Made to beg, p.1
Made to Beg, page 1
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This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MADE TO BEG
First edition. February 4, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Nicole Fox.
ISBN: 978-1540119759
Written by Nicole Fox.
Also by Nicole Fox
A Bet & Bought Mafia Romance
Full House (Book 1)
Full House (Book 2)
Full House (Book 3)
A Hitman's Cold Heart Romance
Bound to the Killer
Taken by the Killer
A Killer's Vessel Romance
Ruined by the Hitman: A Mafia Romance
Possessed by the Hitman: A Mafia Romance
Asphalt Angels MC
Engine (Book 2)
Engine (Book 3)
Banks Family Mafia
Asa (Book 1)
Asa (Book 2)
Asa (Book 3)
Big Cats MC
Stroke (Book 1)
Stroke (Book 2)
Stroke (Book 3)
Broken Spires MC
Dom's Baby: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance
Pleasing Dom: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance
The Dom and Her: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance
Four Daggers MC
Cole (Book 1)
Cole (Book 2)
Cole (Book 3)
Fourstroke Fiends MC
Owen (Book 1)
Owen (Book 2)
Owen (Book 3)
Heaven's Horns MC
The Daddy Next Door: An MC Romance
The Outlaw Next Door: An MC Romance
The Killer Next Door: An MC Romance
Iron Crew MC
Blaze (Book 1)
Blaze (Book 2)
Blaze (Book 3)
Jagged Souls MC
Grind (Book 1)
Grind (Book 2)
Grind (Book 3)
Marauders MC
Rev (Book 1)
Rev (Book 2)
Rev (Book 3)
Moretti Family Mafia
Built to Kill
Built to Ravage
Built to Roam
Patrizzio Family Mafia
Adair (Book 1)
Adair (Book 2)
Rippers MC
Broken Hearts
Broken Spirits
Broken Love
Rossi Family Mafia
King's Baby: A Dark Bad Boy Mafia Romance
King's Old Lady: A Dark Bad Boy Mafia Romance
King’s Tribe: A Dark Bad Boy Mafia Romance
Satan's Chaos MC
Hogtied: An MC Romance
Captive: An MC Romance
Bound: An MC Romance
Seven Sinners MC
Rider (Book 1)
Rider (Book 2)
Rider (Book 3)
Sigma Saints MC
Manhandled: An MC Romance
Mangled: An MC Romance
Roughed Up: An MC Romance
Smoking Vipers MC
Sinner
Sinner and Saint
Sinner and Scars
The Ancestors MC
Made to Riot
Made to Beg
Made to Survive
The Brethren MC
Pistol's Promise
Pistol's Rage
Pistol's Claim
The Motor Saints MC
Broken Wings
Broken Claws
Broken Hope
The Silent Angels MC
Maverick's Baby: An MC Romance
Maverick's Blood: An MC Romance
Maverick's Storm: An MC Romance
Vegas Vipers MC
Grit (Book 1)
Grit (Book 2)
Grit (Book 3)
War Cry MC
His Vessel: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance
His Toy: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance
His Plaything: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance
Warhawks MC
Broken Souls
Wylde Ones MC
Breaker
Breaking
Broken
Watch for more at Nicole Fox’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Nicole Fox
Made to Beg: A Motorcycle Club Romance (The Ancestors MC Book 2)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
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Further Reading: Made to Survive
Also By Nicole Fox
Made to Beg: A Motorcycle Club Romance (The Ancestors MC Book 2)
By Nicole Fox
It starts with a drink. It ends with a baby in my womb.
“ONE NIGHT ONLY” IS a slippery slope.
I fell hard for the biker – then he disappeared.
But he’s back now, and this time, when he leaves...
He’s dragging me with him – whether I like it or not.
ANYA
He showed up in my emergency room looking like the devil had worked him over with a tire iron.
But Bryce Johnson didn’t want a nurse.
He wanted a gun, a car...
And a hostage.
And lucky for me, I was his first pick.
I’d always wanted out of this small town.
But I never thought my ticket to freedom would barge into my life like this.
A gorgeous biker with windswept hair and inky tattoos crawling over his muscular shoulders?
He might’ve looked like a dream.
But the outlaw f**ked like a nightmare.
Like an animal.
Like a brutal, savage beast.
I’d never been with a man like him before.
And after the first kiss, the first touch, the first night, I knew:
I’d never want another man again.
But landing in the biker’s bed was just the start of this madness.
Now, I’m riding shotgun with a killer behind the wheel.
And there’s no telling if I’ll make it out alive.
BRYCE
Life for me as an outlaw biker has always been simple: take the job and get it done.
By any means necessary.
Some men were born to create chaos.
To burn things down.
To f**k sh!t up.
And God knows I’m one of them.
I’ve always managed to escape the mayhem alive.
But this time, I might’ve bitten off more than I can chew.
Even though I’ve done dirty things before, and there’s no doubt in my mind I’ll do them again.
And I thought I’d learned the hard way not to get distracted when there’s a mission on my plate.
But the curvy nurse with the shining eyes is testing my focus.
She’s a do-gooder, a saint in scrubs, a angel if ever there was one.
She deserves a white picket fence, a boring-a$$ husband, and a few obnoxious, giggling little kids.
But she ain’t gonna get that with me.
Because my world is a hell of a lot different.
My world is mobs and MCs, suspense and submission, whiskey and women.
I drink fast and ride hard.
I f**k. I break. I hurt.
It sure as hell ain’t for everyone.
So I did the fair thing:
I pointed my gun at her head and gave her a choice.
She can either run for cover.
Or she can get in the car with me, and see where the road takes her.
That’s just the beginning of our story.
And I’ll make a vow to you right now.
This will end only one way:
With my ring on her finger, my brand on her skin...
And my baby in her belly.
Chapter 1
Bryce
I was groggy as shit when I came to, and it took me a few minutes to be able to even move my limbs and open my eyes. I felt like I’d been sleeping for a year, like I’d just come out of a coma. When I could finally move well enough to get my phone out of my jeans pocket, I was half-expecting the year to be different. I was surprised to see that only around twelve hours had passed, and it was a little after nine in the morning the next day.
The feeling returning to my arms and legs, I stood up and made the deepest, longest stretch that I think I’d ever made in my life. I let out a long groan, the feeling of blood rushing through my body almost orgasmically satisfying. And as I stretched, I noticed that the pain in my sides had all but gone.
She was right, I thought, just needed a good night’s sleep. Probably dididn’t hurt that last night was the first time I’d gone to sleep in months without drinking a shitload of whiskey first.
As soon as I finished my stretch, however, something struck me- I was alone. My steps sluggish at first, I started looking around the small cabin, hoping to find Anya’s small form curl
“Fuck!” I shouted, my voice carrying through the trees that surrounded the cabin.
I ran back inside, spotting something next to the couch. It was a small bottle of water, a handwritten note taped to it.
Drink up; you need the hydration, and you don’t want to be drinking anything from that faucet. Sorry I couldn’t stick around, but my family needs me.
A
And that was it. No instructions on how to find her, no anything. As soon as I looked at the water, though, a feeling of powerful thirst came over me. I pulled the cap off of the bottle, nearly ripping off the plastic. I brought the bottle to my lips and drained the liquid inside in seconds. She was right about the hydration, at least.
But she was dead wrong about leaving. Keeping her here wasn’t me enjoying her goddamn company; it was about making sure she stayed alive. Spider and his crew, those who weren’t in jail, at least, were out for blood. And they knew she was helping me out. They’d want revenge on her, sure, but more than that, they’d do whatever it took to get my location out of her. I shuddered as I considered this possibility. And now, on top of everything, I was starting to feel something like responsibility for Anya—she shouldn’t be a part of this world, and it was my fault she was.
I scanned the living room frantically, straight lines of sunlight cutting through the dusty air. Then, I spotted something. It was a small, dark red rectangle sitting next to the couch. I grabbed it and realized that it was her wallet. Opening the thing, I pulled out Anya’s driver’s license. Everything I needed to track her down was on there. I made a fist and pumped in the air, celebrating my good fortune.
Now, I just had to hope that I’d find her before Spider’s thugs did.
I ran out to the front yard and made a mad dash down the road. Thankfully, the cabin wasn’t too far off the beaten path. Soon, I was back onto the main road of the town. I needed to get back to Rooster’s; hopefully, my bike was still there. Sucking up my pride and sticking out my thumb, I signaled to any and all passing cars.
If I’m depending on the kindness of strangers these days, might as well go all in, I thought.
Soon, a truck pulled over, the driver happy to give me a lift the mile down the road to the bar. He knew of Rooster’s and probably figured I was some drunk ready to sit outside and wait for the place to open up, but I didn’t care. What was important was that my bike was sitting in the same place it had been when I’d come here the night I got jumped. I allowed myself a smile at this good fortune, but knew the job ahead was far from done.
Hopping out of the truck, I let the driver know that if he ever needed a favor, he should come find the Ancestors. I told him the passphrase we used for such purposes, and he seemed to understand the value of being on the good side of one of the baddest MCs in the state.
I dashed to my bike, hopped on, and gunned the engine. The bike roared to life, and I sat on it for a minute, just letting the thing rev. Being off my bike, even for a few days, had me all out of sorts. Getting back on it was like what having a missing limb reattached must feel like to normies.
I looked up the address on my phone and peeled off, making my way to Anya’s home. I wasn’t looking forward to talking her into coming along with me, but it was the only way to keep her safe. Twenty minutes later, I pulled up near the house, which was a run-down little place on the outskirts of town. While the house was a shithole, the property was wide and open—the nearest place might’ve been a mile away. That’d be nice in most cases, but not when you’re being hunted by lowlifes with murder on the brain.
PARKING A FEW HUNDRED feet from the house and leaving my bike in a place where it wouldn’t be found, I approached the house at a careful, but quick pace. As I drew closer, I heard a man’s voice yell out.
“Goddammit, An! You know I was supposed to be up two hours ago! Where the hell were you?”
“Sorry, sorry,” spoke the familiar voice of Anya through one of the open windows. “I got hung up.”
“‘Hung up’?” shouted another voice, this one thinner and whinier. “You know you’re supposed to come back here right after work unless we’re out with you!”
What the hell is with these guys? I asked myself as I continued to approach the house.
Soon, I was near one of the open windows. Keeping low, I peeked into the house. In the living room I could see two men, one tall, fat and slobby who was sitting on the couch, a tall boy near him on the coffee table. The other was short and wiry, a grungy-looking little dude who zipped here and there, looking like he was hopped-up on way too many energy drinks. The fat man on the couch was dressed in a security guard’s outfit, an impatient look on his ugly, scruffy mug.
“Where’re my damn eggs!” he shouted.
“Almost!” responded Anya.
Soon after, Anya walked into the living room, a plate of steaming eggs in her hand. The brother on the couch took the plate without looking and set into them, washing down each bite with a long sip of beer. When he was done, he tossed the plate onto the couch, got up, and finished his drink. The other brother was pacing around anxiously, taking little bird-bites of his eggs.
They’re like fucking slave-drivers, I thought. Goddamn worthless fucks.
But before I could give Anya’s domestic situation any more thought, the grumbling of engines sounded in the distance. I turned where I was squatting and spotted a pair of cars tearing down the road, their tires kicking up clouds of thick, orange dust.
“What the hell?” asked the fat brother, coming over to the window that I was squatted near and taking a look outside.
I ducked down, hoping to stay out of sight, despite the fact that I wanted to drive my fist straight up and knock this asshole’s teeth right out of his head.
“An, you expecting guests?” he shouted.
“‘Guests’?” exclaimed the wiry brother. “Who the fuck would be coming here in the goddamn morning?”
The cars continued to roar down the road, and I looked around for someplace to take cover. I knew that there wasn’t anyone else these cars could belong to other than Spider’s crew. They were here to interrogate Anya, and figure out just where I was. What they had in mind for her after that made me shudder to think about.
“I’m gettin’ my damn gun!” shouted the wiry man.
Bad move, I thought, knowing that the gang probably just planned to rough anyone up who was there, but let them keep their lives. If they encountered armed resistance, however...
I ran to the side of the house and found myself a good hiding place behind a bush. From where I was hiding, I had a view through the kitchen and living room, as well as down the road. I could see Anya standing by one of the windows, a worried expression on her face that seemed to suggest that she knew that she was in trouble.
And she was right.
The two cars swerved right onto the lawn, coming to abrupt halts and killing their engines. Soon after, hard-looking men poured out, all with angry, determined expressions on their faces. Some had knives; the others were armed with clubs, bats, and other blunt objects. Spider hopped out of the car he was in and climbed onto the hood.
“Yo, yo! We want that bitch Anya! Send her ass out and no one gets hurt!”
Hearing a little punk like Spider call Anya a bitch set my blood to boil—I wanted to fuck him up. Bad.
Anya continued to watch, still frozen in fear. I had to tell her to make a break for it. Staying low, I went over to the window.
“Hey!” I said in a loud whisper. “Hey!”
Anya looked around for the source of the sound for a moment before spotting me. Her eyes went wide; she wasn’t expecting to see me here at all.
“Leave now!” I said, pointing to one of the windows. “Make a break for it! I’ll come find you!”
“Last warning, motherfuckers!” shouted Spider.
“And just who the fuck do you think you are, you little shit?” demanded the fat brother, walking out onto the lawn with unsteady strides. “Coming onto my goddamn lawn and telling me what to do?”
