The Biker's Brother (Sons of Sanctuary MC Book 2) Read online

  The Biker’s Brother

  Sons of Sanctuary MC

  Book 2

  Victoria Danann

  Copyright 2016 Victoria Danann

  Published by 7th House Publishing

  Imprint of Andromeda LLC

  Read more about this author and upcoming works at VictoriaDanann.com

  DESCRIPTION

  Brand takes a job nobody wants in order to earn the respect of club members. Being third generation SSMC doesn't go very far in biker cred.

  Camden Carmichael is running from a psycho ex. Lucky for her that her father has the means to hire Sanctuary Security to protect her until the divorce is finalized.

  Two strangers set out on a road trip together. At the end of it, neither will ever be the same again.

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Victoria Danann, adds a sizzling and surprising second book to the SSMC contemporary romance series.

  *Please note this book contains dark subject matter that may be unwelcome to sensitive readers.*

  Brandon St. Germaine was at the top of the billionaire playboy heap when he learned about a side of the family that had been kept secret. He left New York, moved to Texas, and took most of the corporate empire with him, restructuring so that he could spend time learning about the Texas motorcycle club branch of his family that had formed its own kind of dynasty.

  His dad, president of the club his grandfather founded, spent three decades converting the club's income sources to legitimate business dealings. One of the biggest earners was the security service. When a ridiculously wealthy, but justifiably frightened father hired the SSMC to protect his daughter from the psycho she's divorcing, Brand got the job.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Texas

  For almost two years every hour that Brandon St. Germaine wasn’t working at Germane Enterprises had been spent at the motorcycle club his grandfather had founded in 1975. He’d moved as much of the operation to Austin as possible and restructured his job description to free up time.

  His father and brother had taught him about their side of the family and the legacy of the club. In exchange he offered suggestions here and there on how to make their own business enterprises more profitable. All in all he was satisfied with his new life, which was worlds away from the way he’d lived in New York. In fact there was only one thing he’d change if he could.

  He wasn’t a member of the club and couldn’t be so long as he continued to run Germane. It was an odd situation, being part of the club’s royal family and an outsider at the same time. Some of the members had become friends. Others regarded him with a polite distance that bore a marked resemblance to suspicion.

  It was a Thursday in mid-October when Brandon showed up at the clubhouse wearing jeans, boots, and a pink collared Polo. He knocked on the doorjamb of Brant’s office.

  Brant pulled his newspaper down far enough to see who was there. His eyes traveled down and back up before he said, “You look ridiculous. Men don’t wear pink.” He pulled his newspaper back up and continued reading as if Brandon wasn’t there.

  “This is faded salmon. Not pink. You know, Brash told me he expected you to get less grouchy after Mom moved in with you, but it’s starting to look like that’s not going to happen. Ever.”

  Brant moved his paper aside.

  “I save my sweetness for where it belongs. Is there something you’re wanting from me? ‘Cause here you are on a weekday wearing ‘faded salmon’ instead of a suit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well? Spit it out.”

  “I can’t join the club.”

  “First. Who asked you? Second. Why’s that?”

  Brand opened his mouth and closed it as he realized they’d never talked about it. He cleared his throat.

  “I didn’t mean to overstep or make assumptions. But if I was invited,” he paused to gauge his dad’s reaction to that, “I couldn’t become a member because of my responsibility to Germane and especially to the health of Mom’s interest.”

  Brant’s nostrils flared slightly.

  “I’ll take care of your mother and you know it.”

  Brandon walked that back as fast as he could.

  “Yes. Of course I know it. But she has a lot of personal history with the company. It wouldn’t make her happy if it failed.”

  Brant put down the paper. After a few seconds, he nodded slightly.

  “So that’s what you wanted? To tell me why you’re not joining a club you haven’t been asked to join?”

  “If you’ve always been this hard to talk to, I’m amazed that Brash turned out so good.”

  “I haven’t had enough coffee for a critique of my parenting.”

  Brand shook his head.

  “Okay. You’re a bottom line kind of guy. Here it is. I can’t become a member of the club. I understand the whole dues-paying prospect thing. And I’ll never be able to do that. I guess the best I can hope for is hangaround. But I’d still like to have the respect of my family’s… ah, associates.”

  Brant stood up. “Did you drive or ride?”

  Brandon grinned. “Rode.”

  Brant suppressed a little smile of satisfaction.

  “That’s my boy. Let’s go to Chuy’s and have a little talk.” He stretched and adjusted his package. “Lucky for you my manhood is secure enough to withstand being seen with a grown man wearing pussy pink.”

  Brand shook his head and followed his dad down the hall through the bar and out the door.

  “You out, boss?” Ruby asked from behind the bar.

  “Getting Mexican with my boy,” he rumbled without looking over at her. “Whoever needs me, it can wait.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  It was hard to say when it had happened, but gradually the position of bartender had acquired dual duties as admin. No doubt as the club grew its network of business enterprises, there was more to be accomplished than alcohol consumption.

  The weather was close enough to heavenly to make Brant wish for days like that in the hereafter. As they sped toward Bee Caves he mulled over Brandon’s place in their lives and came to some conclusions. He wasn’t a follower. He was an innovator. And it was time to innovate.

  They snagged a patio table next to the parking lot where they could keep a close eye on their bikes. They waved the menu away and ordered. Brant got the Elvis special as usual.

  “And bring me a cold Lone Star, darlin’.”

  She smiled and nodded. “You pulling for Texans or Cowboys, Mr. Fornight?”

  He grinned. “What do you think?”

  She laughed. “I’m thinking Cowboys.”

  He shook his head. “I’m just going to let you wonder.”

  She laughed again. “You’re no fun.”

  Brant gave her a smile that was still sexy as fuck at fifty.

  “I assure you, darlin’, I’m more fun than most people’s hearts can stand.”

  Brand broke in. “He’s married.”

  The waitress looked at Brand and giggled. “Yeah. Everybody knows that. What’s your name?”

  “Fornight.”

  She looked between the two of them. “Sure. I see that.”

  Brand got cheese enchiladas in red gravy and flautas in salsa verde.

  “I’m going to be putting in extra time at the gym tonight.” Brand smiled like he wasn’t the least sorry. He slapped his abs. “Got to keep them tight if you want the ladies to fall to their knees when you walk by.”

  Brant looked at his son. “No self-respecting woman is going to give a second look to a dandy wearing ‘faded salmon’.”

  Brand looked at his dad with renewed in
terest. “You homophobic or something?”

  Brant pulled back. “Feared of queered? No!”

  “I think you are,” Brand challenged with a mischievous gleam.

  “Then you’d be wrong. Now, unless you want to come out over lunch and tell me that you’re wearing pink because you’re a gay boy then let’s change the subject.”

  Brandon laughed. “Whatever you say.”

  “You were making noises that you feel disrespected by the club.”

  “That is not the way I’d characterize what I said.”

  “You want to restate?” Brand thought about how else to put it, concluded that his dad’s synopsis was more or less dead on, and shook his head. “So what do you want to do about it?”

  “They’re not going to accept me unless I participate in club revenue.”

  Brant smirked. “You want to make a donation to the treasury?”

  “To use your phrase, don’t be ridiculous. That would be more likely to cost me respect.”

  “Agree.”

  “Maybe I could work for the club. I don’t have a lot of free time, but I can make some.”

  Brant took a swig from a cold long neck.

  “Oddly enough, you and I are on the same track. I’ve got a job that no one wants to do. If you’d volunteer, it would go a long way towards making inroads. Maybe even waive prospecting.”

  “Waive prospecting? You can do that?”

  “I can’t do it on my own, but I can put it to a vote. I’m thinking most of the boys would trade a little principle to get out of this one.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  “Security detail.”

  “Are you worried that I can’t process more than two words at once?”

  Brant cocked his head to the side.

  “If you want to be in the club, you’re going to have to learn some respect for the office of president.”

  “Okay. When I’m in the club, I will.”

  Brant couldn’t help but smile. Brash had always been a hell raiser. He came into the world so intense that he was wearing a little baby scowl between his eyebrows even in his toddler pictures. Brandon, on the other hand, was witty, easygoing, and, well, charming.

  “So again, what’s the job?”

  Before Brant could answer, the food arrived.

  “Always amazes me how fast they can get this shit ready to eat.”

  “Yeah. It’s a miracle,” Brand said. “Now stop dodging the question.”

  “Well, there’s this girl.” Brand sat back in his chair and started shaking his head. “Come on. You haven’t even heard about it.”

  “I’ve heard the words security detail and girl paired with inside knowledge that everybody in the club is running from the job.”

  “Don’t make up your mind without knowing all the facts. You wouldn’t do that in business.”

  Brand knew his dad had a point. Using his dad’s linguistic style, he said, “Alright. Lay it out.”

  “This girl comes from money. Like your mom. And you. She’s from Boston. Anyway she got herself into a marriage with a bad guy and now her father’s afraid for her life. The divorce is proceeding, but her dad wants to make sure she lives until the gavel comes down. I guess the ex is after her money and they have reason to believe he’ll kill her if he can.”

  “Jesus.”

  “’Bout sums it up.”

  “How old is she?”

  Brant searched his memory. “Twenty-four?”

  “Wow, Father Time. Have you met the twenty-first century? If she’s twenty-four she’s a woman. Not a girl. And don’t try to tell me that political correctness hasn’t paid a visit to Austin. There are females all over the UT campus that would make Gloria Steinem look like Phyllis Schlafly.”

  “After what I just told you, what you want to focus on is whether or not I used the word woman or girl? It’s too late to act out your teenage years.”

  Brandon picked up a flauta with his big hand and shoved half of it in his mouth.

  “So you want me to go to Boston and follow her around?”

  “No. I want you to transport her from New York to the compound. Here.”

  Brand narrowed his eyes at his dad.

  “How dangerous is this? Really?”

  “Fair to middlin’. I wouldn’t be bringing it up if it weren’t for the fact that I know you’ve spent the last year nosing all around our security company and going over the minutia of the way the veteran special forces’ members handle jobs. I’ve seen the bruises you wear from all that martial arts training. And unless you’ve got a girlfriend who’s beating on you, you work at it pretty steady. I know you’re good with firearms because I’ve seen you at target play with your brother. Even when you’re drunk, you hit your bullseyes. Last, you’re smart.”

  That one made Brandon grin around a bite of enchilada. Brant ignored him and kept talking.

  “So there are three things I’m looking at. First, you may be the most qualified guy we have. If I didn’t think you could do it and get home safely, I wouldn’t suggest it.” Brandon was just about to say thank you when his dad added, “Your mother would string me up by the balls and then strangle me with my own entrails if anything happened to you.”

  “Nice image.”

  “Second, there’s the respect thing. Doing that job would go a long way toward getting the respect you deserve from the crew. It’s a big chunk of cash for the club and nobody wants the job. Third, like I said, this is important enough that I think we could get you a patch if that’s what you want. You don’t have to worry about working for the club. You already work for the club. By my reckoning, you made us $337,000 last year by consulting about the businesses.

  “You found things we were doing wrong. Found things that could be better. Shut us down when we didn’t have a prayer of going anywhere. Expanded when money was being left on the table.”

  “I’m kind of impressed that you pinpointed my contribution like that. I didn’t know you’re a data guy.”

  “Well. I am.”

  Brand took a swig of hard lemonade. “Did you already say yes to the job?”

  Brant shrugged a big shoulder. “Too much green to turn away even if I need to do it myself. Arnold said the dad could have taken out a contract for what he’s paying us. And he’s right. It’s a chunk of change.”

  When Arnold had blurted that out in the meeting, he’d gotten several awkward minutes of silent stares from around the club table. They were bikers, but they weren’t killers. Even back in the days when they operated outside the law, they hadn’t been killers. At present they were businessmen who happened to like bikes and hold a certain disdain for authority and rules of all kinds.

  “What’s involved? Pick her up and fly her here?”

  Brant laughed and shook his head. “If that was all there was to it, guys wouldn’t be ducking around corners avoiding me. The man has hired the club to execute the disappearance of his daughter and keep her in the wind until after the divorce is final.”

  “Why does she need to disappear until after the divorce is finalized?”

  “The soon-to-be ex-husband is dangerous and greedy. The girl’s father thinks he may try to have her killed before the divorce goes through. He suspects this man of devising some clever means that would give him an airtight alibi while also making him eligible to inherit her trust fund.”

  “Who is it?”

  “The client?”

  “Yes.”

  “Severn Carmichael.” Brand’s eyebrows went up and he whistled. “I suspected you’d know who he is.”

  “Our enterprises have touched circuits now and then.”

  “He know who you are?”

  “He probably knows who I am, just like I know who he is, but we’ve never met.”

  Brant seemed satisfied with that. “What do you think?”

  “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. I need to pick her up somewhere in New York, bring her to you, and make sure she’s not seen or followed on the
way.”

  “In a nutshell.”

  “What aren’t you telling me? Why isn’t it safer to shelter in place wherever she is?”

  “He’s scared. Really scared. Thinks this guy can get through any defense he can mount.”

  Brandon nodded thoughtfully. “When did you tell him we’d get her?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  “Day after tomorrow? Forty-eight hours to come up with a plan and make arrangements to be away from the office?”

  “Security will work with you on a plan. Taking time off work? Come on. You’re the boss, aren’t you? You want the job or not? If you do, I’ll call a meeting and get a vote on patching you.”

  Brandon hadn’t realized how badly he wanted that until it was offered. He’d thought it was something that would never be within his grasp, but suddenly there it was. He didn’t really have a choice. Once in a lifetime offer to get the only thing he wanted that he didn’t already have?

  Hell, yes.

  “Hell, yes.”

  Brant smiled as they stood up. He slapped Brandon on the shoulder and it made Brand’s heart ache for the years he’d missed not having his father in his life.

  “I’ll call you later with the verdict,” Brant said.

  They mounted their rides and ignited the engines. The noise made all the patrons of Chuy’s turn and look. The men wished they were on those bikes. The women wished they were sitting behind the men on those bikes.

  Brant turned west on Bee Caves. Brandon saluted as he turned east.

  Brandon got a text at ten o’clock. He sat on the side of the bed and read it.

  Brant: You’re in. Be here tomorrow at eleven to go over the plan.

  Brand: Okay. I want to talk to the old man. Find out everything he knows.

  Brant: It’s your call. Do not tell your mother about this.

  Brand laughed and set the phone down on the bedside table. He looked behind him at the woman sprawled on his bed wearing nothing but red thigh-highs. He slapped her derriere hard enough to make her jerk awake.