Impulsive (The Houston Defiance MC Series Book 4) Read online

  K E Osborn

  IMPULSIVE

  The Houston Defiance MC Series Book 4

  K E Osborn

  Copyright 2021 K E Osborn

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations, or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

  There is content within this book that may set off triggers click here for help.

  ISBN: 978-1922489050

  Editing by Swish Design & Editing

  Proofreading by Swish Design & Editing

  Book design by Swish Design & Editing

  Cover model by Guy Higgins

  Photography by Reggie Deanching RplusMphoto

  Cover design by Designs By Dana

  Cover Image Copyright 2021

  All Rights Reserved

  Oakley captured my attention.

  From the very first second.

  The moment she sassed me, even though I was wearing my club cut, I knew she had fire in her soul.

  As the tech man for the Houston Defiance MC, it’s my job to know everything. To always be ahead of the game. To outwit, outmatch, and outmaneuver our enemies at every turn. They may be smart, but I’m smarter.

  Finding out this firecracker has ties to a rival MC catches me off guard.

  And my first instinct is to protect her.

  Damn the consequences.

  Taking her under my wing is impulsive, reckless, electrifying.

  And I’m more than aware of the repercussions.

  But what if she is not who she says she is?

  Those close to me loathe the idea of us, and they’re becoming more of an issue.

  But things are not always as they seem.

  With new threats comes chaos and danger at every turn.

  But perhaps the war lies closer to home than even we realize.

  From International Bestselling Author K E Osborn comes the highly anticipated fourth book in the Houston Defiance MC Series.

  To Danny Baines.

  Thank you for being the highlight of my childhood.

  For letting me be your biggest fan and champion.

  I loved going to the drags because I knew I could cheer the loudest for you.

  Thank you for letting me run your Fan Club, even though it wasn’t sophisticated and ‘proper,’ I felt like royalty because I knew you.

  Thank you ‘Burn Out Baines,’ you’re still a legend to me!

  For your convenience, below is a list of terms used in this book.

  Any questions, please do not hesitate to contact the author.

  1% — When a 1% patch is worn, it represents the one percent of bikers who are outlaw clubs.

  Big Block — A type of large engine.

  Cage — Automobile, truck, van - not a motorcycle.

  Crew Chief — The crew chief is the person who calls the shots. They are the ones that get the race car set up for the driver to have success. They are the ones with the unenviable task of making late-race pit strategy decisions.

  Cut — A vest with club colors.

  Duck-walk — Navigating into parking space using your feet.

  E.T. — The start-to-finish clocking is the vehicle’s E.T. (elapsed time), which serves to measure performance and often serves to determine handicaps during competition.

  Hammer Down — Accelerate quickly.

  Lid — The name of the type of helmet worn by bikers. It’s an open face half helmet.

  NHRA — National Hot Rod Association.

  Road Name — A road name is earned, given, and bestowed upon a biker. They usually have a story behind them.

  Six — Watch your back.

  Supercharger — A supercharger is an air compressor that increases the pressure or density of air supplied to an internal combustion engine. This gives each intake cycle of the engine more oxygen, letting it burn more fuel and do more work, thus increasing the power output.

  The Heat — Police.

  Wally — Trophy awarded to winners of National Hot Rod Association Mello Yello Drag Racing Series national events.

  Blurb

  Dedication

  A Note to the Reader

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Connect With Me Online

  About the Author — K E Osborn

  OAKLEY

  As I pull my bike to a stop, I rev the engine just for fun. My Harley-Davidson Night-Rod always gives me a sense of freedom. But then again, I was born to ride. My family comes from a long line of bikers—not 1%ers, though. I’m sure some of them wanted to head in that direction, but instead, my family consists of drag racers.

  We race Pro Stock Motorcycles in the National Hot Rod Association or NHRA. Laying the tread on the asphalt, burning rubber and smoking the tires as I reach speeds of one hundred and ninety-nine miles per hour—fuck, there’s no feeling like it.

  It’s euphoric.

  Addictive.

  Incredible.

  The wind sweeping past you, even though you’re kitted up in your leathers and helmet. The chill of the breeze at increased speed is like ice coursing through your veins, letting you know you’re well and truly alive.

  I swear there’s nothing even close to that sensation.

  Nothing.

  When I was a little girl, my father, Austin, had me on two wheels, prepping me to follow in his footsteps like his father before him and his before that. I broke the mold by being the first female in a long line of Oakley racers, but I sure haven’t disappointed them. I might be a female in a male-dominated industry, but it doesn’t make me any less qualified to race and race like the fucking wind.

  Thirteen career wins.

  Twenty-nine final rounds.

  Career-best Elapsed Time or E.T. of 6.744.

  Up there with the best of them.

  I don’t doubt that without my father and grandfather teaching me everything I know, I wouldn’t be w
here I am today. But I also have drive and determination. I want to prove a half-American, half-Indian woman can do anything she freaking-well sets her mind to in this blessed country of ours. We’ve come a long way in this world, but a multi-ethnic woman in a man’s field, no matter what people try to say, will always have to work harder to gain the respect of their peers—it’s just how it is.

  So, keeping my chest puffed, my big girl panties firmly secured around my waist, and my ego in check, is something I’ve become accustomed to, but it hasn’t kept me out of my fair share of trouble. Having shit hurled at you can make even the strongest of people turn to vices they usually wouldn’t, maybe even seek validation in places perhaps they shouldn’t. I’ve always thought of myself as a tough chick, a woman who knows her strength and who embraces the power she holds inside of her. No matter what the world throws at me, I hold my head high—my middle finger too—and say “fuck ‘em all” because I know my worth.

  My father taught me to fight.

  My mother taught me courage.

  What they neglected to teach me was to stay away from danger because they both thought I was smarter than that.

  Now, thinking back on it…

  … maybe, I’m not.

  Sliding off my ride, I yank off my helmet, my long dark hair flowing down around my shoulders as I sway it back and forth. The line of Harleys parked along the side of the warehouse shine, glistening in the blistering Dallas sun, sending shards of sparkling light across the yard.

  What a beautiful sight.

  People who don’t appreciate chrome and a good shine job can not be trusted.

  Moving my helmet under my arm, my stomach knots as I make my way to the warehouse door.

  Will Hash be waiting at the entry with his typical wondering eyes? Like he’s waiting to devour me. The uncomfortable feeling has me glad I’m wearing full leathers today.

  My leather boots pound the gravel. They crunch under the movement as I stride over to Hash. Just as suspected, his eyes run up and down my body suggestively, even though I’m covered from head to toe with nothing for him to even possibly check out.

  But he does it anyway.

  Pervert.

  “Rage was expectin’ you a half-hour ago, Oakley. He’s gon’ be mighty pissed at you for bein’ late.”

  To command authority, I inhale, pulling my shoulders back. “Rage doesn’t own me or my time. If I want to spend an extra half hour doing my makeup, then I’m gonna damn well make myself feel pretty.”

  The corner of his boyish face turns up. “And a fine-ass job you did of that, too. But he’s still gon’ be pissed…” He inhales deeply like he’s trying to take in my scent, and the smirk makes me want to puke. “No one keeps Rage waitin’. You should know that by now.”

  A small cheeky smile lifts on my face. “Oh… I do,” I quip as I edge past Hash, making my way to the door.

  “He’s not gon’ be in a good mood, Oakley. You best be prepared for that.”

  Huffing, I yank open the door. With my helmet still propped under my arm, I walk inside the giant warehouse. The smell of chemicals hits me first, just like it always does, then the hum of the printers working overtime almost drowns out the yelling of Rage.

  Why is he always yelling?

  “Where the hell is she? She was supposed to be here half an hour ago. Someone find her and bring her to me. Now!”

  The prospects scurry, all scared shitless.

  They spin and spot me when I wave to them with a bright smile.

  Jayden and Angel have no idea the hell they’re in for with the club. I’ll never know why on earth they think prospecting into the Heathens of Hatred MC is a good idea.

  These guys aren’t good.

  This club is quite simply, bad news.

  And honestly, I never knew the night I met Rage at a bar that my life with him would turn into this.

  Being his little bitch.

  I’m stronger than this.

  I just have to find a way to prove it to myself.

  Angel grimaces as I make my way over.

  Rage picks up a broom, hurtling it across the vast space in his fury. “I don’t have time to play games,” he yells.

  “No one is playing games, Rage. I’m right here. Calm the fuck down!”

  Everyone surrounding us widens their eyes at me like I’ve just said the most sinful four words in history. Rage’s eyes meet mine, his nostrils flare as he strides up to me raising his hand like he’s going to slap me one.

  I don’t flinch.

  I don’t even squint.

  If he’s going to hit me, I’m going to take it like a man. But his open palm stops a hair’s breadth away from my cheek, the gesture so fast the breeze makes my hair sway with the force of the movement. My lip curls as he suddenly breaks out into a fit of laughter. My chest squeezes when all his men burst into hysterics, too.

  Damn ass crawlers.

  Rage’s hand suddenly rushes into the back of my hair pulling my lips to his in a rushed kiss. He tastes like tobacco and beer. Nothing pleasant about it. Pulling back with a cocky expression on his face, his fingers still grip my hair firmly. “And that’s why I keep you around, Oakley… you’re fucking fire. No one stands up to me like you do. I swear, I’m so damn hard right now. If I didn’t have a mountain of notes to press, I’d be taking you on top of this counter right here, but… we have work to do.” He leans in pressing his bearded lips to my forehead, then shoves me aside roughly. “Now you’re here, we need to get to work. These bills won’t make themselves.”

  He goes to walk off, his VP, Finch, at his side.

  “Rage?” I call out.

  He turns back to me raising his brow in question.

  Swallowing a lump down my throat, I exhale. “I have to go back on the road soon. I can’t keep helping you out here. It won’t look good if the press gets a hold of it.”

  Rage lets out a booming belly laugh. “Sweetheart, if the press gets hold of what we’re doing here, it won’t just be your reputation in the shit. We’ll all be in fucking jail. So, as far as I’m concerned, your little secret is safe. No one knows you’re involved with the club…” his hands flail around, “… with me. Don’t worry, I’m not stupid, Nic. I know you’re ashamed to be seen in public with the president of the Heathens of Hatred MC, that’s why doing it in sin is so much fucking better!”

  Carnage steps forward, bobbing his head at Rage. “Pres, I have new numbers coming in.”

  Rage huffs, his eyes shooting toward me. He doesn’t like opening up about club business around me.

  But this is my chance.

  I have to take it.

  So, I pull out my cell from my pocket, viewing the screen and swipe it as if it’s ringing on silent. “Rage, I gotta take this. It’s about sponsorship. I’ll be back… in ten or so.”

  He waves me off absentmindedly as I carefully place my helmet on the counter, the visor facing toward the mob of hairy bikers as I pretend to talk to my crew chief, Mike, on the phone. “Mike, talk to me! What did Lucas Oil say?” With no one the wiser, I casually make my way through the clubhouse.

  Hash lifts his chin to me while I talk. I pass him while nodding my head, umming and ahhing like I am having an in-depth conversation. I continue my walk, making sure I’m out of Hash’s sight and round the corner where I will be out of earshot. Ensuring none of the Heathens are here, I pull my cell from my ear, instantly swiping open the recording app to check if it’s doing what it’s designed for.

  The camera inside the helmet is working perfectly, the microphone’s sound coming in crystal clear. I can see and hear absolutely everything Rage and his brothers are discussing.

  A moment of dread washes over me.

  This is a huge breach of trust.

  I’m taking a massive gamble.

  No one has ever taken on the Heathens and come out alive. I’m hoping I’ll be the one who will be able to pull off what I have planned because if I can’t, it won’t just be me who suffers.

>   Carnage and Rage talk openly, freely giving me every detail I need to start enacting my plan.

  The stage has been set.

  Now, I just have to carry out the rest of my plan and not get caught in the process. I consider myself a smart woman. Finding my way into this maybe wasn’t the most logical way to go about things. Still, it’s the only way I see forward, and now I’m too far in to pull myself out. There is no going back.

  “Oakley, are you in or out?” I murmur to myself.

  Fuck it. I’m all in!

  I wait until Rage and his men have finished business dealings then make my way back inside. Even though I’m shitting myself, I add as much pep to my step as I can manage naturally. Noticing me, Hash lifts his chin in my direction. “What’s got you so fuckin’ upbeat?”

  I grin. “Just got me a new sponsor for the start of next season.”

  What Hash doesn’t know is this is last week’s news. It’s just that the Heathens haven’t been informed.

  “Congratulations, I guess.”

  I snort. “This is big news, Hash… means more money for the team.”

  He shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t care. As long as you keep showin’ up here when we need you that’s all that matters…” His lip raises as he continues, “So, I can stare at those fine ass titties, of course.”

  Sliding past him, I walk inside to find Rage—Hash’s not even worth acknowledging.

  Rage is standing by my helmet, and my anxiety automatically increases.

  Fuck! Maybe he’s seen the camera?

  “Yo, Oakley, this helmet is shit! I get you need to wear a full face when racing, but when you’re riding, you should wear an open lid, or hell, be rebellious and don’t wear one at all.”

  I grab it from him, playfully. “I’ll have you know, my father gave me this helmet. So, no, I will always wear it, and I’ll wear it with damn pride.”

  He curls up his lip. “Lame! How’d your call go?”

  I flash him my pearly whites, trying to give off as much enthusiasm as possible. “They’re on board for the next season.”