Inking Eagle (Charon MC Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  INKING EAGLE

  Khloe Wren

  KHLOE WREN

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Books by Khloe Wren

  Acknowledgements

  Biography

  Dedication

  Charon:

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Other Charon MC Books:

  INKING EAGLE

  Charon MC

  Book 1

  KHLOE WREN

  Books by Khloe Wren

  Fire and Snow:

  Guardian’s Heart

  Noble Guardian

  Guardian’s Shadow

  Fierce Guardian

  Necessary Alpha

  Dragon Warriors:

  Enchanting Eilagh

  Binding Becky

  Claiming Carina

  Seducing Skye

  Believing Binda

  Jaguar Secrets:

  Jaguar Secrets

  FireStarter

  Other Titles:

  Fireworks

  Tigers Are Forever

  Bad Alpha Anthology

  Scarred Perfection

  Scandals: Zeck

  Mirror Image Seduction

  Deception

  ISBN: 978-0-9876275-0-6

  Copyright © Khloe Wren 2017

  Cover Credits:

  Models: Vikkas Bhardwaj & Anna

  Digital Artist: Winter Bayne

  Editing Credits:

  Editor: Carolyn Depew of Write Right

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

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please delete and purchase it legally. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Acknowledgements

  BEING THE FIRST BOOK in this genre I’ve written, it was more intense to write than my other books. As always my wonderful husband supported me and my kids put up with me!

  I couldn’t have written this book without several people who patiently answered all my many questions about Marine life and MC life. Heath, Dawn, Erin, Diana and Shannon (I’m sure there were more and I’m sorry if I missed you by name) I can’t thank you enough for all your help. Especially Heath.

  To all my friends who helped me get back up each time I stumbled while writing this book. Becky McGraw, Eden Bradley and Tamsin Baker you three especially.

  To my editor, Carolyn, no matter what I throw at you, you always come through with a marvelous edit. I appreciate everything you do and thank you for another job well done.

  My beta team, Andy, Shannon, Renita and Tracie, thank you for your input that helped Inking Eagle be as realistic as possible.

  xo

  Khloe Wren

  Biography

  KHLOE WREN GREW UP in the Adelaide Hills before her parents moved the family to country South Australia when she was a teen. A few years later, Khloe moved to Melbourne which was where she got her first taste of big city living.

  After a few years living in the big city, she missed the fresh air and space of country living so returned to rural South Australia. Khloe currently lives in the Murraylands with her incredibly patient husband, two strong willed young daughters, an energetic dog and two curious cats.

  As a child Khloe often had temporary tattoos all over her arms. When she got her first job at 19, she was at the local tattooist in the blink of an eye to get her first real tattoo. Khloe now has four, two taking up much of her back.

  While Khloe doesn’t ride a bike herself, she loves riding pillion behind her husband on the rare occasion they get to go out without their daughters.

  Dedication

  To Becky McGraw,

  thank you for pushing me to be brave.

  Charon:

  Char·on ˈsher-ən, ˈker-ən, -än

  In Greek mythology, the Charon is the ferryman who takes the dead across either the river Styx or Acheron, depending on whether the soul’s destination is the Elysian Fields or Hades.

  Prologue

  Eagle

  Pulling up beside my two Marine brothers, I turned my Harley’s engine off, but like the others, I stayed seated on my bike. As was habit after so many years on deployment together, I glanced to the man on my right, to follow his lead. Over my fifteen years of active service, I’d been on several missions with Jacob ‘Mac’ Miller. The last few he’d been my gunnery sergeant. I trusted him with my life, and would follow him just about anywhere.

  He sat staring into the front window of the little hole-in-the-wall cafe we were due to meet in, and I figured, like me, he was wondering what the fuck we were all doing here.

  “We going in?”

  Donovan ‘Taz’ Lee’s Australian accent was still thick, even though he’d been living in the States since he was a teenager. I sincerely hoped the man never lost it. I’d been hearing it regularly since we’d met at boot camp, after we both enlisted in the Marine Corps after the 9/11 attacks. We’d both gone onto further training, him as a sniper and me as his spotter. Fuck, I could barely remember a time when I hadn’t heard his Aussie drawl on a daily basis.

  “Yeah, let’s go see what the fuck this is all about.”

  Mac was the first to dismount his ride, Taz and I following. Tension coiled in my belly, because we all knew Sergeant Major Johnson wouldn’t want to have lunch with us to just shoot the shit. He was up to something.

  With quick, efficient movement, I stored my helmet and followed my brothers into the cafe. My instincts didn’t pick up any threat, but all three of us still scanned the area, both outside and then the interior. We might have left the Marines eighteen months ago, but our training never left us. Once a Marine, always a Marine. Even here in southern Texas, which was a shitload safer than the Middle East, it wasn’t without its dangers.

  Sgt. Maj. Johnson stood as we entered, not that we didn’t already know precisely where he was. The man had a presence about him that made you stand a little taller, no matter whether he was sitting, standing, or lying the fuck down.

  “Afternoon men, glad you could make it.”

  Taz stepped forward to shake his hand first. Even after all the shit we’d seen and done while serving, Taz had never lost his easy smile or friendly demeanor. Of course, those close to him, like myself and Mac, knew it was a well-constructed mask. We also knew the man wasn’t ready to confront his demons, so until that time came, we simply acted as though he was fine.
<
br />   “Hey, it’s been a while. How’re the wife and kids doing?”

  “They’re all fine. Britney married last month–some skinny little runt that’ll blow over if the wind blows hard enough. He’s an investment banker, or some shit. No idea what my girl sees in him, but she appears happy.”

  Mac and I silently watched on as Taz chuckled. “Good thing you taught your girl how to take care of herself then. Doesn’t sound like her man will be much good if something does go down.”

  A smile spread across the older man’s face and a gleam entered his eyes. “Best thing I ever did was teach that girl how to fight. Of course, her brothers didn’t think so when they were teenagers and she could hand them their asses when they tried to pick on her.” He paused to shake his head. “She’ll probably save his butt if anything ever happened.”

  The small talk continued as Mac moved in to shake Sgt. Maj. Johnson’s hand and I frowned. The sergeant major seemed overly calm–as though he was putting on a front, but underneath was nervous. Once Mac finished, I moved to take his palm and greet him.

  “Sir, why do you need to see us? You know we’re not re-enlisting.”

  Disappointment flashed in his eyes for a moment. I knew he’d been sorry to see the three of us go, especially Taz. He had been one of the best snipers the USMC ever had. I’d been by his side, spotting for him, for over twelve years of missions. That added up to a fuck-load of kills. I tried not to focus on the number. They’d all been our enemies, but they were still human. And I don’t care how badass you are, after twelve fucking years of looking down a scope, killing people, you needed, and had earned, a fucking break. The three of us had decided when our last re-enlistment came up that we’d retire–spend some time stateside, seeing the country. Take a breather from war and gunfire and just fucking relax for a while.

  “I’m not here to ask you to, not that I’d turn you away if you changed your minds.” He looked to each of us, and when he saw we had no intention of changing our minds, he kept talking. “Take a seat and order some food, then I’ll explain.”

  Curiosity had me wasting no time in ordering quickly, as did the others.

  “Now, what’s going on?”

  Mac, who always liked getting straight to the point, didn’t wait long to start pushing the sergeant major for an explanation. It was probably one of the reasons Mac made such a good gunnery sergeant. Mac had already served for a few years before Taz and I enlisted. When we were assigned to a platoon with Mac several years ago, the three of us quickly bonded and hadn’t hesitated to stick together once we left the service.

  The way the sergeant major’s jaw flexed before he cleared his throat had me focusing fully on the man. This was going to be something big.

  “I’ve been keeping tabs on you three since you left.” He raised a hand, palm toward them. “Don’t jump on me. I haven’t done it constantly, just every now and then. Enough to make sure you’re all doing okay in civilian life. By that, I mean I know you three have been riding around the country on Harleys since shortly after you returned stateside.”

  “That can’t shock you. Plenty of men turn to riding once they return.”

  Taz almost sounded defensive. I would have been too, if I hadn’t sensed the sergeant major was leading up to something. And it wasn’t kicking our asses for wasting time touring around.

  “True enough, but since you’re the only three I know who have, that I trust, and that are living here in Texas, I’m here talking to you.”

  The waitress arrived with our food and silence descended as she laid our plates out. The air around us was filled with tension as all three of us waited for Sgt. Maj. Johnson to get to the point.

  “I’ve been approached with a request that I think you three are perfect for–if you’re interested, that is. Any of you heard of the Charon MC before?”

  I stopped eating. Anyone not living under a rock in Texas had heard of the Charon MC. They were known for serving justice when the legal system failed, and keeping their hometown of Bridgewater drug and crime free. They also owned a few local businesses, which were thriving.

  Mac’s expression hardened as he leaned forward. “Of course we have. They’re based down in Bridgewater, near Galveston, but their reputation spreads a hell of a lot further than that.”

  “The FBI wants to get some undercovers in the club. At this point, they’re not considered a one-percenter club and there’s nothing going down right now that they’re aware of. The issue is the club is growing in numbers and power, and they’re skirting the edge of the law more often. It’s making them nervous and they’d like to have a man or two on the inside to pass on any information they might require. You three interested in joining a motorcycle club for at least the next couple of years?”

  Mac frowned over at the sergeant major. “Once you join one of those clubs, you don’t just leave after a couple years, and you know it.”

  “Okay, so prospect in, and if you really don’t like it by the time you’re ready to patch in, call it quits and walk away. I’ll tell the feds they need to look elsewhere. How does that sound?”

  I thought it through for a moment. On the surface, it didn’t sound like a bad idea. But Mac was right. If we decided to do this, it was a long-term thing. That meant we needed some time to discuss how to proceed, because if one of us was out, all of us were.

  “We need to think and talk about it. When do we need to let you know?”

  Sgt. Maj. Johnson pulled out a leaflet and put it on the table in front of Mac.

  “Next Saturday they’re having a poker run, open to the public. They do them every so often this way, and it’s the perfect way to get their attention and ask the right questions to get in the door. I can’t imagine they’ll turn away three decorated marines wanting to join their ranks. I’ll be watching along the way. Whether I see your bikes in the mix, or not, will give me your answers.”

  After the sergeant major stood, tossed a couple bills on the table and left, I eyed off my two best friends.

  “So, what do you think?”

  Chapter 1

  Ten Months later

  Silk

  “I see Eagle’s back on guard duty today.”

  I sprayed and wiped over the skin I was working on before I reloaded my gun to continue Tiny’s tattoo. Colt “Eagle” Benally was the bane of my existence. He’d joined the club ten months ago and was still a couple months off getting his top rocker. He had Native American heritage that gave his shoulder-length, jet-black hair a silky sheen. Made my fingers itch to run through it whenever I even thought about it. His dark, brooding eyes were always watching. That man never missed a thing, hence his road name, ‘Eagle’. Rumor had it he originally earned the moniker in the marines. I believed it.

  From the first time I caught a glimpse of him at that public poker run last October, I’d been hooked. He was one extremely well-put-together package of sex on a stick. And sadly, one I couldn’t touch. Prospects could screw around with the club whores all they wanted, but they weren’t allowed to touch the Daughters of the Club. Only patched in members could try to romance us, and even then, they’d better be deadly serious about how they felt. Especially with someone like me. My uncle is the vice president, enough to scare any prospect with half a brain. But I’d caught Eagle watching me more than a few times, his dark, sexy gaze following me around the clubhouse whenever I attended a party or barbeque. And he did seem to be my guard here at the shop more often than not these days. I couldn’t wait to see what would happen in two months when he got patched in. Would he make a move on me? Or was he just looking to fill his spank bank with someone untouchable? A grin spread over my face–if he did come after me, I wouldn’t make it easy–he’d have to work for it. And if he was using me for spank bank material, it would soon get out and my uncle would deal with him.

  “I overheard Uncle Clint saying he was Taz’s spotter in the marines, or some shit. Apparently he sees things others don’t. Guess that means the poor schmuck gets put on
guard duty all the damn time.”

  Tiny stiffened beneath me but stayed silent as I responded to Gabs, my best friend and fellow artist. I ignored Tiny, knowing he wouldn’t rat me out to my uncle for talking about Eagle to Gabs. Gabs might not officially be part of the club, but she’s hung around enough of us to know who’s who in our world. She let out a sigh before she responded to me.

  “I have to wonder why anyone would want to be a prospect. They get all the shit jobs for so long.”

  I shrugged. I’ve spent most of my life around the club, and there were always plenty of men hanging around, waiting for a chance to prospect in.

  “It’s shorter than any apprenticeship I’ve heard off. Hell, mechanics are doing shit jobs for four years before they get their certificate. Prospects normally only take a year before they earn their patch.”

  Gabs stilled from where she was sorting out the new order of body jewelry. “Huh. Hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  “Your uncle know you go around calling him Clint?”

  Tiny’s gruff voice was deep and suited his large frame.

  “Sorry, Tiny, but ‘Uncle Bulldog’ just doesn’t roll off the tongue.”

  It was a constant argument between me and my uncle. Everyone in the club used their road names, not their birth ones, and Uncle Clint grumbled every time I called him Clint, not Bulldog. My aunt on the other hand, thought it was hilarious.

  Tiny shook his head with a huff, but didn’t say anything more. I was well aware no one else would dare try to call the vice president of the Charon MC anything but Bulldog, and around the clubhouse I did call him by his road name. But outside of that building, he was Uncle Clint. The wonderful man, who, along with his wife, took me in when I had no one else in the world left. I preferred to not even think about how the 9/11 attacks on New York left me an orphan, let alone talk about it. Or how my dad’s brother appeared out of nowhere to take me home a week later. Understandably, he’d refused to fly after what happened and drove all the way from Bridgewater, Texas to Boston Massachusetts, along with his wife–my aunt Rose–as soon as he’d gotten word. I hadn’t ever met either of them before that day. When I’d asked my dad years earlier about why I didn’t have uncles and aunts like my friends at school, he’d explained that I did have one uncle. That his older brother was a biker and because of that, he’d been cut out of our lives. I really wished my dad hadn’t done that. It had been completely unnecessary, and as a scared, grieving, twelve-year-old, I could have used a familiar face.