Brick: Motorcycle Club Romance (Dragon Runners Book 5) Read online

  Brick

  Dragon Runners Book #5

  Melody Nystrom

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  About the Author

  Other Books by ML Nystrom

  Acknowledgments

  About the Publisher

  Blurb

  In the beginning, there was one determined man and one strong woman. In their struggles, they created a dynasty.

  Brick had one mission since he was a boy: become a Dragon Runner. The motorcycle club meant everything to him. Blood and bone from his brothers paid the Dragon’s dues time and time again. And watching it split apart was more than he could handle.

  Then he met Betsey.

  An unwanted daughter born into abuse, Betsy lived her life beatdown under a rigid thumb, never allowed to be herself. Her one goal was to leave her abusive family and be free. She fought on the losing end of that fight.

  Then she met Brick.

  Brick © 2019 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.

  Brick 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: Booksmith Design

  Formatting: Justine Littleton

  ISBN: 978-1-925853-70-4

  To Steve White, mentor and friend. Even though you’ve passed on to your next phase in life’s journey, you’ll always be remembered for your lessons and encouragement.

  Prologue

  Present day…

  Spring came early in western North Carolina this year, bringing rain showers in the evenings and cicadas buzzing in the early mornings. Dawn crept over the horizon as an old Ford truck, half blue and half rust, made its way through the twisting curves of Route 129, the famous piece of road known as the Tail of the Dragon. The vehicle was slower than the tourists on motorcycles, who were roaring through the sharps turns and switchbacks. More than one person raised a middle finger at the creeping vehicle, but the driver ignored them and kept moving. No one noticed when the truck disappeared onto a dirt road behind one turn. Few knew of the road’s existence. It was difficult enough to find even if you did. It was rough and narrow and didn’t appear to lead anywhere. The grade got steeper, and the road got tougher and tougher to navigate. Finally, the bulky vehicle couldn't go any farther.

  The door squeaked as it opened and Brick climbed out. He looked tired and worn, far different from the man who led the Dragon Runners MC. It took him three tries to wrestle the truck’s stiff door closed. The bang resounded in the quiet woods. He didn’t drive it often, preferring to be on his bike. In fact, the only time the vehicle moved from the garage was for his present purpose. Brick fought to get the rusty tailgate down. He pulled out two flimsy-looking ramps and carefully backed a four-wheeled ATV from the bed to the ground. He transferred several full brown paper grocery bags to the rack on the front of the four-wheeler and turned back to the truck. With a groan, he climbed up and lifted a large oblong object covered in thick painters’ tarps and duct tape. He strapped it to the back of the ATV, started the sturdy little vehicle, and continued into the woods, following a barely discernable path. He drove for miles, occasionally stopping to check a mark on a tree or rock to make sure he was going the right way. The sunlight thinned as the canopy thickened. At one point, he had to stop and wait for a black bear to move off his path. They stared at each other for several long minutes, the bear not moving. Brick had his rifle close at hand if the fearsome creature decided to become a problem, but the furry animal finally grunted and ambled away.

  It took around three hours for Brick to find a rough log cabin in a small mountain valley. It was like taking a gigantic step back in time to when settlers first crossed these mountains in search of new lands. There was no electricity or plumbing, not even a generator. The cabin was a small, one-room basic structure. Three or four feral cats lounged around the front, and a thin stream of hazy smoke floated from the narrow stone chimney. A primitive-looking stone potter’s wheel sat in front under a lean-to extension, along with a work table. A rain barrel, dark with age, sat to the side.

  The wood plank doorway opened and a wizened, bent old man appeared in it. He was dirty and crusty-looking and could have been anywhere from around Brick’s age, mid-to-late sixties, to over a hundred years old.

  “Didna think I’d be seein’ you this quick again.” The man’s voice was full of gravel, as if seldom used.

  “Didn’t plan on making another trip like this, but sometimes things change.”

  Brick untied the bungees holding the object on the back of his vehicle and heaved it over his shoulder. He grunted under its weight as it bent to hang double over his back.

  “Cold house, or you got a load ready?”

  The wizened man let out a guff. “Gotta load ready. Gonna fire soon, but I gots room. C’mon.”

  He shuffled off on a well-worn path at the side of the cabin. Brick followed, his muscles protesting at the weight he carried. “I need to bring a barrow up here for this.”

  The old man paused ahead. “You got more comin’?”

  “Wasn’t plannin’ on this one. Just can’t lift no more like I used to.”

  The man continued down the narrow path until it came to another clearing, this one manmade. It was a flat circle of hard gravel about twenty feet in diameter with a squat stone-lined pit in the middle. To the side and well away from the gravel circle sat a haphazard pile of dried wood logs and sticks. Behind that an unnamed stream flowed, making its way to one of the mountain creeks that eventually emptied into a river. Brick lowered the object to the structure and moved a few large rocks at its bottom. He cursed and his face turned red at the effort it took to bury it under the heavy stones, but he got it in all the way.

  The old man had taken a folding knife from his pocket and shaved a stick into a mass of thin, curling wood threads. He then pulled out a set of flints and squatted next to the pit. He struck the flints, sending a spark to the middle of the threads, and puffed at them until they caught fire.

  Brick watched the procedure. “Don’t see why you won’t let me bring you some matches. Quicker ’n makin’ a fuzz stick every time.”

  “Ain’t bothered ’bout no matches. Cain’t ’member last time I used ’em.”

  The old man pushed the burning fuzz stick into the opening and watched it until it caught the other wood on fire at the edge of the tarp. He replaced the rocks and stood up as straight as his bent back allowed him. The fire in the kiln would be kept burning for severa
l days, cooking and hardening the carefully crafted pottery inside. The heat would vary a bit but remain stable enough as long as the fire was stoked and more fuel added when needed. Temperatures reached and stayed high for the duration of the bake. The man used a wood combination and burning method to keep the fires virtually smokeless, and the tiny bit that escaped was dissipated by the overhead canopy of trees. Maybe it was the careful planning or just dumb luck that no one had discovered this tiny homestead.

  He checked the vent hole that fed air to the fire pit burning underneath the giant oven as he moved around the area. He always stayed with it as it burned, feeding the flames until the masterful creations on the inside were completed. All the materials for the pottery were gathered from the woods and surrounding area. The glazes were made from the ash produced in the kiln and other natural dyes the old man gleaned from the land. Brick always found it ironic that the crudely built oven that helped to keep his club safe also produced such beautiful art that helped support the town. The pottery pieces were sold all over the world through Psalm’s shop, and people paid a fortune to own one. Tambre had a whole collection of the stuff in her living room. Brick couldn’t imagine what Taz thought when he viewed the row of plates across his fireplace.

  The man tucked another log underneath the kiln and stroked his fingers over the side. “Startin' to heat up. Was it right?”

  Brick’s mouth tightened. “Yeah, it was right.”

  One

  Five decades ago…

  “Ezra Hairston.”

  The short boy with the russet hair cringed as he heard his real name called out. This had happened on the first day of school in every grade since he started kindergarten. He was convinced the teachers in the school were idiots, as he hadn’t gone by that name in years.

  “Here.” The titters of the other students punctuated his grunted response. He pulled out a pocket knife and carved new letters into the already scarred desktop.

  “Do you have another name you go by?” was the next question asked. Every year, he gave the same response.

  “Yeah. Call me Brick.”

  “Brick?”

  “Yeah. Brick. My road name.”

  The woman looked confused. It was the same expression of every teacher he'd had so far. Don’t these bitches talk to each other? Brick cut deeper into the wood, making the D more defined and the surface of the desk more uneven.

  “Road name? Like where you live?”

  Brick put the knife down and leaned back in the hard wooden seat. “Road name as in my club name. My daddy’s in the Dragon Runners MC.”

  The woman paled. Obviously, she’d heard of the club and the reputation. She dropped her eyes and fumbled with her pen as she marked his preference in her roster of students. “Um… okay, Brick it is.”

  Brick sighed in irritation. He didn’t mind school, but he was looking forward to being done with it. Only six years left until he graduated and could prospect to be a full patched member of the motorcycle club. His only goal since the cradle had been to join the group of hardened men. His father said he was stubborn as hell, and once a thought or goal lodged in his mind, it would take a dynamite blast to get it out. “Hard as a fuckin’ red brick” was Jesse’s favorite description of his son, and he used it often. Luke, Jonah, and Isaac were older, but only he and Isaac had any serious interest in the club life. Their mother died just after Brick turned four, and he only had vague memories of being cuddled against a soft bosom smelling of vanilla and a woman’s voice, full of love, singing to him.

  Jesse was the leader and cofounder of the Dragon Runners MC along with his biker brothers Bear, Blackjack, Walrus, Scottie, and Bugs. It started with their forefathers running moonshine across state lines during the prohibition era and had grown into running drugs and other contraband. The most followed route was the portion of Highway 129 known as the Tail of the Dragon. Other roads, like the Diamond Back, Moonshiner 28, and the Devil’s Triangle, were also regular runs, but the Tail was the most used and most direct.

  Jesse wasn’t bad as a widowed father. Brick was taught to say “yes, sir” and “no, sir” from an early age, and to respect the people who deserved it. He knew his father cared about him, but he wasn’t particularly active as a parent. Jesse made sure there was food in the house, but if Brick wanted to eat, he had to cook it himself. He had clothes to wear, but if he wanted them cleaned, he had to do his own laundry. Brick became independent quicker than many of his schoolmates, but he never considered this to be a bad thing. Jesse didn’t hide his lifestyle from his sons, and Brick learned quickly what he could and couldn’t share with people outside of his house and club. Cursing was a normal way of communication between his all-male family, and they were treated to a steady stream of women who came to live with them. Their purpose was cooking, cleaning, and warming Jesse’s bed, and they stayed for a year or two before they left and someone new showed up. “I like having a woman around, but no one can ever take the place of your mama. Ain't no woman good enough to wear my ring again.” Another of Jesse’s favorite lines.

  Brick glanced at the other two boys sitting in the back of the classroom, Taz and Deuce. They were his friends and sons of the other Dragon Runners. Deuce was sporting a black eye, and Brick suspected it was a gift from his father, Blackjack. If Brick were to guess, Deuce’s younger brother, Spade, wore the same black eye, and their mother too. His lips tightened at the dark purple bruise. More than once, he’d asked Jesse to say or do something, and more than once, he’d gotten shot down.

  “Ain’t none of your concern what a man does under his own roof. Blackjack is my brother, an’ I ain’t tellin’ him his business.”

  Brick seethed in silence.

  A tentative knock followed by the wooden classroom door opening caught his attention. Mr. Atwood, the school principal, entered, followed by a new girl. A wave ran through the room as every student sat up straight to get a look at the newcomer. She wore a mud-colored dress that did little to hide an impressive chest and rounded hips. Her plain brown hair was pulled back into a long ponytail, and she hunched into herself as she met the twenty pairs of eyes fixed on her.

  “We have a new student, Betsey Fullerton. She and her family just moved here from Mineral Springs, and her father is the head minister at First Methodist Church. Let’s everyone welcome Betsey and help her learn her way around.”

  Several “Hi, Betseys” popped up from multiple students, but Deuce’s comment rang out over them all.

  “Damn, look at the size of them titties. Betcha can shelve books on them things.”

  The room went silent. The principal turned beet red but said nothing. Blackjack’s reputation was well known, and no one wanted to anger either him or any of the other Dragon Runners.

  But Betsey was new. She didn’t know the town or the motorcycle club that many of them feared. Her blue eyes lasered to the back of the room and landed on Brick’s. The zap from that look held him in place and burned through to his toes. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t confused. She understood exactly what was uttered and why. Her expression was one of… of… contempt.

  Betsey’s gaze moved to Deuce, who was laughing at his own joke. She straightened up to her above-average height, and her perfect hourglass figure became clearer even in the ugly dress. Her breasts were full and larger than most other girls of the same age. The dress nipped in sharply at the waist and flared out over her curvy hips. Brick had overheard more than one conversation from girls talking about the right skirts, the right shoes, or the right hairstyle. Betsey stood out proudly and with no apology for her less-than-fashionable appearance. She cocked a hip to the side, crossed her arms under her breasts, lifting and displaying them even more, and stared down at the laughing cocky boy with the shiner on his eye.

  Brick lost his breath at the picture she presented. He reached over and popped his friend in the back of his head. “Shut up, dumbass.”

  “What the fuck, asshole? I’m just messin’.”

  “Mess wit
h someone else. That girl is gonna be mine someday.”

  Two

  Six years later…

  The diner was full of loud teenagers, happy about high school graduation but not yet awake to the reality of finding jobs and making a future. Brick and Taz sat in their usual corner booth. Both of them had shed their robes and cardboard square hats just as soon as they could after the ceremony. Both now wore their cuts, showing the Dragon Runners logo on the back and that they were official prospects. Deuce had dropped out last year, not seeing the point of trying to finish school since he was failing anyway. He had been allowed to prospect early and was now an official Dragon Runner, going on regular runs and earning a paycheck from the club. Normally, age eighteen was the age to prospect, but in Deuce’s case, they made an exception at Blackjack’s request.

  On Monday, Brick would start full-time at his father’s garage and custom bike shop. Isaac also worked there, but he was a full member of the Dragon Runners and spent a lot of time on club business. He still lived at the house with Brick and their father. Luke and Jonah both left to go their own ways as soon as they graduated and seldom visited or even called. Brick thought they simply weren’t interested in maintaining any family connections. Jesse said it was because of how the club made its money. Brick wasn’t privy to all the ins and outs of how it worked, but members got paid for transporting drugs, weed, guns, and other illegal stuff across state lines. He suspected they had a deal with some people in the sheriff’s office to look the other way, but not every deputy was on board. They still had to keep their activities under the radar. The Runners rode to Tennessee, Pennsylvania, Ohio, South Carolina, and Georgia with full saddlebags of whatever deal Jesse and Blackjack brokered. Most of it was weed coming across the border from Mexico, but lately, white bricks of cocaine had been showing up. They were stored at the clubhouse, which was an old hunting cabin close to Fontana Lake. The building was old and had no heat save for a wood-burning stove, but since it was hard to get to, it was a good place to store whatever was being transported. Not all the members were thrilled with this, but it put a huge amount of money in everyone’s pockets.