Hammer (Regulators MC Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  About The Authors

  Connected Books

  You Might Also Like

  Delta: Revenge by Cristin Harber

  Whiskey Neat by Lani Lynn Vale

  Challenged by Ryan Michele

  The Realist by Abbie ZandersPrologue

  She is strong, independent, but jaded.

  He is a hardened soldier.

  Two people are forced to come together to move beyond the physical injuries of one.

  Desirae Shythe is a physical therapist driven to see her patients thrive. Her happiness in life comes from her success, no matter how small the step.

  Ethan ‘Hammer’ McCoy is known for having an iron fist and an iron heart.

  When an injury confines him to a wheelchair, he meets the fierce physical therapist who makes it her personal mission to see him walk again.

  As they both face the struggles of his rehabilitation, can he hammer his way into her heart?

  Hammer

  Regulators MC Series #2

  By Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

  Copyright © 2016 by Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

  Published by Whiskey Girls Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by C&D Editing & Asli Fratarcangeli

  Cover Design by Mina Carter

  Cover Images by: © RLS Model Images | Randy Sewell

  Cover Model: Jason “Hammer” Estes

  Copyright © 2016 by Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

  The purchase of this e-book allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents portrayed in this book are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, actual events or locations is purely coincidental and not intended by the authors. Please do not take offense to the content as it is fiction.

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

  This book contains mature content not suitable for readers under the age of 18. This book contains content with strong language, violence, and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are over the age of 18.

  This is not meant to be a true or exact depiction of a motorcycle club. Rather, it is a work of fiction meant to entertain.

  Other Titles from Chelsea Camaron

  Regulators MC Series

  Ice

  Hellions Ride MC Series

  One Ride

  Forever Ride

  Merciless Ride

  Eternal Ride

  Innocent Ride

  Simple Ride

  Heated Ride

  Caldwell Brothers Series

  (written with co-author MJ Fields)

  Hendrix

  Morrison

  Fire Inside Series

  (written with co-author Theresa Marguerite Hewitt)

  Kale

  Roughnecks Series

  Maverick

  Heath

  Lance

  Love and Repair Series

  Crash and Burn

  Restore My Heart

  Salvaged

  Full Throttle

  Beyond Repair

  Stalled

  Standalones

  Stay

  Original Sin

  For more information on Chelsea and her books check out her website:

  http://www.authorchelseacamaron.com

  Or you can send Chelsea Camaron an email at:

  [email protected]

  Other Titles from Jessie Lane

  Regulators MC Series

  Ice

  Ex Ops Series

  Secret Maneuvers

  Stripping Her Defenses

  Mission Delivery

  Big Bad Bite Series

  Big Bad Bite

  Walk On The Striped Side

  The Star Series

  The Burning Star

  The Frozen Star

  For more information on Jessie and her books check out her website: http://jessielanebooks.com/

  Or you can send Jessie Lane an email at:

  [email protected]

  HAMMER

  Book 2, Regulators MC Series

  Chelsea Camaron

  & Jessie Lane

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  About The Authors

  Connected Books

  You Might Also Like

  Delta: Revenge by Cristin Harber

  Whiskey Neat by Lani Lynn Vale

  Challenged by Ryan Michele

  The Realist by Abbie ZandersPrologue

  Prologue

  ~Hammer~

  The clouds float above as the sun shines brightly on an already awesome day. Today, I made the cut. At fourteen years old, I’m the only freshman to make the varsity football team. Tossing the ball in the backyard with my dad as the light shines down on us both only adds to the euphoria of the day. It is a good day, and I’m glad my dad is here to share it with me since he is gone so often.

  “Ethan, son, there may come a time when I won’t be here.”

  He b
egins the same speech we have had multiple times over the years. It takes everything I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I try to take him seriously, but come on. He’s my dad; he isn’t going anywhere.

  When I was little, I told him that he was stronger than a superhero when he wears his camouflage uniform. In a way, I still think he’s indestructible. He would not have come this far in his military career if he didn’t know what he was doing.

  He continues on, unaware of the fact that I started to tune him out. The same sentence I have heard time and time again plays on from him.

  “If something happens to me, you’ll have to be the man of the house. Always be there for your mom and take care of your brother.”

  These are so not the things I want to think about. Wanting my dad’s approval, though, I immediately give him my word.

  “You can count on me, sir.” My reply is full of pride and laced in the naivety of a teen boy without a single care in the world.

  For a second, though, I pause before throwing the football back to him. The look on his face is worried in the way parents get when they think you aren’t doing chores or homework.

  “Just remember, son, actions speak louder than words.”

  Man, my dad is a freaking worry wart. I know his concern comes from a place of love. He’s just trying to make sure my mom, brother, and I will be all right if something ever happens to him.

  Spreading an easy grin across my face, I launch the ball back at my father. “No worries, old man. I’ve learned from the best.”

  Half his mouth tilts up in a grin, and I know he got my message. He’s the one who has taught me everything there is to being a man, and as far as I’m concerned, my dad is the best man I will ever know.

  Of course, nothing will actually happen to my dad until he is old and gray, so this conversation isn’t really necessary. Regardless, if it makes him feel better for me to agree to step in, fine, I will go along with it.

  Of course, I know the only thing I really need to worry about happening is if my dad will be able to help me find a comfortable jock strap. No guy wants to feel like his nuts are being strangled when he is in the middle of a game.

  ~Three Years Later~

  Senioritis is a real condition; just ask me. I certainly suffer from it. After barely passing last semester, I’m counting down the four months left until graduation. I spend half of my school day staring out the windows, thinking about what I am going to do when I am finally free of this school. To be honest, I spend the other half of the day watching the cheerleaders in their short, little skirts.

  The intercom crackles in biology class, disrupting the discussion of herbivores, carnivores, and omnivores. Thank God for the distraction. Like any of us really care what animals eat. The only things I want to think about eating right now are lunch and Kelly, the head cheerleader.

  “Mrs. Foster, please send Ethan McCoy to the office.”

  Surprised at hearing my name, I gather my things as my mind goes over why I would be called to the office. The guys and I have not pulled a prank since we got caught plastic wrapping the toilets in the teachers’ lounge. Having detention for a month would make anyone wary of pulling anymore high jinks at school.

  When I make my way through the office door, Ms. Sam, the school secretary, greets me with a somber tone and a sad face. That chick is always happy. As a result, I wonder what is wrong with her today.

  She nods her head for me to walk into the principal’s office, and a slow sense of dread starts to build in my stomach. I have never felt like this before, so I don’t know what to make of it. This feeling is worse than the time I walked through that cemetery at night. Even worse than the time I watched my little brother crash into the curb with his bike, flip over the front of his handlebars, and give himself a concussion and a broken arm. Something tells me whatever is happening on the other side of the closed door is really bad.

  Realizing that scares the shit out of me.

  I take a deep breath before pushing the door open and entering Principal Dubois’ office where two men in Army class-A uniforms wait. I haven’t done anything wrong, and the recruiter came a while back, but I declined the opportunities once I signed my football scholarship acceptance.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, stepping all the way into the room.

  “We’re here to escort you home,” officer one simply replies. No emotion. No explanation.

  “Escort me home?” I question as panic starts to build inside me.

  My first thought is of my twelve-year-old brother who is in seventh grade at the middle school. I wonder if he’s getting the same call out of class. I have been taught since he was born to look out for my obnoxious, little brother, so I can only hope he will be okay if he gets pulled out of school, too.

  Slightly panicked, I blurt out, “Is everything okay? Are we going to get my brother? Does he need to go home, too?”

  They still show no emotion as the other guy answers in an almost robotic tone, “We can’t answer your questions, son. Just come along with us quickly and quietly, and we will take you to your mother.”

  Holy shit, what have I done? This dude sounds serious as hell. However, as I think back over the last few months, I swear I don’t remember getting caught doing anything that would warrant this kind of trouble.

  Hiking my book bag up on my shoulder before it has a chance to slip off, I give the soldiers a silent nod. My legs are shaking so badly they feel like spaghetti noodles. All I can think about is, if I get in trouble on the base, my dad is going to get in trouble, too. Then he will ground me for the rest of my life.

  The next fifteen minutes—walking out of the school, getting in their car, and driving away—are a blur, my mind incapable of processing what could be happening. My thoughts race with a bunch of questions, but I fail to come up with any answers.

  As we pull up to my house, I realize I need to wipe my palms off on my jeans because my hands are too sweaty to open the car door. I try to take a deep breath to calm down, but there doesn’t seem to be enough air. My chest feels like there is an elephant sitting on top of it. Why the hell can’t I breathe?

  When I finally get out of the car, I still at the sound of my mother wailing from inside our home.

  Uniformed Army men.

  Mom crying.

  Dad is away …

  The revelation hits me harder than a tidal wave crashing onto a beach and eroding the shore. The world freezes around me. The sky, although blue, seemingly fades to gray.

  Unable to hold my head up anymore, it drifts down until the brown grass beneath my feet comes into view. It is dead. It also is the only barrier between me and the realities I do not want to face just inside my front door.

  My dad’s last command replays in my head. “Remember, start mowing in March. I don’t want housing to leave a chit for your mom while I’m gone. I’ll be home before you walk the stage, Ethan.” His last deployment, we received the piece of paper in reprimand, their ‘chit,’ informing us of our responsibilities of lawn care and the exact specifications required of us. Dad got one at his location, too. We do not want that to happen again.

  The day after that conversation, my dad was gone before I left for school.

  Training.

  He is gone for a TDY—temporary duty. Not a deployment. Not a mission.

  Training.

  We spoke to him last night.

  Now my mom is hysterical just inside our house while I stand in the yard with two soldiers. That can only mean one thing.

  The brown grass isn’t the only thing that died.

  Chapter

  1

  ~Hammer~

  “Show those titties!” some drunken shithead yells from the crowd.

  I can’t tell who said it in the dim, crowded atmosphere. Honestly, I don’t really care to know. As long as the customers behave, there is no reason for me to get up close and personal with my fists.

  Looking around
After Midnight, I see the club is packed. Drinks are being served, clothes are coming off, and tips are being dropped. Business is good. When business is good, the club’s payouts are good.

  Fuck the phrase “happy wife, happy life.” It is all about “wallet happy, dick happy, then Hammer’s happy.”

  Taking in the girls working the floor, flirting with customers to entice them into lap dances, I notice one of the vibrant, purple neon lights over a corner table is out.

  I turn at the waist, catching Big Jim’s attention from where he stands back at the bar, and point to the problem. Seeing what the issue is, he immediately heads off to get a new bulb.

  The man understands the importance of fixing shit right away. We can’t have any dark corners where a customer could take advantage of one of our girls. And since the club is designed and decorated to ooze sex appeal, it means the aesthetics are not always practical for safety measures, which is okay as long as the brothers who work as security stay vigilant.

  The strip club’s walls are a soft gray, the flooring a sinful black, and the only bright lighting in the whole place is on the main stage with a few smaller ones above the bar. The rest of the lighting throughout the club are blue and purple neon lights, which allows us to adequately watch for problems.

  Although the Regulators MC has done a damn good job of letting everyone know we won’t put up with any bullshit from our patrons, there is always some jackass who tries to test our boundaries. It is best to nip those little problems in the bud before they become big problems.

  Not to mention, replacing a neon light is a hell of a lot easier than getting rid of bloody clothes or burying a jackass who harasses one of the strippers. Make no mistake; I will end anybody who tries to hurt one of our girls.

  Women come to work here because they want the protection we provide that seedier clubs do not. They all know that one of the reasons After Midnight is considered a premiere gentleman’s club in this state—hell, even the East Coast—is due to the security. Money and manpower aside, that doesn’t mean a few angry, entitled idiots with mommy issues don’t slip in every once in a while, trying to get more from our hardworking girls. Hence, the need to burn bloody clothes once in a blue moon.