Primal Wrath, page 1
COPYRIGHT
2022 Trixie Publishing, Inc.
Copyright © 2022 by Piper Davenport
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States
Primal Wrath is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Art
Jack Davenport
CONTENTS
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Back Blurb
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
Epilogue
Primal Roar
Book List
Reading Order
About Piper
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Jack:
Thanks for being my muse, and really great in bed!
Brandy (Ziggy)
Thanks for keeping the timelines and characters straight. You are a godsend!
Gail, Mary, Carrie, and Trudy
Thank you so much for all your willingness to read and your amazing ‘catches.’ You help make my work so clean and I appreciate you so much!
BACK BLURB
Wrath
In the middle of an unexpected turf war, I watched my best friend bleed out in front of me and my woman walk away without a backward glance. Now, she's back but she's icing me out.
Sierra
I have secrets. Secrets that could bring down the club I've come to call my family. I must protect them. But secrets have a way of revealing themselves at the most inopportune times, and when they come out, the wrath of the man I love most in the world might just burn us all to the ground.
For WW – my Warm-Hearted Wolverine
You have been my shelter this year and you will never know how much your kindness has meant to me.
I love you to Mars and back!
Sierra
Three years ago(ish)...
“Raquel!” I called down the stairs of the townhouse I shared with my bestie. Not that she was home much, lately. She’d been spending more and more nights with her new man, Orion, a biker who rode with the Primal Howlers Motorcycle Club out of Monument, Colorado, and the one responsible for disrupting my entire life. First, he’d fucked Raquel into submission, then he’d dragged me into his degenerate biker world kicking and screaming...
...straight toward a man named Wrath.
Wrath was a road captain for the club and an all-around bossy son of a bitch who seemed to think he held dominion over me.
Newsflash: He did not.
“Yeah?” she replied.
“I’m running late. You go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”
It was a Howlers’ club family night tonight, so I’d been invited.
No, that wasn’t quite right. It was a summoning. I’d been summoned to attend by the mighty Wrath himself, who’d somehow decided where I went was his business. The only reason I’d acquiesced was because I had nothing better to do, and my hatred of being bored outweighed my annoyance with Wrath.
“Are you sure?” she asked, peeking her head into the bathroom.
“Yes.” I dabbed oil onto my hands and wove it into my curly locks. “This weather is wreaking havoc on my hair, and I’m only at act two of the taming of the curls.”
“Okay. I’ll see you there.”
The reason I was late in the first place was because my shift at the restaurant had gone into overtime. But since I couldn’t get a ‘legit’ job until I sorted out my shit with the FBI, in other words, until I came out of hiding and didn’t take jobs that paid me under the table, I was stuck with what I had.
Did I mention I was hiding from the FBI?
My real name is Anjanette ‘Jette’ McCormick, but the Howlers knew me as Sierra. Only Raquel and Sundance (the president of the Howlers) knew my real identity and they’d take that to their graves.
It was the reason I was in Colorado to begin with. I was living in Raquel’s townhouse, under an assumed name and under the protection of her brother’s motorcycle club, the Dogs of Fire. Well, that was until Wrath decided he wanted to protect me...personally.
About an hour later, I walked into the Howlers’ cabin and made my way up to Wrath’s room to drop off my stuff and maybe have a little fun before family night really got going. Wrath and I had only been friends with benefits for a short time, but had been growing closer, and even though we butted heads more often than not, he was crazy good in bed. I didn’t want more than that... at least, I didn’t think I did.
I twisted the doorknob and frowned. The door was locked, so I raised my hand to knock, but before my fingers hit the wood, I heard the undeniable sound of a woman screaming in ecstasy and I lost my mind.
I frowned. That little asshole was fucking some whore.
Oh, hell no.
He insisted I be here tonight, then decided it’d be a good idea to ram his dick into someone else?
I rummaged through my purse and pulled out my case. Unzipping it, I retrieved my lock pick set and slid it into the lock, hearing the lock slide free, I pushed open the door.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hissed.
A very naked Wrath, busy railing some whore from behind, turned to me with a frown.
“Did you just get here?” he asked, pulling his cock out of her.
God, he was pretty.
The whore scowled at me, but I ignored her. I didn’t recognize her, so I could only assume she was there for the party.
“Sierra,” Wrath snapped.
I blinked up at him. “What?”
“Did you just get here?” he repeated. “You were supposed to check in with me an hour ago.”
“You’re seriously standing here buck-naked demanding—”
“So, you just got here,” he sneered.
“Umm, is she joining us?” the whore asked. “Or, should I keep going?”
“Finish yourself off, sweetheart,” Wrath said, then turned back to me as he tugged off the condom. “Who brought you, Sierra?”
I rolled my eyes. “I brought myself.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You drove here by yourself?”
I threw my hands in the air and let out a frustrated grunt, then turned on my heel and walked away.
“Goddammit!” he snapped. “Sierra!”
I ignored him and continued downstairs, but as I stepped off the last step, I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I craned my neck to see Wrath on my tail, jeans on, but still pulling a T-shirt over his head. “Sierra, stop.”
“Suck a bag of dicks!” I screeched, rushing through the great room, my level of rage at eleven.
“Sierra, you gonna stow that anger or am I gonna deal with it?” Wrath asked, following me.
I kept going, doubling back the way I came, and slipping into one of the bunk rooms behind the kitchen. Unfortunately, I was not quick enough to evade him (plus the door didn’t have a lock) and he walked in behind me.
“And I believe the correct term is ‘eat a bag of dicks,’ baby,” Wrath retorted, grinning as he crossed his arms.
“You can gargle a sack of chodes for all I care,” I hissed.
“Why are you so late?” Wrath demanded, crossing his arms.
“None of your business.”
He raised an eyebrow. “My dick’s been buried in your pussy more than once, sweetheart, it most certainly is my business.”
“Yeah, well, that’s never going to happen again, so business rescinded.”
“Never gonna happen again?” he asked, his face stone-cold blank.
I met his eyes. His stupid, gorgeous, puppy brown eyes. He was tall, dark, and fuckable, and was about the best-looking man I’d ever seen. “Yes. Never again.”
“And why’s that?”
“I just walked in on you with your dick in some club skank’s nasty cootchie!” I screeched, surprised by how shrill my voice sounded. God, I had to get a grip.
“True, it was also somewhere else twenty minutes ago.”
“You’re disgusting!” I hissed. “More of a reason to cut you out of my life.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You said you didn’t want to be exclusive, Sierra. You changin’ the rules of the game all of a sudden?”
I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling, letting out a series of curses.
I jumped when he wrapped his arms around my waist and said, “Glad we got that—”
“No,” I snapped, slapping at his hands. “We’re never doing ‘it’ again, so you feel free to screw whichever triangle comes up on your pussy of the day wheel.”
He studied me before burstin
“I’m leaving,” I snapped, and flew to the door.
Not fast enough.
“Where ya goin’?” he challenged.
“Home.”
He smiled. “You know you’re not goin’ home, Moonbeam, so what’s the plan?”
I crossed my arms in a futile effort to protect myself from him.
He tugged my arms down and smiled. “Don’t shut yourself off to me, Sierra.”
“I’d like to leave.”
“You’re not my prisoner.” He searched my face. “Just need to know what’s goin’ on with you.”
“Nothing. Can I go now?”
He sighed. “Yeah, sweetheart, go.”
I fled out of the room as fast as my bedazzled cowboy boots could carry me, vowing I’d never have anything to do with Booth ‘Wrath’ Reid again.
* * *
Wrath
Two years ago...
“Where the fuck is she?” I demanded, bursting into Sundance’s office.
“Take a seat,” Sundance replied, coolly from behind his desk.
“I don’t want to take a seat. I want to know where Sierra is.”
“Sierra is gone. Take a seat and we can talk about it.”
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” I demanded.
“Sit the fuck down!” Sundance hollered. It was rare that he raised his voice, but when he did, you knew he wasn’t fucking around.
I sat down.
“Sierra left you this,” Sundance said, holding up an envelope.
“What is it?”
“It’s called a letter. You do know how to read, don’t you?”
“I’m in no fuckin’ mood for jokes, Sundance.”
“She told me to give it to you once she was gone and you had calmed down.”
“What’s it say?”
“How the fuck should I know? It’s addressed to you.” Sundance slid the envelope across the desk.
“Why didn’t she give this to me herself?”
“She figured you’d try and talk her out of leaving and she was afraid she’d let you.”
“So, you knew she was leaving?”
Sundance nodded. “I’m partly responsible for her doin’ it.”
Every muscle in my body stiffened as I fought the urge to fly across the table and choke my president to death. “What do you mean, you’re responsible?”
“There are a lot of things I can’t tell you. And although I haven’t read her letter, I can tell you, it’s gonna leave you with questions. Questions neither she, nor I, are at liberty to answer.”
“Why the fuck are you talking to me like a lawyer, Sundance? What the hell is going on and where the fuck is Sierra?” I tore the envelope open and scanned the letter for answers. “This is all flowery, vague, bullshit.”
“All I can tell you is that she’s safe, working on something important, and that her leaving has nothing to do with you.”
“I beg to fuckin’ differ,” I growled. “This absolutely has something to do with me.”
“You’re gonna have to trust me and Sierra on this one.”
“Why the fuck should I do that when neither of you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s not a matter of trust on our parts, Wrath. I promise you that.”
“Who the hell else is responsible for her leaving?”
“I can’t tell you that either.”
“You’re gonna pull some club ranking bullshit when it comes to information about my old lady?”
“First of all, this isn’t about club hierarchy, and secondly, you and Sierra aren’t married. She’s free to come and go as she pleases, brother. If you want to be pissed at me, go right on ahead, but I’m gonna do what’s best for this club, its members, and for Sierra.”
“What about me, huh? I’m a member of this club.”
“I am doing what’s best for you, Wrath. Even if you don’t know it yet.”
“This is total horseshit, and you know it, Sundance. I’ll fall in line like a good little soldier for now, but this is far from fuckin’ over.” I stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind me.
* * *
Sierra
“Let’s pick up the pace!” Taxi yelled as we rounded the track for our final lap. “Last one across the finish line buys the first round tonight.”
Taxi was a decorated FBI agent who’d made a name for himself doing deep undercover work as a member of the Gresham Spiders, a notoriously brutal MC out of Oregon. He was a brilliant tactician and leader, and I trusted him with my life. He was also a sadistic maniac who seemed to derive pleasure from putting us through a grueling morning workout six days a week.
I pushed with every ounce of strength I had, running as fast as my legs could carry me, but I was no match for my teammates, and watched in dismay as each of them overtook me, one by one. Even Trouble, the only other female on the team, and who was at least two or three inches shorter than me, overtook me on the last turn. Taxi clicked his stopwatch as Graves crossed the finish line first, per usual, cheering the rest of us on as we completed our morning torture session.
“Drinks on Jette tonight, Cabbies!” Tackle bellowed as I dragged ass over the finish line. I’d always hated running. When I was in high school, I used every excuse in the book to avoid track days in gym class. Mr. Callahan, our gym teacher, was too busy perving out on us girls while we exercised to notice that I seemed to ‘have my period’ three times a month.
‘The Taxi Service,’ as we’d come to be known, had been training together for months now, and were beginning to work as a ‘well-oiled machine,’ as Taxi put it. Our rag-tag task force of bikers, sharp shooters, agents, and hackers had been assembled to infiltrate the ‘bad guys’ through their existing associations with various motorcycle clubs. They weren’t after the clubs, but rather the cartels, traffickers, and other large criminal enterprises they do business with. When Taxi had recruited Rabbit, who rode with the Dogs of Fire MC out of Savannah, he’d only agreed to join (and back me joining in the process) if the team assisted in gathering intel and rooting out a growing crime syndicate who called themselves the Beast.
So, Rabbit and I had been recruited to serve in data acquisitions. In other words, the FBI was using us for our hacking skills in exchange for federal immunity. For the time being, both the FBI and bikers across the country had a common enemy, and it meant working together to capture and kill this Beast. After that, we’d work from our places in our clubs to bring down various traffickers, cartels, etcetera as the need arose.
“Well drinks and beers only,” Taxi said. “No top shelf. I know what Uncle Sam pays you all, and Jette can’t afford your expensive taste. Boots, I’m looking in your direction.”
“Life’s too short to drink shitty tequila, boss,” Boots replied.
“Yeah, well it’s gonna be shorter if I hear you’ve racked up an eight-hundred-dollar bar tab on Jette’s card.”
Rabbit threw his arm over my shoulders. “I’ll split the bill with you, sissy, don’t you worry about it.”
“No, I got it,” I countered. “I need motivation for next time.”
“You sure?”
“No.” I sighed. “But, yes.” I grinned up at him. “Besides, I’m expensing all this to the club, anyway.”
Rabbit raised an eyebrow. “Does Sundance know that?”
I chuckled. “No, but he will. And he’ll pay. You know he will.”
“Yeah, he will.” Rabbit laughed. “Jesus, you’re the only one with balls enough to do something so crazy.”
“Crazy? I prefer quirky,” I said.
“Hit the showers, grab some chow, and we’ll meet in training room A-65 at oh-nine-hundred,” Taxi called out to the group.
It was Tuesday, which meant the omelet bar would still be open in the mess hall if I hurried. With so few creature comforts of home available at Quantico, it was often the little things that would brighten my day. An extra five minutes in the shower, choosing the movie on movie night, but most of all, the omelet bar. A much welcomed, once a week break from the culinary monotony of the mess hall. The eggs were the of the same watery, tasteless variety I’d learned to choke down, but they were joined by shredded cheddar cheese, onions, peppers, and my absolute favorite, mushrooms. It may not have been Michelin star rated cuisine, but it was the best breakfast the FBI had to offer and the only thing I was looking forward to today.
After a lukewarm, therefore quick shower, I made my way to the mess hall. Upon entering, I grabbed a tray, poured myself a cup of black coffee (because they were out of cream, which should have been my first indication of what was to come) and headed to the omelet station.
