Ringers freedom desert o.., p.1
Ringer's Freedom: Desert Outlaws Book Three (Desert Outlaws MC 3), page 1
ringer’s freedom
DESERT OUTLAWS MC
BOOK 3
BAILEE JAMES
Copyright © 2022 by BJames Books, LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover by: Dark Water Covers
Professionally edited by: Lindsay Heights Editing
Lilah
Despite their age difference, Lilah’s been in love with Ringer for as long as she can remember. Her dreams were shattered when he went to prison shortly after she turned 15. Over the course of his sentence, during which he refused to let her visit, Lilah grew up. She forced herself to get over her little crush on her father’s friend. But when she lays eyes on him for the first time since his release, all the feelings from her past come rushing back. And to make matters worse, he’s looking right back at her the way she’s always wanted.
Ringer
The little club princess isn’t so little anymore. She’s his every temptation tied into a bite-size package as she comes walking towards him from across the bar. When one drunken bet in Vegas turns into the best night of his life, does he have to fight like hell to convince her they didn’t make a mistake? Or is Lilah just as dedicated to the future as he is?
When strange things start happening around the club, can Ringer find his place among the ranks while keeping Lilah safe? Or will they both cave under the pressure of reality?
This one’s for you, Papa.
one
Lilah
“Watch me, take a good thing and fuck it up all in one night!” I scream at the top of my lungs as I sing along with Machine Gun Kelly as he blares through the surround system in my kitchen.
I’m prepping the batter for a cake I need to have done for a wedding in two days when Sasha comes barging through the swinging door.
“I think something’s fucking wrong with me!” she belts out along with me and the song.
We both giggle as I click the pause button on the remote. “What’s up, Sash?”
“I’ve closed the front up for the day. Mikey’s cleaning up. Where do you need me to start?”
“If you wanna start prepping some roses for the tiers, it’ll help shorten tomorrow.”
Turning to the industrial mixer on the left wall, Sasha starts gathering the supplies to make fondant flowers. I smile while watching, thinking about how far she’s come.
Sasha came to my bakery two years ago with no experience. She’d never even boiled a pot of water. Now, two years later, she can decorate a cake almost as well as I can.
Emphasis on almost. She still has lots to learn.
Every day, we open the bakery at six in the morning. Our store front is open until one in the afternoon. When we close, we start prepping for the next day.
I switch the stereo back on before turning back to the red velvet cake batter and adding more flour to the mixture. Whenever Sasha and I are in the kitchen together, we always have a good time singing at the tops of our lungs, dancing around, and making an absolute mess.
I’ve always been a firm believer that you need to make the best out of life because you never know when your last day will be. The life I was born into has made that a point over and over again.
“I’m headed out ladies!” Mikey yells over the music through the small window that separates the storefront from the kitchen.
“Bye!” Sasha and I both call out in unison.
After I get the cake pans in the oven, I sidle up next to Sasha and work on rolling the fondant for flowers.
My bakery is my baby. Owning one has been my dream ever since my Nana taught me how to bake my first cake. When I went to the club with my idea of a bakery at the end of their strip mall, they jumped at the opportunity before I even finished pitching my idea.
The back door bells jingle as my dad walks in. His heavy boots stomp against the wooden floor. Sasha turns the music off as he walks over and hugs me from behind.
“How’s my Lilah girl today?” he asks as he places a kiss on my hair, leans over, and pops a chocolate chip into his mouth.
“Hi, Daddy. Good, just trying to get this cake done in time for the Thomas’ wedding on Saturday.”
“Speaking of Saturday, Ringer is coming home. He gets out that morning. Think you could help us out and get some stuff to the clubhouse for the party?” He gives me his signature look with one eyebrow raised, which means he’s telling me what he needs me to do, not asking.
He will always be ‘Daddy’ to me, but my father is known as Reaper to everyone else in town. Daddy is the Vice President of the Desert Outlaws motorcycle club. He got his road name when he was just seventeen and started prospecting for the club as soon as he graduated high school. His daddy was the president at the time.
Daddy was doing a detailing job, following Nana from the bank where she just withdrew a large amount of money for the club. A rival club pulled up on Daddy and Nana. My daddy and another prospect fought off over ten men protecting my nana. He killed every single one of them. Since that day, he has been known as Reaper. No one crosses Reaper unless they want to die.
“What do you need? Why can’t Renee get it?” I ask with a slight attitude. No one except me would ever get away with giving Reaper any kind of attitude.
You see, the big bad Reaper has one downfall.
Me. His achilles heel. His baby girl. His kryptonite.
“Your mother,” he begins with another eyebrow raise as I roll my eyes in contempt, “has gone on another hiatus. Haven’t heard from her in a month.”
Crossing my arms, I prop my hip against the counter. “Big shocker there. Can she just stay gone this time?”
Dad chuckles, “If only we could be so lucky.”
“Well, let’s hope it’s at least longer than a month this time.”
“You and me both, kid. Use your club card when you go to the store for Saturday. Ghost has the ladies doing the rest. Just drop it off at the clubhouse.” He kisses the back of my head again before turning a smirk and head nod towards Sasha and heads out the door.
After Dad leaves, the weight of what he’s said hits me like a ton of bricks.
Ringer is coming home.
My cheeks heat and butterflies take flight in my stomach. Ringer may be a bit older than I am, but every wicked fantasy I’ve ever had since turning 13 has involved that man.
He got locked up eight years ago right after I turned 15.
Sasha’s voice pulls me from my Ringer-induced fog. “I know he’s your dad and all, but that man is fine with a capital F.” She fans herself with the hand towel she’s using to clean the work bench.
“Gross! He’s like 40-something,” I giggle.
“Yeah girl, and I’m like 30-something. He has daddy vibes written on his forehead.”
“Okay, I’m going to need you to stop right the fuck now before I throw up. I will never be able to call my own dad ‘Daddy’ ever again.” I feign barfing all over the floor.
“Shit, I will,” Sasha purrs. I give her the nastiest expression I can muster while cleaning up my work station. “Lilah, in all seriousness,” she continues with a serious expression, “I have the biggest crush on your dad. I know that’s weird to you but he does not look forty-something. That man ages like fine wine.”
I’ve gotten this my entire life. Girls always think my dad’s hot. I don’t see it. Sure, my dad isn’t ugly. But he’s my dad. I don’t think of him that way. He was only 19 when he knocked up Renee. I had girlfriends growing up that always wanted to stay the night at my house, just so they could catch a glimpse of him with his shirt off.
Gross.
“So come to the party with me on Saturday. Shoot your shot,” I say with a shrug.
“At your dad? He would laugh right in my face! I’m definitely not his type. I’ve seen the girls at the club.”
“You’ll never know unless you try, and Renee isn’t around to be a cockblocking snake. Besides,” I add, “it’ll be nice to have someone I actually like around my dad.”
“Maybe I will come. You know, just to keep you company.” She throws a wink over her shoulder.
“It’s a date! Plus, you can come shopping with me. Lord knows I’m going to need the extra help with the amount of people that need to be fed.”
Sasha turns the music back on and we work for the next hour. I place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and do my closing routine to prepare everything for my baker that comes in overnight to bake for the next day.
Locking up the shop, I turn towards my sleek black 1969 Dodge Charger that my dad’s club brother, Trigger, restored for me. If the bakery is my first baby, that car is my second.
I have Sasha follow me to my house and am not surprised to see Dad’s truck parked in the driveway. I pull in next to the older pickup and cut my engine. Stepping out of my car, I turn to see Sasha parking her small Jetta on the street.
“I’ve worked with you for almost three years, and I can’t believe this is t
“This was my grandparents' house before they died. My dad moved back in after he finally left my mom,” I reply and motion for her to follow me around the side of the garage to the door leading up to my space. “He fixed up the apartment above the garage for me when I turned 18.”
“Privacy without having you too far away. Smooth move, Mr. Neil.”
Flipping the lightswitch on, I throw my bag on my large red couch. “Make yourself comfortable! Give me a second to change before we run to the store,” I say with a laugh as I gesture to my black yoga pants that are covered in flour.
After running water over my face, I step into the large walk-in closet my dad attached to my room. He was able to turn the second small bedroom into a large closet connecting my bedroom to the bathroom. I step into a pair of cutoff shorts I made out of jeans from a thrift store and pull a cropped Led Zeppelin tee over my head. Grabbing my red Doc Martens and a pair of socks, I head back into the main room.
“Do you want me to follow you back to your house so you can change before we head to the store?” I ask Sasha as I pull on my boots.
“Nah, I’m good. I’m heading to the gym when we’re finished. My bag is in my car.”
Grabbing my dad's truck keys, I lock up behind us.
“I said it once, and I’ll say it again. Next time you go shopping, you need to take me with you. I need a wardrobe change,” Sasha remarks. I look over and see her eyeing my outfit on our way down to the truck.
“And I have told you, most of my shirts come from my dad's closet, and I cut them to fit me. All of my shorts come from goodwill, which I also cut to fit me.” I laugh.
Growing up, the kids at school always made fun of me for dressing like a boy. I never cared about the newest trends or best fashion. I loved wearing my dad’s shirts, and I didn’t give two shits that they were four sizes too big. It used to drive my mother crazy, but I didn't care.
When I turned sixteen and filled out, I discovered Youtube and taught myself how to repurpose old clothes into new styles. My nana taught me how to use her sewing machine, and my love for old clothing multiplied.
I look back over at Sasha to see her shrug her shoulders. “Next time you go, you have to take me so I can watch your magic.”
“Let’s go after work Friday. I’ve been wanting to look for some new stuff.”
After a short but enjoyable ride, we pull into the wholesale store in the middle of town, and I back the truck into a parking spot close to the front.
Sasha pulls a large cart out of the cart corral and hands it to me, then pulls out a second without me asking. I laugh at her when she looks at me and says, “What? You said it’s a lot of mouths to feed. I figured we’d need more than one cart.”
“You thought right! Alright, let's start.”
For the last few years, it has been my responsibility to do all of the shopping any time there is a large party at the clubhouse. All the ol’ ladies prepare the food (usually Maggie and Maria) and organize the whole thing. After Nana passed away, the shopping fell on me. Since I was the one that always went with her, I know exactly what to get.
I push my cart up to the butcher's station, and Buck, the butcher that has worked here for as long as I’ve been alive, greets me with a large smile. “Princess!” his loud voice booms.
I cringe at the nickname but smile back at the gray haired man. Buck was a friend of my grandpop’s. It was difficult coming to the store with Nana after my pop passed away in a motorcycle accident because he reminded me so much of him.
“Hey Buck!” I reply with a smile as he rounds the glass case and lifts me up into a bear hug.
“What can I do for ya, Princess?”
“Ringer’s getting out, so big party on Saturday. I need the works.” I eye the case in front of me.
Buck strides to the freezer behind his butcher block and pulls open the heavy door.
“Just the family or the whole gang?” he asks from inside the freezer.
“Whole gang I’m guessing!” I call over the noise of the loudspeaker.
Sasha wanders over to the cold cuts case and peruses the options. I point at the large tray of vegetables and cold cuts. She grabs one and puts it in her cart. Before she can walk away, I stop her.
“Grab all of them,” I instruct.
Sasha’s eyes bulge when she notices how many are in the case.
“That’s enough to feed a hundred people,” she exhales.
I stifle a laugh. “Exactly.”
Buck comes around the counter pulling a large cart. I laugh at Sasha’s stunned expression as she watches how much meat Buck transfers into my cart. He places two whole pigs, fifteen large racks of ribs, a case of hamburger patties, and a case of hotdogs.
“Holy fuck, Lilah. How many people come to these things?”
Buck chuckles. “First time?” he asks, looking at Sasha.
I nod at the older man. “She has the hots for my dad.”
“Lilah!” Sasha shrieks.
I laugh as I give Buck a hug, wrapping my arms around his chubby middle. He places a kiss on the top of my head.
“Thanks Buck! Will we see you and Nancy there?”
Buck isn’t a part of the club, but his son, Texas, is. His real name is Kaleb. He and Ringer were both arrested around the same time. Tex got out a little over a year ago, but Ringer’s been in this entire time.
“Wouldn’t miss it kid.”
I turn and smile at Buck as I push the heavy cart over to the bakery section.
“I know I don’t know much about these things, but um, Lile? You own a bakery. Why are we buying this shit?”
“Sasha, look how much meat we have. I have the Thomas’ wedding Saturday afternoon. I don't have time to make enough bread for this!” I giggle.
Sasha and I finish grabbing the necessary items for the party. She is once again surprised when I give both full carts to the cashier to hold and fill two more. The total on the register makes her eyes bulge out of her head as I hand the cashier my dad’s club card.
It takes every bit of twenty minutes just to load everything in the back of the truck. When we pull up to the clubhouse gates, Wes sees it’s me and opens them. I pull the truck around to the back by the kitchen doors.
Maggie, Horse’s ol’ lady, swings the door open with a smile and pulls the tailgate down before I can even hop out of the cab.
“Hey, Lilah! You brought help this time?” she calls as Sasha and I round the truck.
“Hey Maggie,” Sasha smiles while lifting a hand to wave. The three of us then work together to unload the truck and bring everything into the industrial-sized kitchen.
“This kitchen is huge!” Sasha exclaims once everything is set out on the large counter.
Maggie giggles while watching Sasha’s fascination.
“Are you coming to the party, Sasha?” Maggie asks.
“Lilah invited me. I haven’t made up my mind yet. This place is pretty intimidating,” Sasha confesses.
“It’s big, that's for sure,” Maggie admits. “But it is full of the best people I know. This party's gonna be a good one. We have a brother coming home that has been gone for years now.”
Maggie’s mention of Ringer makes my stomach flutter. “Hey Mag, can I have the key to Ringer’s room?”
Maggie eyes me curiously as she pulls the key from her master set.
I leave Sasha with Maggie as I creep upstairs to Ringer’s room and unlock his door. I enter the dark room and flip on the lights, coating the room in light.
Looking around the empty room, I notice his bed first. How many nights as a teenager had I fantasized about being in this bed? I pad over to the nightstand. On the top is his glock, a pack of cigarettes that is at least eight years old, and a framed picture I gave him when I was thirteen.
I pick the picture up and run my fingers over the dusty surface. The picture is of me when I was about twelve holding up a rifle, with Ringer standing proudly behind me as I shot the target right on the bullseye.
It instantly takes me back to that day. Ringer, my dad, and I had gone shooting at the back of the compound.
