A Leap in the Dark (Assassins of Youth MC Book 2)

OAKLYN

That arrogant, loathsome bastard, leader of the Lost Boys, had the nerve to move to Avalanche. Levon left behind his empire of sleaze to invade the tiny, sleepy town I’d decided to call home. I wanted to get away from smut and abuse and into a fresh, innocent place where nobody knew my name, only to be followed right into my very house by the King of Corruption himself.

I could handle it if he was physically gruesome. But he struts around with his muscles bulging and his cornflower blue eyes sparkling. I’m a nurse, a practical, sensible gal. But when Levon needs my help, I put away my pride and come running. And he’s going to need a lot of help to go up against the dirtbag Avalanche mayor, blackmailing Levon with his shameful past.

LEVON

She’s proud, conceited, and holier-than-thou—everything I hate in a woman. But maybe it’s been too long since I had one, because when she steps up to the plate to help me, I’m doomed. I had to knock her down a few pegs once she knew I wanted her. Joining the Assassins of Youth motorcycle club and giving Oaklyn a few sessions over my knee just seemed to increase her yearning, though.

She’s a sizzling hot tornado of a woman. I need her to fight back against the fucking corrupt politicians in this town we’re trying to transform. I might have come from a sordid, disgraceful background with my group of Lost Boys. But I’m determined to move into the light and the purity that will make this town great.

Publisher’s Note:
This is a full-length, standalone novel with a HEA and no cliffhanger. Possible triggers include male prostitution, mild consensual BDSM, sexual abuse, and crooked municipal blackmail.

Assassins of Youth MC
Book Two

Layla Wolfe

Kindle Edition

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Cover Art by Natasha Snow Designs

Edited by Claudia Heikhaus

Regarding E-book Piracy

This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

About the Book

Title Page

Copyright Page

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

About The Author

More Books from Layla Wolfe

~ Matsu Bashō

OAKLYN

Bountiful, Utah

E
ven as a
seasoned nurse, I was horrified by what I saw at his house.

By the age of thirty, Levon Rockell had amassed a small fortune preying on the innocence of others.

At first, I loathed him.

I’ll tell you why.

He was a Lost Boy, one of those pitiful, heartbreaking teenagers ruthlessly dumped on the side of the road by those Cornucopia wingdings. As a Lost Boy with absolutely no idea of the outside world, he’d fallen on hard times. These Cornucopia parents, at the slightest mention from their whacked Prophet that maybe their boy had been seen wearing a short-sleeved shirt or watching a horror movie, raced to fling these misbegotten boys into their cars. With the assistance of the nearby Avalanche police, these miserable boys, children really, were driven into the desert and literally dumped by the side of the road without so much as a by-your-leave.

Allred Chiles, their demented “Prophet” of the past thirty years, would dismiss them, basically sending them to their deaths, with such heartwarming platitudes as, “I bid thee farewell.” That’s what he said to a sixteen-year-old Levon fifteen years ago when he’d dared to date the daughter of some muckety-muck. “The greatest freedom is obedience. Now you’re an outcast, an apostate, among the damned. An apostate is the darkest person on earth. You are led by your master, Lucifer.”

You’d think they’d fail to believe such nonsense. But these poor Lost Boys are trained since birth to view girls as snakes, as something fearsome and slimy, I suppose. The few boys who dare date daughters of elders are summarily thrown out, because they are surplus trash. Daughters are at a premium and need to be married off to other creepy polygamist elders. They need to be sheltered, savored. Boys are just useless sacks of flesh that need to be taken out with the garbage.

Levon called his house—somewhat tongue in cheek—Liberty Temple, and it was anything but. His luxurious abode in the swanky Stone Ridge section of Bountiful was hidden on a hill by a forest of white-barked quaking aspen. My sister Mahalia led me through an expansive living area to a backyard patio where an infinity pool perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the lush city. Peeking into a side office, I saw bookshelf-lined walls bracketing a very heavy, serious desk. Was this where Levon ran his empire of sleaze? From the beginning, he vexed me with his stubbornness and complexity. There was even a giant fluffy brown dog, an adorable creature with a smiley face who came to welcome us. Who
was
this man?

He was a surplus boy, consigned to hellfire by hypocrites, corrupt and twisted “elders” who only wanted the young girls to fulfill their own craven desires. And Levon was living high on the hog on the degradation of his fellow apostates.

“There he is!” cried Dingo, as though he were seeing Miley Cyrus in person. Dingo was a “prospect” in my sister’s boyfriend’s motorcycle club. A Lost Boy himself, he’d been found by Gideon Fortunati trying to steal food in a local bar like a scavenging mongrel, and he’d taken Dingo under his wing. Dingo had been doing nothing but rave about Levon Rockwell on the drive from my house in Provo to his mansion. Levon was a rock star, at least among his fellow boys.

Dingo waved furiously. “Levon! It’s me, Dingo! You might remember me as Jonah Garff, but this kind lady’s old man renamed me Dingo. It fits, doesn’t it? Long time no see. I was too young to remember when you were excommunicated. But I have heard the legends of your success from many, many mouths.”

I was floored. The shirtless man who raised himself up from the chaise longue and came toward us was utterly animalistic. It sounds corny to say, but he moved like a leopard, all sinew and intent. It may have been my imagination but it seemed he fixed me with his sharp cornflower blue eyes. I was aware his shoulder and arm were inked with some sort of Asian design, but everything other than his face seemed to blur at the outer edges of my vision. I swear, it even seemed that he moved in slow motion, like a TV detective in the opening credits, full of import and vigor. My lips watered to taste his silken, warm skin.

And then he opened his mouth.

He took Mahalia’s hand in his. “I’ve heard about the great work you’ve been doing down in—what’s the little town? Hurricane?”

“Avalanche,” said Mahalia with shining eyes. I could tell she was completely taken in by him, and I was filled with disgust. “Save Our Baby Brides runs interference between the Cornucopia elders and women who wish to leave, or who are already on the run.”

“You’re a baby bride yourself, aren’t you? I don’t remember you.” Boy, he was smooth. Smooth and slick as a sheet of oil.

Mahalia was practically fanning herself with her free hand. “Oh, I just came five years ago. You left Cornucopia fifteen years ago, right?”

He finally let go of her hand. “Right. And as you can see, I’ve built up a name for myself and my men.”

I couldn’t restrain myself any longer. “Yes! Profiting off their degradation.” I would
not
fall for his oily charm! He was as beautiful as a California surfer, and just as deep. I’d seen shallow assholes like him in my nurse’s career. They came in with sports injuries, laughed them off, and were back in the ER the next week. Too dumb to learn.

Dingo dared to shoot me a glare. “He has built an empire and saved many Lost Boys from the streets.”

Levon held up his hands. “It’s all right, Dingo. I don’t expect everyone—or even anyone—to understand. I should know a fellow Lost Boy would commiserate, but to expect outsiders to get it is too much to ask.”

Mahalia said, “We’re just here to examine those of your men who wish to come with us and make a new start down in Avalanche.”

Levon chuckled with derision. He was literally looking down his nose at my sister. “It’s a free country, and I’ve given them your message. I doubt you’ll have a single taker, though. My men are loyal to me because they’re well cared for and have a lifestyle they can’t get anywhere else.”

I butted in. “Yes, because you’ve sold their souls to the devil way worse than the elders who booted you out of Cornucopia!”

Levon folded his arms and faced me squarely. “Miss, I was told I was damned. Why not revel in my damnation? Expecting outsiders to understand is like asking a bird what it’s like to fly. ‘What is flying?’ a bird would answer. He just does it because it’s in his nature, not knowing the sky from the ocean or the fields. You can judge me all you like, if it’ll make you feel superior and smug. But only when you leave your deluded beliefs behind will you see me and my men without smoke, without veils. You wouldn’t torch someone for witchcraft, would you?”

“Of course no—”

“People who did labored under erroneous assumptions. Navigators were panic-stricken, thinking they’d sail over the edge of a flat world. Throwing Japanese nationals into prison camps, even prejudice against homosexuality—these are all outmoded belief frameworks that have crumbled and burned.”

I narrowed my eyes and folded my arms, too. “Running a male brothel is hardly the same thing as some poor nationals herded into camps. You’re saying if only I would change the color lens I’m seeing you through, I’d come to embrace your empire.”

He nodded. Now who was smug? “I’m not saying I’m running the Brady Bunch house here. But I’m saying my team of men is strong, and Liberty Temple gives them a potent sense of identity. You get out of love what you put into it.”

Now he was talking about
love
? How
dare
he? “These men who come here to prey on your
boys
are only interested in one sort of perverted ‘love.’”

“I mean the love we have for each other. We love each other
because
of what we’ve put into this—what it would mean to leave, to go back to the streets. We argue and bitch and sometimes even punch each other’s lights out, but we’re forced to make up because of our connection that rises above any sort of free will or choice. This is how families operate. We love each other because we know we can’t just storm off at any moment.”

“It sounds like my old man’s motorcycle club,” said Mahalia with wonder.

I stamped my foot impatiently. “So you’re saying it’s like a jail? You hold the threat of the streets over their heads to keep them here, to keep skimming a percentage off all their hard work.”

Dingo looked shocked. “Levon works hard, too!” he cried, perhaps not knowing what he was saying.

I snorted. “Yeah. I’ll
bet
he works hard.”

Levon closed his eyes patiently. “The men can leave any time, miss.”