All Screwed up: Belial's Disciples Motorcycle Club, #2

By AJ Adams

Sexy, sassy adult model Lacy Desire is in deep trouble. Having walked out on her abusive photographer ex and wrecked a major deal, he and his underworld backers are out for revenge. Lacy decides only one man can save her: Rex Winslow, the super hot money launderer for the Disciples MC. His rep for violence and mayhem doesn't worry her because she knows a secret that will keep him in line.

 

Rex Winslow, tenth Viscount Ravenshurst and financial guru to the Disciples MC, is about to pull off the deal of a lifetime that will restore his family name and fortune. When Lacy turns up and blackmails him into helping her, he's furious. Worse, her troubles bring the Horde, rivals to the Disciples MC, crashing in on his deal. Handing her over will fix it but cold-hearted practical Rex discovers he's fallen head over heels. Can he give her up?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ellen Whyte
• Release date: Jan 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393533344

AJ Adams

AJ Adams writes twisted love stories set in the violent world of the Cartel, Camorra, Belial's MC and Prydain. All AJ Adams novels are self-standing and although some feature the same families, you need not read them all - but it would be awesome if you did. If you enjoy these novels and want to stalk, please know that AJ is the pen name for Ellen Whyte. Ellen married her best friend and moved to the tropics where they are living their own Happily Ever After. When she's not writing, she's cooking and pandering to her rescue cats Target, Swooner and Tic Tac.

Book preview

Chapter One

Lacy

Y ou stupid bitch! He was stinking drunk. It’s all your fault.

I eyed him up cautiously. Jason Barrows, six foot two and bulging with muscle, was glaring down at me. He was wearing his biking leathers, which added to the dangerous vibe. Normally that would have me melting in a puddle because I love playing games with bad boys. However, Jason had a mean streak a mile wide, and by the look of his narrowed eyes and balled fists, he was losing it.

I would have vanished, but he was between the door and me. Worse, I couldn’t just cut and run, because he might follow. I wasn’t going to trail danger in my wake. No, I’d have to calm him down, right there and then.

My eye was on the open door behind him, my stomach in knots. The sound of a shouting match carrying all over the cottage was bad enough, but if he beat me, it would be a real disaster.  So I tried to be sensible, saying peaceably, I can’t help it if the coppers come knocking.

You shouldn’t have let them in.

They had a search warrant. God knows why I defended myself. From the blast of tequila, he was well past reasoning. Still, I tried soothing him out of sheer desperation. I did try to call you.

I don’t answer to you!

Nice, huh? But I was watching those balled fists. It was safest to play nice. Well, it’s not like they found anything.

You’re a useless cow. He loomed over me, eyes blurred with booze but the anger coming off him in waves. They messed up my studio.

While Jason had been at the pub, the plods had pushed their way into his cottage. They had a warrant, so I couldn’t do a blessed thing as they’d gone through his workroom, poking about his cameras and backdrops as well as his computer gear. They’d photographed everything, from his office chair to the stack of concert tickets on his desk.

I had tidied up afterwards, but although he was smashed, Jason had known the second he walked in that we’d had invaders. That’s photographers for you; they have an excellent eye for even the tiniest changes.

They didn’t take anything, I assured him.

No thanks to you, he slurred. I was too smart for them.

Absolutely! I had no idea what he was on about, but I was all over that at once, fawning away. Look, everything is fine, even your Masters in Fine Arts is unscathed. I was babbling away. Congrats on that, by the way. I had no idea you went back to school.

Talk about adding fuel to the fire. What the fuck were you doing, going through my stuff? Jason was snarling, all self-congratulation vanishing into thin air.

I just picked the certificate up off the floor, okay?

Liar! You were in my darkroom!

No, I wasn’t!

You fucking told them about it! Treacherous whore!

Jason had a home with loads of space, but unlike normal people, he used a shed for developing his work. It wasn’t even in his garden but standing half a mile away in an empty property. Bloody awkward, I thought, but as Jason had mumbled about flammables driving up insurance costs, and he was always a money-grubbing bugger, I thought he was just penny-pinching.

I wasn’t prying, honest, I kept my voice low, hoping he’d stop yelling. The police must’ve missed it too.

But Jason was fuming. I’m gonna teach you a lesson, he growled.

I wasn’t happy. He’d given me a hiding before, leaving me with two black eyes and some broken ribs. I wasn’t going through that again. Maybe it was better to risk running, but I couldn’t remember if the bedroom locks were sturdy or not. Now Jason. I edged away, using my calmest voice. This isn’t my fault.

While I tried to placate him, I was moving backward, trying to keep out of his way. But despite the drink, he was still with it enough to corner me. I ended up with my back against the wall. I had one last go at trying to run; I feinted left and broke right. But he was too quick. Before I could duck past him, he had me by the neck.

My five foot four couldn’t match bull-like strength. I hung there, feet off the floor, gasping for air as I tried frantically to break his grip. Jason, no, please!

Bitch. Then his fingers were squeezing, and spots began dancing before my eyes. Useless frigging whore.

As if in slow motion, I saw his fist draw back. Another second and then it would come smashing into my face. I was terrified but I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even scream.

Mummy? Mia stood in the doorway, half asleep and yawning. What I’d dreaded had come to pass. The shouting had woken her. Where’s Buttercup?

My heart almost stopped. I saw my six-year-old was focussed entirely on finding her favourite cuddly toy, the plush pink pony that was her constant companion. My little girl was totally unaware of the danger she was in.

For a second, the pressure on my throat relaxed. Jason knew someone was there, but the drink addled his brain. He craned his neck, looking around the room, and staring straight over the tot.

There you are! Mia spotted her pony sitting on Jason’s computer desk. Naughty Buttercup. What are you doing here? It’s bedtime, you know.

Jason zeroed in on her. What the fuck!

Mia’s eyes were huge as she took him in. Then she was gazing at me. Mummy? she asked uncertainly.

I was frantic, plucking at the steel fingers that kept me pinned helplessly against the wall. Mia, run! At least, that’s what I meant to say, but it came out as a strangled gasp.

Mia took a frightened step back. Mummy? Then, reflexively, she grabbed Buttercup, holding the pony in front of her face, just like she did whenever Ursula the Sea Witch made an appearance on her favourite cartoon.

Fuck! Jason dropped me, his attention totally taken by my little one. Then his fist whistled around, aiming straight for Mia. You little -

I was sliding down the wall, gasping for air, but rage and fear for Mia gave me superhuman powers. I bounced up, grabbed his shoulder, twisted him off balance and punched him in the face. I got him smack on target. There was a snap and the blood spurted instantly.

You fucking bitch! He dropped me like a hot potato and clutched his face. You broke my fucking nose!

It was the end of the road. Jason, I quit. Find another model. I stepped hastily around him and picked up my little girl. Are you okay? As I frantically checked her over, I breathed again, relieved to find her unharmed. I hugged her close to me. Come Mia. Let’s get out of here.

Ten seconds later I was chucking our things in a backpack. As we didn’t have much, it took me just minutes to get it together. I zipped up the bag, and it was only then that I realised my poor lamb was just standing there. The look of dismay in her eyes went straight to my heart. I swept her up in a cuddle. Poor baby. You okay?

Her eyes, cornflower blue, just like mine, were bewildered. Why was he angry, Mummy?

I stifled the answer that came to mind first. Because he’s a big silly, love.

Was I naughty?

That brought tears to my eyes and a boatload of guilt to my heart. You’re the best, love. He’s the one who’s wrong.

Although I spoke calmly to reassure Mia, I felt sick because this was all my fault. We were at Jason’s because of my job. You see, I’m a model, but you won’t see me in Vogue because I specialise in adult shoots. Yup, my body is my product.

At five foot four, I’m petite, but I’m also curvy which is the perfect body type in my trade. Apart from decent boobs and a perky arse, I’ve got that Black Irish look going for me: black hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. I’m not beautiful, but I’ve got the kind of colouring that does well with make-up. Lucky, huh?

As I’ve got the right attributes, I pose for all the lad mags, but I make most of my money with kink shots. Bondage, suspension; you name it, I’ll do it. That line is less competitive than straight-up fashion, and it pays more, so it’s a good career for a single mum like me.

I shouldn’t have taken you here, I said guiltily to Mia.

My little sweetheart hugged me. But Mummy, you have to make sacrifices for your work.

Dear lord, out of the mouths of babes. I get good regular work, and usually I stick to my client list, but I had a long history with Jason. We’d dated back when I was a giddy teen, and he’d gotten me started on my career. He taught me how to pose, helped me develop my portfolio, and introduced me to the major players.

One of the first photos he ever took of me, one where I’m tied to a garden bench, with my hair up in a Grecian bun, was so sublimely beautiful, that it became an iconic image for the industry.

Jason gave me a start, which I’ll always be grateful for, but when we split, it was terrible. So awful that we went our separate ways and avoided each other like the plague in the years that followed.

Although I’d not seen him, I’d heard about his projects. Jason was always a difficult bugger, but he drifted in and out of the industry whenever he wanted because his work was hauntingly beautiful. It didn’t matter if he were photographing geishas, strippers, landscapes or trucks; it was all glorious.

So when he called me two weeks before, I was so curious to know what he was up to, that I just had to listen.

I’m creating an adult photonovel for a Japanese client, he informed me. 

What’s that?

It’s like a comic but with photos instead of illustrations.

I could hardly breathe from excitement. With four to six photos per page and dozens of pages, it would take a month’s work at least. It would mean instant tonnes of cash, and it would get me loads of new fans.

That last bit mattered. I had worked hard to build up a fan base by lifting my image with Instagram and Twitter platforms because in my business, young and fresh rules. To stay in demand, you need to stand out from the crowd. With an international following, my career would get a substantial boost.

Jason, are you sure you want to work with me? I asked because the break-up had been brutal. Really?

I had another girl booked, but the bitch walked out on me. She couldn’t hack the work.

Told you he was an evil-tempered bugger. So I’m a desperate filler in? I’m flattered.

Jason ignored my sniping. This is a golden opportunity. We’re starting with one title, and if it goes over well, we do two a year for five years.

My heart went pit-a-pat. This was mega. How much does it pay?

Jason mentioned a figure that made me see spots.

Sounds good.

Plus two percent of the royalties. But Lacy, you kick back ten percent of your modelling fee and half of your royalties. You pay the tax, and you give me the cash. 

Typical Jason. But even with the cut, it was outstanding money. Enough to cover the fees for the brand new private school I wanted to send Mia to. The village kindy had been terrific, but the local comprehensive was a zoo. Jason’s job meant Mia would have small classes, great teachers, and a good future.

Can you get here by this afternoon? Jason asked. I want to start ASAP. I’m already behind schedule.

I wanted to say yes, but I remembered his temper. I don’t know, Jason. You and I don’t get along, remember?

Oh, for fuck’s sake, you still going on about that? It was years ago!

I controlled my temper. Yes, six years to be precise. Mia is now six years old.

You should have gotten rid of it. It’s nothing to do with me.

Red-hot rage flooded over me. She is not an it! She’s called Mia, I bit off every word, wishing I could thump him. And you can take your job and shove it up your arse.

Telling him to fuck off made me feel great for about two hours. I was sitting down for lunch with Mia when a trickle of water leaked down from the ceiling. Within seconds, the trickle was a river.

I got us out of there fast, and it was just as well. After a bitch of an icy winter that had created merry hell with the plumbing, the upstairs bathroom water pipes had burst. Not only had it flooded upstairs but sod’s law kicked in, and the kitchen and living room ceilings had come crashing down too.  Right in the middle of our cheese and tomato sandwiches.

Jason called an hour after, Look, I need you.

Do you? I was surveying the wreckage that was our home. 

I’ll forego the commission.

With huge bills, weeks of repairs, and no home, my answer was a no-brainer. It’s a deal.

Be here in an hour.

He really was in a rush. Jason, I’m looking at the ruins of my home. I’m going to need a day to find a rental. Or a B&B that’s affordable.

Fuck that. I want to get to work.

Artists, right? I need a roof over my head.

I’ve got one. Stay here.

But there’s Mia.

Bring her!  Bring your dad, your dog, whatever, he snapped. Just get your arse over here.

She’s six. I’ll need to find a sitter -

There’s a kindy summer camp across the street. I’ll go now and sign her up.

Jesus, he really was in a rush. I’d never known him to be in the least bit helpful about anything. Thanks.

Yes-yes-yes, come on, hurry up. I need to get to work.

When we arrived, Jason had been waiting on the street. I was shaking with nerves as I held Mia’s hand. Mia, this is Jason -

He hadn’t even looked at our baby. They’re waiting for you at the camp. Hurry up. We’re behind schedule.

I should have known, Jason had never acknowledged his own flesh and blood. As far as Mia was concerned, her father was lovely, but he’d died in an accident before she was born.

I’d told her that fiction because it was better than the truth but secretly, I’d always hoped Jason would one day recognize her. But he’d never told a soul about her and clearly, he wasn’t going to change his mind. Still, Mia didn’t know, so the pain of rejection was mine, not hers. I decided to be grateful for the opportunity to make a small fortune and tried not to hate Jason.

Is this our new home? Mia looked over the cottage living room, littered with magazines and somehow soulless.

No, love. It’s only a few weeks. We’ll go home soon. I spotted the summer camp across the street with relief. Decorated with banners and balloons, with four women keeping an eagle eye on a little garden filled with kiddies, it looked well maintained and popular. While I work, I said cheerfully, you are going to make lots of new friends!

For the first week, we were okay. I’d been hesitant about having Mia so close to my work, but she was in her element, messing around in sand pits and a mini paddling pool all day.

The arrangement worked well because Jason had me busy all day but he’d disappear into his darkroom come late afternoon. It meant Mia didn’t see anything she shouldn’t and the two of us had lots of family time.

It was just as well because posing for Jason wasn’t exactly a picnic. The photonovel plot centred around an abduction, and the hero was into super dark kink. The shots were a shade away from torture porn, so it was intense and tiring. In fact, it was such a challenge that Jason hadn’t lost one model; he’d lost four.

Fucking lazy cows, he grumbled.

I was on tiptoe, my body straining from hanging from a beam for two hours. Yeah, because cramp is such a joy!

Shut up, straighten your fingers, spread your knees, lift your chin, tilt your head right, and look as if you’re begging for your life.

Yes, sir! It was bloody hard work, but I was pumped because the very few photos Jason let me get a glimpse of were brilliant. I was sure the photonovel would make me a star, which would guarantee enough work coming in to keep Mia and me comfortable.

Mind you, although Jason was a fantastic artist, I couldn’t find him at all likeable. The bursts of charm and humour that had once attracted me had vanished. The new Jason was merely nasty. He was off to the pub every night, coming home pissed as a rat at closing time but as he was quiet and Mia never knew, that didn’t bother me. However, it didn’t pass me by that the booze had soured him.

Staying in his place wasn’t a terrific deal, either. It was clear from the start I’d double up as cook and cleaner. Also, I had to do him. Seeing gorgeous me all naked and helpless turned him on, so morning shoots inevitably ended up with a nooner, and then he’d have me again before it was time to collect Mia.

I like bad boys, which is why I’d fallen for him years earlier. But Jason was no longer my idea of a good time even for a bonk. He was rough, which I usually love, but he was selfish and a quick shooter to boot.

Under other circumstances, I would have refused him, but I kept my trap shut because I didn’t want to jeopardize the job. If the work included me, I was willing to spread wide and smile - or rather, gasp and moan.

You might sneer, thinking I’m a tart, but I don’t care. As long as I can give Mia everything she needs, you can believe what you like. Everything I do, I do for her.

So, I took on Jason, but it had gone spectacularly wrong. I knew we’d best get far away and fast. The important thing was to get Mia to a safe space. Luckily, I pack like a demon on speed.

Mummy, you forgot my hairbrush.

Another treasure, also embossed with a pink pony. Mia was well versed in being independent and strong, but she was born with a penchant for things pink and fluffy.

I grabbed the brush from the dresser. Okay sweetheart, let’s put on shoes and a coat.

But I’m wearing jammies.

Also pink, in case you didn’t guess. And printed with ponies. It’s an adventure. I was under no illusions. If we stayed, we’d be at Jason’s mercy. You can’t argue with drunken nutters. We’re going for a surprise holiday, I told her.

You’re not fucking going anywhere. Jason, standing in the doorway, had that same terrifying red-eyed look as the Terminator. I’m not done with you.

I stood in front of Mia, facing him down. I quit. Find another model.

The red eyes were focussing on Mia. Not going anywhere, he slurred.

Fear for my little girl had me bristling. Come near her, and I’ll gut you. I held the hairbrush in my fist, hoping he’d mistake the shiny silvered handle for a blade.

What? With a hairbrush?

Okay, drunk but not stupid. I picked up the backpack, holding it in front of me, hoping to ward him off. Mia is six. You’re scaring her.

Incredibly, he was trying to lean around me. She’s not going anywhere, and neither are you.

I pushed him away. Jason, I’m warning you, don’t you dare touch her.

The paw was shoving me aside, and he was lunging for Mia. Rage and fear throttled through me, telling me exactly what to do. I slid in close and kneed him. Hard. Even with the leathers, I got him right in the balls.

For a moment Jason was frozen. Then, as if in slow motion, he was rising in the air and clutching himself. Fuuuuuuck! I was happy to hear him moan like a wolfhound. Biiiitch! He was collapsing onto his knees.

I warned you. I grabbed Mia, super strength fuelled by fear again, and lifted her and the backpack over the stricken giant.

Kill you, he whispered. And that little - 

It’s not nice to kick a man when he’s down, but I had no trouble booting him in the balls again. I didn’t want him coming after us.  Bye, Jason.

As we fled into the night, his voice came floating after us. I’ll fucking get you!

Chapter Two

Rex

We parked the bikes behind a hedge and sneaked up to the cottage. At least, we started off carefully, but when a blast of music came belting out of the open doors and windows, we dropped the cautious approach.

Confident bunch, aren’t they? Crush said.

I took in the lack of security and the van parked arse end towards the lane. Or complete amateurs. They don’t even have a getaway in place.

Crush took in the lay of the land. Wankers, he sighed. Useless fuckers. He thought for a second, and then he was snapping out orders. DT, Flash, Zero, you go round the back. On my signal, flush them our way.

Crush is six foot two, a bear of a man, bristling with hair, tats, and leather. Most people take him for a big dumb biker outlaw, but the facade hides a brain the size of a planet. Caden says Crush could have been another Montgomery. He should know because my brother has a collection of medals, including a Military Cross. But as the army passed on Crush’s application, we were cheerfully confident as we prepared for battle.

There’s five inside, Crush reminded us. We force them out the front door, which will drive them out in single file.

We’d been over it already, so we merely nodded.

Crush whistled, imitating a nightingale, there was a long second of silence, and then all hell broke loose as Flash released his homemade firecrackers. They were loud in the open air, but inside the tiny cottage, they sounded like hand grenades.

As we’d planned, the men inside panicked. One ran straight into Crush’s hammer-like fist, and another went slap into Kraken. I didn’t see how he did because I had my own trouble to deal with.

The first one piling out went down when I whacked him on the chin. The problem was the two behind him came out at the same time and were trained properly. One kicked high, his foot slicing up with explosive force while the other aimed a fist at my gut.

In the films, the tough guy takes the blow. I’m not stupid, so I leaned back on my heels and twisted out of the way. As the fist whistled past my ribs, missing by a mile, the foot moved past my ear. I just reached for wrist and ankle and pulled, sending both of them flying. A couple of carefully placed kicks broke enough ribs to take them out of the fight.

I’m all for efficiency, so I finish fights fast. The others enjoy a scrap, so they tend to take their time. While I relaxed, Crush was having a blast, holding a bloke up by the hair as he hit him in the face, gut, and balls. Kraken was laughing, his tats writhing as he punched and kicked.

As it had been a couple of weeks since we’d had a set-to, I wasn’t surprised to see DT, Flash, and Zero come trotting around, hoping for a slice of the action. They were too late; the fight was over.

Awww, Flash moaned. All done already?

Kraken was picking his man up and laying him out on the grass, neatly lining him up next to mine. You got to be at the door last time, he observed. It was our turn.

And I got three. Okay, I was a tad smug.

Crush eye-rolled. Well done, Rex. Now, are you going to stand about and gloat or are you going to tend to business?

That got me rushing inside. Fuck me, just look what they did to my wine!

Zero was right behind me. Rex, it’s not smashed or opened. It’s fine.

Is it hell, you ignorant ape!

I love Zero like a brother, and he’s an ace lawyer, but when it comes to fine wine, he’s a philistine. As I’m in events management and it was my consignment the bastards had stolen, I knew that poor handling could be as devastating as smashing the stuff.

As it was, my beautiful Sauternes and Bordeaux had been brutalised. They’d opened two cases, and the rest had been tossed about and stacked any old way. This isn’t bloody Coca-Cola. It needs to rest gently on its side. I checked the labels. And where the hell is my port?

Kraken says the van is still packed.

It’s out in the baking sun? Fuck!

I went flying out and found my single malt and gin were there, boiling in the bloody sun, for God’s sake, but no port. Even though they’d robbed the courier just hours before, they’d found time to sell it.

Kraken and Flash were standing over the thieves, casually kicking here and there, but holding off with the cricket bats. We’d had a lot of experience, and so we knew to leave punishment until all the loose ends had been wrapped up. With the best will in the world, you can’t get information from a man who’s unconscious.

There were five of them, but I went straight for the one who’d tried to kick me because he was wearing a Texas Hold’em Championship t-shirt.  The man was a card player. Nice try at an axe kick, I said. You’re a black belt?

He nodded. Look, mate, nothing personal. We didn’t know it was yours.

That was a mistake. I gave it to him straight. You’re going to get the beating of a lifetime. I saw his eyes flick to the cricket bats. But I won’t break your fingers if you tell me where my port is.

In our business, a broken bone or two is nothing but fingers are a bitch. You can’t eat, pee or even scratch your nose for weeks. Also, getting full mobility back is a toss-up.

I reckoned that would scare this bloke. So, want to be able to shuffle a deck of cards when you get out of hospital?

He folded completely. The bloke who told us about the consignment asked for a cut. We didn’t have any cash, so he took the port.

What’s his name?

Dunno. We met him in a pub.

It’s a cliché because it’s true. Pubs are gossip central.  Shame you didn’t ask. I gave him an encouraging kick in the ribs. Bye-bye fingers.

Wait-wait-wait! He was wearing a Green Knight tee! It’s a pub!

In Lincoln. Yes, I know.

Crush leaned over my shoulder. The Horde was behind this?

We Disciples run Bonnington, and the Horde have territory in Lincoln, so we’re neighbours. We’re also rivals, but as trouble is bad for business, we’ve got a truce. However, it’s patchy, and from time to time, we have problems. As Pig, president of the Lincoln chapter of the Horde, owned the Green Knight it was he who’d set these fuckers out to rob me.

You won’t see your port again, Crush said.

Five thousand quid down the drain. And weeks of gentle care to help the rest of my stock recover.

I lifted the cricket bat. You bastards made a mistake, coming to Bonnington.

N-no! The poker player was trying to roll out of the way, but I got him a good smack on the elbow. He screamed and lay still, paralysed by sudden overwhelming pain. Argh!

Don’t mess with the Disciples. The bat connected with his other elbow. He was screaming so much, that he barely registered me bashing him on the hip and ankle. Stay out of our territory.

Behind me, I heard Crush giving the talk too. Bonnington is our place. Smash. Scream. Don’t come back.

And Zero, This is notice. Whack. Wail. Then, because he’s a lawyer through and through, We will vigorously defend our property with extreme prejudice.

The punishment beating didn’t take long. Cricket bats do a great job so just a few minutes later the lot of them were bloody and unconscious. We broke arms, legs and ribs, all extremely painful when shattered, while staying away from easily fatal