Raw: Street Demons MC Read online

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

  RAW copyright 2016 by Ada Stone. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE

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  CHAPTER ONE

  “Belle, you have a call on line two!” Janet popped her head into the small alcove the dental hygienists used to prepare their trays for the day.

  “Thanks, Janet. Who is it?”

  “I don’t know, some doctor.” The twenty-year-old receptionist shrugged, popped her gum, and stalked off back toward the front desk.

  Belle grabbed the phone from its cradle and punched the buttons to answer the call. “This is Belle. How can I help you?”

  “Belle, this is Dr. Kurston.” A wave of nausea hit her hard. “I wanted to let you know that after your mother’s appointment this morning, I sent her over to the hospital. She didn’t have her cell phone with her and asked that I give you a call. Now, I don’t want you to panic.”

  Not panic? Her mother had scheduled a work up with her primary care physician after feeling unusual all weekend. Belle wanted to go with her, but Sienna wouldn’t hear of it. She had waved Belle off saying it was probably just the flu. But Belle suspected the flu didn’t leave you with memory loss. Chunks of the weekend were missing for her mother, and even during a conversation she would forget a word, or say something completely wrong, using the wrong word for something simple.

  “Is she okay? I mean, she thought it was just the flu.”

  “I’m afraid not. I wish it were that simple. We’ll know more after the tests I’ve ordered. I’ll be at the hospital this afternoon when I’m done with clinic patients.”

  “Okay, I’ll head over there now.” The blood wasn’t pumping through her fingers anymore, she held the phone so hard.

  “Good. And, Belle, keep her relaxed if you can. She was very upset. I understand she’s scared, but the more stress she adds to herself, the harder it will be for us to figure out what’s going on. Okay?” Dr. Kurston had been both her mother’s and her own physician since she could remember. He would take care of her mom, she knew that.

  “I understand, Dr. Kurston. Thank you so much for calling me. I’ll see you this afternoon.” She clicked off the call and took a moment to breathe. No sense in running off in a panic. She was nothing if not logical. Her other was ill, in the hospital. Maybe she’d had a stroke. Maybe it was something worse.

  “You okay?” Carol, another hygienist, slid the tray of molds she’d been working on onto the counter.

  “Uh, yeah. No. I mean, I have to go. Mom was just admitted to the hospital.”

  “Oh, shit. She okay? I mean, of course not at the moment, but she’s going to be okay, right?” Carol had worked at the dental practice for as long as Belle; they were as close as co-workers could be.

  “I don’t know.” Belle sighed heavily. “I’ll let Becca know, then I’m headed to the hospital. Maybe it’s nothing serious.”

  # # #

  Her mother slept, finally. The nurses had to come in and given her a dose of sedative to help her get some rest. Whatever was going on with her was quickly dragging her down. She didn’t feel ill, no stomach pains, no body aches, not even a headache. But something was very wrong.

  Belle had slept at the hospital. Dr. Kurston didn’t have much information when he stopped by the night before. Only that Sienna’s CAT scan showed something, but they weren’t positive what yet. She’d be having an MRI in the morning which would give them more information. The last thing Belle needed was more information that gave her no information at all.

  In the last twenty-four hours, her mother had gone from being a little cloudy in the mind to being someone else completely. She’d be angry and raging one moment and sweet and soft the next. It hurt Belle to see her that way.

  Sienna Laswell had had enough rough patches in her life; she didn’t need or deserve this one. She’d married the wrong guy at a young age. The guy who didn’t like the idea of having a screaming kid running around while he was trying to watch football or play cards with his friends. The sort of guy who drank too much and was always looking for a fight. Sienna loved her husband, but she was made of sterner stuff. The first time he laid hands on her was the last time she saw him—kicked him out. Not that it was much of a kick, it was just the little push he needed to get gone and stay gone. Belle didn’t remember him at all.

  What she did remember growing up was her mom working desperately to make ends meet. They lived in a decent enough apartment, and Belle always had food and clothes, but it took everything to provide that. Sienna worked as a medical receptionist during the day, and took a few cleaning jobs at night. Belle would go with her to clean offices; some of them were great places to play. When she was older, she’d helped her mom clean so they could get home faster. Through all of that, Sienna never complained. She didn’t even speak badly about the jerk of an ex. What Belle had found out, she’d pieced together from family parties and talking with her grandmother before she passed.

  The door to the hospital room opened and Dr. Kurston, along with two other physicians, entered. Doctors only traveled in groups when something bad was involved. They didn’t get together to share good news.

  “Good, she’s sleeping.” The doctor was graying along his temples, but the rest of his hair remained dark, giving him an older look that given any other situation, she would have found handsome. “This is Dr. Langston and Dr. Hershey.”

  “What did the MRI show?” she blurted out after giving a nod to each doctor in greeting. She didn’t care who they were, she just wanted to know what was wrong with her mother.

  “Nothing good, I’m afraid.” Dr. Kurston sighed, flipping through a folder in his hands. “There’s a tumor, Belle. It’s pressing on the part of her brain that controls memory and speech. That’s why she started to talk gibberish earlier.”

  Belle took a deep breath, fisted and unfisted her hands several times, and stood up from the chair she’d been sitting in. She walked to the foot of the bed, where the little cloister of doctors was standing. “Can it be removed? Is it malignant? How do we get it out of her?”

  Dr. Kurston shot a glance to the shorter, grayer doctor to his right. “It’s not operable, not at the size it’s at. We can try to shrink it, then try to remove it, but even then, it’s not a guarantee. Dr. Hershey is an oncologist; he’ll be handling the treatments to help shrink the tumor. Dr. Langston is a neurosurgeon. Now, there is a new technique, one he’s very familiar with, that could remove the tumor. It’s a Gamma Knife procedure. Only a handful of surgeons in our area are able to use it successfully, and he is the top in the field.”

  Belle’s attention diverted to the skinny blond man standing off to the left. He di
dn’t appear to be overly cocky, but with doctors, you couldn’t really tell until they started talking.

  “Okay, so you can do this? You can get it out?”

  “We’ll need to do more tests to be sure she’s a candidate for the procedure, but if she is, then yes, I can do it.”

  “Okay, so, let’s get the tests done.” Belle nodded.

  “First, we need to get her more stable. Her blood pressure is all over the place. We’ll start her on some medications that will hopefully shrink the tumor while we are waiting for the tests, and insurance and all of that to get in line before Dr. Langston can do his part,” Dr. Hershey piped up.

  Her stomach shifted. Insurance? What would all this cost? How could she afford to help her mother? They never talked about her health insurance. Belle would need to look into the policy. “What happens if we do nothing, or if all of this doesn’t work?” Belle spoke so softly she barely heard herself ask the question.

  “I’m afraid if it doesn’t work, the tumor will spread. It’s a very aggressive cancer.”

  Cancer: that word she’d been waiting to hear but hoping it wouldn’t come up.

  “It will spread quickly, taking away her ability to speak, eat, and move around on her own. It will spread throughout her body, and well…” He let the rest hang in the air. Maybe the idea of telling Belle her mother was going to die was hard for him too.

  “How long?” Belle looked back over at her mother sleeping in the hospital bed. Her soft brown hair fanned out over the pillow, her pale cheeks sunken in from whatever sedative they pumped into her IV.

  Dr. Hershey took a deep breath. “With no treatment, six months or so. With some chemo and radiation, it would buy a few more months. The Gamma Knife procedure could give years or more.”

  Belle didn’t turn to the doctors, she just nodded to let them know she’d heard. “Okay, so we start the tests, right? Get her blood pressure stable, then we can do that?”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry, Belle. This is going to be a hard few weeks for both of you.” Dr. Kurston laid a hand on her shoulder.

  She didn’t say anything to him, just hung her head. She was grateful when the doctors filed out of the room, because it was then that she let herself sink into the armchair at her mother’s side and cry—because her mother was sick, because she wasn’t sure how they were going to afford all the medicines and treatments, and because even with everything they did, there was still a good chance, a high probability, that her mother was going to die.

  # # #

  Michael Dwayne sat back in his chair, watching the other members around the table bickering over the next step to take. Being a captain of the Street Demons gave him voting rights, and more say in what happened with the ongoing battle with the Devil’s Nest. That damn club had been slowly encroaching on the territory the Street Demons’ controlled. It was hard enough keeping the cops at bay without adding a rival war to the shit list they had on his MC.

  The extra heat didn’t help, and it only distracted him from the real work that needed to be done. The club needed more income, more legit income. They managed to stay on the good graces of the city council with their charitable work, but it was the back end of the club that needed work.

  Too many members were tired of fundraising for causes outside the club, then seeing their paychecks getting smaller with each of their runs.

  Craig, the club president, slammed the gavel down on the old oak table. The founders of the club had carved the club’s emblem into the table for generations to come to remember the fight they had at becoming a chapter, at becoming a deep rooted organization in the community. The chatter in the room stilled and all eyes turned to the prez.

  “I get that you’re all pissed. I ain’t all that thrilled either!” His ratty voice boomed against the walls. Craig suffered from COPD, and getting riled up would send him into a coughing fit if he wasn’t careful. “The fucking Devil’s Nest isn’t just creeping into our club business; they are starting to threaten our town. Two of those assholes cornered Brittany, the mayor’s daughter, in the Watering Hole yesterday. If Michael and Drey hadn’t walked in when they did, the girl wouldn’t have stood a chance against those fuckers.” Craig dragged his hand across his forehead. The summer heat was getting to him, even with the air conditioner blasting in the room. “As far as money in the club, I propose we begin offering more services in the garage. Open business up to all vehicles, not just bikes. I know we liked having that specialty, but times are changing. Jerry just closed his shop down the street. He retired and none of his sons wanted to get their hands dirty. So that’s what I’m proposing.” Craig sat back down in his chair, taking slow, deep breaths. If the club hadn’t been aware of his condition, no one probably would have noticed. But he was the president, and when he was pained, everyone took note.

  “Put the vote to the table,” Michael called out with a slap of his palm against the hard wood. Just the feel of the solid oak beneath his hand was enough to remind him of the solidity of his club, of his brothers. If working on station wagons and minivans would keep their club alive and well, fuck yeah, he’d do an oil change for some soccer mom. Shit, maybe she’d be divorced and looking for some distraction from the snotty toddlers in the backseat.

  Craig gave a nod and the votes started. Not a single nay. The club would soon be booming in legal cash again. The backroom stuff, well, that was for another meeting, another day. The Street Demons weren’t any sort of one percenter club; they didn’t go for shoot-outs in the streets or running assholes off the freeway just because some dumbass cut them off on their bike. And running drugs and guns, that wasn’t really their thing either. No, the Street Demons ran medicine. Medicinal marijuana was still illegal in Ohio, but the need for it was just as high as ever. To the Feds, it was just as illegal as running cocaine, but to the Street Demons, it was fucking community service.

  There was also the whorehouse in the back of the compound. An escort service is what the tax returns read—legal companionship, no sex involved. Fuck that. If sex weren’t involved, what asshole would pay a grand for a night with one of their girls? Hell yeah, there was sex. A whole lot of it, and kinky as hell too.

  With the vote over, Craig grinned wide and smacked the gavel back down. “So it’s done! Now, get out of here and get some time in the clubhouse. All prospects are on duty tonight so drink it up. If you can’t walk to your bike, you crash here. No excuses!” There wouldn’t be any. Craig’s little sister was killed by a drunk driver almost a decade ago, and not a single biker in the club had gotten on a bike after having too much to drink ever since. Craig would have had their balls mounted on the fucking wall.

  “Hey, Michael.” A warm, slim hand pressed against his chest as he walked out of church and into the main lounge area. He didn’t even need to look down to see who the hand belonged to. Only one of the sugar bites, a nickname the brothers used for the club whores, would be bold enough to hang outside the door waiting for Michael to exit.

  “Candy.” He nodded, then moved her hand back to her side. Stepping to the side to let the other brothers head toward the bar, where he wanted to be, he tried to give her a hard glare. “You know you aren’t supposed to be hanging by this door.”

  She had enough sense to blush. “I know, but I didn’t want to miss you. I haven’t seen you in a while.” Her hand was back on his chest, inching its way beneath his kutte. The rest of her pressed up against his side, large tits pushed against his arm, and if he moved just a bit more, her leg would wrap itself around his waist.

  “I’ve been busy.” He noticed Sniper waving to him from the bar, signaling a shot was lined up for him. “And I’m busy tonight, too. Why don’t you help someone else out for the night?”

  The rejection didn’t deflate her. No, not Candy. She’d been itching to get her claws into him for nearly a year. She had too many aspirations of becoming his old lady, even when he told her he didn’t want or need one. Sticking his dick in whatever woman he wanted to, that was the way h
e was going to keep on living. Women just complicated shit, and he didn’t need that. He had a club to take care of. Craig wasn’t getting any younger or healthier, and Charles, the VP, hadn’t been healthy enough to attend a church meeting in months.

  “Maybe I could stop by later?” She still hadn’t let him go; in fact, her hand traveled downward, past his belt, and lower still until she was rubbing his cock. As much as he didn’t want her at that moment, his cock reacted anyway. A woman stroking the length of him wasn’t something he could completely ignore. “Maybe I could help you release some of that stress you’re carrying around.” She yanked on him and turned them so she was pressed against the wall, and began to unbuckle his belt. Her fingers were nimble, and she had his button undone and her hand wrapped around his fully erect cock.

  He leaned forward, pressing one hand against the wall to balance himself as she sank to her knees, her eyes still locked on his. A little stress reliever never hurt anyone.

  Men behind him laughed hard, the music pumped up and the liquor was flowing with ease. His cock was sliding easily between Candy’s lips. Fuck, she had a nice mouth. He dug one hand into her hair, and pushed her faster and harder down on him, not giving a shit when she gagged or coughed. She wanted this; she could have it. When he came, it was hard, but not unlike every other time he shot down her throat. Yanking out, he put himself together. She got back to her feet, wiping her mouth with the tip of her thumb, looking more pleased with herself than she probably should have.