Romanced by Wrecker: Royal Bastards MC: Cedar Creek, Tx, #2

By Liberty Parker

Wrecker

 

For Valentine's day, I want to give Harper roots of her own to grow and flourish. She's never had anything that's just hers, and I want to provide that for her. But nothing seems to be going the way it should. With Dragon being gone, and Butcher in charge, things are a little less than orderly. It's a clubhouse full of Bastards gone wild, both the men and the women. Meanwhile, I'm elbow deep in construction, renovating my relationship with my blood brother, Gabe, and dealing with the aftermath from a sister who sticks her nose into things to help my old lady defeat her father's ghost.

 

Harper

 

Wrecker has been disappearing for hours at a time, each and every day, and my suspicions from that vanishing act have tugged at my distraught emotions. Life hasn't been good to me. I've lost more people in my past than one should. I did what I never do. I confronted my man to get to the bottom of it. Discovering that my insecurities have fed into my distrust leads me on a voyage of wiping my father's skeletons from my closet and dissipating them forever. The problem is, my father's hold over me is stronger than I thought it was, and I have a hard time letting the past go.

 

Will Wrecker and Harper's past keep them from moving forward? Or will their friends and family help them overcome those memories and help them connect on a stronger level? It's do or die time. Either they strengthen their bond or they let go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liberty Parker
• Release date: Oct 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223757221

Liberty Parker

I have been an avid reader for most of my life. When I was younger I use to sit and fill spiral notebooks full of stories for my grandmother. As I got older I took the jobs needed for raising my boys as a single mom until I met my now amazing husband. I have stopped working in the last three years and started promoting authors, then I blogged and reviewed for authors, which lead me down the path to writing and creating characters and stories. I love creating behind the scenes with my writing getting to use my imagination and write the story as it comes to me. My youngest is now a senior in High School leaving me with some spare time on my hands to be filled. I am loving the people I am meeting and the support system I have found. You can find me at my home Facebook page here: https://www.facebook.com/authorlibertypaker or you can like my Author page at: https://www.facebook.com/authorlibertyparker?ref=profile or join my Lady Outlaws at:https://www.facebook.com/groups/LibertysLadyOutlaws/

Book preview

WRECKER

Harper’s gonna shit her pants if you keep a secret as momentous as this, Striker says, nodding his head in disapproval of my plan.

You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Strike. I sigh, not understanding what the issue he has is. Why would she be mad? This is for her, for us, for our future.

It is, Prowler agrees. But you’re being so damn secretive that she may start conjuring up bullshit scenarios in her mind. You know how women can be. Especially if they think that you're up to something abominable or shady.

But I’m not, so your point is moot, I argue, ready to beat the shit out of the dynamic duo if they don’t watch their mouths and keep their opinions to themselves. I know what the fuck I’m doing, guys.

Said no man ever when it comes to his female. Striker huffs, rolling his eyes. Fine. We’ll help, but it’s your damn funeral. I’ll plead the fifth if she gets pissed and starts ranting, raving, and doing that interrogation shit she does with her eyes.

Yep. Me too, Prowler agrees with his brother, who’s his mirror image in every way two beings can be. The two are tricksters who’ve pulled a switcheroo on us a time or two throughout the years.

I’m surprised that Butcher hasn’t taken them to his slaughterhouse to teach them one of his torturous, valuable lessons. I’ve witnessed the outcomes of these teachings and they aren’t what I’d consider to be a fun-filled time.

Definitely not something I care to experience or see for myself ever again if I’m being honest.

I can handle blood and guts. What I can’t handle is when a grown-ass motherfucker shits his pants. That’s a smell that stays glued inside of your nostrils for days, sometimes weeks at a time, depending on what he has in his bowels during the event.

Have you had any more of your dream walks lately? Animal asks as he walks onto the plot of land with a tool belt strapped securely to his hips.

Recently, I’d purchased a large patch of land from the club for mine and Harper’s future forever home to be built on. It’s close enough to the club that I can get there if there’s an emergency, but far enough away and secluded enough that we have a sense of privacy and normalcy. Fuck knows, Harper and I deserve to have a slice of that shit in our lives after making it through our audacious childhoods.

Ask what you want to know, Animal. Don’t beat around the bush. That shit annoys me. I hate it when my brothers talk in circles instead of coming straight out and asking what it is they want to know.

Seen Dragon? He finds his balls and gets directly to the point at hand.

Yes. Nothing I can share right now with anyone though, I admit, knowing that this isn’t going to sit right with them.

Why the fuck not? Prowler asks, getting up in arms just as I expected him to.

Told me not to, I remark in a dismissive tone. He may not be here physically, but I still have to listen to his direct orders. Y’all know that.

It’s eerie that he sees you and can talk to you, Animal admits, still flustered that I can’t give him any more details than what I already have on our president, who’s out in the field, doing some undercover work that entails him taking out the community I was raised in.

I hope he cripples and annihilates the lot of them.

He has certain metaphysical aptitudes like I do. That's why he can communicate with me through mind links, I tell them. Y’all know I’m still working through that shit and discovering how all this crap works.

Has Harper said anything to you? I know she’s your ‘anchor’, which still confuses the shit out of me, but she also sees and hears what you do, correct? Prowler wonders.

Like me, she’s still working through things. Her adviser, Jericho, is still explaining things to her, I acknowledge. But the shit is still whacked. She only sees the things I do when she wanders through others’ dreams with me at night.

Ya know, the whole spiritual adviser thing is jacked the hell up. The fact that some guy can pop in and out of your dream state as he chooses is weird as fuck. I’d nut punch a motherfucker if he did that shit to me, Striker confesses without giving a damn for saying what he just did.

The jackass can make himself iridescent, so he can shimmer from one place to another while removing himself from my eyeshot before I can lay a damn finger on him, I confess, irritation laced in my tone.

Lay a trap for him, Striker suggests, shrugging his shoulders as if it’s as easy as that.

How the fuck do you do that for someone who’s ‘otherworldly’? I ask, curious about where his head is at.

You’re ‘otherworldly’ too, Wrecker, or did you forget that small fact? If anyone can pull a rabbit from a hat, it’s you, Prowler confers.

Your faith in me is astounding and heartfelt, I jest, chuckling as I pick up my hammer and jam a nail into the plywood, attaching it to the frame of the house I’m currently building for Harper. Stop yapping and get to work, you lazy assholes. We’re not sitting around a campfire, sharing our feelings and making s’mores. We’ll do that shit when we’re old, decrepit, and living in a nursing home.

I’m wounded that you’d suggest I’d rather sit around gossiping while knitting some blankets like a bunch of old biddies instead of doing a man’s work. Strike pouts.

My head snaps up and my eyes zone contemplatively at Striker as I inquire, You knit?

We’re not discussing that shit, Wrecker, Striker snaps at me while his twin starts cackling and hiding his wide smirk in the cusp of his arm.

I feel the need to whip my dick out and make sure my manhood is still intact, Animal decisively declares, shaking his head, appalled by where our conversation has led. No wonder he’s a chick magnet. He can crochet them an Afghan after he and Prowler tag team them in thanks for services rendered.

I don’t pay for my romps between the sheets, you surly fucker, Striker sneers, wrinkling his nose in distaste. And fuck you very much for implying that I do.

"I didn’t say you pay for services with stone cold cash, Striker, only with materialistic goods, Animal casually states as if he’s just told us the sky is blue. And it’s very girly of you to contest that. I do think he protests too much, don’t you, Wrecker?"

I hold my hands up in the air, not wanting to touch that particular topic with a ten-foot pole. I’m Switzerland, assholes.

That’s because you still have your balls, Animal says.

Tucked inside of Harper’s jean pockets. Prowler, the fuckface, laughs.

Without lifting my head or looking in his direction, I use my other senses and toss my hammer at him. It hits the top of his foot, causing him to whine like a little bitch.

Ow, that hurt, asshat. Stop doing that shit.

Wasn’t meant to tickle your fancy. It’s not a peacock’s feather, I lambaste, tossing my hand out in the air, indicating I want my tool back pronto.

Come get it yourself. I’m not your servant or lady-in-waiting, Prowler concludes.

That has yet to be determined, I passively submit. Hammer, Prowler, otherwise, you’ll get an in-depth look at my fist.

Speaking of, you need to go get a manicure. Your shit’s looking rough there, brother, Striker conveys.

Oh, for fuck’s sake! Animal bellows. How the hell do you manage to get laid, Strike?

My good looks and copious amounts of charm, Strike answers.

Or he gets them drunk, I add. It’s the only thing that makes a lick of sense.

True that, Animal acknowledges.

I thought we were supposed to be working, Striker adheres.

Then put your pussy away and let’s get this shit done, I snark.

The quicker I get our home built, the faster I can get us away from the idiotic duo known as Striker and Prowler.

HARPER

Standing back, I take myself in on the full-length mirror I’m standing in front of.

I don’t get it. I sigh, my angst with the situation apparent through my exhale. I haven’t gained too much weight. My face has filled out, but that’s about the extent of it.

Knock, knock, Selah calls out as she walks into mine and Wrecker’s room. What are you up to? Her eyebrows are drawn in as she examines the way I’m perusing myself.

Your brother has me flustered. He leaves before I wake up and doesn’t crawl into bed until after I’m asleep. I’m trying to figure out if it’s the way I look or if he’s just avoiding me for some unknown reason, I supply, placing the palm of my hand on my belly and sucking it in. "Do