberty Temple, and it was anything but. His luxurious abode in the swanky Stone Ridge section of Bountiful was hidden on a hill by a forest of white-barked quaking aspen. My sister Mahalia led me through an expansive living area to a backyard patio where an infinity pool perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the lush city. Peeking into a side office, I saw bookshelf-lined walls bracketing a very heavy, serious desk. Was this where Levon ran his empire of sleaze? From the beginning, he vexed me with his stubbornness and complexity. There was even a giant fluffy brown dog, an adorable creature with a smiley face who came to welcome us. Who was this man?

He was a surplus boy, consigned to hellfire by hypocrites, corrupt and twisted elders who only wanted the young girls to fulfill their own craven desires. And Levon was living high on the hog on the degradation of his fellow apostates.

There he is! cried Dingo, as though he were seeing Mylie Cyrus in person. Dingo was a prospect in my sister’s boyfriend’s motorcycle club. A Lost Boy himself, he’d been found by Gideon Fortunati trying to steal food in a local bar like a scavenging mongrel, and he’d taken Dingo under his wing. Dingo had been doing nothing but rave about Levon Rockwell on the drive from my house in Provo to his mansion. Levon was a rock star, at least among his fellow boys.

Dingo waved furiously. Levon! It’s me, Dingo! You might remember me as Jonah Garff, but this kind lady’s old man renamed me Dingo. It fits, doesn’t it? Long time no see. I was too young to remember when you were excommunicated. But I have heard the legends of your success from many, many mouths.

I was floored. The shirtless man who raised himself up from the chaise longue and came toward us was utterly animalistic. It sounds corny to say, but he moved like a leopard, all sinew and intent. It may have been my imagination but it seemed he fixed me with his sharp cornflower blue eyes. I was aware his shoulder and arm were inked with some sort of Asian design, but everything other than his face seemed to blur at the outer edges of my vision. I swear, it even seemed that he moved in slow motion, like a TV detective in the opening credits, full of import and vigor. My lips watered to taste his silken, warm skin.

And then he opened his mouth.

He took Mahalia’s hand in his. I’ve heard about the great work you’ve been doing down in—what’s the little town? Hurricane?

Avalanche, said Mahalia with shining eyes. I could tell she was completely taken in by him, and I was filled with disgust. Save Our Baby Brides runs interference between the Cornucopia elders and women who wish to leave, or who are already on the run.

You’re a baby bride yourself, aren’t you? I don’t remember you. Boy, he was smooth. Smooth and slick as a sheet of oil.

Mahalia was practically fanning herself with her free hand. Oh, I just came five years ago. You left Cornucopia fifteen years ago, right?

He finally let go of her hand. Right. And as you can see, I’ve built up a name for myself and my men.

I couldn’t restrain myself any longer. Yes! Profiting off their degradation. I would not fall for his oily charm! He was as beautiful as a California surfer, and just as deep. I’d seen shallow assholes like him in my nurse’s career. They came in with sports injuries, laughed them off, and were back in the ER the next week. Too dumb to learn.

Dingo dared to shoot me a glare. He has built an empire and saved many Lost Boys from the streets.

Levon held up his hands. It’s all right, Dingo. I don’t expect everyone—or even anyone—to understand. I should know a fellow Lost Boy would commiserate, but to expect outsiders to get it is too much to ask.

Mahalia said, We’re just here to examine those of your men who wish to come with us and make a new start down in Avalanche.

Levon chuckled with derision. He was literally looking down his nose at my sister. It’s a free country, and I’ve given them your message. I doubt you’ll have a single taker, though. My men are loyal to me because they’re well cared for and have a lifestyle they can’t get anywhere else.

I butted in. Yes, because you’ve sold their souls to the devil way worse than the elders who booted you out of Cornucopia!

Levon folded his arms and faced me squarely. Miss, I was told I was damned. Why not revel in my damnation? Expecting outsiders to understand is like asking a bird what it’s like to fly. ‘What is flying?’ a bird would answer. He just does it because it’s in his nature, not knowing the sky from the ocean or the fields. You can judge me all you like, if it’ll make you feel superior and smug. But only when you leave your deluded beliefs behind will you see me and my men without smoke, without veils. You wouldn’t torch someone for witchcraft, would you?

Of course no—

People who did labored under erroneous assumptions. Navigators were panic-stricken, thinking they’d sail over the edge of a flat world. Throwing Japanese nationals into prison camps, even prejudice against homosexuality—these are all outmoded belief frameworks that have crumbled and burned.

I narrowed my eyes and folded my arms, too. Running a male brothel is hardly the same thing as some poor nationals herded into camps. You’re saying if only I would change the color lens I’m seeing you through, I’d come to embrace your empire.

He nodded. Now who was smug? I’m not saying I’m running the Brady Bunch house here. But I’m saying my team of men is strong, and Liberty Temple gives them a potent sense of identity. You get out of love what you put into it.

Now he was talking about love? How dare he? "These men who come here to prey on your boys are only interested in one sort of perverted ‘love.’"

"I mean the love we have for each other. We love each other because of what we’ve put into this—what it would mean to leave, to go back to the streets. We argue and bitch and sometimes even punch each other’s lights out, but we’re forced to make up because of our connection that rises above any sort of free will or choice. This is how families operate. We love each other because we know we can’t just storm off at any moment."

It sounds like my old man’s motorcycle club, said Mahalia with wonder.

I stamped my foot impatiently. So you’re saying it’s like a jail? You hold the threat of the streets over their heads to keep them here, to keep skimming a percentage off all their hard work.

Dingo looked shocked. Levon works hard, too! he cried, perhaps not knowing what he was saying.

I snorted. "Yeah. I’ll bet he works hard."

Levon closed his eyes patiently. The men can leave any time, miss.

Dingo said, Her name is Oaklyn Warrior. She’s Mahalia’s sister and the nurse who’s here to examine the boys.

It was as though Levon hadn’t heard him. "We are forced to love each other because we’re all we’ve got. Your mistaken assumptions aren’t going to stop us from learning and growing. They’re just going to lead you astray and distort the questions you ask. Warped beliefs led sincere doctors to bleed millions of people to death. I’m sure you remember the four humors in your nurse’s studies."

I sniffed. Of course. Hippocrates believed certain illnesses were causes by an imbalance in body fluids—blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm.

Dingo chuckled. Sounds like some superhero world. The Four Humors are coming to get you.

No one else laughed. Levon tried to hypnotize me into submission with his intensely sharp eyes. No one thought to look for disease in germs or water because the four fucking humors were in control of everything. Do you get me?

I sneered. You’re saying your house of ill repute is holy and sanctified because you men are like brothers. It’s a feeble and misguided argument to make, and you’re not swaying me. I’ll examine your men for venereal diseases and general health free of charge, as a courtesy to my sister. If they’d rather stay and sell their bodies to twisted old men, there’s nothing I can do to convince them.

They make good money, said Levon, digging his hands deep into his jeans pockets. I was surprised there was room for his hands, that’s how tight the pants were. Left nothing to the imagination. What sort of jobs do you offer down in Avalanche? Minimum wage? My men earn upward of ninety, one-twenty grand a year. Some of the best, myself included, make more than that.

I sort of cringed a little at that, looking to Mahalia for support. I hadn’t been down to their little burg of Avalanche in southwest Utah yet, but it was highly unlikely they could offer anything as lucrative. Mahalia’s old man Gideon worked in a mine. Sure, he owned it, but he still toiled tirelessly.

Mahalia helped me out, lifting her chin with pride. We do okay. We’re revitalizing the city from the ghost town Allred Chiles left behind. No one wanted to live close to the loonies, but now that Chiles is gone and we’re in charge, people are starting to move back. Real estate is doing a brisk business.

Dingo added, Sledgehammer opened up a butcher shop slash grocery store deli, and Yosemite Sam has a coffee shop. Maximus renovated the old barber shop. I’m the club’s IT man, floating from job to job.

Levon snorted. A barber shop? Oh, I can just see my men stampeding to get in on that opportunity at the ground level. And to move from their luxurious digs here on the mountain down to Hurricane—

Avalanche, I practically spat.

I can just see the rush now. Listen, I mean no disrespect—

None taken, gushed Mahalia, back on Levon’s side.

—but you can’t begin to offer my men a better life. And isn’t that the bottom line? Who’s offering a better life, a better future?

We launder money, Dingo blurted.

Everyone looked at him with bulging eyes. Levon tilted his head thoughtfully. Really? You launder ill-gotten gains through these businesses?

All the time! bragged Dingo.

Now, I wasn’t up on the nature of my brother-in-law’s motorcycle club. I knew it was a one percenter outlaw club, and they had some illegal doings with the polygs inside the Cornucopia walls. The Assassins of Youth, they called themselves, as if joining was some kind of rite of initiation into a permanent macho adulthood. To me, it was plain old childish. I loved Gideon and his efforts to transform the town. I even liked the members Mahalia had shown me photos of, the aforementioned Maximus with his flowing silver hair and James Brolin looks. Dust Bunny had a geology degree from Stanford and was prospecting too in more ways than one, working out at the mine. Yosemite Sam and Sledgehammer looked as rough as their names implied, but I’d seen photos of Sledgehammer cooing and kissing his Leonberger dog, and even Yosemite Sam was intently into the details of making the perfect cappuccino.

In other words, they weren’t all bad to the bone as you’d expect from an outlaw motorcycle club. I could see my sister’s attraction to the macho lifestyle, although she would not wear her leather jacket with a Property of Gideon Fortunati patch. Not after what she’d been through, being kidnapped by the fundies, the fundamentalists out at Cornucopia who held her for five years, turning her into a deadened Morbot like the rest of them. She’d been their property, and she only escaped when they threatened to marry off her fifteen-year-old daughter Vonda to some creepazoid. I will be forever grateful to Gideon for helping her out of that mess.

Now Mahalia was paying it forward by running the nonprofit Save Our Baby Brides. We were hoping to save some young men too, but from what Levon said, no one particularly wanted to be saved.

That’s part of my job, explained Dingo. Insert, layer, and extract funds from various businesses in Avalanche and Bullhead City where the mother chapter is. Our lawyer Slushy taught me how to do it. It was sort of adorable, the way the brown-skinned, seemingly innocent boy was proud of his money laundering expertise. After a young adulthood rooting through garbage cans and sleeping in an abandoned school, he had reason to be proud.

Hm, said Levon. You got any martial arts studios down there? I’ve always wanted to open up a Krav Maga studio. Even better if I can launder Liberty Temple money through there.

Mahalia balked at that. Well, I’m not so sure there’d be a need for a martial—

"That’d be so cool!" raved Dingo, executing a few poses that probably vaguely approximated some martial arts stances. Or at least ones they showed on Star Trek. I know all kinds of guys from my computer school who’d want to attend that.

Mahalia shrugged, indulgent of her Prospect. Well. You men can discuss that in more detail. I don’t get involved with the business side of the club. Meanwhile, you said there are at least four men who’d like an exam, whether or not they want to come to Avalanche?

Levon was just opening his mouth to answer when an abrasive, loud young man yelled from the sidelines, scaring all of us. "Jonah! Jonah Garff!" The kid with a rich, soft crewcut came bounding out from the living room area like a gymnast. This kid infused the area with a fresh energy, and boy, was he sprightly. He even had a sleeveless sports jersey on like some kind of springy cheerleader, he was that