Mute (Dragon Runners Book 1) Read online

  Mute

  ML Nystrom

  Contents

  Title

  Description

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Up Next

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  “He loves long and he loves hard and he loves complete, but he don’t love easy.”

  Katrina Vega is set on one thing: finishing college. She’s determined not to let anything or anyone distract her, especially not hot brooding bikers. On her mission to stay focused, she doesn’t expect to be pulled into the fold of a motorcycle club, let alone into the arms of Alec "Mute" Stillwater.

  Unable to keep her guard up, Katrina soon discovers that beneath the hard and rough exterior of a family she’s grown to care for, there’s also loyalty and passion she’s envious of. But falling for the club’s enforcer will not only threaten her plans but quite possibly her life.

  Mute © 2018 by ML Nystrom

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Mute is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.

  www.hottreepublishing.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: Claire Smith

  Formatting: KD Robichaux

  ISBN: 978-1-925655-46-9

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all those who have dreams they want to explore someday. I hope all your somedays turn into todays.

  Chapter 1

  The gas pump finally clicked off, leaving me with a grand total of ninety-two cents in my checking account. It was nerve-racking, but I had food in the refrigerator at my apartment and now a full tank of gas. My last paycheck from the library was coming on Friday, three days from now, and I was starting a new job tonight bartending—or at least the training. I just prayed that no crisis came up between now and the weekend. I had a small cash stash in my underwear drawer for emergencies, which consisted of a couple twenties, but that was it. It was a miracle that earlier today I was offered a job that should pay enough to cover all my bills and allow me to work around my class schedule.

  My Ford Taurus was over twenty years old, made some time in the early nineties. I was hoping it would last until I graduated and got a real job so I could buy something better. That most likely wouldn’t happen, as the check engine light that had been flashing at me from time to time was now constantly blinking. Just one more month, Fred, I chanted in my mind. Just one more month and I can afford to get you fixed. I had just enough time before my new job started to run back to the small apartment I shared with another student, and as it seemed more and more lately, her boyfriend too.

  I reached the apartment blocks that were set above some downtown businesses, and used my key to get in the street door. Attending a community college meant there were no dorms, so we had to take what housing we could get. The neighborhood wasn’t the best, and our apartment wasn’t fancy by any means, but as broke college students, it was what we could afford. As long as it had running water and heat, I was good. I wanted to talk with my “roommates” about how Sheila’s boyfriend should chip in with either rent or at least cleaning the apartment since he was there so often, eating our food and using up the hot water. But I never did. At five foot four, I wasn’t the tallest girl in the world, but I also wasn’t categorized as short either. I’d always hated confrontation, always blending into the background. There was nothing special to set me apart from the crowd. I was smart enough, but not brilliant; I was pretty enough, but not striking or memorable; and I didn’t have any talents that made me stand out in a crowd. I was solidly average and mostly invisible. I preferred it that way. If you weren’t seen, then you couldn’t be hurt, right?

  Neither Sheila nor Chip were around, so I had the place to myself for a change. I took just enough time in the apartment to brush out and rake back the mass of shoulder-length light brown hair on my head into its standard ponytail. Normally I would braid it to try and tame the wild fly-aways, but I wanted to get to my new job as quick as I could. I changed shirts and dusted a little powder across my nose, and headed out the door.

  My faithful Fred coughed and sputtered in the parking lot just behind the bar, the bright red check engine light glaring at me. If I wasn’t so broke, I would’ve taken it to the shop this morning before classes, but tuition was due, and I was so close to finally finishing nursing school. At twenty-six years old, I was one of the oldest students in the nursing program, but that was just the way life happened for me. I didn’t have real parents. Never met the ones that made me, nor did I want to know anything about them. I had some nice and some not-so-nice foster parents during my years of being shuffled around from house to house and city to city in the state of North Carolina. Either way, I was out of the system at eighteen and had to make my own way, which was damn near impossible as a teenager with no money and an average high school education. It’s also hard to get student loans with no credit score or cosigners, and honestly, I didn’t want to graduate with a huge mountain of debt putting me in a financial hole that would take decades to dig out of. With no real skills and a tight job market, my first job was at a fast food place near the town where my last foster home had been. I flipped burgers, lived with another girl in a small one-bedroom apartment, and saved as much as I could. I managed to enroll in the nursing program at the local community college, taking one class at a time, sometimes two if I could afford it. I occasionally had to skip a semester if money was too tight, but I was determined to finish this and get some security in my life. I moved to Bryson City and took a part-time job at the library to be closer to the campus and the hospital. One more semester, some intern practicum, and I would finally be done.

  My biggest problem had been finding a new job before my miracle occurred earlier today. Paying tuition had wiped me out, and the position at the library was only for the summer. I was getting a little desperate with my checking account down to double digits and no savings to speak of.

  I met Betsey at the library weeks ago when she brought her grandkids in for the afternoon story time hour. Every Wednesday morning at ten she walked in the double doors wearing her high-heeled boots, even in the summer. You’d never know she was a grandmother by the way she looked and dressed in a biker babe uniform of tight jeans, colorful printed T-shirts, and a jacket that had “Property of Brick” sewn into the back. Somehow she could pull it off and not look tacky or like she was trying to hide her age. Her two grandkids were Michelle, who just turned f
ive and would be starting kindergarten next week, and Cody, who was almost three. Both kids were beautifully behaved, always sitting quietly while I read the story, and usually had questions for me after. Earlier today I read a classic fairy tale to the group of kids, and Michelle piped up right after the story ended. I smiled as I recalled the memory and how it led me to this job.

  “Why didn’t Rapunzel just cut her own hair off?” Michelle asked. “She could do her own rope and get away instead of waiting for the prince.”

  I looked in her curious blue eyes and gave her an answer. “Maybe she didn’t have any scissors that could cut her hair.”

  “But the story said she had to do all the sewing, so she had to have had a pair of scissors around somewhere. Remember? The witch grabbed them outta the basket.”

  I laughed and touched her silky blonde hair. “You know what? You’re right. That’s called a plot hole, and I guess the writer didn’t catch it, but you did. That’s really smart! Maybe you can rewrite the story someday so it makes better sense and Rapunzel can take care of herself better.”

  She screwed up her face and Cody did the same, happy to copy whatever his big sister did.

  “I don’t ever want to wait for a prince to come get me. I’ll get out of the tower, get on my Harley, and drive off.”

  “Great idea!” I laughed because she was right. “Okay, kids, time for snack and craft.” She was right indeed, as her family were lifetime members of a local motorcycle club, the Dragon Runners. Her grandmother, Betsey, was one of the “old ladies” in the MC and owner of the River’s Edge Bar located just outside town on the Tuckasegee River. Her father was Blue, Betsey’s son, who oddly enough was not an active member of the MC, but a town deputy. How that worked out, I had no idea. I didn’t know a lot about them as a group, but it was hard to avoid them, as they had a number of businesses around the town and many people knew enough to talk about them. I’d seen some of the members around town wearing their leather cuts with a twisting, green-fire-breathing dragon on the back. I’d never heard of them being a bad bunch, just a little rowdy, but they were still a motorcycle club, and most people in the town held them in respect along with a little fear.

  “You’re real good with kids, Katrina,” Betsey said that afternoon in her country twang. “Cody and Shells love coming here and listening to your stories. Them voices you do? That’s their favorite part. Cody loved them ‘Hank the Cow Dog’ books so much I had to get some for my house. He tells me ‘Maw-maw, you don’t do it right! Do it like Kat at the library.’”

  “Thanks,” I replied, handing a small cup of apple juice to one of the kids. “I’m going to miss seeing them here.”

  “You going somewhere?” she asked, her perfectly plucked eyebrows rising in a painted arc.

  “Not exactly. Summer reading groups are over, so the library doesn’t need me here anymore. I’ve got to find a different job anyway, someplace I can work at nights.” I wiped up a spill and scooped cookie crumbs into my hand to dump into the trash can. No matter how careful I was about napkins and serving, kids were messy.

  “That’s a shame! How come?”

  “I’m starting my last set of fall classes next week, and then I have practicum hours to fill in the spring. My days will be full, and night work is all I’ll be able to do. I can finally see the end of the tunnel for school, but I still need to pay rent and bills. I’ll hit up the diners this afternoon and see what I can find. Hopefully something will be available, and quick.”

  Her whole body perked up. “You done any waitressing or bartending?”

  I paused from straightening the tiny kid-sized chairs. I’d been taught a long time ago not to get my hopes up too high. Most of the time something would come along and smack them back down again.

  “Yes, I did a bit earlier this summer at the Cork and Bean restaurant. Mostly kitchen help, but I did serve when they were shorthanded, and I learned enough to fill in at the bar from time to time. I was only extra help, and they didn’t need me long-term.”

  “Well then, I need the help and I need it now,” she stated bluntly. “I got a couple girls doing summer work, but they’s getting ready to go back to school themselves. If they’d be stickin’ around I’d probably fire them anyways; lately they work only when they want to and not when I need ‘em. Just because summer is endin’ don’t mean my bar is closin’. We stay hoppin’ the whole year! Only season change is I close up at midnight in the winter months ‘stead of one o’clock in the mornin’. You need a job? You’ll come work for me, startin’ tonight if you can,” she announced decisively, her dyed red hair bouncing as she nodded. “It’s a bar owned by the Runners, but I run the place with a coupla the boys helpin’ out. The boys are there a lot and sometimes get rowdy, but I’ll be there with you. Bet the pay rate is higher than here. There’s hourly, plus you’ll get a share of the jar tips when you’re behind the bar and whatever tips you get if you’re on the floor. You can work whatever nights are best for you and as many as you need.”

  I stared at her as she rapid-fired the job offer at me. I was surprised to say the least at Betsey’s generous offer. A job exactly what I needed and when I needed it the most? This kind of thing never happened to me, and I was a bit intimidated. I was used to struggling for what I needed, and this woman was offering me what amounted to a miracle. She barely knew me and was willing to take a chance on me. It was a humbling thought, but a scary one as well.

  “Are you sure you want to hire me? What if I mess things up? Don’t you want to interview me?”

  She blew out a noisy breath, and flipped her hand up. Her long, pointed nails were coated in red polish and looked rather lethal. I got the impression not many people messed with her.

  “It ain’t that hard. You pour a lot of beer, a lot of shots, do some waitressin’ as needed, and help keep things clean. I got a recipe book with t’other stuff, but there ain’t too many sissy drinks that get served in a biker bar, ‘specially now that most the tourists are heading home. The boys come in shifts most of the time to hang out and be seen. Usually they pick up women to take up to the Lair for the night, but anything goes down at the bar, they handle it so it’s a safe place. My partner and bouncer is there every night seeing to business, and protectin’ the club and anyone I say needs protectin’. Everythin’ else, I’ll handle.”

  She squinted at me, and I swear she was preparing to spout fire.

  “You gotta problem with bikers in an MC?” she growled low. It should’ve scared me, but oddly enough, it didn’t. Still, I answered carefully. My gut was churning at the thought of working at the River’s Edge Bar, but I really needed this to work out.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t. I’ve never been around a biker club, but I’ve seen the Runners around town. I’ve taken my car to their… I mean… y’all’s garage before. Just hardworking people is all I see.” My heart beat nervously. Don’t screw this up, Kat! This could be the break you need!

  Betsey smiled, and clapped her hands.

  “Oh Lord have mercy, girl, I ain’t no ma’am! Call me Betsey, and you’ll do just fine! Come on out sometime around seven o’clock tonight and I’ll get you started.”

  That was my first introduction to the world of the Dragon Runners, and I had no idea what to expect.

  Chapter 2

  River’s Edge Bar was one of several holdings owned by the Dragon Runners. The club had quite a number of businesses in the town and surrounding area. They owned this bar, a custom bike and car garage, a pawnshop, and four or five campgrounds scattered through the Great Smoky Mountains. I’d never heard of any MC owning campgrounds, but I was sure there were many other things I’d never heard of as well. I knew these were the legitimate businesses of the club, and from what I could tell, profitable ones as well. I’d lived in the area long enough to have heard rumors of some illegal stuff that the club used to dabble in, but that had all changed when Betsey’s husband, Brick, had taken over as president. The MC had a tough reputation still, and many of the town
sfolk regarded them as a lawless group, but from the outside looking in, the club had gone completely legit and had a great income.

  I didn’t know the members personally, just through glimpses of their familiar dragon logo and by town talk. What I’d heard from other people about the club was if you didn’t mess with them, they wouldn’t mess with you. Some even said they were a big help to the economy and kept the town safer than the local police. I would simply keep my head down, my mouth shut, and just do my job. My habit for years was to stay invisible, and I intended to do just that.

  Across the main road, in front of the bar, was the entrance to the Dragon Runners’ private compound, affectionately called the “Lair.” It was not much more than a dirt road with a Keep Out sign posted. It wound up the small mountain, disappearing into the wooded area on top. I knew of the Lair and what it was, but I’d never laid eyes on it and probably never would. Entrance to the clubhouse was by invitation only, and there was no situation I could think of that would ever get me an invite.

  The bar looked busy, even for a Tuesday night. A row of motorcycles decorated the front of the log cabin-style building. Everything inside was rustic, clean and inviting, definitely not what I thought a biker bar would look or feel like, but this was the one open to the public. The floors were a tightly fit polished wood, and when I first entered the building, I saw the massive wood bar with its mirror wall and floor-to-ceiling shelves full of liquor bottles. The stools in front of the bar looked more like chainsaw art than stools. They were carved to look like the back end of a horse; each one was different but functional. The floor was filled with square wood tables and wood chairs that had a rustic, homemade look. To the right of the bar was a raised area that held several pool tables and a couple of old video game consoles. The left of the bar opened up into a bigger area that had another raised area used for local bands, and a small dance floor. There were several flat-screen TVs on the walls, all showing different sports. On the brief tour Betsey gave me, I saw a couple of “members only” rooms were in the back as well as the storage room, large kitchen, and small office.