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Blade
Heller Raiders MC Book One
Heller Raiders MC romance series. Bad boy bikers, dangerous drama, and lots of steamy sex. These are gritty stories including violence, drug use and graphic language. Get ready for a wild ride. Some readers may find content disturbing.
Hana
I hate the Heller Raiders. They betrayed my brother, taking his cut, his bike, and his patch because he chose me over them when our parents died. Back then I was just a teenager crushing on his best friend, but I was too young for the hot bad boy, Blade. I never expected to see him again. He shouldn’t feel this good. I shouldn’t feel this good. Three years ago, I’d loved him. I’m afraid I still do.
Blade
Hana Vance is my best friend’s sister. Off limits. But he’s not in the MC anymore and she’s grown up. A badass, tattooed hell raiser. I want her on the back of my bike and in my bed, but my life is a wreck, and my club is on self-destruct. I’m going to break promises. My loyalty is going to be challenged. The MC has rules, but I’m done obeying them.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
COPYRIGHT 2023 by KyAnn Waters
Chapter One
Blade
What the fuck was her name again? Britt? Bree? Not that it mattered. “Baby, are you gonna swallow?” I fisted my hand in her light brown hair, holding her head as she sucked my dick. With the other, I tipped the bottle of Jack to my lips, letting the warm burn of whiskey slide down my throat. Two pleasures, booze and a blowie, but neither were bringing me any peace.
I leaned against the door of my room at the compound. An American flag hung on the wood paneled wall along with photos of friends and my life growing up in the Heller Raiders MC. My room. Another one of the perks of being the son of the club’s president. The other—there was no shortage of females ready to drop to their knees.
A fist pounded on the old, oak door. This place used to be a church. The offices and classrooms had been converted to rentable bedrooms for members, and the chapel was now the main assembly area for the club.
A large room in the basement, probably once the center for after service fellowship, had been transformed into storage. It’s also where we learned to fight by beating the hell out of each other.
The pounding came again.
“Get the fuck out,” I said because I needed another minute in—Brooke’s?—mouth.
“Got an emergency.” Pike, one of the club’s prospects, spoke through the door. “Romeo is freaking the fuck out.”
“I’m almost there,” I said to the chick gagging on my cock. Tears leaked from her brown eyes as she sucked and fucked me with her mouth.
Closing my eyes, I focused on her wet mouth, ignoring the hollering coming from the hall. My gut clenched, lightning streaked along my spine, and I shot my load into the back of her throat. She swallowed, her red artificial nails gripping the back of my thighs.
A smile curved her lips as she dragged her tongue along my shaft. She sat back on her ass and spread her thighs, apparently under the impression I would return the service. “Thanks, babe.” But I didn’t eat Heller whores.
I opened the door as I zipped up my jeans. Romeo, one of my best friends in the MC, leaned against the wall. He raked his fingers through his straight, dark hair. They called him Romeo because he was too pretty to be called handsome.
“Blade. It’s Kiss.” Panic laced the words falling from his trembling lips.
Pushing through the crowd, I forced my way to the bathroom. “Fuck.” Not this shit.
Shae crumbled against the side of the toilet. Vomit streaked along the porcelain.
I tapped her face. “Kiss, wake up.”
We called her Kiss because she was an amazing kisser. In high school, she’d make out with all of us in the basement—for practice. But later her name took on a darker meaning. Shae had a love for heroin and Xanax, otherwise known as chocolate bars. She’d worked hard to beat the beast. Seeing her now made me sick. Her addiction had its claws too deep.
“Kiss, baby.” I squatted down next to her and combed her tangled blonde hair from her face.
Frothy spit covered her mouth, her lips darkened to a muted blue, and her eyes rolled into her head. A bloody needle protruded from between her toes.
“I didn’t know she was using again,” Romeo said.
Shae claimed she had six months sober. Holding her wrist, I felt her pulse. “Get the naloxone.” I pulled her away from the toilet and laid her on her side. Spit poured from her mouth.
Romeo crashed into the room with the plastic medical box. When the fuck had we gone from passing out from too many shots of tequila and smoking a fat blunt, to keeping shit behind the bar to stop junkies from OD’ing in our clubhouse?
I knew when, and he wasn’t here to clean up the shit he’d brought into our house. I hated my old man. He was poison to the club.
Opening the medical box, I grabbed one of the pre-dosed syringes, popped off the orange cap, and stabbed the needle into the thick muscle of her thigh.
“Get the fuck out.” Rogue, Vice President of the Heller Raiders, cleared the hall. Everyone but Romeo scrambled back to the chapel.
“Is she dead?” Romeo asked.
“No. And she isn’t going to die.” I wouldn’t tell Romeo she’d be okay. But she wasn’t dying here. “Take a walk,” I said to Romeo. “Clear your fucking head. Did she have anything with her?”
“Yeah, like a purse and jacket.”
“Get them.”
Once he was out of the room, I spoke to Rogue. “This shit can’t happen here.”
Rogue was ten years older than me. My dad had patched him in at seventeen. Youngest prospect to ever earn his colors. Fifteen years later, he was VP of the club. But I wasn’t sure I could trust him.
“I know.”
“He’s getting worse.” He, as in Razor, President of the Heller Raiders, heroin junkie, and my old man. “He’s dealing out of the shop, chicks are shooting up in the bathrooms, and he’s so far out of his fucking head, he’s not thinking right. You know as well as I do that if the cops show up, we’re all going down for the shit he’s doing. We’re not an MC anymore. It’s a fucking drug house.”
