More Than Enough (Borderline Freaks MC Book 2) Read online

  Borderline Freaks MC #2

  MariaLisa deMora

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Proofreading by Whiskey Jack Editing

  Copyright © 2019 MariaLisa deMora

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  First Published 2019

  ISBN 13: 978-1-946738-43-1

  DEDICATION

  Valor is stability, not of legs and arms, but of courage and the soul. ~ Michel de Montaigne

  To those who feel bent and broken,

  there is hope for us all.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  In this book, I loved exploring how Blade personifies so many pieces of what are innate human characteristics. Few of us believe we’re worthy, no matter the challenges faced. Most of us are absolutely wrong, because in that very denial of worthiness, it’s truly declared in our nature.

  I love hanging out with service personnel of all branches and listening to their stories of lives before and after their service. In many cases it’s clear the joining and deployment are demarcations in the flow of their tales.

  Their lives were interrupted by war, by the burden they accepted in service of country and countrymen, and by the acts seen and conducted. For some, that interruption didn’t stop when they got their separation papers, continuing through what the government allows in terms of reintegration processes. For so many of my friends, I’m pleased beyond words they were able to find solace in groups of like-minded men and women. It’s amazing to watch them lift each other up.

  I so proud we all hold that kind of determination and grace in our souls, granting a shoulder to lean on when asked, an ear to listen when there’s distress, and a promise to always pick up.

  Heroes come in all shapes and sizes—especially yours.

  Woofully yours,

  ~ML

  More Than Enough

  When a man sees himself as damaged, imperfect, and flawed, it's hard to believe there could be love in his future. After a near-fatal accident stripped Blade of his confidence, he didn't hold out much hope … for anything.

  Until Jenn—gorgeous, sweet, and kind—dropped into his life.

  Where he sees destruction, she sees perfection.

  Where he sees helplessness, she sees courage.

  Where he sees ruin, she sees strength.

  Can he ever believe he's more than enough?

  One

  Blade

  “Monk, hey Monk.” Blade flinched at how his voice sounded, hating the neediness that coated each word out of his mouth these days.

  Since the accident, it felt as if he was needy all the time, and he fucking hated it. Hated the holes in his memories that tripped him up, taking his composure as they exposed the flaws lodged in his brain. Made it through three goddamned tours and a drunk bitch in a subcompact takes me out.

  Blade, known to his mom as Nathanael Murphy, waited as Monk finished talking to one of their newest scrubs, their prospects collectively called FNGs. Monk bounced a clenched fist off the top of the guy’s shoulder a couple of times, then turned to Blade.

  Alex Waterman, Monk, had stood beside Blade in the months since the accident, kicking his ass when appropriate, propping him up when that was needed. Blade didn’t know what he’d have done without the man. Prolly died. If he wasn’t honest with anyone else, he needed to be honest with himself. Taking a long walk had looked like a good option for a time, back when it was touch and go with the walking or the talking. Thank God Monk had seen and stepped in, or Blade wouldn’t be here today to annoy him.

  “Yo, Blade. How’s it goin’ today?”

  Monk’s hand reached out and captured Blade’s, yanking him in for a one-armed clinch. Blade’s head swam with the abrupt movement, and he swallowed hard, forcing the sick back into his belly.

  After a long moment, his mouth agreed to cooperate. “You know, you know.” Another pause, this one longer, but Monk waited patiently, keeping quiet. “Could be worse.” He stepped back, pleased when he kept the tottering to a minimum. Savin’ face, one step at a time. “Wondered if you, if you had a route planned for us yet.”

  Monk pursed his lips then grinned, nodding. “Yeah, we’re gonna have a good run, brother. Got it all planned out.”

  Three goddamned tours.

  The head injury suffered in the wreck last year continued to plague him through moments like this. Instants of time when the world dipped and swayed around him, puke rolling up his throat until it threatened to suffocate him and fearful thoughts working to drag him under. When his thoughts and mouth didn’t align, words jumbled on their way off his tongue. The docs promised there were medications to help sort him out, but he fought through it, gutting it out again and again, until he hadn’t the strength anymore. Repeatedly Monk had come to his rescue, unerringly finding him and talking him through the worst of it.

  Those were the good endings to the bad days.

  He’d had an equal number of bad-ending days, too.

  Ass propped on the edge of the sagging couch cushion, Blade stared at the options laid in front of him on the low coffee table. Using the shaking of his hands like a dowsing rod, he stretched out his fingers, holding them over the different targets for long seconds, heartbeats of time that skipped madly away, never to be seen again.

  Eenie… The bottle of pills the doc gave him along with a lecture about the strength and addictive nature of that particular medicine.

  Meenie… His knee bumped the table, and the clear liquid sloshed lazily. Even through the closed container, he caught the acrid odor of moonshine.

  Miney… Flat black, sleek, and made to fit his hand, the pistol rested on the cold surface, silently waiting.

  Mo… With a quick movement, he scooped up the motorcycle keys and pushed to his feet, swaying in place for a moment. Phone in hand, he strode outside, pausing only long enough to text an open invitation to the group chat that stayed at the top of his messages: Taco Barn 10 min.

  Blade hadn’t been parked long when he heard the rumble of pipes in the distance. He looked up in time to see the trio approaching, neatly arranged in a stereotypical wedge formation as if they were still deployed and fighting. Monk in the lead, as usual, Neptune to his left, and Wolf to his right.

  His brothers, determined to give Blade whatever he needed to keep an even keel.

  That had been a good night.

  “Where?” He pulled in a slow breath. “Where you takin’ us, Monk?” He grinned up at the bigger man, antsy to start and get in the wind. That’s where he’d been finding himself more and more, ranging far outside their normal territory at times. “Huh? Where?”

  “Out and about, my brother. Out and about.” Monk studied him, and Blade felt the weight of that regard, straightening his shoulders as if on the parade ground again. Chest out, chin lifted, he met Monk’s gaze directly. “You good, Blade? How’s the head, man?”

&nbsp
; “Head’s fine, fine. Real good these days.” He fought off the need to look away, to lick his lips, to fidget in any way, knowing the smallest movement would reveal his true state of mind to Monk. Was it right to keep this from his road captain? Probably not, but Blade was already planning on asking for sweep, which would put him behind the pack and out of range, lessening the chance of fucking his brothers over with any instant of inattention. “Sweet. Life is sweet. Got my iron.” He gestured to the side towards where his bike was parked. “My brothers.” Arms sweeping out in a wide gesture, he indicated the world around them. “And the wind.” Chin lifting even more, Blade let his eyes dip closed for an instant, blinking away the white spots cluttering his vision when he opened them again. “All, all, all a man like me needs.”

  Proving he could read Blade like a book, Monk shook his head and snorted a laugh. “Bitch, you’re wanting to ride sweep, aren’t you?”

  Blade grinned, letting his shoulders sag the barest amount. “Yeah, brother. Gimme.”

  “Fucking hell, I’d like to actually ride with you one of these times, man.” Someone called Monk’s name from across the lot, and they both glanced that direction. A cluster of men were around a bike, and from the way one of them was gesticulating, there must be a problem with his ride. “Gotta deal with this.” Monk dug in his pocket and pulled out a folded knife. Curling his fingers around the handle, he muttered, “Bet it’s another slick. I need to make my rounds, man. I give you the high sign, can you open the shed?”

  Blade nodded, rattling the keys in his pocket with a jingle. “Yeah, brother. We need to mount a tire, just let me, just let me know.”

  He didn’t hold an official position within the club, but once Monk had started storing spare parts and tires in the outbuilding behind the clubhouse, Blade had quickly fallen into the role of wrench for the brothers who lacked the skills or inclination. He’d require they spend the time with him, patiently trying to pass along his knowledge earned both from growing up with a mechanic father and working on the tracks and Humvees while deployed overseas. Since Monk had become road captain, he took his duties seriously and did at least a visual inspection of every bike before rides. Wolf had friends on the racing circuit who’d been pleased to find a market for their take-offs, tires with too little tread to tackle hard turns on the track. Wolf proved to have connections with various wholesalers who’d been happy to start up a side business of motorcycle parts, cutting them a deal for a low percent markup. All of that meant Blade had what amounted to a full-time job now. Zero pay but filled to the brim with satisfaction.

  “Brother.” A light blow with a closed fist to his shoulder rocked him sideways. Wolf had walked up just as Monk stalked off, still-closed knife flipping back and forth between his fingers. “How’s it hangin’?”

  “Hard and low, man. Hard and low.” Blade glanced at him from the corner of his eye and lifted his chin in greeting. “You ready to roll?”

  “You know it. Born ready.”

  Neptune stepped up beside Wolf with a heavy sigh. “We ain’t headin’ out anytime soon, are we?”

  They looked across the lot to where Monk crouched beside the bike, his neck twisted to look up at the owner with a scowl on his face.

  Wolf let out a groan. “I’m thinkin’ you’re right. Fuck.”

  Blade listened to them with half his attention, the rest fixed on Monk. He grinned when his brother arrowed a glare across the lot towards him. Dipping his chin, he gave Monk a nod, then turned to Neptune and Wolf. “Work. I got work to do, my friends. I’ll be quick, promise.”

  “Quick as you fuckin’ can, brother. I’m ready to roll out. This shit’s gettin’ old.” Neptune’s tone held annoyance that Blade understood. “Problem with layerin’ on new members is teachin’ them what the fuck they’re getting into.”

  “That’s something you’re well equipped to do, Sarge.” It took a minute to get it out, but it was worth it to see Neptune’s face just before the man scoffed at Blade’s honorific for him. “And now, I’m gonna go do my thang.”

  Thirty minutes later, he grunted and yanked on the cheater bar as he finished tightening the final bolt fastening the back axle into place, tire replaced and drive belt adjustments complete. “We’re good, Road Captain.” Blade looked down, picking tools up from the piece of leather he’d thrown on top of the gravel. He was tired but wanted to keep reaching for more. Like the speech therapist told him, he wouldn’t get better until he pushed behind where he was now. Slowly and steadily, he forced the words out. “Unless you’ve got some blinker fluid you need topped off.” Wrenches and sockets in hand, he grinned up at Monk, who still wore a heavy scowl. “Brother.” He handed the tools off to the bike owner. “Run put these up for me, would ya? I’ll be there in a minute.” Back on his feet, he dusted off his knees, then palm to palm, knocking loose the final bits of old, dried grease. “He’s good, man. He wasn’t thinkin’ was all.”

  “Blowout at fifty woulda taken out everyone near him. Thinkin’ needs to be the first thing these FNGs do.” Monk blew out a lungful of air, scrubbing at the top of his head with a hand. “We’ll be runnin’ about an hour late now.”

  “Why’s it matter? Why you in a hurry? You got an appointment or something?” Blade didn’t miss Monk’s flinch. For once his words came easily, the ability to rib Monk making him grin. “What the fuck? Wolf, you see this shit? Our boy’s got himself a lil somethin’ on tap, man. Gotchu a booty call later?” He shook his ass, doing the worst possible imitation of a twerk. “Booty call, booty call, booty booty booty call.” That ended when Monk slugged his shoulder, not even pretending to pull the hit. “Motherfucker.”

  Then Wolf took up the taunt, and Monk launched himself at their brother, taking a bite to the ribs when he attempted to get the man into a headlock.

  Blade laughed until he nearly pissed himself.

  My brothers.

  Two

  Jenn

  Leaning her shoulders against the outside wall of the diner, Jennifer Campbell flexed her toes inside shoes gone too tight, her feet cruelly swollen after only a few hours on them. She closed her eyes as the soft sounds of the surrounding forest thrummed through the air, cicadas humming in the trees a constant refrain. A slow breath in and Jenn thought of a faraway lake’s shore, the waves a steady beat against the sand. She breathed out in time with that imagined wave, holding and waiting for the next incoming surge before she pulled in another breath. Slowly, she quieted her mind, the pain from her feet receding as surely as those waves did.

  The sound of the cicadas changed, growing louder, deeper, rumbling until they shook the building behind her, and Jenn’s eyes popped open, the imagined lake gone in a flash.

  Not cicadas.

  Motorcycles.

  She whirled and hurried along the wall, turning into the back door of the kitchen just in time for Rose, the other waitress, to burst into the room. Face alight with excitement, Rose exclaimed, “There’s a bunch of bikes just pulled in. Like sixty of them.” Jenn met her gaze, and the two women smiled broadly. “Gonna be busy.”

  Jenn responded, “Those boys are good tippers, though. Worth the work.”

  “Amen, sister.” Rose laughed and turned. “I’ll prep glasses and coffee.”

  Jenn stepped up beside the line cook. “Want me to drop a couple baskets of fries?” He nodded distractedly, rapidly tossing burger and chicken patties onto the grill. “You got it.” From the freezer to the deep fryer was only a couple of steps, and she’d just locked the second basket into the hot grease when Rose breezed back into the room.

  “Filling up, gonna need you out front, Jenn.” She tore a few sheets from her book, shoving the papers under the clips on the order wheel. “Boys are hungry.”

  She nodded and patted her apron pockets, verifying the presence of pen and her guest checkbook for taking orders. “Set.”

  Of the fourteen tables, all but two were occupied, each chair or bench seat taken. Glancing out the plate glass windows, she saw a mas
s of bikes still parking, leather vest-wearing men standing in clumps at various places on the lot. An older man claimed a stool at the counter just as she walked up, and he gave her a bright smile. There was a patch on his vest that proclaimed him president, and she thought it prudent to give him a gentle warning.

  “We’ll be full to overflowing with your crew. There’re picnic tables outside for anyone who can’t find a seat inside. Hope nobody minds.” Empty coffee mug in hand, she angled her head and cocked an eyebrow at him, receiving a nod in response. “Burgers and fries are the fastest bet.” Topping the mug to the rim, she shoved the coffee pot back onto the burner. “What’ll you have?”

  Blowing across the surface of the coffee, he sipped, smacked his lips, and verified he understood what she wasn’t saying. “Burger and fries, doll. Sounds good.”

  “You got it.” She jotted it down and leaned back into the kitchen to shove the order ticket onto the wheel.

  Quickly making the rounds of the tables in her section, she set men up with water, sodas, and coffee, good-naturedly turning down a dozen gently inappropriate requests and collecting orders as she went. It wasn’t until she hit the next-to-last table that things went awry. First, the two men had taken up a four-top, vests and helmets occupying the extra chairs at their table. That was just rude when more than a dozen men stood outside for lack of a table or seat. Then they hadn’t even looked at the menus by the time she arrived at their table, hemming and hawing over the food choices as if this were a Michelin three-star establishment.

  “No, I can come back.” She held up a finger for the next table, four men who were watching with interest her failure to wrangle the two diners. “Take your time, make a choice.”

  She’d just turned away when she felt the touch on her butt. A gliding caress rather than a brutal grope, but unwelcome all the same. Jenn whirled and stared at the two men, who were grinning at her, daring her to say anything. She waffled for a moment then shook her head as she backed away, decision made. Not worth it.