Rescue Me (Demon Riders MC #1)

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Rescue Me copyright @ 2015 by Evelyn Glass. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

Book 1 of the
Demon Riders MC
trilogy

CHAPTER ONE

Elyse tries to straighten the creases in her shirt out, knowing it’s an impossible task even as she does it. She wishes for the umpteenth time that day that she’d spent last night ironing instead of writing up notes whilst watching
Keeping Up with the Kardashians
with Jen. She still blamed her housemate for getting her into the show.

Be, cool, Powell. Be cool.

She repeats the words to herself as she heads towards JC MacIntyre’s office. Usually she gets her assignments emailed to her and sometimes she even gets the occasional phone call from one of the sub-editors. But this was the first time she’d actually been called into the Editor’s office. Even though it was just the local paper, it was still enough to make her palms sweat and the butterflies start fluttering around in her stomach.

“How’s your momma, Elyse?” Janine gives Elyse a warm smile. MacIntyre’s secretary, a matronly woman in her late 50s, still hasn’t lost the southern lilt to her accent despite living in Portland long enough to have taught Elyse’s mom Home Economics.

“She’s good, thanks. Still working too hard but you know how that goes.” Elyse returns Janine’s smile, glad to be distracted from her nervousness at being called into the big man’s office.

Janine’s eyes crinkle in amusement as she takes in Elyse’s trepidation. “You’re in luck; he’s in a good mood – he hasn’t thrown anything today yet.” She winks conspiratorially and waves Elyse to follow her as she stands up and opens her boss’s door without knocking.

Elyse only knows MacIntyre by his reputation. He’d been the Editor of the
Portland Gazette
for almost as long as Elyse had been alive. She’d often wondered why he hadn’t left the small paper and gone on to a national, but it wasn’t the kind of question you asked MacIntyre. He had a quick temper and a habit of throwing his stationary around his office when he got mad. She had no plans to be playing ‘avoid the flying stapler.’

Elyse’s mom had said she was brave. Even as a little kid, she’d always been confident in her own abilities, in herself. But there was something about being called into MacIntyre’s office that made her forget all of that. It made her feel like a little kid being summoned to the principal’s office. When she got the call that morning, she’d been about to ask Janine if MacIntyre was going to fire her. But she’d caught herself before the question had come out. She knew she wrote good copy and she was cheaper than a lot of the other freelancers as she’d virtually only just left college. She knew MacIntyre was getting a good deal out of her. So if it weren’t to fire here, there was only one other reason why he would ask her to come in. He had a story for her, a real story.

That’s what had her stomach tied up in knots. Elyse had spent the last six months writing puff pieces for the paper, covering local fairs and interviewing owners of lost dogs. Much as it was nice to see her name in print, even on page seventeen, she knew these weren’t the kind of articles that were going to get her noticed. She needed a story that was going to get attention, something sexy, something exciting, and she had a feeling that whatever MacIntyre wanted to see her about, it could be just what she was looking for.

“Coffee?” Janine looks at Elyse expectantly as if she had asked the question more than once and Elyse realizes that her mind had wandered as soon as she’d crossed the threshold.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Elyse knows if she has another coffee today, she’s likely to leave the place buzzing and if this is going to be her big break, she needs to concentrate.

“You never offer me coffee.” MacIntyre grumbles from his position by the window. He hasn’t turned around since they’d walked in.

“That’s because your blood pressure is through the roof and I don’t plan on putting you in the hospital. How about a nice herbal tea?” She plants her hands on her wide hips and gives MacIntyre a look as he mutters an expletive about exactly what she can do with her herbal tea. “Behave yourself, JC. Don’t make me bring out the swear jar again. You still owe me from last time.”

She winks again at Elyse who still stands uncertainly by the door, wondering if MacIntyre is ever going to acknowledge her presence. When the door clicks shut behind her, she gives herself ten seconds to call on her infamous confidence, the confidence that had got her the Editing position at her college paper. She approaches MacIntyre, coughing politely to alert him to her presence.

“Mr. MacIntyre, I’m Elyse Powell. Pleased to meet you.” She sticks her hand out, before she can stop herself. He makes no move to take it or even to turn around.

“I know who you are, Powell. I’m the one who set up this meeting.” His voice tells her that he couldn’t be any less interested in her. “Take a seat. You’re hovering.”

Elyse frowns, biting back a response she knows wouldn’t do her any favors. She had a habit of reacting before she had fully engaged her brain. It was something her karate sensei was still working on with her. She tries to imagine what Brett would do in her position and does her best to emulate him. She waits, refusing to let the awkward silence unnerve her.

She takes in the office that looks notably smaller than it does from the outside. There is a picture of MacIntyre with an attractive woman who must be his wife. The picture looks like it was taken a good few years ago when MacIntyre was about fifty pounds lighter with noticeably fewer grey hairs. He was actually smiling in the photo, an expression that is notably absent from his face when he finally turns around from the window to face her. He doesn’t take his seat behind the desk, instead he remains standing, crossing his arms as he takes in her appearance.

Elyse recognizes this as the power play that it is. He’s forcing her to look up at him from her seat, and in his position in front of the window with the winter sunshine streaming in from behind him, he looks bigger than he actually is. She keeps her expression neutral, reminding herself that MacIntyre is just trying to freak her out. She doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’s doing a bang up job.

“How long have you been with us now, Powell?” His voice is gruff and aggressive as he finally breaks the silence that had been stretching out between them.

“Six months, Sir, since graduation.” Elyse keeps her responses short, to the point, sensing that MacIntyre isn’t a man that appreciates mindless chatter.

“Graduation, huh, that’s why you look so young. I need to have a talk with HR if we’re recruiting right out of high school now.” MacIntyre shakes his head dismissively, purposefully misunderstanding her.

“College graduation, Sir. I’m twenty-two and I have a degree in English Literature with a minor in Journalism. I graduated top of my class.” Elyse repeats the details that she has a feeling MacIntyre already knows. She doesn’t believe for one second that a control freak like him would allow anyone, even a lowly freelancer, to work for him without knowing exactly who they are and where they came from.

“Top of your class? Is that supposed to impress me?” He raises an eyebrow at her, making it clear how little it evidently does.

“It’s just a statement of fact, Sir.” Elyse shrugs her shoulders, as if to demonstrate that there’s no hidden agenda.

MacIntyre loosens his already loose tie and rubs a hand over his tired, stubbly face. Elyse takes in his crumpled suit and the couch with cushions strategically placed as pillows and wonders when the last time was that he had been home to the smiling woman in the picture. The half empty bottle of whisky on the coffee table catches the light from the window and Elyse can’t help but question if his home life – or lack of one – is the reason he has a tendency to throw staplers at people’s heads.

“Something you want to ask me, Powell?” MacIntyre’s voice breaks her off from her musings and she curses herself for getting distracted again. She was a details person, observant, could take in a scene and paint a picture with her imagination. It was a habit that made her a good reporter and eventually, hopefully, a good writer. But she’d already learned that some people didn’t like the way she was able to read their situations, situations they would much rather keep hidden from view.

She quells her first instinct, which is to satisfy her curiosity as to why MacIntyre still wears a wedding ring and keeps his wife’s photo on his desk, when evidence would suggest that his marriage is all but over. Instead she focuses on the reason that she’s here at all. “Actually, I figured that you had something to ask me. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Her tone is even but there’s no mistaking the challenge in her voice. She has no intention of letting MacIntyre bully her. She knew that men, particularly older men, didn’t much appreciate her youth or the fact that she didn’t have a penis, when it came to working with her. It is still very much a man’s world, especially in the old boy’s club of reporting, but she has no intention of letting it get to her. It was one of the reasons that she and Jen were so close. Despite all the clashes in their personalities, they both saw eye to eye on one thing: they wanted to make a difference in the world, Jen by becoming a lawyer and fighting the good fight and Elyse with her writing, and they weren’t going to let anyone stop them.

MacIntyre raises his eyebrow again, but Elyse catches a look that tells her he’s impressed rather than irritated by the fact that she won’t allow herself to be baited.

“Don’t get cute with me, Powell, or I’ll have you off this paper so fast your head will spin.” His tone signals he’s not kidding, not even a little bit.

Elyse doesn’t respond, knowing anything she happened to say would probably only piss him off more, so she keeps her mouth shut, no matter how hard it is for her. If she wants this story, she needs to be compliant, a word she’s only recently introduced into her vocabulary.

Her silence seems to go some way to mollifying MacIntyre. “The only reason I’m giving you this story is because my staff writers are all tied up with big stories of their own.”

Elyse doesn’t add that he’s also massively understaffed after the last wave of redundancies had hit the paper. It was one of the reasons she’d managed to get a freelancing reporting job so quickly; MacIntyre was desperate to keep his paper open. Print was a dying art; she knew that, which is why she spent so much time on her blog, a blog that was getting more followers. She was even making some money, not a lot but some. But that didn’t mean that she was ready for print to die. The digital word has a lot going for it, but some of Elyse’s best memories are of curling up on the couch with her mom on a wintry Sunday morning reading the paper. It was how she learned new words that she’d then try to use in casual conversation with other eighth graders only to find they had no idea what she was talking about.

“You heard of the Demon Riders?” MacIntyre seems to be all out of preamble now. He’s either fed up with trying to make Elyse feel small or he has other things on his plate that he wants to clear. Elyse has a feeling that it’s probably a little of both.

CHAPTER TWO

“The Motorcycle Club?” Elyse sits up a little straighter in her chair when MacIntyre nods. “Sure, the Demons are a 1% Motorcycle Club. I’ve heard they have a hand in a lot of illegal activity in Portland, hell all over the state.” Excitement has crept into her voice and she knows, without the aid of a mirror, that her eyes are sparkling with possibilities.

MacIntyre nods, seemingly surprised that she’s not as clueless as he probably thinks she is. “More than just the state. These guys are national. They specialize in dealing illegal weapons, manufacturing drugs, and providing protection. They’ve been under surveillance from the Feds, the ATF, you name it for years now, but they’re careful. They don’t let themselves get caught out and they’re loyal. You won’t find anyone who would betray the club. It’s that loyalty that makes it impossible to get anyone to testify against them.”

Elyse feels herself getting more excited as MacIntyre talks, knowing this really could be the break she’s been waiting for. But he hasn’t finished yet. “These guys have a lot of Portland PD in their pockets. Our boys in blue leave them alone so long as they keep violence contained between the criminal elements and don’t get innocent people involved. So the cops aren’t exactly inclined to bust them.”

Elyse leans forward eagerly, impatient now to learn what part she’s to play in all of this. “So what am I writing about?”

MacIntyre shakes his head at her eagerness. “You heard what I said, right? About these guys being dangerous outlaws?”

Elyse nods quickly. “I can handle myself.” She tries not to be bothered by the condescending chuckle that MacIntyre makes no move to stop from coming out of his lips. He isn’t to know that she’s been doing karate pretty much since she could walk thanks to her overprotective mother. She’d been state champion more times than she could count. She knew how to look after herself.

“The Feds haven’t been able to infiltrate these guys. They’re not exactly trusting of outsiders and they can smell a rat within about a hundred feet. But a girl, a young pretty girl, that’s someone who might slip through under the radar.” MacIntyre looks her over, as if he’s assessing her and Elyse sits up a little straighter a prickle of irritation eating at her.

“You’re pimping me out to the Demons?” She manages to keep her voice calm and collected despite the anger that’s bubbling just beneath the surface. She’d always worked hard not to be treated any differently from the guys, at school, at college, at her dojo, and now MacIntyre had chosen her for a story precisely because she isn’t a guy.

“Jesus, I’m not a monster, Powell!” MacIntyre lifts a paperweight from his desk and Elyse flinches involuntarily at the thought of him letting it fly. “All I’m saying is that men are likely to keep a pretty girl around, let her overhear things that my guys would never get a sniff of. You get me?”

Elyse feels her ire cool. She knows MacIntyre’s right. Men had a tendency to let their guard down around her.

“I’ve read some of your stuff. It’s good. A little Pollyanna, but good.” He doesn’t look directly at her as he pays her the compliment as if that will make the admission easier for him.

“Pollyanna?” Elyse frowns, confused by the reference.

“Jesus, you’re too young for that, aren’t you? Make me feel old, why don’t you?” MacIntyre collapses into his squeaky chair behind his desk as he continues to play with the glass paperweight, tossing it between his hands. “You have a tendency to make things a little rosy, a little too clean. This piece is going to need a different treatment. It’s an exposé, a feature ‘Behind the Scenes of the Demons’.” MacIntyre spreads his hands out as if he can already see the headline.

“I thought you figured I was just some high school drop-out.” Elyse raises an eyebrow at him, mimicking his expression.

“Don’t get cocky, Powell.” He levels an accusatory finger at her and Elyse has to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

Instead she asks the question that has been playing on her mind since he mentioned the Demons. “Why me? You have some young female staff writers.” She jerks her head back towards the now reduced pool of writers out on the main floor of the paper.

Macintyre shrugs lazily, but Elyse isn’t fooled. She knows everything this man does is calculated. “I know you’re ambitious, that you want more than just a byline in the back pages of the
Portland Gazette
. This is your chance to prove it. And this paper needs a scoop, a big story, something that will prove to the shareholders we’re not done yet. This could be it. Besides, you’re younger and prettier than all the other girls on staff. I’ll bet there’s not a lot that a man won’t do once you bat your baby blues at him.”

Elyse shifts a little uncomfortably in her seat. Sure, she got her fair share of attention with her long auburn hair and bright blue eyes, but there was still something that didn’t sit right with her knowing that was the reason she’d been chosen.

“Do you want the job or not, Powell? If you don’t there are other ways to get into the Demons that don’t involve you. I’m not really the type to put all my eggs in one basket.” MacIntyre, looks off into the distance, almost like he’s already dismissed her.

“No, I want the job. I’ll do it.” The words are out of her mouth before her brain has a chance to catch up. MacIntyre’s triumphant grin looks more like a grimace and it tells Elyse that she’s played right into his hands. It’s give and take, she tells herself – it’s not just him getting something out of this. “So where do I start?” She reaches for her bag to pull her notepad out but MacIntyre’s bark stops her.

“Where do you start? You’re a reporter. Figure it out. And I want an update on where you are this time next week. If you’re not getting anywhere, I want to know sooner rather than later so I can pull the plug.” He shoots her a warning look.

“A week? You want me to infiltrate one of the most notorious biker gangs in the country in a week? Do you want me to learn how to speak Russian at the same time?” She’s aware that her voice has turned into a squeak but she’s so shocked she can get any words out at all. A week – she’d had longer deadlines for reporting on the story of a lost dog reunited with his doting owner.

“If you can’t do it, Powell, then just say. Like I said, I’ll find someone who can.” He replaces the paperweight on his desk but his hand still hovers over it proprietarily, keeping Elyse on her toes.

“I didn’t say that. I can do it. You’ll have something on your desk next week.”

MacIntyre just nods and motions her out, done with her.

As Elyse wanders out of the office in a daze, absently waving at Janine as she passes her desk, she doesn’t stop to figure out how she’s going to make good on her promise. There’ll be time to worry about that next week. For now, she has a biker gang to infiltrate.