Ice Read online

  She’s an investment banker.

  He’s an outlaw biker.

  A little bit of heaven is about to meet a whole lot of hell.

  Morgan Powell was raised to be perfect, to set the example for her sisters to follow. Her life is dedicated to making something of her career so she wouldn’t know what to do with a man even if you gave her an instruction manual.

  Brett ‘Ice’ Grady spends his days trying to keep up with his teenage daughter and his nights consumed in Regulators’ MC business. He has no time for anything more than a casual hookup.

  Two worlds collide when the dangers of his life crash into the calm of hers.

  Can she go beyond her own boundaries and chip her way through to the man to be known as cold as ice?

  Ice

  Regulators MC Series #1

  By Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

  Copyright © 2014 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: © Furious Fotog | Golden Czermak

  Cover Model: Shawn Dawson

  Copyright © 2014 by Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

  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 this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders, The authors acknowledges 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.

  Coming in 2015!

  Hammer – Regulators MC Series #2 – March 2015

  Coal – Regulators MC Series #3 – June 2015

  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]

  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]

  Other Titles From Whiskey Girls Publishing

  By Chelsea Camaron

  One Ride

  Forever Ride

  Merciless Ride

  Maverick

  Crash and Burn

  Restore My Heart

  Salvaged

  Full Throttle

  Beyond Repair

  Stalled

  By Jessie Lane

  Secret Maneuvers

  Stripping Her Defenses

  Big Bad Bite

  Walk On The Striped Side

  The Burning Star

  The Frozen Star

  *Intended for mature audiences only*

  This book contains strong language, strong sexual situations, and violence. Please do not buy if any of this offends you.

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

  ICE

  Book 1, Regulators MC Series

  Chelsea Camaron

  & Jessie Lane

  Table Of Contents

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About The Authors

  Eternal Ride

  Mission Delivery

  You Might Also Like

  Chapter

  1

  Ice

  “Suck harder. Right there… Fuck yeah, that’s it.”

  The half-naked platinum blonde kneeling in front of me sucks dick like a damn champ.

  “Shit! Dammit, Dad!” my teenage daughter, Brooke, suddenly shrieks from across the living room while covering her eyes with her hands. Her voice immediately kills my hard on.

  Pushing the bimbo off me, I stand to pull up my pants, wincing as I tuck my still sensitive cock away. I move forward to go find my daughter, who is not supposed to be home today. The blonde paws at me as I go to make my way past her. I would have preferred it if she would have run her mouth and taken off; instead, she is pouting at me because we didn’t finish. I wish Brooke could have just given me five more minutes to get off. Then I could have gotten rid of the broad on her knees. Tossing this barfly out the door would be a hell of a lot easier then.

  “Get out. I’m done with ya,” I dismiss her, tired of the sulking look on her face. Damn woman, take a hint already.

  With a huff, she rights her clothes, collects her things, and scurries out.

  After making my way down the hall, of my not so modest home, I bark a sardonic laugh when I turn the knob to my daughter’s room and find it locked.

  “Open this door, young lady,” I order, in what comes out as a bellow. We have danced this dance on more than one occasion.

  “Sorry, I’m busy searching for the eye bleach. I can’t unlock the door right now, check back later.”

  “Don’t make me kick it in. You want to go without a door again? Don’t traumatize us both. I don’t want to pass by and see you in your skivvies any more than you want me to… or worse, for Hammer to catch you.”

  I am hoping like hell she listens. Last time, I took the damn door right off the frame. Later on, I wished I hadn’t, though. It ended up punishing me as much as her when I had to listen to that boy band garbage she calls music.

  Within seconds, I hear her feet stomping over. There is a click, a turn of the knob, and then my one true love in this life glaring at me. The door may have won the first round, but this victory is mine. Having a teenager, I have learned to celebrate every win, no matter how small.

  “Brooke, what the fuck have I told you about your mouth? Young ladies shouldn’t cuss! It makes you sound like a damn delinquent.” I chastise for her mouth when she first walked in. She was supposed to be at an afterschool study group. Teenagers, never following their damn schedules.

  “Yeah, Dad, real good speech you’re givin’. Father of the year material, you are.”

  “Don’t you get smart with me,” I say, knowing it is falling on deaf ears, not that I should be surprised. My mom did always liked
to rub it in my face that Brooke gets her stubbornness from me.

  “Anyways”—her tone is just as sharp as before—“now that you’ve kicked the dog out, what are we doin’ for dinner?”

  That is Brooke: my sixteen-year-old daughter, my life, my world, and my eternal pain in the ass. If her mom was still alive, maybe things would be different. Maybe. Only I don’t have time to play should-a, could-a, would-a in my head, because I am too busy raising her on my own.

  Erin, Brooke’s mom, was Brooke’s age when she got pregnant. We were young and dumb. Obviously, we didn’t think of protecting ourselves or give a second thought to plans for the future. Condoms were preached to us, birth control, all that. Yet, when the time came, we went at each other like rabbits and never gave a second thought to all that shit people had lectured us about.

  When the little stick showed a pink line, I puked and Erin cried. Her parents immediately kicked her out and never got past it. With no job, no education, and nowhere to go, she moved in with my mom and me.

  My mom was determined we would both finish high school. Stepping up to help us in every way she could, she worked two jobs to cover daycare costs and then spent many nights up with baby Brooke so Erin and I could study or do homework. I was a senior and Erin a junior in high school. It wasn’t easy, but we made it through. Having a family to support, I graduated and joined the Army right after Erin and I got married.

  Leaving Erin and a barely one-year-old Brooke behind was hard; yet I was focused on having a career to support us, not only a paycheck. My mom was supportive of my young wife, helping out with Brooke as I was now gone more than I was home. Selection to Special Forces was hard, training even harder, but having my green beret was everything. I developed pride in myself, pride in my country, pride for my family, and pride in joining together with my brothers to give our all to something more than ourselves. Young? Naïve? Yes, I was. However, drive, dedication, and commitment to my team were what pushed me through the realities of my situation.

  I had thought life was going well for my family. I was making something of myself in the Army, somebody my wife and child could be proud of. Erin was supportive during my deployments and missions. She was always quick to show me how much she loved me. My mom was enjoying the time she spent with both Erin and Brooke.

  Then the red-cross message came in while I was on a mission in Kosovo. When on a mission, communication to and from home is limited, to say the least. There was no direct line to reach me. My mom followed protocol and used the red-cross to send the devastating news to my Command, who then allowed it to trickle down to me.

  Erin was hit by a drunk driver. D-O-A, dead on arrival.

  She was nineteen years old with an almost three-year-old little girl at home, and just like that, she was gone.

  The woman who hit her was leaving a kid’s birthday party with her own two children in tow. According to the police report, she admitted to having a few glasses of wine at the party. The toxicology report showed a blood alcohol level double the legal limit. Doesn’t matter what any of the reports say; bottom line, she walked away with only minor injuries and her children. Meanwhile, my daughter will never get the chance to really know her mom.

  It is the epitome of a fucked-up tragedy.

  Brooke will never see, for herself, the way Erin used to smile down at her as she fell asleep. Tuck the blankets around her little body. Sing her a lullaby. Kiss her on the forehead goodnight.

  She will never hear the melodic sounds of her mother’s laughter. God, I loved Erin’s laugh. It was loud and beautiful. Anyone who heard it either stopped and stared or laughed along with her.

  Brooke had no mom to explain her body to her. That was a nightmare for me, of epic proportions. What man wants his teenaged daughter to ask him when she will start her period? I still shudder every time I remember that awkward conversation. Or, I should say, lack of conversation because I immediately called my mother and told her to handle that shit. I don’t talk about periods with the women I fuck, so I sure as shit am not going to talk about it with my daughter.

  She had no mom to do her hair for her first homecoming dance or go dress shopping with her. Instead, I sprang for her to go to a well-known hairstylist and asked my mom to help her pick out a dress. I have already decided, for prom this year, I will give her my cash, and she can shop with her friends. When she comes home, she will twirl around in her dress, much like she did when she was a little girl, and I will tell her she is beautiful.

  Brooke will never be able to see for herself that she is her mother’s daughter. No, my daughter misses all of this and so much more, all because of the poor choices of one individual.

  My mom stepped up after Erin’s death, practically raising Brooke until I got out of the Army. That was when my mom got the news of her cancer, and I had to step up. I had always been an active part of Brooke’s life while I was home, but then it was time to tackle twenty-four-seven single parenthood.

  Needless to say, Brooke and I are still adjusting, especially after Mom lost her battle with cancer, not quite six months ago. It has been hard, my lifestyle making it more challenging; however, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my baby girl.

  Thinking about my mom and the influence she had on Brooke, I can’t help smiling. She did her best to teach Brooke, guiding her into young womanhood. She did not only instill in Brooke how to have confidence and be an independent girl, but also the basics around the house she was afraid I wouldn’t teach as a man.

  “You could cook, ya know? Grams taught you to bake cookies and shit,” I remind my teen.

  Brooke laughs her mother’s laugh. “Shit- if I cook, that’s what you’re gonna get for dinner- Shit.”

  In my days in the Army, I had enough MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—and tasteless chow hall grub to last me a lifetime. There is no way I want to risk a dinner that tastes that bad again.

  “Steakhouse or Mexican?” I ask, turning to make my way back down the hall.

  “Mexican,” she replies, running past me to grab her helmet, letting me know she wants to take the bike.

  Spoiled rotten little shit. She knows I won’t deny her.

  Morgan

  Looking at my phone screen, I smile at the text in front of me.

  I’m off 2nite. Movie @ ur house or mine?

  Texting back, I tell my best friend I will be at her house after work with takeout. Working in a bank, I have every weekend off. Casey’s career path is far different than mine, though, and it is one that requires weekend time; as a result, this is the first Friday she has had off in a while.

  My day drags on as I review current investment portfolios and market changes. I have the best job ever. I get paid to spend other people’s money as an investment broker here in South Beach. My life is sun, sand, and dollar bills.

  Before going to Casey’s, I stop by my condo and change clothes. The down side to my job is the stuffy suits I have to wear: reasonable, past knee-length skirts, reasonable women’s dress pants, and reasonable button up shirts. I might hate them; yet, in a sad way, the dress code fits my life—reasonable.

  It is not long into girl’s night before the difference in our lifestyle’s show.

  “Damn, we’re not even halfway through the first movie, and you’re ready for bed? What the hell? Grandparents stay up later than you,” My best friend wakes me out of my doze.

  “Sorry, some of us keep normal business hours.”

  “Yeah, your hours scream forty-two, not twenty-four, as does everything else in your life.”

  “I’m not that bad,” I protest half-heartedly. However, that voice of doubt says “maybe I am.” Maybe my stiff upbringing has rubbed off on me more than I care to admit.

  My parents raised me to be an example. As the oldest of three, I had to be the light to guide my younger sisters, Madyson and Mallory. Everything with my parents was about fitting the mold, keeping up appearances. Their brainwashing worked to some degree. Going away to college did nothing for me in my
attempt to escape my overbearing parents, either. No, they live in my head, every rule engraved into my brain matter. Too bad no one warned me there is no cure and no escape once they get those rules engrained into my very being.

  Morgan Ann Powell: pathetic, stiff, borderline pseudo-old lady, and a college educated, suit wearing, have my shit together prude—that is me. I am, quite possibly, the only woman in her twenties who can count on one hand how many guys she has kissed. I am also a twenty-four-year-old virgin. I wouldn’t know what to do with a penis if it was given to me gift wrapped in Christmas paper and topped with a bow. I am not cut out for parties, guys, or any wild times, either. My destiny is to be the old lady who lives alone, feeding all the stray cats in the neighborhood.

  “I’m a loser.” Sighing, I look over to my best friend. “Sorry for ruining your night off.”

  “Stop it! You aren’t a loser, and nothing is ruined. I was dozing off, too.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not often you get a Friday night off. Spending it on the couch with your socially inept friend isn’t an ideal night.”

  Slapping my thigh, she laughs. “With everything I see at the club, a night in is heaven.”

  Aside from being my drop-dead gorgeous best friend, Casey also happens to be a headlining stripper at a local club, After Midnight. Her perky, full breasts, tiny waist, and hips give her the picture-perfect, hourglass figure. Her long, black hair is streaked in purple and teal, adding to the illusion of the wild woman she portrays on the stage. Her curves fall in all the right places, suiting her perfectly and making for optimal tips in her chosen profession. “Work with what you have been given,” she always says. And boy, does she work. Inside, Casey is as calm and happy to stay at home as me.

  That is basically all we have in common, though. I could never have the sort of confidence she has. My parents raised me to be reserved in appearances. Where Casey dares to flash her pin-up body in tight clothes, I hide my own curves behind much more conservative attire. I also keep my make-up minimal, only using enough to naturally accentuate my creamy skin and moss green eyes.