Lucky (No Prisoners MC Book 4) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author Note

  Blurb

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Epilogue

  Amazon

  Snake Preview

  About the Author

  LUCKY

  No Prisoners MC Book 4

  by Lilly Atlas

  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 author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Copyright © 2017 Lilly Atlas

  All rights reserved.

  Lilly Atlas Books

  For anyone who is looking for a little luck.

  Thank you so much for spending some time in the No Prisoners’ world. If you enjoyed the book please feel free to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads.

  Join Lilly’s mailing list for a FREE No Prisoners short story.

  www.lillyatlas.com

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  Keep reading for a preview of the next book in the No Prisoners series: Snake out October 31st 2017

  Available for Pre-order Now!

  Books in the No Prisoners Series

  Hook: A No Prisoners Novella

  Striker

  Jester

  Acer

  Lucky

  Snake

  After six months caring for her terminally ill mother, Kori is shocked to learn the identity of her father. Armed with the name of a man she’s never met, Kori sets off across the country to meet the person responsible for half of her DNA: the President of the No Prisoners Las Vegas motorcycle club.

  Raised as the stepdaughter of an MC member, Kori has one rule when it comes to dating: no bikers. Following that rule becomes a challenge, however, when she meets Lucky, a member of her father’s club.

  Lucky’s perspective on the dating world is don’t do it. He has a revolving door to his bedroom and no interest in a relationship. But what starts as harmless flirting quickly escalates until he can’t get Kori out of his mind.

  For a time, the relationship seems perfect, but Lucky is struggling with a secret that could destroy the club. How can he move against club leadership knowing that Kori will be caught in the crossfire?

  Prologue

  Las Vegas, November 2015

  Three-fifty-seven a.m. Pretty fucking early. Why the hell he was awake, he had no clue. Maybe his female companion had inadvertently woken him when she crawled her sweet ass out of the bed and slunk into the night.

  Lucky’s head was a bit groggy, but the intoxication seemed to have worked its way out of his system. A quick cup of the sludge his MC brothers called coffee and he’d be good to ride home where he could actually get some comfortable sleep. This damn bed was like sleeping on a pile of rocks, and sharp nails.

  Now where the hell had his cut landed?

  He found it dangling from the foot of the bed. Once dressed, he made his way down the dark hallway toward the main area of the clubhouse. The building was a seven thousand square foot single story old shoe factory that had been converted for their needs years ago. The front of the building served as the heart of the clubhouse. The space was wide open, with a massive bar, pool table, dart boards, and a number of plush, albeit questionably sanitary, couches. That’s where they partied, hung out, and generally caused a ruckus.

  A long hallway led to the back of the building where offices and spare rooms were located as well as the giant meeting room, or chapel, where the club conducted its business. Lucky loved his second home, even if sleeping there was a less than restful experience.

  He trod as quietly as his booted feet would allow so as not to wake anyone else who’d spent the night. As he neared the bar, loud, angry voices broke the silence of the early morning.

  “How did this happen? Tell me how the fuck this happened!” Rebel’s smoke-roughened yell made Lucky wince. Their Vegas chapter president was not someone to piss off. Those who got on his bad side often found themselves missing a tooth or two. Just last year when their club brothers from Crystal Rock, Arizona were in town, Rebel had rearranged some punk’s face for having the nerve to step on his foot and not apologize in a crowded bar.

  “I don’t know, Pres. Casper called me just five minutes ago. First thing I did was come to you.” Savage sounded just as agitated as Rebel. Another man you didn’t want to put a target on your ass. Like Lucky, he lived up to his nickname with gusto.

  Lucky halted, unsure if he’d be welcome at this moment. If it seemed like they could use his help, he’d be more than happy to jump in, but something felt off about the situation. The small hairs on the back of his neck rose to attention. An issue requiring attention at four a.m. on a Saturday could only mean trouble.

  Casper. Why did that name sound so familiar?

  “Tell me exactly what Casper said. Word for fuckin’ word. And give me a fuckin’ cigarette. I left mine in my room.”

  Silence descended and Lucky pictured Rebel lighting up and sucking in that first soothing drag. In eight years, there had perhaps been three times he’d seen Rebel without a cigarette between his fingers and smoke billowing from his mouth. His leathery face and raspy voice bore the marks of a man who loved his smokes.

  “Spit it the fuck out, Savage.” Rebel sounded close to losing his cool. Surprising for a man who ruthlessly commanded respect and never seemed at a loss. Shit must be bad.

  “Casper said they’re having ongoing issues with their supply from the cartel. Trust has been a problem since the Crystal Rock chapter ambushed them. Stealing the mil meant for the cartel pissed the Grimm Brothers off, big time. They liked working with Snake but hate Casper’s guts.”

  Lucky remembered now. Grimm Brothers MC. Casper was the VP and Snake had been the president for a while. Nasty motherfuckers who caused serious trouble for two of his brothers, Striker and Jester. Snake kidnapped Striker’s woman and blackmailed Jester’s ol’ lady with threats of killing her only brother. The Grimm Brothers were the sworn enemy of the No Prisoners Crystal Rock chapter.

  “Shit.” Rebel’s curse was followed by a loud boom that had Lucky jolting. He tiptoed a few steps further into the hallway. He should leave. Spying on the President wasn’t a smart idea, but now he itched to know the rest of
the story.

  “Did they get this month’s shipment? Thirty percent of that product had our name on it,” Rebel asked.

  Wait. What? Lucky’s blood ran cold. His club steered far away from the drug trade.

  “Most of it. The cartel held some of it back as punishment for Casper’s bad attitude.” Savage paused and without actually looking at him, Lucky could imagine his cold eyes turn deadly. “Said they have no problem finding new buyers so Casper needs to get his ass in line.”

  Rebel let out a harsh laugh followed by a barking cough. “That scrawny asshole knows how much I depend on the cash from our heroin sales. He better get his shit together or the cartel will be the least of his worries.”

  Lucky swore his heart stopped beating for a few seconds, just before it kicked up into a fast gallop. Rebel and Savage were selling drugs. Who else knew? Who else was involved? How long had this been going on?

  Nausea rolled through his gut like a violent storm. His sister had died of an overdose when she was just seventeen. One of the reasons he’d chosen this specific MC when looking to prospect was the fact that they were fierce in their stance against involvement in the drug trade. Too risky and too much collateral damage. Or so he’d believed.

  “Maybe we should consider cutting out the middle man. Deal with the cartel ourselves.” Rebel coughed. The man’s lungs had to be blacker than tar.

  “Not a bad idea, Pres. Things ain’t the same since Jester beat Snake near to death. You think Casper finished the job? You know that greedy asshole was just biding his time until he could claw his way to the top and no one’s heard from Snake in the months since.”

  “I need a drink. What a fuckin’ mess.” Rebel sighed, then the sound of liquid being poured reached Lucky’s ears.

  Well, now he sure as hell couldn’t step out into the bar area. With the stealth of a ninja, Lucky crept back toward the room he’d crashed in. This was far too much information to process at four in the morning after a night of heavy drinking. His thoughts bubbled and swirled like molten lava in a volcano near eruption.

  Now he got to choose between two shitty options.

  Turn a blind eye and keep his trap closed.

  Or run with what he overheard to someone who could help. Take it to the Crystal Rock chapter. Tell them his president and vice president were in direct violation of the club’s strict no drugs bylaw. Be a rat.

  And in the MC world, there was nothing dirtier than a rat.

  Chapter One

  Florida, December 2015

  The cough would haunt Kori’s dreams for years to come. A deep, harsh hacking followed by gasping breaths and moans of agony, only to circle back around to the full-body hacking again.

  She rested her forehead on the wall outside the bedroom-turned-hospital suite in her mother’s modest home and tried to block out the sound. She needed to get in there. To assist her debilitated mother to a sitting position and help her clear her lungs to whatever extent possible.

  But Kori was tired. Her body was weary and her spirit was beaten down. The end was near. Or so said the oncologist. Even with a home BiPAP machine forcing oxygen into her mom’s failing lungs, they couldn’t keep her oxygen saturation at an acceptable level. Extreme weakness kept her in bed almost twenty-four hours a day. It was a vicious cycle.

  The physician, who seemed accustomed to sharing bad news, informed Kori it wouldn’t actually be cancer that killed her mom. She’d succumb to one of three things: a blood clot in her lung, an infected bed sore, or most likely, pneumonia. For the last three weeks, Kori had taken leave from work to be at her mother’s constant beck and call.

  No surprise that her mom’s husband was nowhere to be found. As far back as Kori could remember, her mom had a thing for bikers. She’d been married to this particular MC member going on fifteen years. Fucking good-for-nothing bikers.

  And fucking cigarettes. How many times through the years had she begged and pleaded with her mother to give up the habit? Far too many to count. Far too many wasted words.

  Forty-seven was too young for Barb to have her lungs ravaged by the deadly disease.

  With a deep sigh, Kori pushed off the wall and entered the room. Her mother lay curled on her side in the hospital bed, her body atrophied and so much smaller than it had been just six months ago. This illness came on fast and furious.

  Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Her mom had ignored the worsening cough for years. Denial was one nasty bitch.

  “Let’s sit you up, Mom.” Lifting her mother to a sitting position was as easy as picking up a child. Barb braced her hands on the bed behind her and Kori lessened her hold, but her mom’s arms just weren’t strong enough to stabilize herself and she almost collapsed backward. “Shh, it’s okay, Mom. Try to relax. You know how panicking only makes it harder to breathe.” She had to speak loudly to be heard over the hiss of oxygen.

  After a few moments of rubbing her mom’s back and uttering words of encouragement, the coughing fit passed and Barb sagged in Kori’s arms, all her energy spent. It would take her hours to recover from that two-minute episode.

  Kori positioned her mother on the bed so she was as comfortable as possible and adjusted the tubing so it was mostly out of the way. She took a quick peek at her mom’s fingernails. A bluish tinge marked the nail beds. Her breathing sounded worse today as well. Something she hadn’t thought possible yesterday.

  “Mom?” When Barb’s tired eyes opened, Kori sent her a smile. “I think it would be wise to get you to the hospital. Dr. Griffin is concerned about your high risk for pneumonia and by the way you sound today, I’m concerned as well. I can call an ambulance and have you there in less than thirty minutes.”

  Her mother shook her head. “No, baby girl,” she rasped out. The oxygen mask muffled her words and she shoved it up far enough that her mouth was free. Her eyes fluttered closed. The rise and fall of her chest was rapid and deep, as though she was struggling for air. “What would be the point? Prolong my life by a few days? Not interested.”

  Yes! Kori swallowed the retort. That was exactly the reason to go to the hospital. She wasn’t ready to lose her mom yet. Wasn’t ready to lose the one person in the world who loved her.

  “Mom, please.” The plea had been whispered but somehow her mom heard her above the hissing of the oxygen. They’d been through this before. Barb was sick and tired of the hospital. She wanted—no, demanded—to be allowed to die at home. Kori wanted to respect her mother’s wishes but was terrified by the prospect at the same time.

  “Sit back down, baby girl. I need to tell you something important before…well, before I go.” She patted the edge of the bed with her thin fingertips, the energy to lift her entire hand just not there.

  Kori sat as gently as possible and grasped Barb’s bony hand. “I’d rather you conserve your strength and rest. Put your mask back on.”

  “Shush, you. I might be dying, but I’m still your mother.” The order was issued sharply and Kori chuckled. Leave it to Barb to be so weak she couldn’t sit up but still find the ability to scold.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Barb snorted. “Now this is serious, baby girl. I want to tell you about your father.”

  Kori’s throat constricted and her tongue felt too big for her mouth. For a heartbeat, she considered swiping her mother’s oxygen for her own use. Surely not enough air was getting to her brain. It was the only explanation for the auditory hallucination. Either that or months of sleepless nights spent caring for her terminally ill mother had made her mind fracture.

  Never once in her twenty-seven years had Kori’s mom uttered a single word about the man who fathered her. Kori had only asked once when she was about ten. The topic was shut down quickly and left Kori with the impression she should not bring it up again.

  “Kori? Are you listening to me?”

  “What?” She blinked and refocused on Barb’s frail form. “Sorry. Yes, sorry. I was just—did you say my father?”

  Barb nodded and inhale
d on a whistling wheeze. “Yes, baby girl. He’ll be all that’s left of your blood soon. I’m not saying you need to go meet him. It’s just…he’s the only blood you’ll have.”

  Her chest ached at the morose words. They were true. Denying the inevitable was no longer possible, but it still hurt like hell to hear her mom talk about dying. Kori didn’t have any other family. “Why now? Why not ever before?”

  Barb shrugged. “I was scared, baby girl.”

  “Scared? Of what? Is he dangerous?” She knew nothing of her mom’s life back then. Barb steered away from talking about the past like one stayed away from a live wire resting in a puddle.

  Her mom blew out a breath and gave a feeble shrug. “No more dangerous than the rest of them. But I was so young and alone. On the other side of the country. He was…well, he would have wanted me to stay there with you and I just couldn’t. I needed to be near my parents, familiarity. So I left him and never said a word. I was always worried he’d find you and want to take you away from me.” Her mother’s voice was sad, full of memories Kori would never know.

  “He’s a biker?”

  Barb nodded.

  No surprise there. Barb definitely had a type. Kori swallowed around a painful lump in her throat. Countless questions swirled in her head. More than she could process at the moment. “Did you love him?”

  Coughing trumped the deafening silence that followed her question. It felt like an hour before Barb settled enough to draw in sufficient air to speak again. “I suppose I loved him at the time. A youthful, wide-eyed, in-over-my-head kind of love.”