Patriot (Dark Falcons Book 3) Read online

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  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, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved

  Patriot

  Dark Falcons

  Book 3

  Copyright Em Petrova 2020

  Ebook Edition

  Electronic book publication 2020

  Cover Art by Em Petrova

  All rights reserved. Any violation of this will be prosecuted by the law.

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  More in this series:

  DIXON

  TANK

  PATRIOT

  DIESEL

  BLADE

  RIO

  A biker in trouble. A woman who doesn’t run from it.

  Logan, aka Patriot, earned his nickname by fighting for the underdog. Only this time he’s the one being crushed under the weight of injustice when his club comes under fire with the law. While he and his brothers fight to find the true criminal, a certain reserved brunette keeps popping up everywhere he goes, making it even more impossible to ignore the things he feels for her.

  While she focuses on striking out on her own, Patriot’s thrown into Aarica’s path so many times that surely Fate has a sense of humor—or a plan. He claims she’s too innocent to be in his company, but she’s determined to convince him otherwise.

  With his reputation in ashes, the timing couldn’t be worse for a relationship. But Patriot’s a selfish bastard. As if he’d let her go…

  PATRIOT

  A Dark Falcons MC

  Novella

  by

  Em Petrova

  Chapter One

  Mountains, sky…and the guy in the next campsite playing a terrible rendition of Freebird on an acoustic guitar. Patriot’s idea of taking off for the mountains and a three-day weekend to find some peace in order to think on his problems now seemed like one hell of a bad idea.

  As the man’s voice cracked and his notes got more out of key, Patriot inwardly cringed. The orange flames licking the outer edge of the fire ring wasn’t offering any answers, and he sure as hell couldn’t think listening to that.

  The singer pitched his voice louder. Finally, someone from another site yelled, “Shut up!”

  More shouts followed. “Shut uuuuuup!”

  Patriot couldn’t stifle his grunt of amusement. Clearly he wasn’t the only person suffering through the song.

  Abruptly, the playing stopped and silence followed—long, blissful silence where he only heard nature and the crackle of his own fire. He propped his heavy boots on the edge of the stone ring and closed his eyes.

  Hell, he needed more than peace and quiet to work out his problems. With his name in the toilet and now sullied with his lifelong friend and the president of their motorcycle club, the Dark Falcons, how could he begin to clean the slate?

  His mind circled to the beginning of the dark, ugly tale, as it did how many times now? Countless. His construction crew traveled all over Mersey, Tennessee and the surrounding areas building additions, garages, doing roofing and repairs on homes and businesses. He prided himself on the reputation he’d cultivated. Stone’s Construction had enough clout that he didn’t need to advertise these days—word of mouth did it for him.

  He’d earned that through hard work and consistent craftsmanship, along with being selective with his crew. He only took on the best, and if a guy failed to pass muster, Patriot cut him loose.

  Somehow, shit went south when a recent client’ they were building a small addition onto the house for, accused his crew of theft. He couldn’t be more shocked or enraged to be accused of stealing. Him of all people. And he belonged to a motorcycle club known for good deeds and their solid reputation in their community.

  The first accusation had been bad enough, but then the second came in. Money and jewelry stolen. Only people who had access to the house during that time was his crew.

  Now the owners were taking it to the sheriff and he wouldn’t be the only one under fire—his crew either.

  His brothers would be investigated.

  Every man in the MC would be questioned, because the asshole homeowners thought Patriot had given his guys inside access.

  Fucking hell.

  He glared at the flames until his eyes burned from the bright colors against the fading daylight.

  “Logan?”

  He opened his eyes at the sound of his name. He hardly answered to it anymore—the Dark Falcons all called him Patriot. Hell, most people did, even in his business life. It’d been his nickname since high school.

  He looked at the two people standing in front of him. For a moment, he didn’t connect the old friends he hadn’t’ seen in years with the mountains. He got to his feet and grinned at the Collins.

  “Ben. Man, it’s good to see you. And Mel. Damn, how long’s it been?” He shook Ben’s hand and hugged the man’s wife.

  They drew apart, and Patriot grinned at friends he hadn’t seen in ages.

  “It’s been at least three years. That’s why we weren’t sure it was you sitting here.” Ben slid an arm around Mel, pulling her against his side in that way long-married couples had of presenting themselves as one unit.

  “A long time,” Patriot echoed, scuffing a hand over his face to clear away the last of his worries from his expression. “You two campin’?”

  “Yeah, with some other friends. Over that way.” They pointed. “We were just about to break out the beer. You wanna join us?”

  “Sure.” While he wasn’t exactly in a social mood right now, and had fled his brothers to come here to be alone, he couldn’t say no to the offer without looking like a dick.

  “C’mon.” Ben flicked his head, and he and his wife turned. Patriot followed, talking over mundane topics such as Ben still working with the same company and Mel still teaching in the same school the next town over.

  As they arrived at their campsite, Patriot determined not much had changed in the three years since they’d seen each other.

  “Hey, guys, we ran into an old friend. He’s going to join us,” Ben announced to five other people seated around the fire. He waved to Patriot. “This is Logan, also known as Patriot.”

  “Welcome. Pull up a chair.” One young man wearing a fleece vest over his long-sleeved shirt against the chill of the mountains motioned to a lawn chair.

  Patriot gave him a nod and looked from face to face. He didn’t recognize any of these people.

  Then a woman walked out from behind a tent. She stopped dead at seeing Patriot there, and he felt her sudden appearance, a balmy summer breeze blowing up from the south.

  Fresh-faced, younger than him by quite a few years. A heart-shaped face with wide hazel eyes, wavy hair half pulled off her face…and lips that made a man look not twice but three times.

  Actually, he stared at those lips for more than a heartbeat before shooting his attention to her eyes. Christ, what the hell? She was checking him out the same way.

  Mel pointed from person to person, naming each. When she landed on the woman standing rooted in place staring back at him, she said, “That’s Aarica, with three A’s.”

  He took a second to process that before he gave a nod. “Hi.”

  “Aarica, this is Patriot, an old friend of ours.”

  The woman couldn’t be more than eighteen. Definitely out of his bounds. She off
ered him a shy smile and brushed a wave of warm brown hair behind her ear. Then she looked around for an open seat.

  “Sit here.” He offered the lawn chair he’d been about to sink into.

  Her smile widened. She didn’t show her teeth when she smiled, but somehow that only enhanced the plump rosebud of her lips. When she moved to the chair, he dodged out of her path, grabbed a beer from a nearby cooler and then sat on the lid.

  “How long you been campin’, Patriot?” Ben asked.

  “Just arrived a couple hours ago.”

  “Didn’t look as if you set up your site yet.”

  “I have what I need. I travel light.” He felt Aarica’s gaze on him and met her eyes. She quickly glanced away.

  Fuck, not the cat and mouse game. He didn’t play it. Hell, he hadn’t played anything with a woman in a long time. The women in his proximity—what the club called ‘honeys’—didn’t interest him. After all, they were out to gain something, a place among the Dark Falcons, a patch that said PROPERTY and a family for life.

  He cracked open his beer and took a sip.

  “Noticed your bike back there. Harley?” Ben asked.

  “Yup. 2010 Softtail.”

  “It’s a beauty.”

  “Thanks. My buddy operates a custom shop, and he’s been doing a little work on it.”

  “Got it tricked out real nice.” Ben settled in with his own beer. His wife paused to place her hand on his shoulder, and he reached up to squeeze it.

  For some reason, Patriot found his gaze wandering to Aarica again. Aarica with three A’s. She sat quiet but attentive, just soaking in the talk and atmosphere of the snapping fire. When offered a beer, she waved it away and instead sipped on a bottle of water, which only enhanced his belief she was underage.

  When she crossed her ankles out in front of her, Patriot found it impossible not to follow the lines of her body, from hiking boots to the hems of her jeans, cuffed once to reveal a tiny peek of white socks, to her full thighs that flared into womanly hips. She might look young, but she possessed all the goods of a woman.

  He reached higher on her body, drinking in a heavy barn jacket buttoned all the way to the collar and just knew if he popped open those buttons and slid his hand inside the warm depths, he’d find curves to match the rest of her.

  He landed at her chin, a tiny point a man could pinch between his thumb and forefinger to direct her face up to him. Then those lips—fuck. Tanned skin that took on a glow from the firelight.

  She flicked her eyes to him again, and they held a heartbeat too long. A slow burn stirred low in his gut, alerting him to the fact that he hadn’t wrapped a woman against his body in a long time.

  When she cast her eyes downward again, he watched her lashes cast spiked shadows over her cheeks.

  After he finished his beer, he’d best return to his campsite. He didn’t have the time or inclination to be involved with anyone, especially right now with his life in turmoil.

  But as he finished his beer, one of the guys asked about bikes, and then conversation rolled on for a good half hour.

  “I see your patches, man. Didn’t know you were with a club these days,” Ben said.

  The Dark Falcons patch rode on the back of the leather jacket he wore, along with a Sergeant at Arms patch that meant he was in charge of protection for the club. But he wasn’t doing a very good job of it by tossing all his brothers into his swamp of trouble, was he?

  He saw Aarica lift a hand to the button at her throat. She popped it to reveal a tiny sliver of throat. No way should that buttoned-up bit of flesh entice, but damn if he wasn’t shifting on the cooler to ease the tightness in his jeans.

  Sometime later, Aarica stood. “I’m going to my tent now. It’s been a long day.”

  Mel looked up with a smile. “Goodnight. If you need anything, let us know.”

  The woman offered a smile and a wave, and then she started across the site. She rounded the tent before Patriot realized she wasn’t sharing their campsite with them.

  “Where’s she camped?”

  “Around the loop,” one of the other ladies told him.

  He stood. She couldn’t walk alone, in the dark and looking like a damn tasty snack. “I’ll see she gets there safe.”

  Without another word, he followed her. When he caught up to her, she threw a look over her shoulder.

  “Oh, hi.” Her soft voice soothed the beast in him far more than any solitude of the mountains had so far. Or maybe it stirred the primal beast that wanted to duck his head and kiss those plump, sultry lips.

  “Hope you don’t mind if I walk with you. Since it’s dark and all.”

  “You don’t have to, but thanks. My cousins would do the same thing.”

  “Cousins? How many we talkin’?”

  “Five that I grew up with. My aunt and uncle took me in when I was two. They’re parents to me, and my cousins are brothers.” They hit the dirt path leading around the ring of campsites. The silence loomed up, another entity in the night with them, a giant’s hands holding them closer together.

  Patriot burned through the urge to reach out and grab her hand. Why? She was safe enough.

  Because I fucking want to put my hands on her.

  The punch of desire kept him from speaking more on the topic of her family, but he listened as she recounted her cousins’ ages and how she’d grown up on a big farm.

  That unsealed his lips. “So you’re fresh off the farm?” he teased.

  She chuckled. “It’s true. I never thought I’d get away.”

  “You didn’t like it then?”

  “I loved it. Growing up there was everything a girl could dream of, having family around. But it was time for me to move on and find my own life. My cousins are very protective, and I couldn’t date without their approval.”

  Hell, just as he thought. Inexperienced kid came to the small town to escape the life she knew and looking for excitement. He would not, no matter how much the ache in his balls urged him to, be the one to show her the downside of one-night stands.

  But the thought of anybody else doing that made him want to pick up his favorite hammer and go after them.

  “I’m right up here.” She pointed, and through the darkness he spotted a small two-man tent and a blackened fire ring. He couldn’t think of a lonelier place to leave her.

  Once they reached the site, they stopped and faced each other. “Want me to start your fire?” He realized how that sounded.

  She looked up into his eyes. Even in the low light he caught the glimmer in the depths of her gaze. “No, I’ll be all right.”

  He didn’t move. Trapped in her gaze. Or too afraid to move away from her for fear he’d never see her again.

  Neither spoke.

  Slowly, she leaned in. He froze as she went on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek, resting a hand on his chest at the same time.

  A guttural need gripped him. He needed to step away from the innocent beauty—do the right thing. But that soft caress of her lips on his cheek proved too much.

  He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her into him. Dark need stole all his thoughts at the mere crush of her tantalizing body against his.

  “How old are you?” he grated out.

  “Twenty-three.”

  Young. But not as young as he originally thought.

  “How old are you?”

  “Too old for you.”

  That pulled a giggle from her. The sound tormented his senses more.

  “How old is that?”

  A knot worked its way down his throat when he swallowed and then said, “Thirty.”

  On his chest, her fingers splayed. Afraid she’d push away, he tightened his hold on her middle, but she didn’t move. In fact, her breaths came faster. Lightly, he kneaded his fingers into her waist. A quiet moan escaped her, the sound hitting the throttle inside him. Damn, what he wouldn’t give to hear more noises from her.

  Moving his hand downward, he learned the line of her hi
p. So womanly.

  His heart thumped so damn hard against his ribs he felt his body jolt with each beat.

  “Patriot… Is it a nickname?” She searched his face, waiting for the answer she’d missed when she arrived after the Collins’ introductions.

  He gave a single nod, too on edge to think about much but picking her up and leaning her against the nearest tree. “My real name’s Logan.” His voice came out gritty.

  A smile curved her lips upward. He stared at that mouth, wanting a glimpse of her teeth…and more. So much more.

  “I like both names.” She brushed her hand over his chest, inching it downward. “What do you do to make your body so hard?”

  Christ, did she know the meaning of hard? He could move her hand downward over the bulge in his jeans to teach her.

  “Construction.”

  Nodding, she turned her gaze to his chest. The sight of the top of her head shouldn’t fill him with an all-consuming protectiveness, but dammit, it did. His throat closed off as he realized just how much he wanted to wrap this woman in his arms and keep her safe from the ugliness of the world. Ugliness that would ruin her.

  Ugliness that he would bring upon her with the mess he was in.

  He started to move backward, but she stepped into him. When she slipped her arms around his neck, he felt as if his boots had been bolted to the earth. Without meaning to, he slipped both hands up to cup her breasts. A more insistent moan escaped her lips, and she dropped her head back.

  Staring down at her face, he watched pleasure play over her features as he learned the contours of her full breasts—and then the sharp little peaks of her nipples through the coat.

  He started on the buttons. She watched him, lips parted. Desire, searing hot, took hold when he reached inside her jacket, edged his hands underneath her top and cupped her breasts fully with only a lacy bra between them.

  He kissed her. Took those plump lips for himself and damn the consequences. Instantly, she melted into his kiss, head angled perfectly and her lips parted enough for him to sweep his tongue inside. She gripped his shoulders, gasping and so fucking responsive he thought he’d come in his jeans before he even got her undressed.