Hack: Silver Saints MC Read online

  Hack

  Silver Saints MC

  Fiona Davenport

  Contents

  Hack

  Prologue

  1. Paisley

  2. Hack

  3. Paisley

  4. Hack

  5. Paisley

  6. Hack

  7. Paisley

  8. Hack

  9. Paisley

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Fiona Davenport

  Cover designed by Elle Christensen

  Edited by Editing4Indies

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Hack

  Silver Saints MC

  Barrett “Hack” Moore has been obsessed with Paisley Wessex for six long months. All it took was one glance at her picture for the tough MC enforcer to fall for the sweet college student. Staying away from Paisley was the last thing Hack wanted, but that’s what he did because it was what she needed.

  Paisley didn’t know that the hot biker had been keeping a close eye on her all this time. Not until he showed up at her hotel room door when she was on the run from a dirty cop, and he finally claimed the woman who was meant to be his all along—her.

  Prologue

  Hack

  I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the gorgeous redhead with emerald green eyes since the moment I’d first seen her picture. Paisley Wessex. Her name was as beautiful as she was. Just from looking at her picture, I’d felt desire stir in my body. Her bright green eyes twinkled as she smiled into the camera, and her long, fiery red hair looked perfect for grabbing onto while I fucked her from behind. But beyond the lust I felt, the fact that she was a damsel in distress had my already possessive feelings turning into a fierce need to protect her.

  Which was fucking crazy. I’d never even seen her in real life until today.

  The second I saw her standing in the open door to her apartment, talking to my MC brother, Dom, and his girl, Lucy, I wanted to rush out of the truck and steal her. Whisk her away to someplace where she was safe, and I wouldn't have to share her. But there was shit going down that needed to be dealt with first. So I wrangled my desire and caveman instincts and shoved them behind a wall of control.

  I’d been forced to watch from the sidelines as she put herself on the line to stop a murderous asshole. She’d been intimidated into keeping quiet after watching the little fucker beat the shit out of his girlfriend. We’d asked her to come forward, and it had been hard as hell for me to let her do it.

  Then when the punk was dead, I finally gave myself permission to approach Paisley. I almost fucking killed Dom when he held me back. He was right to do it, though, as much as I hated him for it. She’d been through a lot, and it was likely I’d scare the shit out of her with my intense feelings. Besides that, the threat wasn’t completely eliminated.

  The little shit Dom had just killed was a murdering son of a bitch who’d gotten away with it too many times due to having a cop for a dad. And not just any cop. A fucking lieutenant who supervised the homicide division. Officer John Clark. But he’d covered up for one of his kid’s crimes for the last time and intimidated his last witness.

  We piled into Dom’s truck and took off. “Where to?” he asked.

  I rattled off an address, and in less than twenty minutes, we pulled into the parking lot of a police station. I rolled my shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension as I watched the entrance like a hawk. “Breaker sent him a text from the kid’s phone telling him to meet in the parking lot. He should be walking out any minute,” I informed Dom.

  I was right, and a man, who was an older version of the punk Dom had just shot, stalked out the front door. He looked around the lot, probably searching for his kid’s car. His eyes swung in my direction as I climbed out of the cab of the truck. I wasn’t exactly a small guy, so it would have been hard to miss me. But it was practically impossible when Dom, a big ass motherfucker who used to fight in the UFC, got out and stood beside me.

  “John Clark.” It was a grunted statement rather than a question.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Doesn’t matter who we are,” I growled. “What matters is that you listen real fucking hard to what we got to say.”

  He narrowed his eyes and scoffed. “I don’t have time for this bullshit—”

  “Now, that’s not true,” Dom interrupted him. “You won’t be covering up any more of David’s crimes, so you’ve got plenty of time on your hands.”

  He stiffened but tried to play it off as though he was relaxed and dismissive. His eyes even traveled over us and clearly found us lacking. Especially after lingering on our patches. “What are you talking about? That’s ridiculous, and it’s egregious slander. I’ll sue you if you make any allegations that I’ve been anything less than exemplary at my job.”

  I rolled my eyes and spoke in a deadpan tone. “Gee, Dom. Those are some big words.”

  Dom chuckled darkly. “Guess I need to get out my thee-sor-us. Except I’m pretty sure my fists are bigger than his smart-ass mouth.”

  A little more color drained from John’s face, and I nearly grinned as I ambled over to him. I held out a file folder, and when he hesitated, I said, “You’re gonna want to take a look.”

  He yanked the folder from my hand and opened it. His face turned ashen as he scanned the documents that contained the proof of his son’s crimes and that he’d covered them up.

  He licked his lips and audibly swallowed. “You”—he cleared his throat and tried again—“you couldn’t have gotten this through legal means,” he rasped. “None of this is admissible in court.”

  “Maybe not,” I drawled. “But if it gets leaked to the press, your career is over. And I’ll make damn sure the authorities decide to dig a little deeper into your dealings over the past decade.”

  “Where’s David?” he asked suddenly.

  ’Bout time he got around to asking about his son. This fucker deserved to be rotting in the ground next to his psycho spawn. But we were already cleaning up one kill tonight and didn't need the heat that would come with two. Especially when one of them was a decorated police officer.

  “Well, Johnny,” Dom sneered. “He’s burning in hell for his crimes. Pretty sure his charred body won’t ever be found.”

  John’s eyes bounced back and forth between us for a minute as he contemplated what to do next. “If he’s not a problem anymore, then why are you here taking up my time?”

  “I’ll just give you another minute to mourn the passing of your son,” I said, my tone slathered in disgust. He just stood there and waited. That. Was. Fucked. Up.

  “We want your guarantee that you’ll leave Lucy Skye and Paisley Wessex, and other victims or witnesses to your son’s crimes, alone. Or this shit goes public.”

  “Fine,” he agreed through clenched teeth. “You have my word.”

  Dom outright laughed at that, but his tone held no humor. He snatched the file back and growled. “Your word doesn’t mean fuck all to us, asshole. That’s why we’ll be watching, and if you take one step out of line, we’ll take you down.”

  He stopped for a minute and contemplated the slimy son of a bitch. “Oh, and one more thing. If, by some slim-to-none chance, your son’s carbonized corpse is happened upon, we expect you to do what you’ve proven to be so competent at effectuating.”

  Despite the rage I was suppressing, one side of my mouth kicked up. Just because
we were bikers didn’t mean we were uneducated buffoons. A lot of us had college degrees, and I’d even completed my doctorate while I was in the army. Though, I didn’t spread that shit around. Not because I wasn’t proud of my accomplishments, but because I knew I’d be the butt of endless jokes. I preferred to be the one dishing it out rather than taking it.

  John was clearly seething with anger, his hands fisted at his sides, his shoulders tense, and his jaw locked, while his chest rose and fell rapidly.

  “If you didn’t understand,” I drawled. “It means, cover it the fuck up.”

  His head bobbed sharply before he spun around and marched back into the station.

  Dom breathed a sigh of relief, but I didn’t think I’d be able to relax until I saw my girl again. We returned to the truck, and once we were on the road and headed to our hotel, I pulled out my laptop and used my fingerprint to open it before entering a secure password to access all the files and data. I wanted to do a little more digging on Paisley. Initially, I’d been mostly focused on what she’d witnessed and how to locate her. Now I wanted to learn everything there was to know about her.

  She was still in school and on track to graduate with her associates in six months. I was about to check into the possibility of her finishing online when we pulled up in front of the hotel. I closed my computer and slid it into my bag. Dom put his hand on Lucy’s arm and whispered something to her. She nodded and stayed in her seat while Dom and I exited the truck. I’d gotten out on his side, and before I could walk toward the building, he grabbed my arm.

  “Nobody understands your instincts when it comes to your girl more than I do, brother. Gotta tell you, though, Paisley isn’t like Lucy. She’s softer, and she’s been through some shit, making her wary.” He paused, but I knew he wasn’t done, so I just waited. “I’m not telling you how to handle your woman. I’m just making an observation. Seems to me, if the man who wanted her hung back a little and waited for the right time, he’d be able to go after her without worrying about scaring her off.”

  I narrowed my eyes and shook off his grip so that I could fold my arms over my chest. “Not that I’m agreeing with you, but what exactly constitutes the right time to you?”

  Dom shrugged. “If you step away from the desire and caveman shit, which I know is hard as fuck, you might be able to look at things logically and figure it out.” Then he held up his hands, palms out, and shook his head. “Just one man’s opinion.”

  “Noted,” I grunted before stalking to the lobby of the hotel and checking into my room to be alone. I fucking hated that he was right.

  1

  Paisley

  “The payment was rejected because the account isn’t active.”

  After waiting on hold for more than an hour, I wanted to bang my head against my desk at the customer service representative’s non-answer. “Yes, I already knew that. The email I received said as much. But what I don’t know is why the account is inactive. Sarah isn’t up for parole for another three months.”

  Although I didn’t know Sarah Weinstock, I’d been sending money to her every month since she went to jail for a crime she hadn’t committed. I felt a lot of guilt over the part I’d played in what had happened to Sarah, but I was too scared to try to set things right for her. When I’d given my statement after witnessing a guy beating up a woman in a parking lot, I’d been prepared to testify in court to everything I’d seen. But I hadn’t known that his dad was a well-respected police lieutenant with a history of covering up his son’s crimes. One who had no problem threatening to make my life hell so that I wouldn’t make my statement official.

  He’d stared down his nose at me as he explained how simple it would be to plant enough drugs on me to ensure a charge of intent to sell, a serious offense that would be difficult to defend myself against if it was a cop who’d planted the evidence on me. I didn’t show up at the police station to sign the report, and nobody ever called to follow up with me. My guess was that the police lieutenant buried my initial statement at the scene, so it never saw the light of day.

  “I can’t provide details for a specific account. It would be a violation of the privacy policy.” The representative sounded as though she was reading off a script, her tone coming across as bored.

  The urge to bang my head grew stronger. “What are some of the reasons for an account to suddenly go inactive?”

  “The most common is the release of the inmate.” Her answer gave me hope, which she promptly erased when she added, “Or if they passed away.”

  I wouldn’t put it past John Clark to have arranged for Sarah’s death, and I had to swallow down a lump in my throat before I could speak again. “Do you know who I’d need to speak with at the jail to find out if she was released?” There was a tapping noise in the background, and then she rattled off a website address before asking if there was anything else she could help me with. “No, thank you.”

  I hung up and stabbed my finger against the screen of my phone, praying the news would be good. I paced back and forth as I pulled up the site and set up a free account. Once I was registered, I selected the state and clicked on the button to find an offender. Then I typed in Sarah’s information and waited for the results to pop up. When I saw that she’d been released, tears of relief streamed down my cheeks. It was the best news I’d received in a long time, and her early release helped to lessen my guilt a little bit—and at just the right time. I needed to ace two final exams and three projects this week to get my associate’s degree in graphic design. I’d had a difficult time concentrating on my classes after the dickish lieutenant had threatened me, so my college grades weren’t much to write home about. But this semester was even worse.

  Six months ago, a couple knocked on my door and asked for my help to keep David Clark and his father in line. I’d been horrified when they told me that the woman, Lucy, could place him at the scene of a murder thirty minutes before the victim had died. I couldn’t help but think about how she might still be alive if I’d come forward, but they kept assuring me that I would’ve paid a steep price for going up against his dad on my own. But with the Silver Saints MC behind me—Lucy’s boyfriend was a part of the club—I could take them on without ending up dead or in jail.

  Seeing David die had messed with my head, no matter how much he’d deserved what he got. I’d barely been able to hold everything together to finish off last semester, but my walls hadn’t held up as well over the past few months. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, and I’d been tempted to reach out to my contact with the Silver Saints to ask them to check on John Clark. I talked myself out of it each time I pulled up Hack’s number, though. I hadn’t even met the guy, and it would’ve felt weird to tell him I was scared when nothing had actually happened. But the feeling hadn’t gone away, and my nerves were shot. Luckily, I just had to get through this week and then I could hole up in my room to hide away from the world for however long I wanted.

  As I headed downstairs to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge, I was reminded why I avoided my roommates as much as possible. “That’s mine,” I grumbled, stomping across the room to grab the bottle of sparkling grape juice out of Jessica’s hand.

  “You seriously need to chill out,” she huffed, rolling her eyes before opening the fridge to snag a bottle of water.

  “And you seriously need to stop taking my stuff,” I snapped, frustrated for about the millionth time over the girls assigned to my unit by the townhouse complex. The three of them got along like gangbusters, leaving me as the outsider. I didn’t have much in common with them. I’d never brought a guy home with me, and I didn’t party until all hours of the night at whichever frat was hosting a party. Something my roommates liked to tease me about all the time.

  “Geesh! Get over yourself, little mouse. The rest of us have no problems sharing shit. Only you.” She bumped her shoulder against me as she walked past.

  I pressed my lips together, biting back my retort because it wouldn’t
do any good. I’d been more than happy to share my groceries with my new roommates at the start of the school year. I had been the first to move in, and my parents had gone a little overboard when we went to the store. The fridge, freezer, and pantry were filled to the brim when the other girls arrived the next day, and they took me up on my offer to eat whatever they’d like without thanking me or offering to replace anything after they’d brought about a hundred dollar’s worth of stuff over to a party across the street. I’d been more careful with my stuff since then and normally kept my favorites in my mini fridge in my room. The bottle’s shape was awkward for the size of my fridge, so I’d put it in the vegetable drawer in the one in the kitchen, figuring nobody would spot it so quickly since I planned to drink it on Friday after I turned in my last project. I should’ve known better.

  Between studying for my finals and finishing up my projects, I got a grand total of fifteen hours of sleep over the past five days. I could barely keep my eyes open as I trudged into the kitchen. My shoulders slumped when I bent down to open the vegetable drawer and realized one of the girls must’ve taken my celebration juice even though I’d made it clear to Jessica that it wasn’t up for grabs. When I slammed the drawer shut, I heard a snigger coming from the living room. Standing up, I closed the fridge door and looked over my shoulder. All three girls were sitting on the couch in the living room, drinking tequila shots. Jessica burst into laughter, which set the other two girls off. I was thinking about confronting them when there was a knock on the front door. Although they were closer to the door, none of them moved. “Gee, guys. Don’t put yourselves out. I’ll get it,” I muttered, sending them into another fit of laughter.