Ignite (Savage Disciples MC Book 4)

  Ignite

  Savage Disciples MC #4

  Drew Elyse

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  Books by Drew Elyse

  Copyright © 2017 by Drew Elyse

  Cover Design by By Hang Le

  www.byhangle.com

  Editing by Word Nerd Editing

  www.wordnerdediting.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduces or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  To How I Met Your Mother,

  Because this book could only be written

  while binging the show for the thousandth time.

  “Did you find him?”

  The man across from me was former military. I would have known even if it hadn’t been part of the pitch on his website, or plastered in various forms—medals, pictures, a small pile of Marine Corps enlistment brochures—around the office. It was obvious looking at him. It went beyond his buzzed hair, or the fact that he was visibly in top shape—it was clear even down to his posture. When your eyes landed on John Morgan, you knew he’d served.

  And when you learned he was a private investigator, it wasn’t all that surprising.

  A private investigator. That’s what my life had come to.

  Honestly, I shouldn’t have been having an epiphany about the state of my life right then, of all moments. It wasn’t like the situation that brought me to his office was new. I’d been living it for two years.

  “I did, ma’am,” John replied. He always used ma’am, even though I’d invited him to call me Quinn. On the contrary, he had politely corrected me when I’d first called him Mr. Morgan, insisting John was fine.

  John picked up a manila folder from his desk and read off the information he had gathered. “Jack Wieser. Current employment is a garage in Hoffman, Oregon called Savage Restorations. Address is a house at the edge of Hoffman. The garage and house are known to be owned by the Savage Disciples Motorcycle Club, so evidence suggests he’s a member, though we wouldn’t be able to confirm that without putting a tail on him…that is, if you’ve changed your mind about that.”

  A motorcycle club. I couldn’t say it surprised me that his love of being on his Harley had taken him there. In all the time that had passed since I last saw him, I wasn’t sure I had the capacity to be surprised by anything he did. Even if I did, nothing he could do now would surprise me more than he already had.

  “No, I don’t want to send anyone to watch him,” I insisted. “I just needed to know where to find him.”

  John gave me an assessing, yet sympathetic, look before saying, “Not to overstep, but are you sure you know what to do with that intel? I don’t know this club, and I don’t know a whole lot about Wieser, but MCs aren’t always the most welcoming to outsiders. Some just love the ride, but others aren't made up of men on the right side of the law. You show up there trying to go after one of their own…”

  He didn’t finish that thought. Then again, he didn’t need to.

  “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I’m not even sure I’ll go see him,” I lied. “I just needed to know where to find him in case I decide to.”

  If he could read my lie—which wouldn’t be a surprise given his line of work and the reality that I’d never been much of a liar—he had the good grace not to press the issue.

  “Alright, ma’am,” he gave in. “Just call if there is anything else you need.” Standing, he passed over the folder on Jack from across his desk, then shook my hand. There was concern in his expression he didn’t bother disguising, though I was certain he could. No, he wanted me to see it and know his invitation to call again was not just about getting more money from me. He was worried about what I was getting myself into. Hell, from the look of him, he might have been regretting taking my case and delivering the information in that folder.

  I did my best to give him a smile that said I’ve got this completely under control. No need to worry. If I’d managed it, he wasn’t buying what I was selling. That concern didn’t fade a bit as I left.

  Hoffman, Oregon was about four hours inland and north from my home in Eugene, I learned as soon as I got into my car and pulled up Google Maps. In keeping with the theme of my life over the last couple years, I could not settle on whether that distance surprised me. On one hand, at least I wasn’t going to have to trek halfway across the country to find him. On the other, he was four hours away. Only four. He hadn’t even left the state, yet managed to make it feel like he was on another planet.

  Tomorrow morning, I’d make the drive. I’d finally go see him. After everything, he was going to freaking face me whether he wanted to or not. And I knew that was definitely a not, which was why I had already put in the request at work to take my vacation time—all two weeks.

  But first, I had a day of work before me.

  Luckily, John had agreed to meet me before I had to be in. This wasn’t exactly a hardship for him since I was a reference librarian at the public library and it was Sunday. On Sundays, the library didn’t open until noon. I had to be there at eleven, but it wasn’t like I’d asked him to meet me at five a.m. or anything.

  Still, meeting him before work meant I could focus on packing and finding a hotel in or around Hoffman once I got home. Oh, and watching the newest episode of Supernatural on my DVR. Wouldn’t want to already be behind when I left.

  With my plan of action to focus on, I managed not to be completely freaking out when I made my way into the library. I had a four-hour drive filled with nothing but having a meltdown the next day anyway.

  An hour or two after the library opened, I was going over an interlibrary loan order when I looked up to see a face less than two feet from mine.

  “Jesus!” I cried on a whisper I only managed due to years of practice.

  Max, my unrepentant best friend, just grinned at me, swirling a piece of her blonde hair around a finger.

  “What’s the matter with you? Sneaking up on people is a good way to get yourself hurt,” I informed her.

  She shrugged. “I ever see you holding a weapon, I might reconsi
der my tactics.”

  “A heavy book can do some damage,” I pointed out. We were in the reference section, after all.

  “And you’d sooner throw yourself at me than any of the books in this library,” she replied.

  Well, she wasn’t wrong.

  “Shouldn’t you be working?” I changed subjects. Max was a barista at a local coffee shop. She joked about it being a good filler job until she married rich and never had to work again. At least I tried to chalk it up as a joke, but I wasn’t always so sure.

  “I’m on lunch.”

  “Your lunch is half an hour.”

  “And you’re avoiding the subject,” she chastised.

  “There’s a point to this sneak attack?”

  “Um…meeting with the P.I. this morning? Info on He Who Shall Not Be Named? Ring a bell?”

  “It’s He Who Must Not Be Named,” I corrected.

  She rolled her eyes. “Jack tries to kill all the muggle-borns, he can get upgraded to ‘must’. Until then, we’ll stick with ‘shall’.”

  That was a fair point.

  I dropped my eyes to my computer and hit send on the order to the Portland Public Library.

  “So, what? You’re just going to ignore me?” she demanded.

  I sighed before meeting her blue eyes. “I’ve got an address.”

  Her face showed her glee. Why she was enjoying this saga so much, I had no idea. “Where is he?”

  “A town called Hoffman,” I explained. “It’s four hours northeast.”

  Letting her stew on that for a second, I grabbed the return cart and wheeled it around the desk. A pretty frequent visitor when I was working, Max fell right into step with me as I went to re-shelve.

  “Wait. He’s still in Oregon?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Four hours away? That’s it?”

  “Four hours,” I repeated.

  “What a smarmy motherfucker.”

  There was a time when I would have disagreed with her. There was even a time I had disagreed with her, but I’d learned my lesson the hard way. Even now, I couldn’t bring myself to agree out loud.

  “Are you going tomorrow?” Max asked after a minute of silence.

  “Yes,” I said without hesitation. I couldn’t let myself hesitate—not out loud and not in my own head. If I did, I would chicken out. It was time. I needed this. I needed to finally confront him once and for all.

  “Good for you,” Max said, her voice uncharacteristically serious—not that Max couldn’t have a serious conversation, just that her personality tended to bubble up through everything. She was loud, spirited, excitable. I rarely heard her speak in that low, almost grave tone.

  I really, really hoped she was right.

  “You’ll call me after you see him?” she inquired.

  I sighed again, knowing I was bound to get a reaction from this. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to see him right away. It might take some time.”

  “Why? You said you had his address.”

  “Apparently he joined a motorcycle club,” I told her, watching her jaw unhinge. “The place he’s living belongs to them, so I’m not sure I’ll be let in if he doesn’t want to see me.”

  “Holy shit,” she muttered, still gaping. “You’re serious?”

  “Based on the way the investigator tried to warn me from going up there, I’m going with he was telling the truth.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this alone? I can come with you,” she offered, an idea probably at least as much about not wanting to miss the adventure as it was about being a loving, supportive friend.

  “Really? You and what time off?” I reminded her.

  She scrunched her nose. “Admittedly, his highness told me if I bail on any more days this month, I shouldn’t bother coming back in.”

  “His highness” was Max’s name for her manager. The owner of the coffee shop was never there or involved in anything employee-related. That was all Marcus. The way Max told it, Marcus was a terror with a dictator complex. I took this with a grain of salt seeing as just two weeks ago, Max told me she wasn’t going into work at all because saw a Kate Spade bag online she wanted. My suggestion that she just order it off the website or at least wait until after work to hit the mall had fallen on deaf ears.

  “I’ll be fine, promise,” I assured her.

  “Okay, but if I need to drive up to wherever the fuck and junk punch him, you just let me know.”

  I laughed, and couldn’t help but think how lucky I was to have her. Without Max, I never would have gotten the nerve to finally face him.

  Now, I just had to make sure I didn’t lose my nerve before I made it to Hoffman.

  Despite Max supposedly spending “hours, Quinny, hours,” on making me a playlist for the drive she appropriately titled ASS-KICKING PLAYLIST, I opted to use the four uninterrupted hours to catch up with some Doctor Who audio dramas. I loved them, but I could never manage to just sit around and listen. The drive was the perfect time, and losing myself in adventures with the Doctor and his companions in the T.A.R.D.I.S. kept my mind occupied.

  In fact, my mind was so occupied, I didn’t even realize how close I was until I drove past the Welcome to Hoffman! sign. At that point, a very real time lord could have popped up in my passenger seat, offered to take me anywhere in time and space, and it wouldn’t have sufficiently distracted me.

  Okay, that was an exaggeration.

  It was also a moot point. No spacecraft or time machine of any kind was going to arrive to take me away from the situation. This was real life, and there was no escaping that.

  I’d put the address for the garage into my GPS, figuring approaching there was a better option. It might have been where he worked and was owned by the MC, but it still seemed more neutral than going to the home address.

  I parked a ways down from Savage Restorations, looking at it from a distance. The place was nice. It wasn’t a dilapidated, old chop shop. No, the building itself was well maintained and seemed to be somewhat new. There were four large bays, all of which were currently occupied—three cars, one motorcycle—and various personnel at work. Beyond those bays was a large building where I was certain there was even more work going on.

  From what I could see, the garage fit Hoffman. The town was nice. It wasn’t some perfectly preserved bit of the 1950s with a single stop light and only mom-and-pop shops, but it hadn’t been taken over by giant corporations either. There were a couple big box stores, but there were also small businesses that appeared to be thriving.

  I did notice, though, since a garage was my destination, I hadn’t passed another since entering town. Not even one of the chain, pop-in-and-get-your-oil-changed types. Apparently, you got your car serviced at Savage Restorations or drove to the next town over.

  For a long time, I did nothing but watch the coverall clad crew going about their work. From my vantage point, it was impossible to make out any features, but that didn’t stop me from focusing in on each staff member like Jack might be the exception.

  I was telling myself I should drive away, find a hotel, and come back to make my approach once I had that sorted when my phone rang. My heart jumped into my throat.

  Now, I was just being ridiculous.

  I picked it up to see Max was calling. Of course.

  “Hey,” I greeted.

  “Have you seen him yet?” she demanded. I swear, sometimes you’d think the girl was raised by wolves. In reality, it was the exact opposite. Her mother could be one of those women who trains girls to be debutants, which was precisely why Max was at the other end of the spectrum. She rarely saw her parents anymore, but she was still rebelling against them.

  “No, I haven’t seen him yet. I just got to town.”

  “Ugh. Fine,” she conceded. “What are you doing now?”

  “I’m in my car,” I evaded.

  “Seeing as I can hear I’m not on speaker and you never answer the phone while driving, where exactly are you in your car?”


  She knew me too well for me to pull off evasive.

  “Parked down the street from the garage,” I admitted.

  “Wow, that’s kind of stalkerish. I’m proud of you.”

  Seeing as everything I knew about being stalkerish had been learned from her, this was less than surprising.

  “I can die happy,” I shot back.

  “Whatever. What are you going to do now?”

  With a sigh, I said, “I was thinking of finding my hotel, getting checked in, then figuring out a plan.”

  “Well, that’s wicked boring,” she muttered.

  “You know, once upon a time, I thought best friends were supposed to be helpful,” I shared.

  “You want helpful? Here’s my helpful: you can sit in your car or go to a hotel room and hide, but none of that is going to get this situation sorted. You finally took the first step. You found him, you’re there. What’s the point in doing that if you’re just going to back down now?”

  She had me there.

  “Okay. I’ll go to the hotel to change,” I started, because I needed to. I’d dressed for the drive, not a confrontation I’d been putting off for nearly two years. And by that, I meant I was wearing an oversized hoodie that said LOVE with the O replaced by the Rebel Alliance emblem with a pair of leggings that had seen better days. “But I’ll come back after and see if he’s here,” I continued.

  “Yes! I expect updates. If I don’t have picture confirmation that you’re following through within two hours, I will hunt you down,” she warned.

  “Fine,” I gave in, knowing a fight would get me nowhere.

  “Right, I should go then. There’s a customer glaring at me from her seat, waiting for me to make her caramel macchiato.”

  I just shook my head as she hung up.

  An hour and a half later, I was driving back to Savage Restorations with a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel to keep my hands from shaking. I pulled into one of the parking spots marked along the building and forced myself to take several slow, deep breaths before getting out of the car.