Chas's Fervor: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 3)
Read Chas's Fervor: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 3) Online
Authors: Chiah Wilder
Tags: #Romance, #MC, #Fiction
AN INSURGENTS MC ROMANCE
Chiah Wilder
Copyright © 2015 by Chiah Wilder
Kindle Edition
Editing by
Hot Tree Editing
Cover design by
Cheeky Covers
Proofreading by
Wyrmwood Editing
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Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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The first time Chas saw his son’s teacher, he wanted her in his bed. Now.
Chas, the hardened, tattooed member of the Insurgents Motorcycle Club, has sworn off women since his divorce left him bitter and jaded. The last thing he wants to do is settle down with another old lady.
His relationships now are easy and free—exactly the way he likes it.
Until he meets curvaceous Addie. The sexy redhead whose eyes set him on fire.
He has to have her between his sheets.
And he knows she wants him. Eyes don’t lie.
Addie O’Leary has lusted after her student’s dad ever since she saw him.
She has guarded her heart and her life for the last two years. Now Chas, the tattooed, dirty-mouthed, rugged outlaw biker threatens to tear down all her barriers.
Always loving the bad boy, Chas is a dangerous badass with an attitude
and
an outlaw MC. His charming smile pulls at Addie’s heart and his chiseled chest makes her body overheat.
Carrying around a deep, dark secret, Addie is afraid her past will destroy her future. Chas seems to be her only hope for redemption. Will he be able to intervene before it’s too late?
Chas knows Addie is hiding something. He makes it his mission to find out what it is, and, once he does, he’ll claim her as his woman.
The Insurgents MC series are standalone romance novels. This is Chas and Addie’s love story. This book contains violence, strong language, and steamy sexual scenes. HEA. No cliffhangers!
The book is intended for readers over the age of 18.
Previous Titles in the Series:
Hawk’s Property: Insurgents Motorcycle Club Book 1
Jax’s Dilemma: Insurgents Motorcycle Club Book 2
L
izzie Quinn washed
her hands again, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn’t get the blood off her fingers. Looking under the bright lights above her bathroom mirror, she saw streaks of it filling in the grooves and ridges of her skin. There was just so much blood.
Her husband knocked lightly on the door. “Lizzie, aren’t you done in there yet? You’ve had the water running for the past hour.”
“Go away, Ian.” A stray strand of golden red hair flopped in her face, and she blew it away while she continued scrubbing. She’d never be able to get rid of the blood, or the horror of what had happened. Lizzie leaned over the chrome faucet and sobbed, her tears dripping into the sink below.
Lifting her head slowly, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Redness around her puffy green eyes made her porcelain skin appear more translucent, and the dark circles under them made her look like an extra for a zombie movie.
How had a beautiful summer day morphed into such evil? If only she’d stayed home instead of following Ian earlier that day. It’d been Lizzie’s suspicions of him having an affair that had coaxed her out into the white sunlight, making her duck into alleyways, bushes, and storefronts to avoid detection.
When Ian had entered a large, two-story brick house in a genteel, suburban neighborhood, Lizzie figured her hunches had been right. She’d stood before the bright red door, battling with whether she should go in or leave. She’d decided to go in and catch her cheating husband in the act. Lizzie had turned the doorknob then stepped into the marble foyer, frigid air from the air conditioner washing over her as she’d listened for sounds of betrayal. Nothing. The silence had been deafening.
Then she’d heard it—a loud
swoosh
, like the winter wind, followed by a gurgle somewhere to the right of her. Walking down the large entry, she’d entered the kitchen, and shock slapped her in the face: Ian calmly opened a large plastic bag, placing a bloodied hunting knife in it. Lizzie looked from Ian to a woman in her thirties, who was crumpled on the hardwood floor as pools of red pulsed around her, soaking into her white cotton dress. The woman’s eyes were dull and lifeless like two blue marbles, sucking Lizzie into the dark, sunken holes. And as much as she’d wanted to tear her gaze away from the death in them, Lizzie couldn’t.
“What in the
fuck
are you doing here?”
Startled, she’d turned and caught Ian’s icy stare. Shaking her head, she’d padded over to the collapsed woman and knelt down, taking the lifeless hand in hers—the skin was still warm.
“What’s going on here? We have to call 911.” She’d glanced back at Ian, and his stone-cold indifference had frozen Lizzie to the spot.
“We’re not calling anyone.”
“But she’s dead,” she’d whispered.
“I know, that’s the point.” With precision, Ian had placed the wrapped knife in his briefcase, and Lizzie noticed he wore gloves.
Wide-eyed, she’d gasped. “You
wanted
to kill her? Why? Who is she?”
“I don’t know. I’m not paid to get to know the targets, just to eliminate them. You shouldn’t have come here. You’ve left all kinds of evidence.” Snapping his briefcase shut, Ian had straightened his tie and walked toward the backdoor. “You’ve made a mess of things, Lizzie.”
“I’m going to call the police.” Dialing the number on her phone, she’d stopped when Ian rushed over.
By the way he’d gripped her arm, bruises would be inevitable. In a low, hard-edged voice, he’d said, “You won’t call the cops unless you want to be arrested. Your finger and footprints are all over the place. Your hands are covered in blood, as well as your clothes. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in prison, you’ll go home, clean up, and decide where we’ll go for dinner tonight. Do you understand?”
With a fallen face, Lizzie had nodded, numbness overtaking her.
“Good. I’ll be home later. I’d give you a goodbye kiss, but I can’t chance any contamination from you.” At that, he’d left the house, closing the back door quietly.
After he’d gone, Lizzie leapt up and rushed over to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. Her racing mind told her to go to the police, but Ian’s words haunted her. He was right—her finger and footprints were everywhere. The only thing she could do was run. Run far and fast.
* * *
Another knock on
the door brought Lizzie back to the present.
“Open up, we have to talk.”
Dreading the sight of him, she dried her hands and turned the doorknob. Ian stood just outside the door, a scowl on his lean, smooth face. As he grabbed her arm, she yanked it away and brushed past him, walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows which gave a beautiful view of the Chicago cityscape.
When he came behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, she shrugged them off.
“We need to talk,” he said in a low voice.
“Do we?”
“Don’t be like that. Why don’t you get dressed in something nice and we can go out to La Petite Maison—your favorite restaurant. We can talk there. Does that sound good?” He placed his thin, cold lips on her neck, making her shudder. “I have a quick errand I have to run, but I’ll be back in less than two hours. Be ready.” A thin thread of danger weaved through his voice.
Nodding curtly, Lizzie leaned her head on the cool window and looked out at Lake Michigan. From the penthouse, the sunbathers, joggers, and sailboats looked like mere dots in a vast landscape painting.
The ends of Ian’s shoes tip-tapped against the marble floors as he walked out. After she heard the front door close, she waited fifteen minutes, staring at the dots below, not daring to move. When he didn’t return, she dashed to the closet and took out her suitcases. Lizzie threw only the necessities in them then pocketed the wad of cash Ian had in the wall safe. With suitcases, cash, purse, and keys, she left her penthouse condominium. Having no clue where she was going, she decided to grab a cab and take a train out of the city. She’d have to reinvent herself, but she didn’t have any idea how to do that. The only two things she knew for certain were that she wasn’t going to go to prison for something she didn’t do, and she had to flee from Ian.
Ian, the man she loved and married two years before, for better or for worse, was a paid assassin, and blood money bought everything they owned—the cars, the condo, her clothes,
everything.
Looking out of the cab as the city streets whizzed by, she made a decision—Lizzie Quinn would disappear forever.
Two years later—Pinewood Springs, CO
L
ooking at the
clock on the wall, Addie fumed as she saw the hands read five o’clock. The eight-year-old boy seated next to her at the reading table tried to act as though he didn’t care that his mother was forty-five minutes late picking him up.
It had been a few weeks since Jack had joined the pilot reading group. Addie had liked him instantly. The young boy was so eager to learn and in just the short time he’d been in the program, he’d shown some marked improvements. Addie had five students in her after-school program at the library. As head librarian, she’d been able to put the program together, and if she could prove its success to the city board, she could obtain funding for future sessions.