Unforeseen Riot Read online

  Unforeseen Riot

  A Riot MC Novel

  Copyright © 2018 Karen Renee

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

  Cover by 100Covers.com

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Playlist

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  About Karen Renee

  Other books by Karen Renee

  Connect with Karen Renee

  Acknowledgements

  My sincere gratitude to my readers, without you none of this would be possible. Thank you to my mother, my wonderful husband and son for such unyielding support. Thank you to my mother-in-law for your enthusiasm about this book and the next one in the series.

  Mrs. Sieg, Mrs. Fitzsimmons, Ms. Flint, Mrs. Wise, Mark Ari, and anyone else who has encouraged my creative writing, I cannot thank you enough. Thank you to Barnes and Noble in Mandarin and the Jacksonville Public Library, any programs encouraging and supporting writers is a blessing.

  Thank you to Barbara J. Bailey, your knowledge of the written word seems to know no bounds, and I am extremely grateful.

  Thank you to Shawn & Matt for listening and reading. Your support is greatly appreciated. Cyndy, much gratitude to you for reading my first draft and the excellent feedback you provided. If nothing else, your experience with Gwen exemplifies the need for the disclaimer regarding works of fiction!

  Thank you to Dye-Clay YMCA, writers find their groove in the most unlikely places, and that was definitely a place where I found mine. Last, but not least, thank you to Katie for outstanding headshots, you have a definite talent!

  To my mother –

  for encouraging me, even when it meant keeping my day job

  PLAYLIST

  DEVILS by Say Hi

  HEY WORLD! (REMOTE CONTROL VERSION) by Michael Franti & Spearhead

  DREAMS I’LL NEVER SEE by Molly Hatchet

  BLACK BETTY by Ram Jam

  HUMPTY DANCE by Digital Underground

  24 KARAT by Bruno Marrs

  HELLA GOOD by No Doubt

  WHATEVER by Godsmack

  Prologue

  I felt like walls were caving in on me. Everyone in my life, and even a man I hadn’t met yet, were pushing me. There was my boss, but that’s what bosses do. They push, and normally because they were getting pushed by their own boss or by a client – which is effectively the same thing. My mother-in-law was pushing me for a definitive monetary amount in the insurance settlement for the deaths of my husband and son. My late husband’s buddies were pushing me to make Trivia because it was Thursday and it was tradition. The only time I had been given a reprieve from trivia with the guys was during the six months following the tragic deaths of my husband and son in a freak drunk driving accident. Well, in my biased opinion, it wasn’t a freak accident. Seriously, call a cab, there’s no accident. Lightning strike, sinkhole swallowing your home in the wee hours of dawn, a stray piece of dryer lint igniting your entire house on fire, those were ‘freak’ accidents, but I’m no actuary.

  A man I didn’t know, with obvious Alpha-male tendencies, pushing me? There was a man I could do without. When this man named Cal pushed me to get my ass to trivia, let’s just say, it was time to push back.

  Chapter 1

  I parked my car in my driveway as my cell phone rang. I didn’t feel like answering it, even if I didn’t know who was calling. I was exhausted and felt like curling under my bed covers and hibernating. It was quarter after six, and my workday as a business analyst had been a doozy. It was mid-February, and my boss’s boss was leaning heavily on our department to get annual analysis reports done so he would look good. The work would get done, but I hated the unnecessary stress. Our reports weren’t going to change the world or even increase the bottom line. I knew other people had it far worse than I did. It was just the little stressors that all added up by the end of the day. Traffic in Jacksonville that evening was exceptionally worse than usual for no discernible reason. I felt a headache coming on at my temples. I unbuckled my seatbelt and dug the phone out of my purse.

  “Could be good news for once, right Mal?” I asked myself. The screen showed Gwendolyn Pierce calling, and I said to myself, “Or not.” My mother-in-law, Gwen, was prone to drama, and her dramatic tendencies had taken a sharp turn for the worse after my husband Greg and my son Landon were killed in a car crash. I thought about letting the call go to voice mail, but decided to tackle one more annoying thing before putting a lid on this lousy day. I greeted my mother-in-law, “Hello, Gwen.”

  “Mallory. Have you heard more from the lawyers? I hate to think my son and grandson were killed for nothing. We need some justice.”

  My husband was out on a Saturday evening with our son. A quick trip to the hardware store right after dinner. It should have been a routine trip, except their car was broadsided by a large pickup truck driven by a drunk. The accident was one year and five months ago.

  “Gwen, there won’t be any justice. There is nothing fair or just about my boy and my husband losing their lives. We’re lucky the man plead guilty. My lawyer says we should hear something late next week. Hopefully, that information will include settlement terms.”

  “Let me know what they come back with.”

  Her insistence angered and annoyed me for some reason. Maybe it was the icing on the cake of this lousy day. I snapped, “Why? What difference does it make? No amount of money will relieve the ache in my heart. No sum will bring back Landon’s giggles and smiles, or give me another day with him. Frankly, the money is irrelevant.”

  Gwen’s voice was shrill when she said, “So, Greg and Landon were irrelevant now? I’m ashamed of you, Mallory.”

  I stifled a growl, “Don’t put words in my mouth. I don’t know why you need to know the settlement amount. There is no figure that will ever equate to the value of their lives.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I know, and you’re right. I’m just having a rough day. Keep me posted though, okay? Take care.”

  Her complete turn-around in tone almost made me feel bad for rebuking her, but it came with her dramatic flair. She went from nagging or angry to calm and gentle with a turn of the dime. I suppose some women get married and immediately feel like they landed another set of parents. I didn’t feel that way. I care about Gwendolyn, but she and I didn’t hit it off in that mother/daughter way. More like in a distant-relative way. I can have a conversation with her, but I rarely get into anything deep.

  “Sure thing,” I said, ending the call. I walked into my home, and as always, was reminded of Greg and Landon. What would we eat tonight? Except, now it was just me. Moving into the living room, I expected to trip over the toys of a six-year-old boy, but the toy
s were in the garage. Still. Just sitting there. I didn’t have the heart to sell them or give them away.

  Greg had supervised a team of four IT specialists, which included Gavin, James, Bobby and Quinton. While most IT guys were introverted and kept to themselves, Greg’s team was different. They were always at our house, or we were at theirs. Thursday nights were trivia nights at Rounder’s, the neighborhood sports bar and grill. After the accident, the guys gave me some time, but then they insisted I start coming back to trivia.

  Today was Thursday, and I had no desire to do trivia tonight. It was a Netflix-and-red-wine night. As I pulled the cork on a bottle of pinot noir, my cell rang again. The screen indicated it was Gavin, one of the guys. He should have been a salesperson. If I let it go, he would call me again every ten minutes. He was persistent at best and annoying at worst.

  “Hi, Gavin.”

  Gavin was in his thirties, like me, but he’d been a smoker since his teens. His voice had a smoker’s rasp when he said, “Hey, Mal! You’re coming right?”

  I took a deep breath. “No.”

  “No? What do you mean ‘No?’ You can’t bail out on us. You bring all the feminine knowledge to our table, honey.”

  “Right. By ‘feminine’ you just mean literature and sappy music knowledge to the table.”

  “Whatever. Scandal is a repeat tonight…besides we’re more fun than that political soap opera anyway. Get your ass over here.”

  “Gavin, it isn’t happening.”

  I heard Gavin telling the others I was bailing. Then there was a scratchy sound on the phone, as if Gavin had lost his grip.

  “I hope you’re eating soon, Gavin, because it sounds like you’ve had too many beers already,” I giggled.

  A deep voice I had never heard before rumbled, “This isn’t Gavin, woman.”

  Every woman has a sore spot. Whether it’s being called bitch, sweets, easy, or two-faced and so on, we’ve all got one. Mine is being called ‘woman’. It was uncalled-for in most situations, and I didn’t like to think of myself as some man’s possession. Here’s this guy who doesn’t even know me acting like he had the right to be possessive of me!

  My voice went up an octave, “Excuse me? Who the hell is this, and don’t call me ‘woman’!”

  He chuckled. A freaking chuckle. My eyes went wide and my lips thinned out in irritation.

  “I’m Cal. I’m on the team tonight. We’re going to win, and according to these guys you’re required for a win. So get your ass down here.”

  “Why?”

  “What?” he barked.

  I had thrown him off, and it was a good feeling. “Why should I show up? You just said you’re going to win, so I don’t think you need me, with all your cocky bravado. I don’t like you much already. After the day I’ve had, I sure as hell don’t feel like sitting around a table playing trivia with you.”

  Another chuckle. “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks.”

  “What the hell? Did you just…”

  The line was exceptionally silent, and, moving the phone away from my face, I saw the call had ended. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I was torn between staying home to spite this Cal and showing up to give him a piece of my mind. Calling me ‘woman’ was understandable, since he had no way of knowing about my hot button. ‘Sweet cheeks’ though? He hadn’t even laid eyes on me or my cheeks.

  I spoke to my empty living room, “What the hell kind of name is Cal, anyway? Must be a new hire. Maybe it’s short for Calvin. I can’t wait to give this little shit a piece of my mind!”

  I charged into my bedroom and changed clothes. I wasn’t anything to write home about so I had to put in some effort to make myself good-looking, though Greg always told me I was completely wrong in that assessment. I occasionally found myself five pounds overweight, but I disguised it well. I had meat on my bones, Greg said. Wearing my favorite jeans, a crimson stretchy v-neck, black high-heel boots, and my Stella & Dot Rebel necklace, I ran into the bathroom for a quick freshening. This included a face wash, spritzing my favorite perfume, and running a brush through my long, wavy brown hair. My brown eyes were the same chestnut brown as my hair. I wasn’t experienced with make-up application, so I kept to lips and occasional mascara. I put on a swipe of my ruby-red tinted lip gloss and I was set.

  The drive to Rounder’s Grill subdued my initial flare of temper. I still felt like I was practically stomping into the restaurant as I scanned for the high-top table where I would find Gavin, the boys and Cal. I moved toward the bar, but people were coming toward me from the restrooms, which were tucked behind the bar. As I headed to the right to move to the high-tops, I narrowly missed colliding with a tall, extremely well-built man wearing blue jeans and a blue t-shirt. I glanced at his eyes; they were hazel or maybe green. He was gorgeous, but I was sure he was taken. I mumbled ‘Excuse me’ to him, because I’m a well-mannered southern girl, and he gave me a lift of his chin. I sat down on a stool. Hanging my purse on a hook beneath the table I said, “Okay. I’m here, dammit! Against my better judgment, I might add. So where’s this Cal person anyway?”

  I looked up and Gavin’s blue eyes appeared strained while Quinton, the oldest of the group and almost like a father figure, broke into a huge grin. He said, “Now there’s the Mallory I’ve missed. About damn time something worked you up.”

  My jaw dropped. “What the hell? Plenty of stuff works me up.”

  Quinton snorted, “Bullshit, Mal. You’ve been a shell the past year. The first six or nine months, understandable. But you’re a beautiful and vibrant woman. It kills me to see you so empty. This is the first time you came in here like you owned the place, not like you were fulfilling some duty.”

  I couldn’t have this conversation today. Quinton might be right, but he was out of bounds and I didn’t want a confrontation. “That’s not the issue right now. I’m here. Y’all got your way. Where’s the new guy?”

  James held up a pitcher. “Chill, Mal. Want a beer?” James’s answer to everything was beer. You would have thought James would be sporting a huge beer belly with the amount of beer he consumed regularly. However, I wasn’t sure if it was good genetics, which is to say a great metabolism, or if it was the amount of time he spent at the gym. Probably it was a little bit of both, but James always showed up to after-work type stuff wearing sleeveless work-out shirts or t-shirts from which he had deftly cut the sleeves off. At first I thought this started because he had tattooed his undying love for University of Texas on his outer bicep and it took some time to heal. Whether this started it or not, he didn’t stop wearing the sleeveless shirts, even in the winter, and this, to me, was saying something. It was Florida, and our winters were mild, no doubt, but truly, sleeveless in forty-degree weather, um, not a chance. Soon, I realized he did it to show off his devotion to his favorite team. Strangers would see his tat, and throw him the Longhorns with their hand and he’d throw them right back. Then he’d possibly make a new Longhorn friend.

  James was a little over six feet tall, and kept his dark hair very short. He cut it himself with an electric hair-trimmer set at the closest setting available without going one hundred percent Mr. Clean. He had grayish blue eyes and his chin had a slight divot. He gave me a shy smile which exposed his teeth, which were great but spoke to rougher times in his past. His bicuspid was broken at the very bottom in a slant, as though he may have been on the wrong end of a punch a long time ago.

  Bobby was his younger brother by two years, and he was standing next to James at the table. He was not as tall as James, though. Bobby stood around five feet eight inches, but was built in a solid and stocky way. I didn’t know if James did Bobby’s hair for him or not, but just like James, Bobby kept his hair clipped very short to his scalp. Unlike his brother, Bobby’s eyes were a deep brown, but you’d be slightly hard-pressed to know this because he wore glasses with Transitions tinting, which made examining his eyes more difficult. I also thought those glasses were what made Bobby such a good poker player, but Greg always remin
ded me it was his super smarts.

  I responded to James’s offer of a beer, “Sure. Then someone can introduce me to the chump who thinks he can call me ‘sweet cheeks’.”

  James handed me a full beer mug and Gavin nudged my shoulder, “You got work to do first, Mal. Ray’s the emcee tonight and he wants your girly handwriting instead of our pathetic chicken scratch.” Ray had worked in an assistant capacity at the IT firm for almost a decade before he decided to quit and become an artist. Since art doesn’t pay the bills in a timely fashion, Ray was running trivia shows on the side. He had been Greg’s assistant for almost five years, and he and I used to have many lengthy conversations about music, books, and of course art.

  “Same team name?”

  Bobby said, “Tonight we’re the IT MC.”

  “Say what? Is this some new computer code or virus or something?”

  A deep voice grumbled next to me, “It’s my idea. Sweet cheeks.”

  I looked up, at the hot man I had nearly collided with on my way to the table. He had short, dirty-blond hair spiked up with gel, and the most piercing hazel, almost green, eyes I had ever seen. His cheeks had a smattering of stubble which, if he had darker hair, would have been a five-o'-clock shadow. His complexion was golden tan and appeared to be from time in the sun. His lips were full and dusky pink with a square chin below. He wore a light-blue Salt Life t-shirt, which almost looked too small because his broad shoulders and tan biceps were straining the sleeves.

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “So you’re the new hire?”

  His dirty-blond eyebrows furrowed. “Say again?”

  “The new hire, new guy. You haven’t played trivia with us before. Figure you must be new to the IT group. Especially if the team name is IT MC, and it’s your idea.”

  Gavin reached across the table putting his hand on mine, “Mal, just fill out the slips and drink your beer.”

  Gavin didn’t normally interfere, but his eyes were almost pleading. I figured my rushing-in, ranting might be getting on the guys’ nerves, so I acquiesced. As I mechanically filled out the forms with our team name, I couldn’t help thinking what a lame name it was. My analytical mind was trying to figure out what the letters could stand for. The IT was obvious with these guys, Information Technology, but MC? None of the guys drove motorcycles. Massive Crash perhaps? I knew my computer at work had massive crashes, mainly because my boss was too focused on being under-budget to upgrade my computer.