Point of Redemption Read online

  Point of Redemption, The Nordic Lords

  Copyright © 2014 Stacey Lynn

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permissions from the author, except for using small quotes for book review quotations. All characters and storylines are the property of the author. The characters, events and places portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks in not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editing provided by: Taylor K’s Editing Services

  Cover design provided by: Cover It Designs

  Internal formatting provided by: Fictional Formats

  PROLOGUE

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  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Five years earlier

  Faith wrung her hands together nervously as we sat in my Ford pickup. Spring was just hitting, which meant the days were still cold as shit, and even though heat was blasting through the vents, Faith shivered in her seat while clutching and unclutching her hands around the shoulder strap of her seatbelt for something to do.

  “This is going to be bad, Ryker,” she finally said, her eyes watching me hesitantly. “This is going to kill my mom.”

  “I’ll talk to my dad, baby.” I reached out and ran my hands down her jet black hair. So beautiful. My fiancé was gorgeous. And kind. She was sweet and tough at the same time, and she had eyes like diamonds that could pierce you with just one look. I’d loved her since the moment I turned sixteen. I wanted to marry her for two years, and two weeks ago, she finally agreed. I couldn’t be fucking happier. I had everything I wanted—everything I needed—sitting right next to me in my pickup.

  What I couldn’t sit back and do was let the club turn on Faith and her mom, Roxy, because they had to take out her dad. It wasn’t their fault he had become so nervous and jittery and willing to turn his back on the club for something he didn’t do. But any show of disloyalty had consequences in our world, and Danny Winston faced his earlier in the night with a bullet to the head.

  With my hands at the bottom of her long locks, I yanked lightly at the end until she brought her eyes to mine. I cupped her cheek with my other hand and pulled her forward, pressing my lips to her soft and silky ones before I rested my forehead against hers.

  “I’m sorry, honey, but you know it had to happen. The club will still have your back though, babe. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Fuck Faith’s mom. I didn’t give a shit if she was left to rot. Her drug addiction made her bitchy, insane, and a completely loose cannon. I would have been thrilled if the club had taken her out as well if it hadn’t meant that all of Faith’s family would have been gone.

  She shook her head against mine. “You need to patch in, Ryke. They won’t listen to you otherwise, and your dad won’t do shit. It’s the only way my mom will survive.” She paused and swallowed slowly. The pain and sadness in her words hit me in the chest. I hated seeing her upset. My hand moved to her neck. I could practically feel the lump inside of her throat. Her pain and fear saturated the small space between us. “Knowing she’s still connected to the club in some way, it’s the only way…”

  “I won’t, Faith.” It wasn’t the first time we’d had this argument. My brother, Daemon, and I wanted nothing to do with our old man’s motorcycle club, The Nordic Lords. We wanted our women, we wanted our lives, and we didn’t want the chains that came with the darkness that shrouded the lives of the men we’d seen growing up.

  She blew out a shaky breath and pulled away from me, staring out the window. When she closed her eyes slowly and then opened them, I could see the distance she was putting between us. I never understood why she wanted the club life so bad, except for the reason that it was the only thing she’d ever known.

  “Go inside, babe.” I reached across her lap, opened the door to her side of the truck, and pressed another kiss on her cheek. “I’ll go talk to my old man and see what he can do to protect your mom now.”

  A tear rolled slowly down her cheek, taking some of her black mascara with it. More tears welled in her eyes. Her voice was emotionless when she spoke. “My dad’s dead, Ryker. He turned on the club, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it. There is no way the club will watch out for us now.” She shook her head, looking lost as she climbed out of my truck. She faced me once her feet hit the ground, one hand on the door and one on the side of the truck.

  “I love you, Faith. I’ll be back soon.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded jerkily. Then she slammed the door, rocking the cab of my Ford. I stayed in the driveway in front of her small, bungalow-style house and watched my fiancée walk to the stairs, shoulders curled forward and head down, completely defeated.

  Fuck. I ran a hand through my black hair before slamming it against the steering wheel. The horn blared through the quiet air, making Faith jump at the doorway. Her head whipped around to mine and I saw everything she was feeling.

  I waved my hand in apology for scaring her before I put my truck in reverse and made the short trek across town to talk to the Nordic Lords’ Vice President—my dad.

  For her, I’d patch in and join the club. I’d give her anything she fucking wanted in life if it would erase the sadness in her crystal clear blue eyes.

  Present Day

  I looked across the deck of the oil rig. This rig was where I found my solace from the noise in my head that still hadn’t faded after five years. Every two weeks, a knot tightened in my gut when we boarded the helicopter and headed back to the mainland of New Orleans for another two weeks where I’d drown my memories before they ate me alive. The rig used to feel like a reprieve from all my bullshit. Lately, it had felt like a prison sentence.

  “Heli’s loaded and ready to fly.” Our rig captain, Tucker, clasped a hand onto my shoulder and gave me a small shove as he hustled by me on his way to the helipad. The sound of the whirring blades almost drowned out his shouts when he yelled at the other men who had been waiting for the final preparations to be made. Gear had been weighed, along with the men. Heli checks were completed, and we were ready to fly.

  I followed the rest of the men into the helicopter and felt a forceful breath leave my chest once I buckled into my seat and put my headset on. We were three miles from the rig, still twenty minutes from land, when Tucker’s voice came through my ear piece.

  “You coming out tonight or are you headed back to your ball and chain?” He was almost old enough to be my dad, and even though there were eight other men on the bird with us, I knew he was talking to me. A few snickers came through the headset following his question.

  “You doing anything different tonight besides pissing and moaning
about how much your lives suck while you get drunk?” I asked in order to avoid any questions about Meg.

  From across the small aisle, my friend, Pete, caught my gaze and shrugged, giving me the silent answer that he was up for whatever. Besides Pete, no one knew the arrangement I had with Meg. Pete had been friends with Meg’s husband, Byron, long before I met Byron. I showed up in New Orleans with nowhere else to go and got to know Byron well before he landed me a job on his deep sea oil rig along with Pete. Before Byron died, I made promises to him that I could never walk away from.

  I had done that once, and I wouldn’t do it again.

  Faith.

  Bile rose in my stomach like it always did when I thought about her. Five years later and I still wasn’t over the betrayal or the sting of her deception I had witnessed with my own eyes.

  Taking care of Meg was easy. It came with no expectations from either of us except for financial support and friendship. Other than that, we were free to pursue whatever we wanted.

  Mostly, it was me doing the pursuing. It didn’t matter how often I encouraged Meg to get back out there and find a man who could truly love her again. She always insisted she was fine.

  Until the day came that she changed her mind, she was my responsibility. It was the wish of a man who had come to mean almost as much to me as my own brother, Daemon. And since Byron’s death was also due to my incompetence, I would honor my promise to take care of Meg and their little boy, Brayden.

  Tucker threw back a laugh, breaking me out of whatever the hell my mind was starting to think about. He was a big guy with a full, closely cropped beard. He had a beer gut the size of Alabama and was as rough as any guy could be. When he laughed, his shaking stomach reminded me of the Santa Claus that Daemon and I used to see at the shopping mall when we were kids.

  “You’re such a shit, Ryker. Someday your heart is going to explode from all the stress you carry around with you.”

  My lungs began to restrict and my teeth ground against one another at the sounds of the men laughing through their headsets. They had no idea the shit I kept buried inside where no one could reach.

  “Sort of like your gut.” I poked my finger toward the old man’s stomach. More laughter rang in my ears, along with the jeering for me to join them before they headed home for their stay.

  I narrowed my eyes at the rest of the men. I had only been working on the rig for four years, but we were tight. Spending twenty-four hours a day for two weeks straight with the same, small group of men had turned them into my pseudo-family. Men who worked on oil rigs in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico had a tendency to scatter as soon as we hit the mainland. The men I worked with had wives and families all over the States. I was surprised by the looks on their faces; it seemed like this was a planned invitation and party.

  “What?” I asked slowly. A muscle tightened in my jaw as I forced out the one word question.

  Pete looked around the helicopter apprehensively while some of the men grinned wildly.

  “Bachelor party time, Ryker.”

  My lips curled into a sneer in Hunter’s direction. Dumbass men. No matter how many times I told them it wasn’t like that with Meg and me, they never gave up.

  “We’re not getting married.”

  My shoulders shook when a hand from the seat next to me grabbed it and shoved me back and forth. I speared Hunter with a look that should have had him scared as hell, but he was too crazy to be afraid of me.

  Hunter laughed with the rest of the men, except for Pete, whose face went ashen white and his hands curled into fists. “You’ve been banging that woman for two years, Ryker. It’s only a matter of time. Besides, Tucker needs some strippers to keep him company tonight.”

  A small laugh escaped my throat before I could stop it. Tucker and his hookers. The man was insane and also recently divorced—probably due to the hookers he couldn’t keep his hands off of.

  I shook my head anyway and saw Pete relax. He understood why I took care of Meg, but he wasn’t always happy with the fact that Byron told me, instead of him, to take care of her. They’d all been friends since they were kids; however, Byron understood my past. The asshole probably knew before he died that I would never be able to leave another woman alone again. Byron also understood that Pete had a life to live, whereas my life was solely wrapped up in whatever weekend pussy I could find on our “home weeks” and working on the rig.

  “You guys enjoy your own hookers. I’m not interested.” I clipped it out and they knew from the tight expression on my face that I wouldn’t change my mind. The men gave me shit and then went on to discussing sports and something else I started ignoring while the memories that were always on the fringe of my mind fought to become forefront in my head.

  I had smelled the blood outside my dad’s house before I hit the front door. The metallic smell had filled the night air, and I’d reached for my gun, holding it firmly in my right hand like my dad had taught me to every day since I was six years old. Our life makes this skill necessary, son, but never shoot unless you mean to kill. There’s almost always another way before it turns to death.

  He had been wrong. Because that night, when I had gone to my dad’s in order to convince the club to take care of Faith and her mom, there had been no other way.

  When I’d walked up to the house, I saw Cherry, Liv’s mom, lying on the couch, her brains blown all over the place. My dad was on the ground, blood drying from a wound in his head, silently struggling to stand up. Then there was a man with his back turned to me, aiming a gun directly at my brother’s girlfriend, Liv.

  There had been no other option in that moment. I had opened the screen door, my gun cocked and loaded. The quick squeak of the hinges on the door immediately alerted the man to my presence.

  He turned and aimed his gun at me. We fired simultaneously—but also at the same time, my dad jumped to his feet to save me. Both of our bullets pierced his torso. Distracted over the fact I had just shot my dad, I let the man run toward the back door. He fired one more shot at me, missed, and then took off.

  And I had let him go. I had fucked up. I had frozen and stood there while my dad bled out in front of me due to a bullet I had given him. I’d stared at the scene in front of me: Cherry dead on the couch and Liv’s head hanging limply on her shoulder, completely passed out with vomit dripping from her chin and blood draining from her leg. And after Daemon and the other men in the club showed up, they told me to get the hell out of there and let them clean up the mess.

  A stronger man would’ve gotten his shit together and cleaned up the mess himself.

  Instead, I had gone to Faith. I ran to my fiancée, the woman I needed, the woman I loved, in shock and desperate for her to remove the blood and guilt from my hands, only to find her locked in a kiss with a man wearing a Black Death cut. His hands pressed into her cheeks and her fists gripped his leather cut. They made out like they were lovers while I stared at them from the driver seat of my truck, watching my fiancée making out with a man from a motorcycle club that was an enemy to my dad’s club.

  I did the only thing I could think of to escape the guilt, the anger, and the hatred for a woman who would so quickly turn on me. I left town and drove my truck until I hit the coast. Besides my infrequent talks with Daemon whenever he would call, I never looked back.

  “Hey, fucker, what the hell’s wrong with you?” The jostling of my shoulders snapped me back to reality. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and blew out a breath, staring at Pete’s face as he bent over, inches from my eyes. “Where were you?”

  I shook my head and noticed the helicopter was empty except for us.

  “Nowhere, man,” I told him, removing my headset and unbuckling my safety harness. “I need a fucking drink.”

  Pete grinned. He took a step back from me so I could stand up and then followed me out of the helicopter. “Let’s go find some women, then.”

  Not exactly what I originally had in mind, but I’d take it. Easy women always quieted the
nightmares in the darkness of nightfall. That and whiskey. Lots of whiskey.

  “Aw man, check her out.”

  I almost didn’t look, but Pete’s eyes turned glassy as he checked out someone behind me, and I knew it wasn’t from the alcohol. His lust-filled expression made it too tempting to not take a peek.

  Hot damn. Long blonde hair assaulted my vision the second I turned around. It fell down her back to a tiny waist. It was a waist that made men want to dig their fingers into it. Then there were her legs. Legs that seemed to go on forever, even though she wasn’t very tall.

  Men fantasized about women like this. They jerked off to visions of women with her Barbie-doll shape, and I wasn’t any different. She was the perfect distraction.

  My lip curled, and I took a large sip of my whiskey, the ice rattling against the glass.

  “Told you you’d like that,” Pete said, leaning over next to me. The bar we were at was a dump. It was a few streets over from Canal Street—just far enough away from where the majority of New Orleans tourists wouldn’t typically venture. It was where Pete and I hung out for a night or two to unwind from the constant stress of not killing ourselves in the middle of the Gulf. There was a jazz musician on the stage playing his saxophone, and while I hated jazz music—never understood it—he sounded good. “Those legs… those tits… damn. She’s the hottest chick I’ve ever seen.”

  I watched my buddy drool over the woman at the end of the bar as she sat nursing a glass of red wine all by herself. She looked like she could be waiting for someone, probably a man, and I wasn’t in the mood for a bar fight. Not tonight.

  I wanted to drown myself in my liquor, call a cab, and then head to Meg’s house so I could be there before Brayden woke up the next morning.

  “You can have her.” I stared at Pete and watched his eyes practically go cross-eyed as he took another peek at the beautiful distraction.

  “Nah, man.” He tipped his beer bottle to his lips and took a slow swallow. “Looks like it’s you she’s interested in. What the fuck is it with women wanting tall, dark assholes like you in their bed?”