WRECKED: CHOSEN FEW MC - BOOK TWO: OUTLAW BIKER/ALPHA ROMANCE Read Online Free Page B

in my job description—no one and nothing harms Wrench.”
    “Or the Grease Princess.”
    “That’s in everyone’s job description. I think the club is planning to put up a big-assed plaque that says that.”
    “Call Tiny and tell him to swing by the parts store for a coil.”
    “Sure. Are they big?”
    Greg pointed to a plastic case. “It fits in here, so it must be at least eight feet long.”
    “Okay. What the fuck do I know about parts.”
    * * *
    Greg and Carly rode up to the trailer outside of town where she lived with her parents, Willow and Jake. The remnants of Jake’s bike, now a pile of twisted metal, much of it chromed, sat alongside the dirt driveway, right next to Willow’s battered and faded blue Ford pickup.
    The trailer had seen better days, but Greg knew they were glad to have it because of its one sterling quality—it was paid for. With Jake unable to work, and disability not paying much, keeping the monthly bills as low as possible was the only way they’d survive. Even before the crash and all the hospital bills, Jake had been having trouble finding work full time. With the economy in the toilet and new construction almost at a standstill, he’d been getting by doing home repairs under the table—working for cash.
    His pot habit didn’t help the family fortunes, either. For his entire life, Jake had just gotten by. He was strong and bull-headed, and finding himself unable to help himself wasn’t doing much for his mood. Not that he got angry, but Greg worried about him getting depressed, maybe becoming a drunk. It had happened to others he’d known.
    Willow was strong and loved Jake. He had that much going for him. And Carly loved her parents. That helped too.
    Greg was fortunate to have steady work at his garage. He bought it for cash when he got out of prison after doing ten long years for killing a club enemy. His record meant he wasn’t a prime candidate for any sort of high-paying job. Even without that he had a spotty record in working for someone else. If you asked the Marines, they’d tell you that much. He’d been asked to leave. He’d been asked to leave any number of jobs.
    Then came prison. He’d killed a man. He’d been shot in the process, and in his eyes, though not the law’s, killing the other biker had been self defense. Without any credible witnesses (it was his word and Cutter’s against that of three guys from the other club), the circumstances didn’t convince a jury. If it hadn’t been for his wife… well, regrets had no place in a biker’s life unless he wanted to get sour and filled with self hate.
    Jake had suffered from that some. Not as bad as some of them, but the seeds were there, and the accident had increased his bitterness, his negativity. Greg understood the temptation.
    Five years into his sentence, his wife, his beautiful, lovely, supportive wife, had died of ovarian cancer. It hit her fast and hard. And he hadn’t been there for her. The thought of her dealing with the pain, the fear, alone still haunted him. When he got out, still stunned by her death, he’d spent time absorbing the fact she was gone. It had been one thing to hear it in prison, and even being allowed to go to the funeral didn’t make it real. Nothing was real for those ten years, other than a few slash wounds from fights. When his friends decided he had spent enough time feeling sorry for himself, Cutter, the Enforcer, his best friend, came over and kicked his ass.
    “Open a fucking garage, will ya?” he said. “You need something and we need a decent mechanic who knows us.”
    So there was only one thing to do. The life insurance company had paid up after her death and the money was still sitting in the bank. He’d forgotten they had insurance through her work until he got a letter. It was enough money to buy a defunct garage near the clubhouse, a complete set of tools and some parts. He didn’t bother decorating, settling for pressure washing the entire