Ozzy: The Black Roses MC, Book Three, page 1
Contents
Copyrights
Check Your Triggers
Prologue
1. Freya
2. Ozzy
3. Freya
4. Ozzy
5. Freya
6. Freya
7. Ozzy
8. Freya
9. Ozzy
10. Freya
11. Freya
12. Ozzy
13. Ozzy
14. Freya
15. Ozzy
16. Freya
17. Ozzy
18. Ozzy
19. Ozzy
20. Freya
21. Ozzy
22. Freya
23. Freya
24. Ozzy
25. Freya
Epilogue
Also By Kate
Acknowledgements
About Kate
Copyright © 2024 by Kate Randall
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Y’all. That Graphic
Edited by Victoria Ellis, Cruel Ink Editing
Proofread by Rosa Sharon, Fairy Proofmother Proofreading
Check Your Triggers
Your mental health and emotional well-being matters to me. You can find a list of possible triggers on the book’s page on my website or by scanning the QR code below.
Xoxo
Prologue
Ozzy
The downtown bar in Boston is stuffy as hell. Everyone here has a pint of Guinness or Amstel with a shot of whiskey sitting next to them. Gramps and my dad managed to drag me and Knox to this little bar they visit every time they come out this way. Not that either of them do often. When Gramps retired from his presidency of the Black Roses, my old man took over. But most of his time is spent in his office doing a bunch of mind-numbing paperwork. Add in the daily pain in his hands and it seems the presidency is going to go to me sooner rather than later. Arthritis is a bitch for my dad, and he doesn’t think he’ll be riding much longer.
In any other club, they would probably vote in a new president, but in ours, it’s handed down—unless the guy next in line for the president patch is a complete and utter failure and can’t handle putting the lives of his brothers and the good of his club before his own. Thankfully, I’m not that man. I learned what loyalty and family mean at a young age, and I’ll be damned if I ever let my brothers down.
Knox, my best friend since high school, sits on one side of me, and my pops is on the other with Gramps next to him. The bar isn’t what you would call packed, but the woman behind it is running her fine ass off, seeing as she’s the only one here at the moment.
I have to hand it to her; she’s doing a damn good job of making everyone at her bar feel welcome. Running the show yourself can be a pain in the ass, I’ve had to do it plenty of times at the club’s bar back home. And I’m not nearly as pretty to look at.
“Another pint?” she asks, pointing to my almost empty glass.
“Sure, sweetheart.” I tip the corner of my mouth up and shoot her a wink. The slight blush on her cheeks and the extra sway she puts in her hips as she walks to the tap tells me she might consider giving me more than a refill later tonight.
“Dad, when do you expect your friend?” my dad asks Gramps.
“Walter said eight o’clock. He and his grandson are taking a little East Coast tour on their bikes. The boy just retired from the service and decided to come to the States,” Gramps replies. “I think you’ll like him, Trick.”
My dad looks at Gramps and raises a brow. “Are we meeting with an old friend to shoot the shit, or do you want this kid to prospect for the club?”
Gramps shrugs. “Walter said the boy doesn’t want to stay in London, but he also doesn’t want to work for his brother. Figured you could meet him, and if you and Ozzy like him, they could come back to Shine for a few days.”
Not sure how appealing the small town of Shine, Massachusetts is going to be for a guy who’s used to the hustle of the London streets. My dad and I both know Gramps well enough to pick up on the fact that this plan has most likely already been solidified with Gramps and his friend. Hate to see all their secret planning be for nothing.
My dad chuckles. “Okay, old man, I’ll keep an open mind.”
“That’s all I can expect from you, son.” Gramps shoots my dad a victorious smile.
Gramps’s gaze shoots to the door, and a wide smile overtakes his face.
“Walter,” he calls out, raising a hand.
The three of us turn toward the door and see a man about Gramps’s age walking toward us with a younger guy trailing behind him. They both have the kind of tan you can only get from riding a bike for days on end. I miss the days when I had that same tan. Being vice president of the Black Roses has severely cut into my riding time. It’s been far too long since I’ve had the opportunity to take my bike on a cross-country trip with no cares except where I’d lay my head for the night or if there would be a warm body next to me. I don’t regret my decision to go all in with the club for one second, though. My dad gave me a choice when I was a senior in high school. After everything… happened. The only thing he cared about was my happiness. There hasn’t been a day I’ve had second thoughts about my decision, but there are some days when I think about the what-ifs.
“Arthur,’ the older man says when he reaches Gramps. They give each other backslapping hugs, both with beaming smiles on their faces. “You got old, mate,” Gramps says with a chuckle.
“I see the years haven’t been kind to you either, Art.”
Both men laugh, and Walter turns to his grandson.
“Art, this is Jude. Jude, Art.” Gramps shakes hands with Jude, who looks to be a couple years younger than me.
Gramps turns to the three of us sitting at the bar. “Gentlemen, this is my son, Trick, and my grandson, Ozzy. And the boy at the end is Knox.”
I chuckle at the introduction. Only Gramps would refer to Knox as a boy.
We all shake hands and decide to move to a table off to the side of the bar top.
I raise my hand to get the bartender’s attention before going to sit with the rest of the guys. When she stands in front of me, her arms spread across the bar top, and she leans over so I don’t have to yell. Or maybe so I could look down her tight, low-cut T-shirt. Naturally, my eyes wander to the cleavage she has on display, and when my gaze meets hers again, a half smile tilts the corner of her lips.
“Can we get six pints and six whiskeys, sweetheart?”
“Sure thing. I’ll bring them over.”
I shoot her a wink before she turns to pour the beers, then I head over to the table.
Gramps and Walter are telling stories about their time in London as I take a seat at the table. Walter looks over to me and smiles.
“You look so much like your grandmother, Ozzy. God rest her soul,” he says as the bartender delivers our beers and shots. “I met her a few times when she was studying in London.”
Gramps has a soft smile on his face, the same one he always has when anyone mentions my grandmother, Janine. She passed when I was fourteen, but everyone loved her, and she made every stray in town feel like they had a family, including my best friend sitting next to me.
Walter turns to my dad. “Did Art ever tell you we met her the same night? I noticed her first and took a shot when your dad was in the loo. I nearly had her, too, until Art came back and bumped into me, spilling my pint down her dress.”
“Bullocks,” Gramps says, rolling his eyes. “You never stood a chance. One look at me and Janine was smitten.”
“Aye,” Walter replies. “That she was, mate.” Walter raises the pint in front of him. “To Janine. God rest her beautiful soul.”
The rest of us raise our beer glasses and toast to my grandmother.
I look through the plate-glass window of the bar, surveying the busy Boston street. I hate big cities. Too many people are in a rush to get somewhere without paying attention to the meaningful things in life—like family and celebrating memories with old friends. Honestly, I feel bad for the people out there who don’t have what I have with my family and my club. They’ll never understand what it means to live for something bigger than you, to know what true family and loyalty are.
On the other side of the window, a long mane of dark-blonde hair catches my attention. The girl turns slightly, laughing at whatever the man next to her says. My breath catches in my throat when I recognize her profile. I haven’t seen her face or heard her laugh in five years, but the memory of that sweet sound rings through my ears as though she were standing right next to me.
Freya Campbell.
My first love, shit, my first everything. The only girl I’ve ever seen myself with for more than a few nights and a bit of fun is standing five feet from me, but it may as well be five thousand miles.
The man next to her leans down and places a sweet kiss on her lips. I remember when those lips were mine to kiss. She looks into his eyes like he’s the only person she sees on the busy sidewalk. Memories of her looking at me the same way wash over me, followed by the red-hot rage that only comes with remembering the night five years ago when she was almost taken from this world. It was the same night I knew I’d lost her, that staying with me could cost her everything she wanted for herself. I close my eyes and remember when I told her she needed to leave Shine.
“Freya, I wish I could tell you what you want to hear. I wish being with me didn’t put your life in danger, but that’s not our reality. You have so much to do in life, pretty girl. But I’m not the guy who’s going to be by your side.”
When I open my eyes again, the happy couple is gone, leaving nothing but strangers and memories in their place.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell do I have to do to get a drink in this shithole?” I hear some asshole at the bar shout to the bartender. The woman rolls her eyes as she tends to another customer, which further pisses off the loudmouth who forgot his manners at home.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me? Maybe instead of trying to suck that guy’s dick, you should pay attention to your other customers.”
There are few things in this world that piss me off more than a man disrespecting a woman. Especially one that’s trying to do her job. Add in the fact that I just got slapped in the face with memories I’ve worked damn hard to keep buried these last few years, and I’m a fucking ticking time bomb ready to go off on a dumb motherfucker.
“Bitch,” he says loudly to his friends, and they have a nice little chuckle at the scene this idiot is causing.
I look toward Knox, who’s waiting patiently for me to make a move, then my eyes dart to Jude, who looks as ready as I am to put this asshole in his place. I tilt my head to the guys at the bar and Jude lets a sinister smile spread across his face. Standing from my seat, Knox and Jude do the same and we walk up behind the four knuckleheads who have no idea what kind of hell they just unleashed.
Tapping the shoulder of the loudmouth, he turns to face me with a disgusted look on his face. The man is obviously drunk as hell and judging by his pinprick pupils and preppy rich-boy clothes, probably high on coke.
“Apologize,” I tell him.
“Fuck you. I don’t have to say shit to some slut behind a bar.”
Turning my head to the side for a moment, a dark chuckle escapes me before I look him dead in the eye. “I gave you a chance.”
Without giving him a second to open his mouth again, my fist slams into his jaw.
His other three friends yell and try to come to his aid, but Knox gets there first and grabs two by the collar, throwing them backward as Jude gut punches the other one. Dumbass Number One tries to swing, but it goes wide, leaving an opening for me to take advantage of, and I throw two punches to the fucker’s kidneys. That should have him pissing blood for the next week. Jude has one pinned on the ground as he rains down blow after blow to the guy’s face. I grab my guy by his neck and drag him outside. Knox and Jude follow with the other three, and we watch for a moment as the four assholes groan on the ground.
“Use your manners next time, you fucking twats,” Jude says before kicking one of them in the stomach.
The three of us head back into the bar, and everyone inside gives us a wide berth. Looking at the other two, I realize we must be quite a gruesome sight. Jude has blood dripping from his knuckles, and Knox is a sweaty mess. Gramps and my dad are still sitting at the table, sipping the whiskeys in front of them while Walter laughs.
“Jesus, boys. You sure know how to make a point,” Walter says.
I walk over to the bar and meet the bartender’s gaze.
“Sorry about that,” I tell the woman. “But there’s no way I was going to allow that shit in my presence.”
She nods and looks at my swollen knuckles. “You want some ice?”
I shoot her a wide smile. “Yeah, sweetheart, that would be great.”
She grabs a towel and scoops ice into it before handing the makeshift cold pack to me.
“You got a name?” I ask, purposely running a finger over her wrist before I take the pack from her hand.
“Darcy,” she says with a smile.
“Those assholes ever been here before?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen them.”
“Good. Hopefully they won’t be back.”
She chuckles and leans forward, resting her elbows on the bar top. “Doubt it. What about you? I’ve never seen you here before either.”
I quirk my lip in a half smile. “Just in town for the night. Meeting up with some old friends.”
“Hmm. Well, if your friends can spare you, I get off in an hour.” Darcy bites her bottom lip and looks at me shyly from under her long lashes. “I could show you the sights,” she suggests.
In an hour, it’s going to be almost ten o’clock. I have a pretty good idea there’s only one sight she plans to show me, and that sounds just fine to me.
“Yeah, Darcy. I think we’ll be all caught up by then.”
This is exactly what I need. A good fight and a good fuck to end my night. Not thoughts of the blonde from my past who left town with my heart five years ago.
Chapter one
Freya
Ten Years Later
“Good night. See you bright and early,” I say in an overly sweet singsong voice to my paralegal. Clara shoots me a sly smile and waves.
We’ve been burning the candle at both ends while getting this case ready to take to trial. Working in the US Attorney’s Office in Boston is never dull, and to be honest, every assistant US attorney works ridiculously long hours. I thought Harvard Law was rough but soon realized it was a cakewalk compared to here, especially with this case. We’re going after the Cataldis, one of the oldest Italian Mafia families on the East Coast. My dad assisted on a case against them when I was in high school. I almost lost my life when some young capos decided to try to make a name for themselves. Wrong place, wrong time. You could say all the grueling hours I’m putting in to see the head of the Cataldi family behind bars for the rest of his life is some sort of vendetta. You would also be one hundred percent correct. I lost a lot more than blood the day those men came into the Black Roses clubhouse and shot the place up. I don’t give a shit if the old man says he didn’t sign off on the attack. I’ve done enough research on his organization through the years to know nothing happens without his say-so or, at the very least, his knowledge.
I followed in my father’s footsteps for the most part. There were a few years of teenage rebellion, but I never veered from my plan of becoming a lawyer. The stress and long hours of fighting for justice took a toll on my dad. He ended up having to retire a few years ago after a heart attack—not that my mom gave him much of a choice. He never went soft on the Mob, and neither will I.
“Good night, Phil.” I wave to the old security guard in the building I work in, making my way through the doors and onto the busy Boston street. It’s not often I get out of work before nine at night, but I promised Kasey I’d have drinks with her while she and her husband are in Boston for some fundraiser. The senator’s wife and I have been friends since college. It’s not often we’re in the same city at the same time and actually have the chance to get together.
Instead of taking the train, I decide on a cab. It won’t necessarily save me time, but I can work more comfortably in the back of a cab. Kill two birds with one stone, as the saying goes.
When we pull up to my little brownstone apartment building, I pack my laptop away and check my phone. I still have time to get changed and freshen up my makeup before meeting Kasey. I bought a little two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment with some money my grandmother left me when she passed. That’s the only way I could have afforded the place on my salary. My parents thought it was a waste of money, complaining I could get more for my money outside the city limits. Real estate in Boston is outrageously expensive, but I wanted to live closer to the city, not in a suburb. I’m not ready for the white-picket fence life quite yet. Plus, there’s no one in my life to share the fence with. And that’s perfectly fine with me. I’ve worked hard for the career I have, and so what if my dating life took a back seat? I live my life on my terms, not anyone else’s.
