Tuck: Demented Souls, #8

By Melissa Stevens

Tuck left home more than twenty years ago to be his own man. Now he's called back with the news that both his parents are dead and he needs to be there.
He doesn't want to go. He's built a life with the Demented Souls. They've been his family for the last ten years. But something tells him that may be changing.

London is stuck in a life she hates. Wishing she'd gotten out when she had the chance. She's sick of her dead end job tending bar in Deadwood. Intent on complaining to a friend one night she texts her. or she thought she did. Instead her message went to a wrong number.

With nothing more than miles between them, Tuck and London build a friendship over text. Then Tuck got word he needed to back to where he grew up, which just happened to be less than two hundred miles from where London was. They made plans to meet but when he went to his mother's funeral, he found more there than he'd expected.

When they find themselves surrounded by bikes that try to run them off the road, things become terrifying. Can they figure out what's going on before it's too late or will something happen to end things before they find out how much they care about each other?

If you like motorcycle club romances with in charge men, pick up your copy of Tuck today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: TNT Publications
• Release date: Jan 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201120344

Melissa Stevens

Melissa was born and raised in Arizona, she’s spent her entire life living across the southern half of the state. She’s found that, along with her husband and three children, she prefers the small towns and rural life to feeling packed into a city. She started reading at a very young age, and her love for series started early, as the first real books she remembers reading is the Boxcar Children series by Gertrude Chandler Warner. Through the years she’s found that there’s little she won’t read, and her tastes vary from westerns, to romance, to sci-fi / fantasy and Horror.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Tuck sat in the clubhouse, a of glass with an inch of scotch in one hand, a silver dollar, worn and shiny, rolling unceasing back and forth over the knuckles of the other. He hated when things didn’t go to suit him, and things hadn’t gone his way in longer than he cared to remember. Sure, a few things went right, but not as many as he thought should.

The Souls had managed to make sure the last piece of scum who’d tried to sneak through on their watch had gotten caught. Gizmo had made sure the kidnapped girl was found and returned to her father, but they still had guns being sold into Mexico. They still had people that Tuck believed should be wiped from the Earth trying to get into the United States and destroy what so many men and women had created here. Not that they were going to be able to do it. No one was going to take away the freedoms people like he and his brothers had fought and died for, not for the entire country.

But the people this scum interacted with? The ones they personally hurt? Those were the ones Tuck was angry about.

The women abused by men who’d been convicted of assault, and worse, served their time and deported, only to sneak back into the country to repeat their crimes. And not just once. Some of these guys had been convicted more than a half dozen times.

You all right, boss? Mac spun a chair around and straddled it as Tuck shot him a go to hell look. He hated being called boss and Mac knew it.

Fine.

You don’t look fine. You look like you’re brooding again.

Tuck narrowed his eyes at one of the few men in the club near his age. There were a few of the older crew still around, but most of the men were younger than him by at least a few years.

If he wasn’t careful, one of the younger bucks would be looking to edge him out as president.

Who do you think should replace me? Tuck looked at Mac and took a swig from the tumbler.

Mac blinked. You planning to step down? Or do something ultimately stupid?

Tuck stared at Mac a moment then shook his head. No, but we’re getting older. They’ll replace me sooner or later.

It will be later. You’re doing a good job and while some might not see it, most of us do. Sadist could do the job, but he doesn’t want it. Same goes for Ruger. They’re both all in for the club, but they’re more interested in running their own businesses and in their women than in taking over as President.

Tuck stared into his glass wondering if Mac was right and he was just being maudlin. Probably the latter. It had been a long few days. He was ready for things to ease off a bit. At least let him catch his breath a little before the next catastrophe. Not likely from his experience, but he could dream. He shook his head and pushed thoughts of being replaced from his mind. With another drink of his scotch he looked at Mac.

How long till everyone gets here? Tuck glanced up at the second-floor railing and thought of his room beyond. What he really wanted was to go to bed, get a decent night’s sleep, and start over tomorrow, but they still had a meeting he had to force himself through before he could call it a night and hopefully have a better day tomorrow.

Another thirty minutes or so. I just talked to Ruger and Sadist. Ruger closed a while ago, just getting things ready for tomorrow and Sadist just finished with his last client. Said he was going to clean up and head over.

Tuck bit back a growl of impatience. It wasn’t that he was tired, more that he wanted this to be done and to move on to a new day. Not that he thought anything was really going to change, but still. He’d decided he was done with today. He didn’t want to deal with more and the meeting would definitely mean more.

The important business done, Tuck sat silently in his chair at the head of the table, wondering how much longer he should let the chatter go before calling an end to it.

Everyone had either made reports, received orders or both and now they were discussing the prospects and what to do with them. Right now there were three and another would be here soon. It was too many and they all knew it. What to do about that, whether to patch in Jake or cut him loose, was part of why Tuck let the conversation playing around him continue.

You look like you’re somewhere else entirely, or you want to be, Ghost’s voice beside him caught Tuck’s attention.

I’d like to go to bed. Preferably with a woman to keep me warm. Tuck curved one side of his mouth to let the younger man know he was only half kidding.

Wouldn’t we all? Ghost chuckled. I think Double D is out there.

A rude noise escaped Tuck’s throat. No thanks. She’s willing to do anything but as president I can’t afford any of the women to think I’m favoring one over another, even if it’s true.

Good excuse, Ghost shot him a wry grin then looked back toward the rest of the table where most of the men were deep in discussion about Jake, Sackett, and Savage.

Sackett seems like a good kid, but he hasn’t been around long enough to be certain of. And if Sackett hasn’t been around enough, Savage is defiantly too new, Sadist said to Crash.

But Jake. He’s been here enough. We need to take a vote on whether to keep him or cut him loose.

Agreed, Tuck finally spoke up, but not tonight. We all need to work out our arguments, both for and against. We’ll discuss it again next week. We’ve got time. The new guy won’t be here for at least a couple more weeks.

There was some muttering but after a moment they quieted down once more. Tuck waited until the talk had died to a sputter to call an end to the meeting and have Dumbass unlock the door into the rest of the clubhouse. His brothers stood and made their way from the room, but Tuck stayed put, waiting. It was his habit, unless he had something he had to get done or someone else would need the room, to be the last one out of the room, in case any of his brothers had something they wanted to discuss with him. It gave them a chance to talk without the rest of the club overhearing like they could in the main room.

Most of the brothers had trickled out into the other room when Stretch took Sadist’s chair next to Tuck and sat.

You look like you need a bottle of whiskey, a hot piece of ass and about three weeks’ vacation.

I feel like I could use all three.

Then why don’t you take them?

I need to run this place. Tuck shook his head. We’ve got so much going on.

Yes, we need you but not enough to work you to death. That’s what a VP and the rest of the officers are for. Let them pick up the slack and take a little time. Find some hot young thing and get out of town for a couple weeks. I know you, man. You hang around here, you’ll be eyeball deep in club shit and that hot young thing will dump your ass faster than you can pull your dick out of your pants.

Tuck scowled but didn’t argue. How could he when Stretch was probably right. No matter how much you loved your job, or your life, you could burn out from too much. He should get away, but where? And as to the suggestion that he find a piece of ass to take with him? Well, Tuck wouldn’t deny it was a good thought, but he’d learned the hard way that their life didn’t lean to happy family or even marriage.

I’ll think about it, Tuck said. Anything else?

No, just wanted to check on you. You look like you’re on the edge. Stretch stood. Think about it. He didn’t look back as he left Tuck alone in the room, the rest of the brother’s having left already.

Tuck sat alone a moment, wondering where he would go if he did take a little time off, try to get away. Nothing came to him, so he pushed himself to his feet and made his way upstairs to bed.

CHAPTER 2

London took a deep breath and let her head fall back against the wall for a moment. Her feet throbbed and she still needed to make the half mile hike to the trolley. Knowing she’d never get there if she never started, she grabbed her purse, waved at Brent the security guard, on her way out and started up the hill toward the nearest stop.

She’d worked her way up from hostess, to waitress, and was now a bartender making a semi decent wage, but only if you included her tips. She wove her way through the crowds that were still filling the street, and not even thinning at half past ten at night. The summer season was just kicking off and while it was a great time to make money and she would work her ass off to make enough to cover rent and food during the off season, she was sick of the never-ending cycle.

London made it to the stop and only had a few minutes to wait until the trolley arrived.

Hey London, how was your day? Billy, the trolley driver said as she stepped up into the bus and deposited her dollar. She glanced down the aisle then moved around the barrier and sat on the bench that faced Billy.

Long. My feet are throbbing, and I’ve still got two days before I get any time off. She sighed and pulled her phone from her pocket. While she waited for the rest of the passengers to climb on board and take their seats, she typed up a text to her best friend Rylie and hit send.

London: I’m so done tonight. I need to make some big changes. How hard is it to get a job there?

Working on your feet all day is rough. I did it for a lot of years, Billy said as he pulled away from the curb and into traffic.

I don’t know how so many do it all their lives. I’m ready to quit. I’m exhausted and the last thing I want to do is come back tomorrow.

I get it. I’ve been in your shoes and felt that way more than a few times.

Glad you finally managed to get off your feet. The trolley eased to a stop and London stood.

You will too, just give it time, Billy said while she waited for other passengers to disembark. Have a soak, relax a bit. It gets better.

London shot him a wry smile. I know. I’m usually good in the mornings. It’s the evenings, the nights when I hurt so bad that are so hard.

I know that. What you need is to find you a partner. My Angie has made it all worth it.

I’ve been trying, she stepped around the barrier, but while we get a lot of people around here, I have a hard time dating the tourists.

She stepped off the bus and waved as she turned and headed up the street toward home while Billy waited for the new load of passengers to board. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was probably Rylie responding, but London knew better than to be distracted alone on the street at this time of night.

A few minutes later she climbed the stairs to her section of a house that had been renovated into four one-bedroom apartments. The house was nearly a hundred years old, the renovation not nearly that old but the house had been huge for the era, and she could only be glad her apartment wasn’t any smaller or she would barely have time to turn around.

Inside, she hung up her bag, kicked off her shoes and pulled out her phone as she headed to change clothes. There was a text but looking at it, she frowned.

[phone]: Jobs are pretty easy to get here. The hard part is finding someone willing to work. Warning though, it gets hot.

That wasn’t right. Why didn’t it say it was from Rylie? And Rylie didn’t talk like that. She typed up a response.

London: Sorry about that. I must have typed the wrong number. Meant to get area code 510.

London: Hot sounds great after last winter though. What are pay and cost of living like?

She hit send on the last message and tossed the phone on to the bed then turned away and stripped out of her uniform. The phone buzzed again but she put on her comfortable clothes before picking it up and heading for the kitchen. Yeah, it was after eleven p.m., but she’d been working all day and she was hungry.

[phone]: Cost of living is decent. Min wage is over $12. 2 bed apt will run about $800 and up, depending on what you’re looking for and what part of town.

London’s brows lifted. Sounded promising. While she was trying to decide what to respond, her phone vibrated again.

[phone]: Help wanted signs up everywhere. Wouldn’t be hard to get a job, you serious about getting out of wherever you are?

She stared at the phone a moment, thinking about it. Did she really want to get out of Deadwood? Or was she just frustrated and venting? After a moment she decided it was a little of both. There was a limit to how much better she could do here, and she wanted more. That meant she’d have to leave sooner or later.

London: Yes, I’m serious. Where are you exactly? I don’t even know where 520 area code is.

There. She set her phone on the counter, opened the fridge and stared inside, trying to find something she could eat that wouldn’t take an hour to prepare.

She pulled out sandwich makings and was halfway through putting one together when the phone vibrated again. Despite the temptation she didn’t seize the phone to see what her mysterious correspondent had to say. Instead, she forced herself to finish preparing her dinner and put everything away before grabbing the sandwich, a bottle of water and her phone then carried it all into the living room to eat. She sat in her favorite chair, put the sandwich on the arm and her drink on the table beside her before pulling up the text.

[phone]: Tucson, Arizona, you?

London: Deadwood, South Dakota, at least for now. Tucson huh? That is a lot warmer than here. Do you get snow?

[phone]: Once every few years. Usually a dusting or a couple inches at most. It’s gone in a day or two.

They continued to talk back and forth while London ate, eventually exchanging names. He said his name was Tuck, and she gave him hers, first names only. There was no need for more, not yet, and probably not ever.

Finally, after midnight, she yawned for the third time in ten minutes and as much as she hated to, told Tuck she was going to need to call it a night. London thanked him for being so friendly and apologized a second time for getting the wrong number.

She woke next morning, dreading another shift on her feet and decided why not? And started researching Tucson, job postings and apartment listings.

London had been up for more than an hour when she picked up her phone to text Rylie, and actually got Rylie this time, when she found a message that had come in after she’d gone to bed the night before.

Tuck: Glad to talk to you. I’ve enjoyed it. Feel free to text again anytime.

It made her smile. She was tempted to ask him a few questions but decided not yet. She wanted to talk to Rylie and make sure she had good questions.

London: I’m so fed up with this place. I want out. What’s the job market like there?

She set the phone aside knowing she wouldn’t get a response soon. Not only was there the time change but Rylie worked an office job that was mostly 9-5, where she couldn’t have her phone at work. Instead of asking more questions she started looking up what apartments ran around where Rylie lived and thought for a moment she had to be on a prank site. Studio apartments started at $1500 and went up from there, much farther than she wanted to think about. After a little more hunting she realized no, that was what apartments went for. She searched a little further out, and found prices were a little cheaper but then she’d have to pay for gas, spend time on the road and worry about the commute. She wasn’t sure that would be worth the cheaper rent.

Frustrated with what she was finding about the San Francisco Bay area, where Rylie lived, London looked up Tucson instead. There she found that Tuck had been right. Rent was much more reasonable. A check of job listings told her that there was a good variety of jobs, many paying more than what he’d told her was minimum wage.

Next, she did some research into the area. She’d never been to Arizona and didn’t know much about the desert. After a while she picked up her phone and shot a message to Tuck.

London: Were you serious about texting anytime? Can you answer some questions about Tucson for me?

She figured he likely had a day job too so she wouldn’t hear from him soon and set her phone aside, then closed her laptop and went to shower and get ready for work.

CHAPTER 3

Tuck sat in the back room of the club house, the door open as men drifted in and out, the door would close for a bit while someone gave a report or wanted to speak with him in confidence, then it would open again until the next of his brothers came and sat. His phone had chirped an incoming text a while ago, but he’d been busy listening to the report Crash had been giving. Hearing the trouble the other man was having with the latest group they were helping to smuggle into the country had made Tuck’s shoulders tense and his head throb.

Just what he didn’t need. More trouble.

Crash left, leaving the door open like he’d found it. Tuck let his head fall back against the chair while he tilted the rolling desk style chair back on the springs and tried to decide what needed to be done. There was something, he knew but it was just out of his reach. Experience told him that if he gave it a little time, let his subconscious mind work on the problem a while, the decision would be easier.

Tuck took a deep breath, opened his eyes and looked around. Spotting his phone, he remembered the text that had come in earlier and picked it up, expecting it to be one more bit of club business for him to deal with. Just for a moment he longed for the days when his biggest worry was whether or not he’d get the custom bike he was working on done in time. Well, aside from whatever he was doing for the Souls, but before he’d been elected President, his business for the Souls hadn’t been so consuming. Tuck hadn’t had time to spend more than an hour or two here and there with a welder or tearing apart an engine for a rebuild in longer than he cared to remember.

He needed to make time for some of that again, he thought as he thumbed open his texts and found the message wasn’t more Souls business, but from London. He found himself smiling as he typed out a response.

Tuck: Of course I was serious. I’ll tell you whatever I can. What do you want to know?

He hit send and set the phone back down, deciding they didn’t need him to sit here waiting on them. If someone had something to report, they could find him. Standing, he picked up the phone long enough to stuff it into a pocket as he left the room.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the shop, Tuck said to Sackett, the prospect behind the bar, as he left the building.

Ten minutes later, he was in one of the big bays at the mechanic shop next door to the lot where the clubhouse sat. It didn’t take long to spot Mac, the owner and manager of the shop, and head for him.

What do you have that I can work on? Tuck said in greeting.

Come again? Mac blinked and stared at Tuck, confused.

I need something to do with my hands. I need something to work on. What do you have that I can work on?

Mac frowned. Body or engine? Fab or repair?

Normally I prefer fab, but today I’m not picky. I need to get my hands dirty and forget everything for a while.

I’ve got a custom in that corner that needs the gas tank finished. Mac tilted his head to one rear corner. I’ve started but haven’t had time to knock it out. Plans are tacked to the wall. Or if you’d rather dirty and less finicky, that pickup needs a break job. Mac tipped his head to a fully restored, late 60’s model, Chevy step-side pickup in the first bay.

Tuck glanced toward the corner where the custom job waited then back to the truck.

I need something I don’t need to think too much about. I’ll take the truck. Got any spare overalls?

In the back, same as always.

Thanks. Tuck went into the backroom, putting his phone and kutte in a locker, secured it and pulled a pair of overalls on over his clothes. Yeah, it would be hot, but he’d rather be a little hot than try to get grease out of his clothes. Or worse, have to shop and replace them.

Back out in the shop, he went to work on the truck, focusing at first on the steps that had once been so familiar to him. It had been a few years since he’d done much in the shop, but after a bit, it all came back. The muscle memory still there as if the last time he’d replaced a set of brake pads had been last week.

Several hours passed, Tuck finished the brake job on the classic truck, then cleaned