The Favor (Ghosttown Riders Book 1) Read online

  The Favor

  Ghosttown Riders Book 1

  Amelia Shea

  Copyright © 2020 Amelia Shea

  All rights reserved

  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 real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyright work is illegal. No part of this book may be distributed, 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.

  For Chrissie, whose positivity is contagious and inspires me each and every day.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  About The Author

  Ghosttown Riders Series

  The Favor By Amelia Shea

  A Ghosttown Riders Motorcycle Club Book

  It may not have been her first good deed, but it may be her last.

  Cheyenne Wilcox has a road map for her life that doesn’t include veering off her chosen path. When she stops for an injured biker, she has no idea her life is about to be turned upside down. One good deed has landed her in the center of a dangerous world. A death, an envelope with a severed finger, and being tackled by a brooding biker is just the beginning once she hits the radar of the notorious Ghosttown Riders motorcycle club.

  Club life, loyalty to his MC family, and the open road are the only things that matter to Derrick “Trax” Traxon. He doesn’t adhere to any rules except his own and his club’s. When a devastating loss strikes him and his brothers, he sets his sights on revenge and payback. He’ll stop at nothing to hunt down his friend’s killer. But when the key player in finding out who is responsible turns out to be the Good Samaritan, things get interesting.

  Aside from their mutual attraction, Trax and Cheyenne couldn’t be more opposite. Yet together is the only way they can find justice for Trax’s fallen brother. Cheyenne’s desire to help Trax and keep herself safe comes into battle with Trax’s need to find balance between his allegiance to the club and the woman he wants to keep.

  Chapter One

  “Five minutes tops, I swear.” It was a lie. One of several she had told her mother in the last ten minutes of their conversation. She glanced at her clock on the dashboard and sighed. Eleven minutes.

  Her foot tapped on the gas slowly, her gaze drawn to the speedometer. Maybe she could get there in fifteen. But unless the car grew wings, a five-minute arrival wasn’t happening.

  “Where are you?” Suspicion laced her mother’s voice. Of course it did. The woman had known her for the past twenty-six years.

  She bit her lip. This was why lying wasn’t good for her. She could never seem to keep up with her lies. “Okay, so I might have underestimated when I said five minutes. It’s probably gonna be about twenty.”

  Her mother cleared her throat, which was never a good sign. “So you lied.”

  “No,” she snapped. Admitting the lie would give the woman leverage. “Underestimated. You know I’ve always sucked at math.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pressed her foot on the gas pedal.

  Cheyenne could hear the heavy sigh and knew what was coming even before the words were spoken.

  “This is why you should move closer.”

  She silently groaned. Not this again.

  “Remember the Parkers from down the street? They’re moving and renting out the house. I can get the information from Carol.” The enthusiasm in her tone was evident. “And we have plenty of bars around here you could work at.” Her mother gasped. “Oh, I have a great idea. Let me reach out to Lenny and see if he’s got any shifts available.”

  Lenny was her uncle. He owned a dive bar on the outskirts of town. The same place her mother had forbidden her to go due to the seedy location. Now she wants me to work there? Obviously, the woman was desperate to have her back home.

  Her mom had always been overbearing, but it seemed as Cheyenne got older, it had gotten worse.

  “I’ll call him now.”

  “Mom, no.” Cheyenne gritted her teeth. “I have a job, and a home, in Blacksburg.”

  The same job and home she’d had for the past four years, though her mother liked to ignore that fact.

  “But it’s so far. Don’t you miss it here, being with us?”

  Cheyenne clamped her lips. Don’t answer! It was a loaded question with no right answer. If she said no, she’d feel the wrath of her mother. If she said yes, her mom would have her moved back home in a day. Lose-lose situation. Though she would never admit it to anyone except Macy, her mother was the reason she lived almost two hours away from her hometown. Eighty miles proved too far for a “surprise” visit. No way am I moving back. Cheyenne had it good, and she kept her mom at a safe but long distance.

  “Mom, we can talk about this when I get there, but I gotta go. Driving on the cell is so unsafe. See you in a few.” She clicked End and then tossed the phone onto the seat. She didn’t miss the sound of her mom calling out before she hung up. Cheyenne would deal with her in person. She snorted while envisioning the one-sided conversation.

  She fiddled with her radio and turned back to the road. Monthly dinners were a must, and as usual, she would arrive late. The two-hour drive was good for her. It gave her time to gear up for the inevitable. Why aren’t you dating? I was married at your age. Why were mothers so hellbent on diminishing their daughters’ life choices? Or is it just my mom?

  Cheyenne hadn’t been a scholar like her older brother. She opted to work, as opposed to going to college after high school. Her resumé was filled with waitressing and retail jobs, which wasn’t exactly rave-worthy material. However, she had her own place and paid her bills on time, usually.

  Her newest endeavor was bound to be her claim to success when it finally got off the ground. She and her best friend, Macy, had started an online shop. They had visions of someday opening up a storefront. It was a dream set in the future. A fantastic vision, though. Cheyenne smiled, seeing it in her head.

  A boutique-style set-up. Gorgeous, trendy-chic clothes lining the outer walls, all color coordinated, of course. Shoes lining the floor underneath with shelves above for hats. The center floor plan was her own little creation. Three circular tables, all offering one-of-a-kind, handmade jewelry. Along the back wall, home furnishings, candles, and oils. She drew in a breath and could almost smell the scents. Almost.

  Currently, they were stuck working out of their cramped apartment. If their calculations were correct, they had another five years before their dream was even remotely possible. Five friggin’ years. Cheyenne slumped in her seat, allowing the weight of disappointment to settle in. She sighed.

  The apartment. Yet another source of her stress.

  Her best friend and roommate, Macy, had lived there most of her life. When her mom moved out after getting married, Cheyenne moved in. It wouldn’t have been Cheyenne’s first choice of places to live, but the timing played out perfectly. For a while, it was great. Until about two months ago, when her courtyard became the meeting ground for some local assholes. Cheyenne, Macy, and a few other women had made complaints to the landlord. As of yet, they hadn’t been heard, and if they were, they were blatantly ignored. It had started out more bothersome than anything else. However, in the past few weeks, it had escalated. They seemed to become more brazen with their taunting and sexually aggressive comments. For a threesome asshole brigade, they were fairly
smart, only targeting women late at night when witnesses were scarce.

  Between asshole thugs, dealing with her mother, and her dream job out of her immediate reach, Cheyenne felt the weight of it all. She needed to focus on the good. Oh, shut up!

  “I need a distraction,” she muttered.

  And just like that…she got one.

  The sound of a roaring engine had her glancing in her mirror. Coming up on her left was a leather-clad man with a gray beard and dark sunglasses. He had a big black-and-silver motorcycle situated between his legs. She clucked her tongue. Where’s your helmet? By law, her state didn’t require it, but for safety purposes, he should be wearing one, she thought. Shut up, Miss Goody-Good and enjoy the view.

  She leaned forward, taking a longer glance, a small smile playing on her lips.

  This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in Blacksburg and the surrounding towns. The Ghosttown Riders Motorcycle Club had taken up residency years ago, long before she moved into town. While they usually stayed under the radar and shied away from the town festivities, it wasn’t unusual to see a few driving around. There was a certain shock to her heart every time she caught a glimpse of one. Maybe it was the badass vibe or the long hair and tats. Whatever it was, it always seemed to grab her attention. And today was no different.

  The corner of her mouth curled. She sat up straight and split her vision between the lane and watching the motorcycle on her left. The road was empty beside her car, and the bike was gaining speed and pulling up on her side.

  Is it just me, or do all women perk up from the sound of a rumbling engine? There was something about men on motorcycles that gave her cause to sit up straighter, jut out her breasts, and check her hair. If given enough time, she would have added a sweep of gloss on her lips. She gauged his speed as she glanced in the mirror. She also took in his appearance. If she had to guess, he’d be old enough to be her dad. Somehow, it didn’t deter her excitement. She casually glanced over as he passed. His gaze was trained on the road in front of him.

  Nothing. Really?

  She slouched in her seat. It was disappointing. Her love life had tanked a year ago when she walked in on her boyfriend banging a coworker. Her coworker. It was disastrous and ugly and took a heavy toll on her self-esteem. Cheating was, and always had been, her deal breaker.

  She was due for a boost of self-esteem, but she wasn’t going to get it. Not from this guy.

  He sped in front of her, and she caught sight of the three-piece rocker. Ghosttown Riders. She released a silent sigh. They were notorious in her area. On occasion, she had piqued the interest once or twice from a club member, but nothing more than a lingering glance. A hell of a lot more than this guy had given her. He’s old enough to be my dad. Even that blaring fact didn’t diminish her disappointment. Not even a look? He wasn’t exactly her dream guy at forty years her senior, but he could have thrown her a bone with a simple glance her way.

  I’m pathetic.

  She glanced down at the clock, ignoring the biker ahead. She needed to make up some time. She pressed harder on her gas pedal. Not for the benefit of catching up to biker man, but to dodge the wrath of her mother for being later than usual.

  She rounded the bend and let off the gas. The steep decline would give her enough speed, and making the sharp turns through the valley was suicidal at anything more than sixty. She remained in her lane and caught a flash from her left again. A sleek, dark blue sedan was coming up on her fast. She widened her eyes. This car was going way too fast. Definitely not a local. The massive hill and harsh turns were enough to slow most drivers down, but not this one. She flickered her hazards in hopes of giving some warning, but it wasn’t heeded—the car passed her faster than the motorcycle before her.

  She caught a quick glimpse. It was a man, probably not much older than her. His cheeks were hollowed, and a fairly large bump protruded on the bridge of his nose. As he passed, she noticed a prominent, raised scar rippled down his forehead, and his dark hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. She twisted her lips. A pink hair tie? She chuckled, half wondering if he even realized how absurd he looked.

  She kept her gaze glued to the car, glancing down at the license plate. Yep, out of towner. She should report him as soon as she got to her mom’s house. People like him had no place on these roads, driving like an asshole. She watched the motorcycle in the distance as the sedan caught up to him. She waited for the brake lights on the car to shine, but it never happened. Instead, it shifted to the right on the curve.

  “Slow down,” she muttered, completely fixated on the car swerving dangerously close to the motorcycle.

  Her heart pounded, watching the scene unfold. Cheyenne gripped her steering wheel. “Oh, my God.”

  She gasped as the sedan sideswiped the motorcycle into a tailspin across the road.

  She sucked in a harsh breath again, not fully believing what she saw. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” she screamed as her body shook.

  She’d never been witness to a car accident. It was horrific as it played out in slow motion right before her eyes. The motorcycle shot out from under the biker and careened over the embankment. She stared in horror as the man slid across the asphalt, nearing the same direction of his bike.

  Her hands shook as she grasped the wheel tightly, and her heart raced. The biker had come to a halt, barely reaching the guardrail. Her first instinct was to lean over and feel for her phone in her handbag. Her gaze was glued to the scene in front of her.

  She raced forward, slamming on her brakes as she pulled to the half shoulder, about fifty feet from the biker lying on the road. She threw the car into Park and jumped out, leaving her door wide open. She sprinted to the man who was face down on the asphalt. He was dead. He had to be. There was no way even a superhero could have survived the wreck. The pounding of her heart was blazing through her eardrums. She stopped about ten feet away. He wasn’t moving. She bit her lip and scanned the road. It was just her and him. What do I do?

  Help him. She froze, wondering where the voice had come from. It took only a second to recognize it as her own. She rushed forward.

  As she neared, she slowed down. Blood was everywhere. Oh God. She stopped short of his body. Her quick perusal would forever be ingrained in her mind. She’d never forget this. His hands were bloodied to a pulp. The flesh was so raw it looked like ground meat. Her stomach curled as she inched forward. This man needed a doctor, a surgeon. Oh God, he needed a miracle if he had any chance of surviving. None of which she could provide. She drove her hands through her hair, tugging sharply at the ends. I don’t know what to do.

  Help him.

  Cheyenne dropped to her knees, her body visibly shaking. She spread her hands out and reached forward, hovering over his back. Should she try to roll him over? What if his neck was broken? She remembered the basic rules of driver’s ed. Do not move the body, or you may cause more damage. She glanced up the road. It was completely desolate. But he was lying in the middle of the lane. If a car came, he might get hit if the driver couldn’t see him. I should move him. No, don’t move him. She squeezed her eyes shut. A dark dread spread through her body. “Oh God, what do I do?” she muttered.

  Nothing could have prepared her for this. She glanced up and over her shoulder. There was no one to help; it was all on her. His only hope was her. She gulped a breath and flinched when she heard a faint, pained grunt. She leaned closer but refrained from touching him.

  “You-you’re okay,” she stammered. It was another bald-faced lie. He wasn’t okay, not even close to okay. It was a miracle he was even alive. She reached out but still didn’t touch him. What should I do? Another faint moan forced her to place her hand gently on his back, not applying any pressure. “Just try to stay still. I’m going to call for help.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing out another lie. “You’re gonna be okay, just hang on.” He made no further sound, and his body was still. Had she just heard his last breath? Oh, my God.

  She scramble
d to her feet and ran to her car, lying over the driver’s side to grab her phone. Her hands were trembling so hard, the simple task of dialing was nearly impossible. She kept her gaze on the man in the road. The two rings seemed to take forever.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  “We need help, send an ambulance to Route 417, the Belgium Road exit, and fast. This guy…oh God…it’s bad.” Her words were rushed and possibly incoherent. Tears threatened her eyes. “It’s so bad,” she uttered, barely able to get the words out. She drew in a breath, and her face heated.

  “Ma’am, I need you to calm down and tell me what happened.”

  Cheyenne shook her head. “I don’t know. A guy on a motorcycle got sideswiped by a car, and he’s messed up really bad, please just send someone.”

  “Before or after the Belgium exit?”

  “Uh….” She scanned the deserted highway. Think. She had a horrible sense of direction. She knew landmarks, not mile markers. “Before, I think. The exit before the Dairy Cup and Grandview’s garage. He’s in the center of the right lane. There’s so much blood.”

  “Okay, ma’am, I’m dispatching now.”

  Cheyenne straightened from the car when she saw a shift in his leg. “Should I move him?” She glanced over her shoulder to the empty road.

  “No, don’t move him, the ambulance is on its way.”

  “Okay, just…” She gulped. “Please hurry, it’s really bad.” Her eyes welled, and she clasped her mouth with her hand.

  “Hang tight, they are on their way.”

  She nodded and clicked the phone, tossing it onto her seat. The ambulance would get there and fix him up. She sucked in a breath and sighed in relief. Help was on the way. She slowly stepped closer and squinted her eyes. Oh, thank God. She caught sight of the biker moving slightly, as though he was trying to roll over. She rushed forward and skidded to a stop inches away from him. He was on his side and a bloodied mess. She’d never seen so much blood. Even in movies, there hadn’t been quite as much blood as the scene in front of her.