His Honey Read online

  WOUNDED SOULS MC

  HIS HONEY

  LEAH SHARELLE

  Copyright © 2018 Leah Sharelle

  His Honey (Wounded Souls MC Series – Book 2)

  By Leah Sharelle

  All Rights Reserved.

  Edited by: Colleen Snibson, Copy Editor

  Edited by: Rogena Mitchell-Jones, Literary Editor

  Photography: Christy Van Elsen, Chic Professional Photography

  Cover Design: Mayhem Cover Creations

  Models: Katrina Leckie and Bronson Valpied

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author, and your support and respect are appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This author writes in both American English and Australian English and may include Australian diction.

  Thank you, Julie Pfeiffer, for your friendship and your constant support. You are the best penpal a gal could ask for.

  To my photographer, Christy, you are amazing.

  To my daughters for always believing in Mummy.

  And to handsome, although you would like to put Booth in the boot, you are still my bestie, anyway.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  BOOTH

  Why did my fucking sheets smell like vanilla? And why did I like it?

  I could still hear Deck’s laughter as he walked out of the kitchen. We had a meeting in the war room, and I needed to get to it. Shit was going down, and I needed to focus. I couldn’t lead my men with all the chick shit clouding my mind.

  I stood in the kitchen of the Wounded Souls MC, my club, and I was not in a good mood.

  I was trying to figure out all the smells that were driving me crazy. My sheets were only one of many. I’d just come from my room where said sheets were freshly washed, and my bed was made with better-than-army precision. As I’d made my way to the kitchen, I noticed the main room. The goddamn place looked great. Clean and tidy. Shit was put away. Hell, even the broom had its own bloody cupboard. Who knew? But what I wanted to know was who was doing it? Who was cleaning my room and putting away my socks, darning the ones that needed repairing, and replacing the ones that were beyond it? My mother never darned my socks. Ever.

  So there I stood, looking around the massive commercial-grade kitchen and saw what I liked best.

  Order, Precision. Clean. No clutter. Perfection.

  And the smells in there were incredible. Freshly brewed coffee and shortbread were constant aromas at the club. They wafted out into the other rooms, tempting me. I fucking loved shortbread in any form—with icing, without icing, with jam, without jam, I didn’t care. And there were large glass jars on the bench full of all the different options. They were always full, and it was not just the jars—there were plenty of tempting treats my brothers and I loved.

  Mannix’s favourite red licorice twists. For Darth, the big prick, a full jar of black jelly beans always, just the black ones—he hated all the other colours. Steel’s obsession with marshmallows meant there was a jar appointed just for him. Our sergeant-at-arms, Deck, and his beautiful daughter and the light of our lives, Shiloh—their passion was Tim Tams. They didn’t need to go far for their favourite chocolate indulgence because there were Tim Tams galore.

  Even Creed, the moody bastard, loved that he could come in here and feed his need for caramel fudge—because the jar was always full! They all were!

  The fridge was full of everything needed for the best dinners we had ever had. Roasts, lasagne, homemade pies—meat and fruit varieties. Fuck, it was driving me crazy. I knew everything that went on in my club, well, I’d thought I did. But time was up. I was going to find out who was behind all this. What was it? Organisation? I loved organisation, thrived on it even. My career as a specialist trained commando demanded it. But my need to be in control, in charge, and in the know always, trumped everything.

  I walked over to the sink to grab a glass to get a drink of water, trying to avoid looking at the shortbreads that were half dipped in chocolate icing. I looked out the window that overlooked the back of the compound. What in the actual fuck was that? I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  Was that a vegetable garden? It was huge. A large patch of soil that would have taken a lot of time and equipment to get it looking as good as it did.

  From my vantage point, I could see it, so how did that all happen right under my nose without me noticing anything at all? Fuck this shit.

  “Ford,” I boomed out. The club’s computer and tech expert would be able to tell me. The skinny fucker knew everything, and I wanted to know what was going on in my own fucking club.

  Giving in, I snagged a choc-dipped shortbread as I passed my appointed jar. The sticker with BOOTH written on it warmed a part of me I’d thought was long dead.

  1

  Booth

  I loved watching her. She was the most stunning, beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. She had no idea I watched her from the privacy of my office, which she didn’t clean. It was the only room off limits to anyone who wasn’t a patched officer of the club—or Shiloh, who had no restrictions around here. Even though the war room was where we discussed business and matters of importance, and we wanted it kept private, Shiloh’s behaviour in there was always perfect. Now, with Charlotte—her stepmother and Deck’s fiancée—around to take care of her, Squirt didn’t have to come in all that often anymore.

  Then all the shit going on with Rogue, the pissed-off former team member of ours—or so he says, and being we had no idea of his identity, we had no choice but to take his word for it. Ford was doing all he could to try to get that shit figured out, but without a proper or legal security clearance, he couldn’t check the files of the other snipers that had worked with us over in Afghanistan. If we could get our hands on those, things would go a lot faster.

  But we refused to play under the radar of the law. I wouldn’t allow it. When Deck and I started this MC, we didn’t want to get into anything illegal. Our businesses were all aboveboard and in line with the proper authorities. It was how we were, and I made no apologies for it.

  My father had played in the dark shadows of the law, and he gave my mother nothing but grief and despair my whole childhood. She was always bailing him out of some sort of trouble. Once he left the army, his personality just changed, and he either owed money to a bookie or the local pub for his beer tab.

  My mother worked her fingers to the bone for that piece of shit—the years she gave him, the punches to the face she took for me when
I was a small child. Fucking coward. I found it deplorable that a man, especially a man who wore the uniform of a commando, would hit a defenceless woman for doing something that was instinctual like protecting her child. But I got mine. A smile played on my lips at the memory, but I quickly pushed it away. No way was I going to go back there. Not with the image of the beautiful woman on the security monitors in front of me.

  I would much rather get lost in her than in the ugliness that was my father.

  Looking at Stella, I ran my finger over the image of her face as she stood in the kitchen, laughing at something Shiloh and Teach were saying to her. Stella had the most gorgeous smile. Seriously, it lit up her pretty heart-shaped face. Fuck, she was amazing. I watched as she took a grape from Shiloh and popped it in her mouth. When her pink tongue darted out and licked those lips, I groaned. Oh, fuck me! The things I want that tongue to do to me.

  I had been in a constant state of arousal since the first time I saw her standing in my kitchen. I remembered how crazy it made me not knowing who had been doing all the washing, cleaning, and cooking around the club.

  Six weeks ago, I finally walked in on her and caught her in the act.

  ***

  “Care to tell me who you are, honey?” I asked the stunning blonde standing in my kitchen. There was a smudge of flour across her cheek, and her black T-shirt was covered with the white substance. Her breasts were a decent size. More than a handful. Fucking perfect in my opinion.

  I watched her jump slightly at my voice, and then I saw them. Her nipples peaked under her black shirt. Hard bullets. Fuck yes.

  “Oh, hello, um, I’m allowed to be here. I have permission.” Her soft voice penetrated right into my cold heart. Oh, no, no way.

  “Honey, my name is Booth. I’m the president of this club, and I ain’t given anyone shit. So again, tell me who you are?” Yeah, I knew I was being a dick, but I didn’t like the way my body was reacting to this chick. And that beat in my chest? Yeah, that wasn’t on.

  Her whole demeanour changed. Suddenly, she looked nervous and like she wanted to be anywhere but near me.

  “Ford and Deck know me. I used to be friends with Zoe, Shiloh’s mum. Um, she said if I ever needed anything, Deck would help me out. I came here a few times with Zoe… you know, before she died,” she explained, her hands busy patting away the flour from her shirt. But all I saw was her large breasts jiggling softly with the motion as she brushed her hands over them.

  “I remember you. You needed help?” I remembered her. Her small frame, tight body, and incredible tits held me captive every time she came to the club.

  “Oh, um, yes, I needed a job. I have a few debts, and my other job doesn’t pay enough. Ford, who I know from high school, interviewed me for a few other positions, but I took this one. My talents on the stage and pole are non-existent, and I wouldn’t know a Fosters from a Coke,” she rambled. She was still fiddling with her shirt, only this time, she was twisting the hem around her fingers, causing the material to pull tight in many places. I could see a small lump at her belly button. Oh, Lord, she had a belly piercing. What I wouldn’t give to drop to my knees, lift her shirt, and push my tongue into her belly button, then take the piercing in my mouth and pull ever so gently. I wonder if she would moan or cry out. Maybe she would thread her fingers through my hair and pull, or would she push my head further down and beg for my tongue somewhere else? Oh, fuck me, the possibilities. But I wouldn’t be going there, not in this lifetime, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have some fun with the pretty blonde.

  “Well, Honey, I presume you are the one behind all the great smells in here, the fantastic food, and the clean club,” I said, enjoying the pink blush that dusted across her face.

  “Yes, I like nice smells. I hope that’s okay. Ford gave me instructions for the money, and it’s to be used for groceries and anything else I need for the rooms. He said all I have to do is keep the receipts from the shops, along with the credit card receipts, and I can spend whatever I need to—within reason, of course.”

  Damn, she had a sexy voice, a little huskiness to it but feminine all the way. Suddenly, I really wanted to hear her say my name. Not Booth, no—I wanted to hear her say Vincent. And that made no fucking sense being as I hated that name—my father’s middle name.

  I stared intently at her. Her eyes were hazel and so expressive, sort of like the eyes of Deck’s woman. Charlotte was new to the club, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure she would make the cut at first. Deck was totally gone over her—love at first sight… insta-love… call it whatever you want. By the looks of things, my SAA had jumped in with two feet.

  He could have it. I was happy with being in my bed alone every night. Easier that way. Safer.

  “What’s your name, Honey?” Again, a pretty blush spread across her face at the endearment. Well, now, I didn’t care what her name was—I already knew it, of course. As soon as Ford had given me the information I needed, I did a thorough and complete search of the lovely Stella Hogan. I did for anyone who was in my compound. I took no chances with the lives of my family—my team, my brothers, and my darlin’ goddaughter, even the girls who frequented the club parties and the dancers. Their safety was in my hands, and I didn’t take that job lightly. Never again.

  “Never mind. I like Honey.” I grabbed a piece of shortbread off one of the cooling racks on the bench and took a big bite of the warm buttery treat. Goddamn, this chick could cook. Giving her a chin lift, I made my way out to the main room.

  “I like when you call me Honey, too.” The barely whispered words only just reached my ears as I exited the kitchen. A grin suddenly split my face.

  Me too, Honey. Me too.

  ***

  The memory of that day was still one of my favourite moments with the pretty Stella.

  And of course, there were more than a few ugly moments, thanks to my arsehole mouth and stupid actions. In the last six weeks, I had acted like such a fucking prick towards her. Sometimes, I couldn’t believe the shit that came out of my mouth. Then I would see the hurt look on her face, and I would feel like kicking my own arse. I had done it so many times over the weeks that I really didn’t know why she was still here.

  But Stella continued to look after everyone. She made sure we all had clean clothes, good food, and clean bathrooms. The woman was a cleaning dynamo. Nothing seemed to faze her. Neither the mess nor the number of potatoes she had peeled because Darth and Steel needed to have twice as many as anyone else. She just smiled that shy smile of hers and went about doing whatever they wanted, from grocery shopping or babysitting Shiloh whenever Charlotte couldn’t be with her and Vegas wasn’t available. Stella was just a seriously nice and kind person. And yet, I continued to shit on her every chance I got.

  Fuck, I was such a prick. Darth was right when he said I may as well have told Shiloh Santa Claus wasn’t real the night the girls got drunk and called us all. Damn, I liked that phone call. I smiled at the memory of Stella’s drunken slurs telling me off, calling me a hunk, as in ‘a hunk of burning love,’ which had caused a riot of laughter from my brothers. And it was funny as fuck listening to her telling me about my boxers that she kept under her pillow at home.

  What wasn’t funny was hearing her admit she was still a virgin and wanted to ask one of the prospects to be her first. Yeah, that shit had messed with my mind big-time. Then I was so incredibly cruel to her after we arrived back at the compound, finding her half-naked and on parade for anyone to see. That beautiful body was meant for me. No, no, no, no. Taking a deep gulp of air, I ran my fingers through my shoulder-length hair in frustration. I had never wanted to be someone’s first before.

  Before Stella, that was. Because now? Yeah, I wanted to be that person. Fuck, if I was honest, I wanted to be her first, last, and only.

  I balled my hands tightly on the table, my eyes riveted to the monitor. Charlotte and Shiloh were no longer there, leaving Stella alone in the kitchen. I thought of it as hers now. She spent so much time in th
ere creating masterpieces and seeing to all the men’s personal food fetishes.

  I could see she was singing. The way her lips moved and the seductive way she swayed her hips had me itching to get in there, put my hands on those curvy hips, and grind my hard-as-fuck cock against her. Damn, she loved to sing. I often found myself trailing behind her at a safe but close distance in the mornings when she was doing her routine cleaning and laundry round-up from the patched officer’s rooms. I enjoyed listening to her sing everything from Ed Sheeran to Elvis Presley. I noticed she had taken a bit of a shine to one of Ed’s songs. She had been singing it quite a bit lately and even roped Shiloh into singing bits and pieces of it with her.

  I felt a smile on my lips at that. Shiloh had been brought up on lullabies of old-school rock. We tried the nursery rhymes for a while, but she fell asleep quicker to Guns and Roses than she had to Humpty Dumpty. Plus, bikers singing songs about eggs falling off walls or spiders climbing up water spouts didn’t do much for our image.

  My finger hovered over the button on my computer to turn the audio on. What was she singing? I wanted to hear her voice. She had a great voice. Just another thing my honey did well. I could call her that in the privacy of my office where no one was around. I admitted that shit to myself. I wanted her. I wanted her every minute of every day. Hell, I fucking ached for her. But I reined that shit in and put it in the back of my mind.

  My eyes wandered to my watch to take in the time.

  We had a meeting here in the war room in fifteen minutes. It had been six days since the accident that injured Teach, Shiloh, and Stella, the same day our prospect and friend Dundee was killed by Rogue. Ford had been working hard on some voice recognition software to try to get an idea of who the fucker was.

  The most frustrating part was that we were all soldiers. All trained and highly specialised in so many areas. And we couldn’t find out which one of our former team members was messing with our businesses and targeting our women. As the president of the club and their former commanding officer, not being able to control the whole situation was not sitting well with me.