Authors: River Savage
Tags: #MC Romance, #Biker Romance, #MC, #Alpha Male, #Romance, #Motorcycle Romance
Incandescent is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
First eBook edition: August 2014
Edited by Becky Johnson,
Hot Tree Editing
Cover design © Louisa Maggio at
Formatting by Max Henry at
he rumble of a motorcycle wakes me from my sleep, stirring the once peaceful night. Reaching out to Zane, my hand finds the coolness of the empty sheets.
“Zane?” I whisper into the darkness. Looking toward the red light of his alarm clock illuminating the otherwise pitch-black room, the clock numbers blink incessantly.
A shiver of alarm runs through me as though ice just replaced my spine. My heart beats double time, the rhythm now matching the rapid blinking of the clock. Something doesn’t feel right.
Grabbing my robe from the end of the bed, I wrap it around myself and creep out of the bedroom in search of my fiancé.
“Zane,” I whisper again as I walk down the long darkened hall.
The burning stench hits me first, its strength potent enough to overpower my taste buds. A wave of heat blankets me as it takes a moment to register the dangerous flames dancing before my eyes. The front of my four-bedroom home burns rapidly, engulfing everything in sight.
I stand fixed, mesmerized by the bright orange cinder, as if the seductive blaze calls to me.
The house shudders; the explosion knocks me off balance, forcing me down to the shaky ground. Dazed, I drop to my hands and begin to crawl my way to the back door, the hallway now swallowed by the blackened smoke. The open flames lick out as I force myself to the only available exit.
Reaching the door, my fingers close around the brass handle. The metal singes my skin but doesn’t stop me in my escape. Panic stirs when the handle doesn’t turn. Frantically, I pull harder, wrestling with the lock.
Inky darkness fogs my view as I struggle to fill my lungs. My breathing labors, my fight slowing.
I don’t want to die.
Three years later.
itting at my desk, I hold in my frustration. This meeting is not how I wanted to end my workday. I look across at the angry brown eyes of one very upset father. Mr. Hill leans forward, just as irritated at the wait.
His son, Tommy, sits by his side, the black eye he earned in class today is almost swollen shut.
Zayden Knight sits on the opposite side of the room waiting quietly for his mother to arrive. His dark, overgrown hair hangs over his forehead, covering one eye. Zayden is the last person I’d expect to deliver the punch. If I hadn’t had seen him with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.
I requested both parents meet me at three; it’s now quarter past the hour. The classroom clock ticks over, another minute that she’s late. Mr. Hill clears his throat and I look up, about to apologize again for the delay, when the door pushes open.
My eyes do a quick sweep of the tall man as he walks forward, but the sound of his motorcycle boots squeaking on the vinyl floor draws my attention. The fact that a man just walked into my classroom unannounced doesn’t register to me; instead, the leather riding boots hold me captive, sending me back to the night that I don’t ever want to relive. I force my eyes up, the leather of his cut pushing me deeper into the memory, and for a split second, I think he’s someone else.
Anger slowly creeps its way up my spine. My eyes frantically sweep his chest; the patch sewn on the left side of his vest comes into view reading Knights Rebels MC. Exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I will my erratic heart to calm.
It’s not them.
Everyone in Rushford knows who the Knights Rebels are. Years ago, our small town feared them; known to run on the wrong side of the law, people kept their distance. The Rebels ran this town the way they saw fit. Guns, drugs and women, they went above and beyond the law. I’m not sure what happened, but a few years back, they started cleaning their act up and they now hold the respect of most of the town. Charity runs keep them active in the community; their crazy parties keep them popular with the women, but most importantly, keeping the drugs out of town earns them that respect.
I keep my distance. Associating with them is something I’ve never done, even if they have cleaned up their act. After what happened with Zane, my asshole ex, I avoid people like them. I know all too well what they’re capable of, the reminder branded on my skin.
Pulling my thoughts from the past, I look up at the man who just barged into my classroom.
“Hello, can I help you?” I address him, standing from my chair and walking around the front of the desk. He ignores me and goes straight to where Zayden sits.
“Hey, buddy, how you doin’?” he squats down to Zayden’s level.
“Hey, Dad.” Zayden carefully looks up, a glum expression on his face. He lowers his head, and I wonder how much trouble he will find himself in tonight.
I had no idea Zayden’s dad was a part of the MC. The name Knight clicks in my head and it all falls into place.
Shit, he’s not just part of the MC. His family
The man eventually looks up at me, finally giving me his attention. His watchful gaze follows the length of me before he stands to full height. His dark hair is a sexy mess, as if he just ran his hand through it. The five o’clock shadow over his tense jaw shows signs of graying; not in an old man kind of way, but that of a sexy, hot, older guy. His piercing green eyes, the color of jade, make me look twice.
Smiling at me, the man takes a large step toward me, his presence overpowering at the sheer height of him. I falter, a little shaky on my heels and look up at him. I feel short on the best of days, wearing heels to keep my head above most people’s chins, but standing in front of him with his at least six-foot frame towering over me, I feel like a small child again. Extending my hand toward him, he takes it in his as I greet him. “Hello, I’m Miss Turner, Zayden’s teacher. I was expecting Mrs. Knight,” I rush out like a fumbling schoolgirl.
Oh, my God, kill me now.
He stares down at me, his green eyes never leaving mine nor saying anything; his large calloused hand still firmly grips mine.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he finally responds, breaking our weird moment. “Z’s mom only just called me about the meeting; she's been held up.” He clears his throat, like it’s a lie, but continues, “I came when I got the call.”
He finally releases his awkward hold on me and takes a step back. With the loss of his grip, I have to move my hand to the front of my desk to support my unease. For some reason, other than stupidity, I have no idea what he said so I just nod my head. He grins, noticing my reaction, and I smile back, lost in his.
Jesus, Kadence, get it together, you’ve met good-looking men before.
I take a deep breath, shaking off the stupid look I’m sure I’m wearing. I’m surprised and appalled by my attraction. I’ve never reacted to someone like this before.
“Well, in that case, let’s get started shall we?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t give away his effect on me.
Yeah, ‘cause the stupid grin you just had on your face didn’t?
Walking back around my desk, I take a large breath, hoping it calms my beating heart before sitting. I watch as he folds himself into the small grade-school chair, and I hold back a smile at how ridiculous he looks. I address Zayden’s dad first, not certain if his wife relayed what I told her over the phone.
“I’m not sure what your wife has told you, Mr. Knight.”
“Ex-wife,” he interrupts me, his tone telling me that I need to remember that.
“Right, okay,” I continue, ignoring the pleasure I get from hearing he isn’t married.
“Well, as I was telling your ex-wife, Zayden was involved in an altercation with another student today,” I tell him, looking over at Mr. Hill and his son. “Ending with Tommy’s black eye.”
“This true, Z?” Hot biker dad turns, looking at his son.
In my head, hot biker shouldn’t be in my vocabulary, but with his long legs outstretched in front of my desk, the sexy-as-sin riding boots crossed over at the ankle, and the way I hear the leather move when he turns to look at Z, I can’t help call him anything but.
“Yeah, Dad,” Zayden replies, his eyes lowered.
“Your son is a menace just like your club, Knight, and I won’t allow him to bully my kid in class. I want something done about it!” Mr. Hill yells, standing from his seat.
I’m not surprised by Mr. Hill’s outburst; he’s been sitting on the edge of his seat, ready to chew someone’s head off for the last twenty minutes. Yeah, I value my time too, but that’s not Mr. Knight’s fault; he came when he found out. I don’t know why I’m siding with him. I should be more concerned for Mr. Hill’s wellbeing when Mr. Knight stands from his own seat and takes a rather large step toward him.
“Excuse me, I was talkin’ to my boy. I'll address you when he explains to me why he saw fit to put his hands on your son,” Mr. Knight pushes out with gritted teeth. Fuck, he even speaks sexy biker.
What the hell is sexy biker? Get it together, Kadence.
Sensing the situation could get out of hand, I stand. “Mr. Knight, Mr. Hill, please sit down,” I demand, hoping the slight tremor I feel doesn’t show.
Mr. Hill sits first, obviously realizing he is in over his head with the fuming badass.
“You wanna give me a moment to talk with my boy?” Mr. Knight asks, looking over at me. I don’t know why I do it, but I nod my head and sit back in my chair. I watch him spare one more look at Mr. Hill, a silent warning to keep his mouth shut.
Jesus, how can he be the one in control right now?
“Now, you wanna tell me why you put your hands on someone, Z?” He squats down in front of his son’s chair, arms stretched out to keep him steady, his muscled arms bulging under the strain of their position. I can make out the large Knights Rebels tattoo and I wonder what else he has hidden under his clothes.
“Tommy was pulling Sarah’s hair, told her she was a whore like her mom. I told him to quit it but he started on me. You always said if someone puts their hands on me, I’m allowed to stand up for myself,” he responds quietly, calmly, given that the two hundred-pound man is squatting in front of him, scowling something fierce. I look at Tommy and see his face is ashen at Zayden’s confession.
“Is this true?” Mr. Hill turns to look at Tommy, who sinks further into his chair.
“I was only saying what you told me,” he answers back.
Mr. Hill looks up at me; a small amount of embarrassment fills his cheeks as I raise my eyebrows.
Sarah’s mom works over at Bare Assets, our local strip club in town. I have no problem with the place. Holly, my best friend, likes to drag me along sometimes for ladies' night. It’s a well-respected establishment, and as far as I know, Sarah’s mom works the bar, not a pole.
What an asshole
Awkward silence fills the room as I look between the two fathers. Mr. Hill looks down at his hands while Mr. Knight holds my gaze. His eyes show anger, no doubt at Mr. Hill, but I’m drawn to the intensity of it, like a fond memory pulling me in. I drag my eyes away, needing to break the connection, not prepared to let those feelings back in.
“Okay, well, regardless of the reasons, we still have a policy here that fighting is not allowed. Because both boys engaged in the fighting, they will both be given afterschool detention for five days.”