Stormy (Cerberus MC #29) Read Online Marie James

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Cerberus MC Series by Marie James

Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)

Life changes in the blink of an eye.One minute my best friend from childhood is alive and well and the next minute he and his wife are gone.One minute I’m a single guy looking for fun, and the next I’m responsible for two little boys.With those two little boys comes Mila, the aunt refusing to be cast aside although she wasn’t named their guardian.Secrets in my friend's life come to light and with them danger and expectations from a very volatile motorcycle club.I’d never leave the kids in that situation, the pawns in a retaliation scheme, but with them comes her.With her comes the reminder of the night we spent together three years ago and her own set of secrets she never thought would be disclosed.

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Chapter 1


“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea,” Boomer responds to Hound. “I’m just saying, in New Mexico, it won’t be as simple as throwing some seeds out and expecting it to grow.”

Hound frowns at the man.

“I’ll help,” I offer. “I imagine the water bill is going to shoot up. How much water does corn need?”

“Some types are pretty drought resistant,” Boomer says. “But if you’re wanting to do a full maze for the kids, then you’ll need a lot of it.”

“I’ll chip in on expenses,” Bishop offers. “I think Ryder would love it.”

“All the kids would have a good time,” Hound adds.

“So a corn maze,” Boomer says. “We’ll probably need to work out the logistics soon so we can get seeds into the ground. Any idea where it will go?”

Silence fills the room. There aren’t any of the bosses around right now. Even though Hound is a team leader, I don’t think he has the authority to decide something like this, even though Hound’s children are the grandchildren of the Cerberus MC president, Kincaid.

He pulls out his phone and taps out a text message.

“What the hell happened to you?” Aro asks, pulling our attention from Hound and redirecting it on Oracle as he walks into the living room with his hand wrapped completely in gauze and medical tape.

“Ran the sewing machine needle straight through his fucking thumbnail,” Legacy says as he follows closely behind him. “But he’s acting like he lost a limb.”

“Although I don’t recommend that,” Aro says. “The thought of a needle going through my finger makes me want to puke.”

A couple of the guys chuckle at Aro’s response. He lost part of one leg on a mission with Cerberus over a year ago, but, despite the setbacks it caused, he’s getting very close to being able to go back out with his team.

“I didn’t wrap it this way,” Oracle grumbles. “Devyn isn’t the best nurse.”

“Watch it,” Legacy all but growls, incapable of taking any sort of criticism of his soon-to-be bride.

“How am I supposed to use this?” Oracle says, holding up the hand that resembles more of a club than anything else.

“Learn to stroke with your left hand,” Legacy responds.

Another round of chuckles fills the room.

These guys are amazing. They’re all laid back, although Hemlock, one of the newest set of guys that joined, is more intense than anyone I’ve ever met. They’re ready to lend a helping hand, no matter what’s asked of them. They’re family, a brotherhood I thought I’d never find outside of the Marine Corps. Maybe that’s why Kincaid requires service in the Corps in order to join. As a former Marine himself, he knows how important that bond is, how so many of us have found family more often than blood relatives. My parents have retired to North Carolina, of all places, and I don’t get to see them as often as I’d like to. They are incredibly busy for people who are fully retired.

My phone rings, and I stand before even looking at the screen. I’ve been waiting for a phone call from a woman I met a week ago at Jake’s, the local bar in town. I did something I normally don’t do and gave her my number when she was getting ready to leave. She still hasn’t called, which is a hit to my ego, honestly.

I frown when I look down at the phone, the 557 area code familiar and somehow not, all at the same time.

“Hello?” I answer just as I step out of the clubhouse, pulling the door closed behind me.

“Vincent Chilton?”

“This is he,” I say, an eeriness I can’t explain already settling inside of me.

Something is wrong. I can feel it scratching at my skin before the man speaks for a second time.

“This is Edward Dobbs of Dobbs, Franklin, and Franklin.”

“How can I help you today, Mr. Dobbs?”

A wave of silence—the kind that only comes before someone has to deliver tragic news—fills the line.

“I’m calling in regard to Carlen and Janet Clarke.”

Guilt swims inside of me at the mention of my childhood best friend and his wife. I haven’t seen Carlen in going on three years, and I haven’t spoken with him for over a year.

“Yes, sir,” I say, trying to prepare myself for the worst.

“I regret to inform you that Mr. and Mrs. Clarke have been found deceased.”

Even having a gut feeling it was coming, nothing could prepare me for the wave of pain and regret that hits me square in the chest.

My ass drops to the front steps of the porch, my head held low between my shoulders.

I’m not a man who cries, and loss isn’t something I’m new to. It rarely is for someone who spent ten years in the military, but I feel the burn behind my eyes, the threat of tears I don’t know that I’ll be able to hold back.