(Shiva’s Road MC)
Motorcycle Club Romance, Interracial & Multicultural
Date Published: March 22, 2024
Ghost -- Against my better judgment, I went to Chicago to meet my father.
Instead I find a sexy siren who’s fighting a daily struggle to
survive. I claim her for my own the first chance I get, but that’s
when our troubles really start. She won’t leave without my sister
Rachel, her best friend, and I’m a long way from home and my brothers.
When the bad guys attack, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them
both.
Simone -- I need a way out. When Ghost arrives, I take a chance and ask him
for help. But he’s the son of the man who sells my body. I don’t
know how far I can trust him. My life and Rachel’s hang in the
balance. Ghost says he wants me by his side forever. I’m trusting him
with our lives, but can I trust him with my heart?
EXCERPT
Ghost
“This place is something else,” Beowulf said over the sound of
their idling bikes.
Ghost didn’t respond, knowing his best friend didn’t expect him
to. He just stared at the place his mother had called home for the last
twenty-five years. The McMansion and surrounding grounds presented a vulgar
display of wealth against the suburban Chicago backdrop. The pink granite
drive wound around the two-story house, lit by spotlights in the center of
the immaculately manicured lawn. In bright sunlight, he’d no doubt
need darker shades to withstand the glare of the mica-flecked walls and
white shutters. He’d known about the setup from the intel Bytes had
gathered on his father before they left the compound in Central Ohio, but
seeing it in person shocked the man who had grown up dirt poor in a
single-wide trailer on the Mescalero Apache Tribe Reservation.
“Name,” snapped a male voice from a box built into the brick
column to the left of the wrought black iron gate.
“Lucas Blackfoot,” Ghost replied. His voice sounded rusty, even
to his own ears.
“You were told to come alone.”
Ghost shrugged, sure the security cameras would pick up his response.
After a long pause, the voice instructed, “Park your motorcycles in
the open garage bay. You will be met at the interior door. Do not enter
without an escort or you will be shot.”
“Friendly type, your Pops.” Wulf chuckled.
Ghost let his unease out by revving his old Harley. The Knucklehead
vibrated the ground as the gate with a stylized W in the center pulled back
to allow them entrance. They followed the drive to the right of the house,
moving at a slow pace on the loose gravel, and found the place they were to
leave their bikes without issue.
Almost as soon as they swung their legs over the fenders, a door at the far
end of the far end of the garage opened. A limo occupied one bay. Midlife
crisis cars sat in the remaining two, each of which probably cost more than
Ghost had seen during his entire childhood.
A large, bald man in a black suit he couldn’t button over his flabby
stomach -- a security drudge so stereotypical as to be laughable -- motioned
them to come closer.
“What do you wanna bet he gets handsy?” Wulf said loud enough
to be overheard.
Ghost grunted. This was gonna suck. He had planned to get in and out as
quickly as possible, having minimal interaction with his sperm donor.
“Which one of you is Blackfoot?” the guard asked as they
approached.
Like that wasn’t obvious. Even a toddler could tell the black-haired
Native American from the Nordic blond. “I am,” Ghost
replied.
“Your… companion… can wait here.” The guard put a
wealth of innuendo into the word companion, still trying to get a rise out
of him.
“No.” Ghost didn’t make a threatening move, but he
wasn’t going into this house alone. He’d never spoken to Donald
P. Willard, never went looking for his parents after his mother left the
Reservation when he was eight. His father should be happy he’d only
brought his best friend for backup. No way in hell would he allow himself to
be separated from Wulf this early in the game.
“You come alone, or you don’t come at all.”
“Fine,” said Wulf, “We’ll be home in our beds by
morning then.”
The dumbass reached out to grab Ghost by the arm. “I said
--”
Ghost grabbed the guard’s hand by the thumb and bent it back. When
the man tried to twist out of his grip, Ghost held on long enough to make
sure the man knew Ghost was choosing to release him.
Another man, this one a little older and in better shape than the first,
appeared in the doorway. “Problem?”
“He doesn’t want to come quietly, boss,” Dumbass
said.
“Let him bring his little friend if it makes him feel better,”
the new arrival replied. “I’m sure they won’t cause any
trouble. Right, boys?”
“We’re housebroken,” Wulf assured him. “Can’t
say the same for your team though. Need a lesson in manners.”
“Boss” stared at them for a few beats, then turned on his heel
and walked back into the house. His lapdog followed, leaving Ghost and Wulf
to take up the rear. As soon as they cleared the doorway, another man came
up behind them, closing the door and walking practically on their heels.
They moved through the mostly dark house in that formation until they
reached a closed door with soft light spilling through around the
cracks.
A knock on the door received a curt, “Enter.”
A hand on his back pushed Ghost ahead of Wulf into the room. No less
opulent than the rest of the house, the study had dark built-in shelves at
the back wall and thick, velvet green drapes bracketing the floor-to-ceiling
windows along the side. Donald P. Willard sat behind a polished walnut desk.
A Tiffany desk lamp illuminated Donald’s thick features and extremely
short-cropped, graying hair. His hands were laced together in front of him,
resting over a sizeable belly straining the buttons on his tailored shirt.
His blue suit jacket hung on the back of his leather executive chair. The
picture of a prominent light-skinned black businessman, surrounding himself
with obvious signs of wealth and opulence. Ghost was pretty sure it was all
a front, meant to impress.
“Son, please have a seat. The rest of you are dismissed,”
Donald said.
The three bodyguards tried to grab Wulf to remove him bodily from the room,
but he evaded their grasps and sat down on the green leather sofa which
rested against a creamy damask wallpaper. “I think I’ll stay. I
like it here,” Wulf said mildly.
“This is a private conversation between my son and myself. Please do
us the courtesy of letting us have this family moment,” Donald
replied.
Wulf looked to Ghost, who gave him a slight nod. Beowulf could take care of
himself, and it didn’t seem like anyone was going to talk in front of
his friend.
“Come on, boys. Show me the kitchen. I could use a snack after the
long ride.” Wulf jumped up from the couch and led the way out into the
hall.
Once they were alone and the door shut, Donald gave Ghost an appraising
glance. “You look like your mother.”
Ghost knew what he meant. His father’s African American heritage
didn’t show much in Ghost’s features. There didn’t seem
much point in replying so Ghost didn’t bother.
Donald sighed. “Have a seat, son. We have a lot to talk
about.”
Ghost sat in one of the chairs in front of Donald’s desk that matched
the leather sofa. It was as uncomfortable as it looked. Still, he said
nothing. He’d learned a long time ago prolonged silence had a way of
getting people to start rambling just to fill the void.
“I have to say, your existence came as quite a shock to me. In all
the years I’ve been married to Caroline, she never once mentioned you.
Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Has she ever contacted you since she left the
Reservation?”
“No.”
“I’ve always wanted a son to carry on my legacy. Surely, she
would have known I’d have welcomed you with open arms.”
Ghost shrugged. His mother had signed over custody of him to his
grandfather when she left, giving no explanation. His memories of her were
happy, but dim. He couldn’t say why his mother did what she did, and
wouldn’t tell this man even if he did know. He owed this man
nothing.
“Did she tell you anything about me before she left? Anything at
all?”
“No.” Ghost knew he sounded like a broken record but really
what was there to say? He’d received word of his mother’s death
from a lawyer, closely followed by a summons from Donald P. Willard to
discuss her “affairs.” Ghost already regretted his decision to
come here and couldn’t wait to get the fuck out.
“Man of few words, eh? I can respect that. Too many people
don’t stand by their word these days. I’m not one of those. Old
school to the core, just like my daddy.” He probably practiced his
“trust me” smile in the mirror. Ghost wasn’t falling for
it.
“Why am I here?” He knew why, but he wanted to see how the
other man would spin it.
“I wanted to meet you, talk to you. I am your father, after
all.”
“Are you sure?” Ghost was. Bytes had done the research.
Donald’s name wasn’t listed on his birth certificate, but his
mother had left a letter with his grandfather. The old man never said a
word, but the document had been among his things given to the tribal leaders
upon his death. An old friend read it to him over the phone. His father had
been a high roller at one of the casinos on tribal land. His mother worked
there and caught his eye. Eventually they started a relationship. She got
pregnant. Eight years later, she left the Reservation to be his wife.
“Of course, I am. Your mother was faithful to me, even before we
married. Or are you trying to tell me you know otherwise?” The thought
seemed to anger him.
“No.”
“Well then, there you are. You’re my son. And I’d like to
think we could have a good relationship now that we know about each
other.”
Ghost almost said no again, just to see what the other man would do, but
managed to stop himself. Instead, he changed tracks. “Your letter
promised legal action if I didn’t show. That’s not very…
fatherly.”
“That was before I got to know you. My security team did a little
digging. Can’t blame a man for wanting to get to know all about a son
he suddenly finds out about, can you? And now I know you’ve served
your country well, but you’ve fallen on hard times. That motorcycle
club you’re with, well, I’d like to see my son socializing with
a better class of people. I can and will help you there.”
“No.” The word came out fast and emphatic. Shiva’s Road
MC was his family now. Not this man.
“OK, OK, I can see I’m moving too fast for you. A habit in my
business. You don’t make money letting grass grow under your
feet!”
Donald’s business, according to Bytes, barely paid the mortgage on
this eyesore these days. Donald’s father had been a solid contractor
for large scale buildings in downtown Chicago. But cutting corners to
underbid other contractors, shoddy supplies, and other bad business
practices had given the family business a bad name. Donald scrambled to
cover his monthly debts and if he didn’t hire better lawyers,
he’d be facing jail time. Then there was the little matter of his
gambling debts…
Instead of replying right away, Ghost let his attention drift around the
office. There were business books, decanters containing various kinds of
alcohol with the usual glasses, and several framed pictures. One of the
pictures caught his eye. Two young women were laughing with their arms
around each other in front of a fountain. One had black hair, dusky skin and
a more than passing resemblance to Donald. She must be Rachael, his
half-sister.
The other woman -- he didn’t recognize her -- was nothing less than
stunning. Platinum-blonde hair surrounded her tanned face in a halo as the
sunshine poured down on her, seeming to illuminate her from within. The red
top she wore hugged her more-than-a-handful breasts and rode up enough to
show a strip of her belly. The matching skirt flared out from curvy hips
that begged to be gripped with his large hands and held onto for a wild
ride. Though he couldn’t tell the exact color of her eyes from the
photograph, they seemed to sparkle with mischief. And her full lips, painted
the same red as her shirt, were a form of temptation all their own. He
wanted to lick and suck and taste every inch of her. His cock came to life
behind his zipper as he studied the image. He’d never had such a
visceral reaction to a woman, let alone one he’d seen only in a
picture, in his life.
About the Author
Every book is a mystery to Dana. Whether it’s writing one or reading
one, she delves into the who, what, when, where and why with a thirst for
knowledge. Getting to know the characters and following their journey as it
unfolds gives her a thrill she hasn’t been able to duplicate in any
other activity. She’s been known to devour as many as three books in a
day, and would write until her fingers bled if her muses allowed.
Although Dana is just getting started on her publishing career, please join
her on Facebook and Goodreads, and visit her website often as her MC
collection grows to see what Dana has in store for her readers next!
Contact Links
Author’s Website
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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress
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