Draked Up: Book 5 of Colson Brothers Series

  Draked Up

  Book 5 of Colson Brothers Series

  Edited by: Lynne Foster

  Motorcyle Image on Cover Courtesy of Terry Foster

  Reese Madison

  AuthorHouse™ LLC

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.authorhouse.com

  Phone: 1-800-839-8640

  © 2014 Reese Madison. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Published by AuthorHouse 03/12/2014

  ISBN: 978-1-4918-7312-0 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4918-7313-7 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014904915

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  Prologue

  I’ve been back in town for almost a week now, spending more time than not here at the club. Other than helping out with a big shipment of tires I’ve been fairly useless around here. I’m perfectly happy to sit my ass in this corner of the bar and wait for her to come into work.

  My last job was a doozy. They sent me home for some R&R to get my mind right again. I’m not sure it’ll ever be right again. The things I’ve seen can’t be unseen. The only competition for my nightmares has been this sexy black-haired beauty that works in the bar here at the club.

  Her name is Sherry, but I call her Cherry in my head. Her lipstick is a dark red that would be too much if it weren’t for the thick eyelashes and bright green eyes. Her long black curls beg to be wrapped around my fist as I expose her neck for a taste.

  After the third day of watching her with little regard as to being considered a stalker, she figured me out. Well, she thinks she has anyway. Now it’s the one-week anniversary of the first time I saw her. Something has to be right about this chick because when I stopped for gas on my way here today, some old lady walked up to me with a basket of roses for sale.

  I set the five-dollar red and white rose on the table and watched Sherry finish with another customer as I sat down. She came over right after dropping the order off with the bartender.

  She looked down at the rose, “Pretty. Did you finally get a date for tonight?”

  I haven’t spoken since I got here, I just showed Slider my paperwork, got an approving nod, and headed for the bar. Everyone has left me alone so far, except this waitress.

  I picked up the rose and held it out for her to take.

  She shoved her small steno pad and a pen back in her apron pocket and took the rose. She inhaled deeply as her eyes closed. I wonder what she looks like without the makeup, with her hair tangled and spread across my new expensive white sheets. Who knew Egyptians could spin such soft fucking fabric?

  “You brought this for me?” She asked twirling it in her fingers. No polish there, just all-natural hard working hands.

  I nodded once and sat back.

  To my complete shock she bent over in front of my face filling my vision with creamy white cleavage to press a kiss to my cheek. “Thank you Monk.” My name is Drake, but since I’ve been home the guys have nicknamed me Monk because my voice seems to have left me. It happens in extreme cases of stress to people in my line of work. As far as I’m concerned it’s an indicator that it’s time for me to retire.

  I forced my hands to stay where they were, otherwise I’d have those babies in my mouth right now.

  “I’ll be back with your dinner. Red made something special for me. For you.” She corrected looking a little flustered. “It’s my recipe, but I don’t have time to cook, so she made it for me. Anyway, I’ll be right back.” She half skipped over to the bar, pulled down a glass, snipped the end off the rose, dropped it in the glass and gave it some water. Then she poured my usual beer and brought both back to the table.

  I gave her a confused look. I thought she liked the rose.

  “What? You brought me a rose. I want to make sure everyone knows where it came from.” She said playfully flirting with me. I don’t think she realizes I’m too far gone for games. I want her, and I intend to have her. I just need to calm down first. Hopefully I can find my voice before I rip through those skimpy clothes of hers with my teeth, then tell her how fucking beautiful she is while I slip between those perfect thighs.

  The dinner crowd came in taking my little dark-haired angel’s attention away from me, but she has to work, we all do. Or did. I think I’m done. One more sliced up woman or child is going to send me over the top. I’ll end up calling in every available Colson brother to help me fight the damn war for these poor people being repressed and denied basic human rights. Some of these countries are so broken I’ve stopped seeing the point in saving them lately. Maybe dying is better than living the way they do.

  Cherry, Sherry, whatever, brought me a bowl covered with pie crust earning a curious look from me again, this time in the form of my eyebrows drawing together. In other words, what the hell is this?

  That genuine ear-to-ear smile tugs at something inside me I can’t quite put a finger on. “Just try it. You look like a meat and potatoes kind of guy, right?”

  I shrugged. Yeah. I guess so.

  “Good. It’s hot, so don’t burn yourself.” She turned as someone yelled for her services.

  I watched that perfect little ass walk away before picking up the large spoon and cutting into the bowl of pie.

  Ten minutes later I was on pie number two. Half an hour later Red cut me off at four simply because she was too busy to keep making the damn delicious things. I tried to ask with a look what it was called, but she just pointed to Sherry and said, “Ask her. I just followed the directions on the recipe card she gave me yesterday.”

  For the last week I’ve left when the bar closed. There are no set hours for the club’s bar. It’s open when it’s open, closed when it’s closed. The doors are always unlocked, but beer isn’t always flowing.

  Tonight I stayed put while they cleaned up. When Sherry started putting chairs on the tables I got up to help by putting some up for her. She rewarded me with a sweet smile and a slight roll of her enchanting eyes.

  I sat back down as she unlocked the jukebox and programmed in some songs for free. I’ve never been to a show in a theater, not since I was a kid going to the movies. In the last fifteen years I haven’t watched much TV, let alone have time to see a show.

  The show in front of me right now has my dick on full alert. Luckily I’m in a dark corner behind a table. It’s getting rather uncomfortable to sit here watching those hips swaying to the rhythm of the songs she knows well enough to sing every word to by heart.

  Rick pulled on his jacket and stopped by my table on his way out, “You gonna walk her to her car when she’s done?”

  I nodded once.

  “By the way, she’s got ’em lined up at the door buddy. Turns every guy down with that big smile of hers. If you’re not serious, don’t bother. If you are ser
ious, expect to work for it.” He shouldered the door and left. I guess he knew better than to wait around for me to reply. As much as I didn’t care for his butting in, I have to respect the guy for looking out for her.

  I watched Sherry dance, sing, and mop for the next half an hour. She’s obviously done this a time or two because she didn’t miss a spot on this floor. Even made me lift my feet with a wiggle of her fingers and hips. Hips I want to bite. Hips I want to see even fuller with my kid sitting between them.

  What the hell is wrong with me?? Now I have her birthing my children?? I ran my hand over my face and stood up to go put a stop to this music. Another shake of those hips and I’ll be dragging her down the aisle.

  “You don’t like that song?”

  I shook my head and tapped my watch on my wrist.

  “Alright. Hang on. I’m almost done here.” She complained like she’d rather not go home.

  I waited by the door while she gathered her purse, jacket, and keys.

  She stopped just as I was about to push it open for her and looked up, “What’s your deal Monk?”

  I swallowed a couple times wondering if my voice would miraculously come back in effort to try and answer her question. The problem is, I don’t have words to describe what’s wrong with me. Not ones I want to use to paint the image they would create in her mind. No. I won’t share that, not with her.

  She grew impatient and motioned for me to go ahead and open the door, “Fine. Play the strong silent type. I guess I don’t have to worry about cheap pickup lines with you, huh?” She sounded disappointed underneath her amusement.

  I followed her to an early 90’s Honda Civic that’s seen better days. She unlocked the door, I opened it.

  She tossed her bag inside to land on the passenger seat before turning back to look up at me. “What do you want Monk?”

  I gently poked her once in the chest, then stepped back motioning for her to get in and go already. When she looked at me funny I tapped my watch so she’d think I was worried about the late hour. I don’t care about the time, but if she doesn’t go soon I might have to kiss her plump red lips.

  She rolled her eyes, “Whatever. See you Tuesday?”

  My eyebrows drew together. It’s Thursday.

  “I’m taking the next four days off Monkey. You’ll have to find another waitress to gawk at.” She wiggled her fingers at me and slid down into that death trap of a car. Did she just call me Monkey?

  It’s not easy to follow someone on a loud Harley. She doesn’t seem to have noticed me yet, but then again she could be assuming I’m heading in the same direction.

  When she stopped in front of a small house on the outskirts of Apache Junction and got out of her car I stopped and shut off my bike, lights and all. She lingered by the hood of her car doing something inside her purse. After a minute or two she lit a joint. I’ve heard her talking about her distaste for cigarettes, but I’ve also seen her steal a hit off one of Salina’s joints more than once.

  I watched her smoke and talk to the stars. She really doesn’t want to go in that house. I remained on my bike while walking it closer and closer until she heard the crunch of the gravel on the side of the road and looked my way.

  “Monkey! What the hell are you doing here??!!” She walked over to where I stopped not far behind her car.

  I made a sign with my hand for a pen and paper.

  “Hold on.” She complained going back to get her purse. She dug out the pen and pad she uses at the bar and handed them over.

  I wrote: Why don’t you go inside?

  She read it over my arm as I was writing it. I can smell her hair, smells clean, like strawberries. “Oh God, talk about a long story. Look honey. You’re tall dark and magnificently mysterious, but you don’t want to dance with me. I have too much on my plate, as it is, being your whatever… I just don’t have it in me, or the time. Do yourself a favor and go find someone else.” She tried to take the paper and pen back.

  I held them out of reach and wrote: NO. Tell me.

  She huffed and puffed until I gave her the pen and pad back. Then she handed me the last two hits of the joint and turned on her heels and headed for the house. I finished the joint and set my kickstand on the ground. It sunk a little more than I’d like, but I can’t park it on the road, or in her driveway.

  I got off and sat with my back to the front tire and my knees under my elbows. It’s not like I’m going to sleep anyway. Might as well see what my dark angel has planned for this four-day vacation. Hopefully she won’t call the cops on me. The last thing Fletcher needs is another reason to laugh at his ridiculous family.

  Fletcher is one of my many half brothers, he just happens to be a cop. His twin brother Sawyer is a firefighter. Joe was a Marine, and Mack is, was, well, we’re not sure what the hell Mack is or does. Zac is a pilot who started working with me years ago. I think he’s chasing some tail up the California coast about now.

  I heard the door slam waking me up and watched as my dark angel stormed from the house carrying a large backpack, a duffel bag, and her big hippy-style purse. She’s cussing and yelling over her shoulder in perfect angry Italian. Down dick. Damn she’s sexy when she’s mad. Turn that hot temper on me honey, so I can kiss you back down to a simmer.

  She saw me as I stood and threw her hands up almost dropping her bags, “Are you fucking kidding me??!! Did you stay here all night??”

  I shrugged. Obviously.

  She unlocked her car and put all three bags into the passenger seat. “You can’t go with me, and you can’t keep following me. Just go home Monk.” She put the door between us as she looked up at me. “Go home. You don’t want any part of this mess.”

  I motioned for her pen and paper again.

  “No. No more writing. I want you to go home, or go back to the club. Wherever you go when you’re not at the bar, but just go. Please.” She begged looking frustrated.

  Shit. I took advantage of my speed and size over her and stole her keys. Then I took her arm and moved her out of the way so I could reach in and grab her bags.

  “Monk. Stop.” I don’t think she knows my real name. Interesting.

  I’m not usually this forceful with women, but this one has me out of sorts. I’m not hurting her, but she’s yelling at me anyway. Even gave me a wedgie while I tried to secure her bags and keep her from escaping. It’s not easy to hold a feisty woman in one hand and strap down bags to your motorcycle’s fender with the other.

  My bike only has a single seat, and with my fender loaded with her bags I’m going to have to ride with her in front of me. This should be interesting. It took some gentle wrestling and doing, but I finally I got her in front of me with her long legs wrapped around my waist and righted my bike.

  She smacked me hard across the face. “Asshole!!”

  I agree. I’ve also been called worse. I’m also tired as fuck. Sleep hasn’t come easily in over a year. I start the bike and clamp my hand down on her thigh again as she tries to climb off. That got me another smack in the face.

  I agree a little more reluctantly this time. She heeded my scowl and threw her arms around my neck when I hit first gear. “You have to go take me to San Diego!! Please!! Nowhere else!! Do you understand me??” She yelled in my ear.

  Six hours to San Diego, that’s easy. I let go with one hand and held her lower back while shifting to a more comfortable position. After I pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek she put her head on my shoulder. She needs to calm down and hold on.

  About ten minutes into the ride she started working her arms and legs under my leather jacket. She’s cold. I worked one arm out, then the other before bringing it around and wrapping it around her back to keep the wind of her perfect little body.

  That was okay for the first hour. Then she started shivering, so I pulled over and watched as she put jeans over shorts, and added a sweatshirt.

  “Can I sit behind you?” She all but begged.

  I shook my head and pointed to my single seat a
nd the full fender behind it.

  She cringed and shook her head, “Great. It can’t be safe, or legal, to ride like that.”

  I shrugged. Like I give a shit about being legal. She’s safe as long as she hangs on.

  “Fine. Let’s go. I want to see my daughters.” She did some rather weird stretches and rubbed her thighs.

  I motioned for her to elaborate with a look and small waves of my hand.

  “I have two kids Monk. Aren’t you glad you kidnapped me now??” She stepped over to my seat, “Let’s go. I get them for dinner if I make it before six. If I’m one minute late I lose the whole night. Can we go?”

  I nod once and mount my bike. She’s a nice ’73 FLH I restored a few years ago when I took my last leave of absence. I’m thinking about changing the color though. The gunmetal grey is getting old, I’m thinking a nice cherry red would be better.

  Speaking of Cherry. Oh man. I knew I liked the way she felt, but this time it’s like she fits. She knows where to go, how to get comfortable. I put my jacket back around her and find I don’t like how the sleeves swallow her arms and hands. I like feeling her dig her short fingernails into my back. Oh well, she needs to be warm and protected above all else.

  Two hours later we stop in Yuma to pee and top off on gas. She bought us a couple burgers and fries. We shared a bottled water and left without her saying much more than necessary, other than to make a call to arrange a for a taxi cab to meet her at the address she gave them.

  Three hours after that we’re entering the San Diego area and she’s half yelling directions in my ear and turning around to see where we are in town. Her moving is waking up a part of my body that needs to chill, but it can’t. It’s been too long.

  By the time she instructed me to stop in front of some fancy mansion I was ready to peel her like a banana and have my way with her despite whoever’s around. I settled for a stolen kiss instead.