Rock's Redemption(Insurgents MC Romance Book 8)
Chiah Wilder
Description
Rock is the ripped, handsome Sergeant-At-Arms for the Insurgents MC. Being one of the club's officers, women clamor to share his bed. The biker's more than willing to oblige as long as it's a short-time hookup; long-term relationship is not part of his vocabulary.
He's only been in love once-a long time ago-and the end result was shattering. He learned his lesson: keep his heart encased in steel.
The tragic night that sent him to prison is over even though it still simmers inside him. But once he joined the Insurgents MC, he vowed to leave the past darkness and disappointments back in Louisiana. He's embraced his new life of brotherhood, booze, easy women, and Harleys. It suits him just fine. Some things are best left alone, especially a pretty brunette who destroyed his heart.
Easy sex has become his mantra.
Until his past crashes into his life … .
Clotille Boucher is the wealthy, spoiled girl who'd stolen Rock's heart many years ago. From a young age, family loyalty was drilled into her, so when darkness engulfed her and Rock, fleeing seemed to be the only way out for her. Deciding to make a new life for herself, she didn't count on having to pay for the sins of her brother.
Just when her life doesn't seem like it could get worse, a face from her past gives her a glimmer of hope. Shamed that Rock has to see how far she's fallen, she pretends her life is exactly what she wants, but his penetrating stare tells her he's not buying her act.
Fearful that the secrets of the past will catch up with her and Rock, her inclination is to do what she does best-run away. Only problem is, Rock's not letting her slip away so easily this time.
Can two damaged people learn to trust one another again? Will Rock be able to reconcile the demons that have plagued him since that tragic night? Does Clotille offer him redemption or destruction?
As Rock and Clotille maneuver the treacherous waters of their past and present, someone is lurking behind the shadows to make sure the truth never comes out.
The Insurgents MC series are standalone romance novels. This is Rock and Clotille's love story. This book contains violence, sexual assault (not graphic), strong language, and steamy/graphic sexual scenes. It describes the life and actions of an outlaw motorcycle club. If any of these issues offend you, please do not read the book. HEA. No cliffhangers! The book is intended for readers over the age of 18.
Glossary of Cajun Words
A bientôt: See you soon
Arrêtez: Stop, stop it.
Attends: Wait
Ҁa va?: How are you? How are thing going?
Cher: sweetheart, dear. Term of endearment used for a male
Chérie: sweetheart, dear. Term of endearment used for a female
Chouchou: sweetie
Fini: Finished, done
Gris-gris (pronounced gree-gree): curse, hex
Je t'aime: I love you
Je t'aime aussi: I love you too
Maman: Mom
Mawmaw: grandmother
Merci: Thank you
Merde: shit
Mon beau trésor: my beautiful treasure
Mon Dieu: my God
Mon fils: my son
Mon petit chou: sweetheart, my sweetheart
Père: father
Petits: small, small ones, little ones
Petit bonbon: little sweetie, honey
Putain: slut, whore, hooker
Qu'est-ce qui se passe?: What happened?
Très bien: Very good, very well
Vite: Quick, fast
Vite alors: Then go on now, quickly
Voilà: Here you go, here it is
Prologue
Lafayette, Louisiana
1997
The dark-haired boy clutched the money in his hand as he walked through the wealthy part of the city. Earlier that evening, he'd gone to the butcher shop like his mother had told him to do, to buy some ham hocks for her to make for their supper. He hated going to Le Petit Cochon without his mother. When he'd been there, all the old ladies had run their rough hands through his hair and pinched his cheeks, laughing when he'd turned red. If he were with his mother, she would have told them to stop. They would've laughed and called her silly, but they would've backed away from him.
That evening his mother had sent him to the butcher alone because she'd taken on an extra job helping Mrs. Boucher with her dinner party. She worked as one of the housekeepers for the Boucher family and sometimes they'd ask if she could help serve when they had guests over. His mother always said yes because the need for money was so great. The eleven-year-old boy wished his mother didn't have to work so hard; she'd looked so tired when he'd gone over to get the money to pay the butcher.
The butcher, Mr. Despres, could be a mean sonofabitch. He'd told the boy-in a loud voice so everyone in the shop could hear-that he couldn't extend any more credit to his family. If the boy's mother wanted the ham hocks, she'd have to pay what she owed. All the people in the shop had stared at him, a few sniggering, and he'd wished the floor would've opened up and swallowed him up. Anything would've been better than the looks of amusement and pity the patrons had thrown at him. He'd walked backward out of the shop, nodding numbly. Once the sticky air hit his face, he took off running to Greenbriar Estates, where his mother was serving the elite on china plates that cost more than his family earned in one month.
"Roche," his mother said to him, surprise registering in her hazel eyes. "Has something happened to your father?"
A thread of anger slipped up his spine. She was always thinking about his father, even though he was drunk most of the time; beat her, him, and his brother regularly; and ran around with every putain on Louisiana Avenue and Johnston Street. Roche couldn't believe how his mother made excuses for his father all the time. She was such a loving and patient person, and if it hadn't been for her, Roche would have run away by now. He was scared to death to leave his mother with the monster who pretended to be his father.
The only respite the family had from his father's anger, his hard fists punching into walls and soft bodies, and his string of crippling verbal assaults was when he went to the bayou to the wooden shack on land that had been in his mother's family for more than seven generations. The monster would spend up to ten days fishing and hunting before he came back with some money in his pockets. Instead of paying the outstanding bills or buying his mother a much-needed new dress, he'd spend the weekend at the Three Kings Tavern, drinking it away and buying cheap perfume for his women.
And his mother always forgave him. It tore at Roche's heart to see her eyes puffy from crying all night, but in the morning she always had a large smile on her face as she doted on her children and husband. Roche wanted to scream and tell his father he didn't deserve a lady like his mom, but he knew his outburst would garner him a severe beating so he sat in silence, anger and hate churning in his stomach.
"Mr. Despres won't let me buy the ham hocks unless you pay the bill. He said it's been too long."
His mother's face softened and she ran her chapped finger over his cheek. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, petit bonbon. Here, take this money and tell him that's all I have. And he better wrap up those ham hocks. He knows I pay." She slipped her hand into a pocket of her worn dress, stuffing the bills in Roche's small hand.
"It smells good in here," the boy said, his stomach growling.
"The cook is wonderful." She watched him while she moved the hair out of his eyes. "Didn't you eat your lunch today?"
He nodded, cursing his stomach for making so much noise. How could he tell her the two bullies who picked on him stole his lunch? She had enough problems. Anyway, he didn't need his mother to fight his battles. He was learning how to fight from Guy, a teen neighbor, who lived behind their house. Soon he'd show the bullies they couldn't mess with him.
"Voilà." His mother shoved a piece of French bread with a slice of roast beef nestled between in his hands, then a piece of chocolate wrapped in shiny green foil. He buried it in his pocket for later. She looked over her shoulder. "Alors, vite! I have to work. I should be home in a few hours."
Roche hugged his mom, took a big bite of his sandwich, and scampered outside.
The mansions loomed all around him as squares of light from their windows lit up the dark, quiet streets. Deciding to take a shortcut to the main street, he crossed the road and entered a park. Finishing his sandwich, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He'd never tasted meat so tender-just like butter. He moved steadily, passing a large willow tree swaying in the late July breeze. As he went by a cluster of bushes he heard something crying. Is an animal hurt? He couldn't be sure.
He walked nearer to the bushes and the small sobs became louder. As he rummaged through them, the crying stopped. He froze, the only sound his own breathing. Ready to turn around and continue on his trek home, the crying started up again. He forged ahead, separating the bushes and sliding between them until he was in a small space surrounded by foliage. A girl of about ten years old sat on the ground, her hands wrapped around her knees that were bent close to her chest. Her big green eyes shimmered in the moonlight. Roche sucked in his breath; he'd never seen eyes like that before. They reminded him of a panther's-the ones he'd seen in books at school, anyway.