Dark: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Emerald Saints MC) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

  Dark: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Emerald Saints MC) copyright 2017 by Sophia Gray. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

  ***

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  Contents

  Dark: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Emerald Saints MC)

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Also by Sophia Gray

  Midnight: A Motorcycle Club Romance (War Reapers MC)

  Shadow: A Motorcycle Club Romance (War Reapers MC)

  Fender: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Blacktop Chaos MC) (Unbreakable Bad Boys Book 3)

  Torque: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Iron Angels MC) (Unbreakable Bad Boys Book 2)

  Wrench: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Inked Hunters MC) (Unbreakable Bad Boys Book 1)

  Torn by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Broken Wings MC) (Satan's Outlaw Sins Book 3)

  Ride with the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Satan’s Riders MC) (Satan’s Outlaw Sins Book 2)

  Ruined by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Storm’s Angels MC) (Satan’s Outlaw Sins Book 1)

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  Dark: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Emerald Saints MC)

  By Sophia Gray

  F**k me, I’m Irish.

  After spending months exiled overseas, I’m finally on my way back home to California. But the Emerald Saints MC has changed since I was president.

  We used to have morals, a code of ethics.

  No drugs. No gun-running.

  Now, though, a couple of corrupt cops have taken over, and the club is into all kinds of dirty business.

  I want to clean it all up and make things right again, but I’m a little distracted by some dirty business of my own.

  I thought Ella was just another good-girl conquest for me to use up.

  But from the moment I laid eyes on her, I was hard—and I’ve been so ever since.

  I never thought I’d be a one-woman kind of guy, but Ella has a body to die for. No matter how many times I strip her naked, it never gets old. I don’t think I’ll ever get my fill of her innocent eyes begging for the firm touch of her master’s hand.

  Finding her was lucky.

  Keeping her is fate.

  But if I’m not careful, I’ll lose sight of the reason I came home in the first place:

  Taking back what’s mine.

  Chapter 1

  Anna

  With a sigh, I pulled over into the marina and slowed down my rig. Every time I drove in my hometown, I felt like I was on autopilot. There was something about living in Dos Palmos that made the year seem like one big, long season. Nothing to break up the monotony. Well, nothing except for semester-long runs.

  The breeze from the ocean felt stronger and more refreshing than usual. It had been months since I’d been home, and I was glad to start finishing up. Next week would start one of my last semesters of med school. I was eager to finish and get it over with; it seemed like I’d been in school forever. But that’s what happened when you only attended one semester per year; driving a rig for tuition took up the rest of my time. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done anything purely social. I didn’t have many close friends, and I certainly didn’t have a boyfriend.

  I only had to drive for one more year before I could finish school. Just one more year, I thought to myself. One more year. You can do it, Anna.

  The thing was, sometimes I wasn’t so sure anymore. Sometimes, it didn’t seem worth it to put my life on hold. But every time I thought about that, I realized I didn’t exactly have a life to go back to. And I was past the age where girls went out to meet guys. I was thirty-one, plain Anna Murphy. I couldn’t giggle and flirt and wait for someone to ask me for my number at a bar. Besides, they probably would have been joking. I could never see myself as pretty; it just seemed too indulgent and unrealistic. Women ruined their lives in pursuit of beauty, and I wasn’t quite ready to do that. Not that I had much to ruin, or anyone to look good for. But so many days, it just seemed kind of pointless.

  The sun was glinting off the water and I shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans and strolled around the wharf. I was waiting for a delivery, and then I had one day left. Then I’d be done, at least for a semester. It was hard not to feel discouraged but I was trying to keep my spirits up. After all, only one year left to go.

  Being outside felt really good. I took off my sunglasses and closed my eyes, tilting my face up towards the sun. I thought about the long run I’d been on—I’d seen the whole country. From coast to coast, it looked incredibly different. America wasn’t a vast stretch the way I’d imagined as a kid. Every nook, every cranny looked different. It was hard to believe such a patchwork quilt of states could be stitched together to form one, cohesive unit. And the people were so different! I’d missed California, I loved living here, but it had been good to get out. And now I’m back home, safe and comfortable. Well, maybe a little too safe and comfortable.

  There was a crowd of bikers on the pier, laughing and throwing their heads back. For a moment, I envied their ability to laugh together. They seemed like they were having so much fun. I thought about how I’d been relieved to get back home. But watching the bikers made me feel empty inside. They made me feel like I was missing out on something in life by being so lonely all the time. Suddenly, I wondered if I’d be happier if I had friends. Or a boyfriend. Anything. Something.

  “Stop it, Anna,” I muttered. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I couldn’t let myself fall into a depression now. Not with only one year of trucking and two semesters left. This would be worth it; in the end, I’d be a doctor. A real doctor who could get a job anywhere. I wouldn’t have to drive the rig, I wouldn’t have to take shitty part-time jobs. I could maybe even settle into some kind of social life.

  On the water below me, my reflection shimmered and puckered. I peered down at myself. Yep, still the same Anna as ever before. Brown hair, blurred features. I cracked a grin. One benefit of being on the road was that I didn’t really have to worry about what I looked like. Not like I put a ton of effort into that anyway, but there was something nice about being alone with myself and my thoughts all day. On the bad days, it was torture. But on the good days, I enjoyed it. I always taped my lectures from med school and I loved listening to them over and over. It was like studying. And it reminded me all o
f this work I was doing was for something.

  When I was growing up, I never imagined this kind of life for myself. I always thought I’d be relatively normal. Meet a guy in college, date for a few years, get married and have a reception at the community recreation center. I could have even imagined using those plastic utensils that look like they have a metal coating on them. I never thought I’d be alone, practically a spinster. The last boyfriend I’d had was in college, before I’d dropped out. I hadn’t dropped out because I was failing, but because my parents were sick and I had to take care of them. When they both died, I didn’t feel like going back to school was worth it. That was when Brad and I broke up—I couldn’t find space in my life for a boyfriend when I was grieving my parents. At the time, I didn’t think he’d given me enough time or space. But now I realize I’d completely pushed him away. I didn’t pine for him, or miss him the way I used to, but life was different when I was facing an eternity of solitude.

  In irritation, I checked my phone. I was waiting for two delivery guys to show up, but they were late. I frowned. The bikers were still down at the end of the pier, laughing and carousing. One of them kept looking in my direction and I shivered. I didn’t think they were dangerous, but I wasn’t used to getting attention from men. Especially not giant, tattooed men with leather vests and tough voices.

  “Anna?” I heard a voice and turned around. One of the biker guys had walked over and he was staring me down. “Is that you?”

  “Who are you?” I narrowed my eyes. “I mean, yes, my name is Anna. What do you want?”

  He laughed shortly. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “My buddies and I were waiting to drop off a delivery. We’ve been here for almost an hour, but we didn’t know we were waiting for a girl.” He smirked.

  “I’m not a girl,” I said calmly. “I’m actually in my thirties.”

  He whistled. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said with a slight note of jest in his voice.

  I glared. Being called ma’am was even worse than being called a girl. “It’s fine,” I said shortly. “Can you load up the rig?”

  “Yeah,” the guy said. He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry,” he offered again. “My buddies and I aren’t used to seeing women driving rigs. It’s a little bit of a mindfuck, you know?”

  I laughed. “Yeah,” I said finally. “I’ve heard that a lot.”

  The guy cracked a grin. “You’re pretty,” he said. “Can you blame me?”

  Blushing hotly, I turned around. I refused to acknowledge this guy, no matter how much he was complimenting me. I couldn’t believe he really thought I was attractive. I’d been shut up alone in my rig for days and I had barely looked in a mirror. If I was pretty, this guy was Elvis, back from the dead. “So are you going to load up my rig?” I walked over to the back and flipped the latch. When I climbed up and opened the gate, the biker started laughing again.

  “I’m sorry,” he said through chuckles. “Some part of me still thought you were bullshitting until you did that just now.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Enough,” I said flatly. “Do you have the cargo?”

  The guy straightened up. “My buddy, Thomas, is going to be bringing the carton over here. We’ll load up your truck, then you have to drop it off at the freight yard. You good with that?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, that’s easy,” I said truthfully. “Thanks.”

  The guy grinned at me and winked before he walked away. When I was sure he was gone, I leaned against the side of my rig and took a deep breath. My first time talking to a guy in weeks, and I’d blown it. Stop, I thought to myself. There was nothing to blow in the first place. I giggled at the double entendre of the thought. But deep down, I knew I was right. No guy was going to look twice at me. This one had merely been amused by my gender, that was all.

  It took him a good twenty minutes to come back, with a shorter but even burlier biker in tow. They both grinned at me.

  “Thomas, this is our driver,” the first guy said. “Ain’t she a peach?”

  Thomas laughed shortly. “Fuckin’ hell,” he said in a mild tone. “This is quite the surprise.” He grinned at me and reached out a hand to shake. After a moment, I accepted. His grip was huge and it dwarfed my hand, making me look slender and small.

  “Lucas’s known for teasing,” Thomas said. “I hope he didn’t give you hell.”

  I didn’t answer. The guys walked around to the other side of the rig and steered a metal dolly with a giant crate on it towards the truck. I gaped. I’d never even seen a box that size.

  “What the hell is in this?” I asked loudly. “A gorilla?”

  Thomas and Lucas threw their heads back and laughed loudly. “You could say that,” Lucas said with a wink. Thomas elbowed him in the side and they both cracked up again. I felt a wave of irritation and suspicion wash over me.

  “What the fuck, guys?” I asked. “Seriously?”

  “No,” Thomas assured me. “It’s fine, trust us. Just get this to the freight yard and sign off for it to be unloaded. Then you’re done. Deal?”

  I nodded. “Deal,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you,” Lucas replied.

  He grinned at me again and I felt my stomach do a flip-flop. All of this attention was embarrassing, and I couldn’t see how any of it was meant sincerely. I couldn’t understand why they thought I was worth messing with. Sure, I wasn’t gorgeous. But I knew I looked a little younger than thirty-one, and I wasn’t exactly a spinster yet. Well, maybe I was. Maybe all this time alone hadn’t been that great for my head after all.

  I watched as Lucas and Thomas carefully hauled the giant crate into the back of my rig. They were gentle, almost as it they were afraid of hurting what was inside. My curiosity deepened with every passing moment, but aside from being overly delicate, they gave no hint that anything was suspect.

  When they were done, Thomas waved at me cheerily. “You need help with anything else?”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I said. “Thank you.”

  They both winked at me—again!—before walking away. I frowned. I still didn’t know what was so funny, or so irresistible. With a sigh, I pulled open the cab door and hauled myself up into the driver’s seat. Every time I sat behind the wheel of my rig, I was amazed. It was like a whole new view on the world. I’m not exactly tall, and I loved being able to see everything. Even the biggest SUVs on the road looked like specks from where I perched in the cab.

  With a sigh, I started the engine and shifted into first. I felt the rig strain with the effort then begin to pick up speed and move out of the marina. The freight yard was only a few miles away It was hard to imagine I’d lived in this sleepy little town for my whole life.

  Sometimes I thought about leaving. Everything had happened here. I’d grown up here, gone to school here, lost my parents here. Brad and I had been high-school sweethearts but we didn’t make it longer than a year after we started college. Later, after we broke up, he transferred to another university out of state.

  “You’re holding me back,” Brad had said, in one of the only stinging moments in our relationship. “You’ve always held me back, and you’re not even trying to make us work anymore.”

  I blinked back tears. It surprised me that after all this time, I could still get so emotional about everything that had happened. That was all years ago. But that’s what happens when you make med school your life. Of course you don’t have anyone to share anything with.

  To clear my head, I turned on the radio and surfed until I found a classic rock station. There was a familiar song playing and I turned up the volume and sang along loudly, until my throat was almost sore. Singing to myself felt good—it was another way I liked to pass the time while driving. I got a kick out of seeing people laugh when they realized the driver of the big rig next to them was a woman and she was singing.

  Life on the road wasn’t always safe or easy, but it had been fulfilling in a way that little else in life had been so far. I’d c
ome so far by myself, and despite a few brushes with danger, things had always worked out.

  There was the time in Nebraska, when I pulled into a truck stop and realized I was hanging out with racists and bullies. They were all making fun of another driver, a younger guy, and calling him a faggot. It had been ugly and scary; when I’d tried to leave, one of them had grabbed me and forced me to stay. But something inside of me had snapped and I’d fought back with all my will. I wasn’t stronger than the guys there, but they’d respected me for fighting back. After that, they’d treated me with sort of a reluctant acceptance. It frightened me, but I knew I always had to stand my ground. The first moment of weakness I felt would do me in. It was like that when I was pushing through a long run—or studying for a medical exam—but the tangibility of having to take care of myself really made me feel better.

  The worst incident that had happened on the road didn’t really even have to do with me. It had been in Georgia, at a remote truck stop outside of Atlanta. Like many other stops I’d haunted, there were some girls hanging around and turning tricks. I was used to seeing them. Most of the time, the truckers treated them well and with respect. But when I went in to use the bathroom and shower, there was a girl curled up in the corner of the bathroom, crying. She’d been soaking wet and close to naked, and every time I stepped towards her, she’d screamed. Eventually I was able to sit down on the floor and take a good look at her. After a while, she started talking. Her name was Marissa, and she’d been raped. She’d only been hooking for a couple of weeks, and some guys had clubbed her over the head and dragged her back to their rigs. She’d woken up like this, exhausted, in pain, and alone. They’d also robbed her. I felt bad; I knew there were con artists who hung out and tried to take advantage of people, but I didn’t exactly think she fit the profile. She seemed too alone in the world and desperate. Eventually, I let her hitch a ride with me all the way back to California. When we’d arrived, I’d given her some money and sent her on her way. We had each other’s contact information but we hadn’t really stayed close. I guessed she’d been too embarrassed about letting me help her. After all, inequality doesn’t always make for the closest types of friendships.