Hexley

  Iron Aces MC

  Elizabeth Williams

  Copyright © 2022 Elizabeth Williams

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Elizabeth Williams

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my parents for always encouraging my creativity.

  I love you both.

  xoxo

  About the book

  Hex was born to be a biker.

  After serving his country, he's now the president of the Iron Aces MC, his stomping ground since birth.

  But it's not all sunshine and roses within the walls of the clubhouse.

  Facing his internal demons comes with a hefty price, one he's more than willing to pay if it means leading his brothers out of the dark and into the light.

  Getting out from under the watchful eye of the local police was a task he set out to accomplish the moment he was voted in.

  Turning the club around and keeping his brothers alive and out of concrete boxes is more important than ever, despite rumors surrounding the rebirth of a rival MC that almost destroyed their family once before.

  What he never planned on was her.

  ** Please see the content warning. Some content may be sensitive to some readers.**

  Content Warning

  WARNING!!

  This book contains certain content which may be sensitive to some readers. This is a book for adults or anyone 18 years or older.

  Please be advised of the following:

  Language

  Adult scenes

  Mentions of physical abuse by a former partner

  Kidnaping

  Murder

  Attempted assault

  Torture

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  About the book

  Content Warning

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

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  13

  14

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  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  Epilogue

  If you enjoyed this book...

  About the Author

  Books In This Series

  1

  The blare of music from inside the bar was hardly loud enough to null out the sound of voices attempting to shout over the loud beats. The singer on stage let out a long, raspy note to end the song and the steady thrum of the steal guitars and the pounding of the drums ceased so suddenly, that for the briefest of moments tonight, my head didn't pound with an ache.

  I watched the bartender smooth a cloth towel over the lacquered top of the crowded bar as I twirled the stir stick of my now empty drink in my hand absentmindedly. I might have been sitting in the only bar in this small town, but my mind was a world away.

  The bartender, a heavily tattooed man with more muscles and ink than what should probably be socially acceptable, glanced at me for the hundredth time this evening, but I didn't even reciprocate his obvious interest. Aside from flirting with us from the moment we sat down – something he obviously did with all the female customers – he'd been a fairly decent bartender. So instead of encouraging him like every other woman in the joint was doing, I let my eyes burn a hole in the glossy wood in front of me.

  The bar stunk like alcohol, bodies, cigarettes, and greasy food that flowed out of the back from the kitchen. It wasn't a huge place, but for the small town of Hayes, it was apparently the main hangout on a weekend. Men and women clustered together like a herd of sheep; bodies either swayed or ground against each other, drinks were poured, laughs sounded, and the occasional rumble of a motorcycle would cut through the air even though the music was cranked up.

  The three bartenders shuffled back and forth along different sections of the bar, popping open bottles and mixing drinks all while attempting to keep out of each other’s way.

  Next to me, Kit laughed. After downing two martinis and a shot of Patrón, she was bound and determined to have a good night and we'd only been here just over an hour. We were having a good time until she got caught talking to some guy in a leather vest who was so good-looking and buffed up that it should have been illegal.

  Hence the reason I was off in la-la land while she flirted with the handsome stranger next to her. When he first asked if he could buy us a drink, I said no, Kit said yes, so we compromised, and he bought her a drink.

  I, on the other hand, wasn't exactly prepared to deal with men eyeing me up. I was simply trying to hang out with my best friend. That’s it.

  "Need a refill?" The bartender guy asked, snapping me out of my self-imposed trance.

  I blinked up at him and he raised his eyebrows when I didn't respond right away, then nodded his head toward my hands like I was stupid. Glancing down, my Malibu and pineapple was now empty, save the cubes of ice slowly melting inside, creating a watery concoction in the bottom no one ever enjoys sipping.

  "Sure," I said and slid the glass across the bar to him. He snatched it up like he was impatient with my delayed response and serious lack of enthusiasm. With as busy as the bar was tonight, I guess I couldn't blame him, but I wasn't used to ordering my own drinks.

  If only Mr. Bartender knew how much I didn't want to be here...

  Kit bumped me and I twisted my head to glance at her. Her bright smile would have normally been contagious but tonight, I was in a piss poor mood, so when she suggested we go out for a girl’s night so we could relax, loosen up, and celebrate, I don't know why I agreed.

  I would have been perfectly fine watching reruns of Three's Company back in the room we had at the inn while eating pizza and going to bed early.

  Kit was my best friend, but when she drank, she flirted with anything with a dick. Normally, I wouldn't give a shit; flirting was just who Kit was. We were supposed to be celebrating my freedom and current life-changing events, but that quickly went from happy hour to being lonely in a crowded bar. Maybe I needed to try to let loose like she did, or maybe I was too cold and stiff like he claimed I was.

  Freedom was sweet when you had someone to share it with. Kit's been there for me since we met in college and we would both do anything for each other, but tonight for whatever reason, I just wasn't feeling the whole bar scene. The woman I used to be and the woman I was now were two completely different people.

  A glass appeared in front of me. The golden, pineapple-smelling drink wasn't my usual, but I practically panicked when he asked me what I wanted earlier. I only blurted it out because a woman a few barstools down from me after we arrived ordered one and it was the first thing off the tip of my tongue. I thanked him and reached for my new drink, stirring it slowly. Taking a sip, I realized the bartender hadn't turned away yet. Looking up at him, he raised his eyebrows again and gave me a look that I detested. He obviously pitied me.

  “Your friend is havin’ a good time,” he said over the startup of a new song. The drumbeats sounded familiar but of course they were, the band was solely playing covers tonight.

  I glanced at Kit as she laughed again, and I shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah.”

  He placed his massive hands on the bar and splayed his fingers out, then hunched down a little to give me a then what the fuck are you doing here look.

  “You're the only one here that looks like you wanna blow the world up or somethin’,” he said. “Not havin’ fun?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. Did this guy honestly think I was going to spill the beans to him? Bartenders only listened to the troubles of their patrons because it led to more tips and made them appear like they cared. Reality check: they don't. It’s more of a “shoulder to lean on while you get blitzed and they can throw your ass out” kind of thing. Well, I wasn't going to spill my guts to a complete stranger.

  “Dagger. Is that your name?” I asked, eyeing the patch sewn into the leather vest he wore over his T-shirt.

  He glanced at his vest then back to me and he grinned. “My road name, an’ you're changin’ the subject.”

  I nodded slowly. “So, you're a biker.” Obviously. “Is that in reference to something?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Last name's Dagerton, everyone calls me Dag or Dagger. You didn't answer my question.”

  I frowned. “What question?”

  “Why’re you not havin’ fun?”

  Nope. No one with a name that made it sound like he was good with a blade needed to know anything about me aside from my drink order.

  I gave a lazy shrug. “A lot on my mind, I guess.”

  He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Yeah, looks like it.”

  “Thanks for the refill,” I said, but he was already turning to take someone else's order. Alright then.

  Lights flickered on the stage, and I slouched further into my stool, wishing I could simply disappear. I was ready for the night to be over. It was clear Kit had more important things to do, like flirting with her new friend, so why should I bother sitting here any longer?

  Oh yeah, because Kit was the one that drove us from our shared room at the inn to the packed bar, insisting this would be good therapy for me.

  Well, she was wrong. I knew the second she ordered her second martini that I would be the designated driver tonight, simply because I doubted Uber existed here yet. Sure, I might be on my second drink, but with the way she was throwing back another shot of whatever Dagger just poured them, we were going to be here a while. My next drink would be a tall glass of water followed by a shot of his best H2O, and maybe a plate of loaded fries from the kitchen. In the meantime, I'd keep a close eye on her and let her have her fun. She deserved a good time, especially after all the bullshit I've unloaded on her lately. She came to Hayes to help me for a few weeks, I owed her this much.

  If she wanted to flirt with her barstool neighbor, then fine. The problem with Kit when she drank though, was that she wasn't always the most responsible or observant. A close call during our college days should have been a wake-up call when her ex-boyfriend tried to spike her drink with ecstasy but nope, a lesson not learned.

  I looked around the bar. I haven't been back to Hayes in almost twenty-two years. Mom moved us out of the farmhouse when I was six and we lived in Madison for a while, then Milwaukee until I was eighteen. I did four years of college at Columbia University in New York and decided to stay after I graduated. The goal when selecting a college had been to find one that was far away and never return. Well, sometimes life liked to throw you a fucking curve ball and now I was back.

  Inheriting my father's estate, even as pitiful as it was, was only part of the reason I came back at all. I left my well-paying job as an account manager, expensive apartment, a retirement plan, and health insurance in place of a crumbling old farmhouse nestled on two hundred acres of farmland and a future filled with complete uncertainty.

  But you also left him!

  The farmhouse itself would need some serious work before I could move in, hence the reason Kit was here with me for the next two weeks.

  My dad and I didn't have the closest relationship, in fact, I hardly knew him, so when his lawyer contacted me out of the blue after tracking me down, I'd been surprised as hell. When my mom did allow Brewer to visit after we left, it was for maybe a few hours at a time.

  Truthfully, Dagger reminded me of my father more than I cared to admit. He'd been heavily tattooed, always smelled of cigarettes and stale alcohol, and spoke with so much slang other people had a hard time understanding what the hell he was saying, except for Mom and me. It’s like we had our own language.

  But like clockwork, every first Saturday of the month he would come down to Madison on his Harley as long as the weather was nice. He came to visit religiously until he and Mom had a massive fight when I was ten. Something about the shitty apartment we were living in. After he left that day, she packed our things and we left for Milwaukee, our belongings crammed into the back of her old Honda for the second time.

  I pretended to believe Mom when she told me it was for the best, that we would be okay without him no matter what. But it hurt like hell. I learned quickly not to cry for my loss, especially when Mom was in one of her moods which were fairly often back then.

  Since the lawyer contacted me two weeks ago and I blabbed my mouth about inheriting Brewer’s entire estate to her, her moods came back in full swing. Apparently, inheriting the estate almost gave her a heart attack and she'd immediately demanded that I sell the property and be rid of him for good. Take the money and run. She'd proceeded to call him everything in the book and I doubt she even realized I hung up on her.

  She called me back twenty minutes later to chew me out for doing that, too.

  The only problem was, it was the only place my ex-boyfriend wouldn't come looking for me, so of course, I was going to keep Brewer’s rickety old farmhouse. I patted myself on the back for keeping my mouth shut during my entire four-year relationship with my ex about my father. After Mom moved us to Milwaukee, he'd been absent from the rest of my life anyway, so oddly enough, when I said I had no father he never came up in conversation again.

  Freedom and a fresh start: that's what faced me right now. The second I stepped out of my rental car after arriving at the small Hayes Inn, I breathed the first fresh breath of free air in four years. I'd immediately gone to see the lawyer after checking in, and after that, he'd handed me the keys to Dad's old house once I signed the papers.

  The farm was mine.

  I called Kit the following day and she jumped on the first plane out here. Good thing her father was her boss, and that she was due for a vacation.

  I blinked as the blare of a steal guitar cut through my heavy thoughts, and someone bumped me from behind, causing the drink I barely touched to splash onto my hands and the bar. I shot a glare over my shoulder to no one in particular, then reached for a napkin to mop up the mess.

  When I turned to tell Kit we should probably go, I was met with a sight I wasn't expecting. Kit was gone and her stool was now occupied by a large man with a pot belly who reeked of stale beer and Marlboro's. I'd know that specific scent of cigarettes anywhere because it's what my ex always smoked.

  At first, my gut clenched at the familiar aroma, and I was momentarily pulled back in time. Panic bubbled in my chest, and I had to do a sweep of the surrounding crowd just to make sure he wasn't there, lurking in the shadows somewhere.

  You're in Wisconsin, not New York. You're okay. He's not here. He doesn’t know where you are.

  I repeated that mantra over and over in my head, closed my eyes, and took a calming breath. When I opened them, I had to give myself a reality check. Where the fuck was Kit, and when the hell did she leave me? Fuck, did I zone out that much?

  “Your friends on the dance floor,” a voice called to me.

  Dagger was leaning one elbow on the bar in front of Kit's newly occupied stool. He gave me a look that told me I'd been out of it, which I had been, but I didn't need him pointing that out. The expression he wore wasn't exactly friendly like it was before, so I raised my chin and took a deep breath. I needed to start paying some damn attention to where Kit was.

  Obviously coming here was a mistake. We should have hit up the small restaurant down the road instead of a damn bar. I’d go for a cheeseburger and fries right about now.

  “You need somethin’?” he called to me, making me swivel back around to face the bar instead of the dance floor where I'd been searching for Kit. God, this guy must think I'm an idiot or something.

  “Water, please.” I shoved my hardly touched drink at him. There was no way I was going to finish it now.

  “Somethin’ wrong with the drink?” he asked, raising his busy eyebrows again, his eyes darting from the glass then back to me.

  He jerked his chin at the man next to me, who peered at me with beady little dark eyes before grunting and turning away. Dagger straightened and shifted so he was standing in front of me, his eyes narrowing with an unimpressed expression.

  “What's your name, sweetheart?” he asked impatiently.

  “Does it matter?” I wondered. Fifty bucks says he’ll forget it in two seconds anyway.

  He shrugged. “I know everyone ’round here an’ you're obviously new in town. So, what is it?” he prodded again.

  I sighed through my nose. “Marie.”

  He nodded slowly. “Well, Marie, what the fuck's on your mind tonight?”

  The corners of my mouth twitched. “You mean aside from wanting to blow the world up? Nothing that you'd care to hear about.”

 

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