Dreamer: Book 7 of The Steel MC Montana Charter Read online

  Dreamer

  Book Seven of the Steel MC Montana Charter

  Michel Prince

  Wren McCabe

  Edited by

  Leanore Elliot

  Photography by

  Royal Touch Photography

  Copyright © 2020 by Michel Prince

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Books by Michel Prince

  Books by Wren McCabe

  About the Author

  About the Author

  1

  “Damn it.” Meadow Lind scuffed her hand on the table leg as she pulled it into its position.

  Setting up for this art exhibit was just another day in her life. With this part, she was able to escape from the real world and enjoy it. Arts, crafts, and the smell of coffee from a food truck parked near the entrance. Her chance to poke her head out into the world.

  Showing off her art pieces was something she loved doing. Paintings and photographs all framed and ready for purchase with frames she’d crafted herself. Then a few prints, matted perfectly and protected by a plastic sheeting. Though, she’d felt bad about the environmental impact after she’d been chastised by a woman a few months ago. There was no winning in the world it seemed.

  “You okay over there?” her neighbor called over.

  “Yeah, thanks. I just scraped my hand on this table.” Looking down, Meadow noticed the blood on her finger.

  Pulling at her purse string, she recovered it from underneath the table and opened the side pocket. Searching inside for a Band-Aid while trying to avoid staining the satin lining her purse. Her ability to damage herself in one shape or another caused her to keep at least one at the ready. Flighty nature mixed with her ability to be distracted by shiny objects had her tripping over her own feet, cutting herself on innocuous items and more times than not, finding a way to get herself injured on a near daily basis.

  The scrape didn’t hurt it was just annoying to her because she didn’t want to bleed on her finished art work. All the pieces had enough of her soul bleeding into the canvas, no need for the real thing.

  The night before last had been much worse than this little wound. Maybe that’s why her nerves were dulled to the pain. Frequency, numbing her response time like an addict no longer able to get a fix.

  After bandaging up her cut, Meadow finished putting her photos and paintings out. By ten o’clock, she was set up and waiting for the exhibit to open, so she could try to get a few customers and cover her booth fee.

  People watching had always been one of her favorite entertainments, especially when she was able to keep her sketch pad at the ready. Inspiration was a dangerous animal. Distracting her when her booth wasn’t busy, but if she got too into the page before her, Meadow could block out a potential sale. She sat back in her chair and watched as the crowd thickened. Several people had come over to her booth and scanned through her art. A few sales covered her booth fees and even brought the potential she could make rent this month.

  Her boyfriend, Clive, had lost another job, so it was up to her to pay their bills this month alone. Just another added stress to her plate and block the muses flitting around her mind.

  Their fight a few nights ago had been about money. When Clive came home, he told her the company downsized, so they let him go. But she knew better, he must have done something for them to fire him. If not, he had the worst luck when it came outsourcing, downsizing and general threats of bankruptcy. All excuses he’d used for companies who’d doors never shuttered, but no longer employed him.

  Meadow knew better than to accuse him. Her mind was clear enough to put the logical blocks in place and they didn’t line up. Only it had made him mad enough to strike out and hit her.

  A small commotion a few tables down had Meadow focusing on what was happening. Several women wearing leather jackets, dressed as if they rode motorcycles were walking down the board walk.

  They were stunningly beautiful in their own way. Each wore confidence enhancing their beauty along with their clothes told Meadow a story of what each of them did. Walking as if they hadn’t a worry or care in the world. She scanned the area to see if their men were around, having the built in protection of a group of leather clad men. Only, these women didn’t have it. Though they looked out of place with the normal art crowd, but it didn’t seem to matter to them.

  In a way, they looked more comfortable than the normal patchouli scented, flowery skirt, sandal wearing patrons, who in a way were trying too hard to be alive. Reaching out to feel the world, but in fear of being called out for their falseness. Meadow understood the practice a bit too well. Imposter syndrome plagued her at times, then she showed her visions and got a little boost. A belief in the vision she had for herself.

  Digging out her camera, she focused on the ringed fingers of one as she played with a wind chime. Then another whose blonde hair had been braided and fell between her shoulder blades. She was at a perfect angle for a picture that would be stunning in black and white. Possibly, with a metallic printing to make the hard contrast of the leather vest she wore stand out.

  It was then a woman’s hand caught her eye. She’d tucked it into the back pocket over her tattered jeans and had her thumb crooked. Angles, it was all about angles. A quick few shots of the woman’s ass and legs. The tattered cuts, strategic, yet simply stunning. With strings hanging, so only a few slivers of skin showed a bit, driving men wild.

  “Seriously, Dell, I don’t know why you wanted to come to this place. It’s all artsy fartzy stuff,” one of the women spoke to another.

  “We need some artwork in the clubhouse, so come on let’s just look and see if we can find something that helps us decorate other than beer prints the guys like,” the one they called Dell spoke to the others.

  The women walked toward her booth.

  Meadow smiled and meekly tucked her camera away. “Hi ladies.”

  “Were you taking our picture?” Dell asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “Um, not really, but sorta.” Unease bubbled in Meadow’s belly.

  “I’m gonna add flighty to the artsy fartzy comment,” one of the women said.

  “Show me,” Dell demanded.

  The way she said it sent a hard shiver down Meadow’s back. “I can delete them,” she explained, turning on the camera and stepping under the pop up tent she set up to protect her pieces from the New Mexico sun. “I didn’t shoot your faces, I wouldn’t do that without—”

  Dell took the camera from her. “Planning on selling these? Blow them up big, tuck them behind glass?” Dell’s thumb spun the dial to move through the few shots Meadow took.

  Holding her hands together, Meadow tried to muster up the courage she had when people told her she was trespassing or didn’t have rights. The world was her canvas and she hated when people told her
no. “Honestly, I can get rid of them, though no one would know who you—”

  “There’s more to distinguish a woman than her face,” Dell said. “Lord knows certain body parts are known far and wide. Sal’s ass being one of them.”

  “Hey, my ass is far from a global phenomenon,” Sal rebuffed as she glanced behind her and smirked. “Then again.”

  “I’m so sorry, usually I’m just sketching, but the leather and metal demands to be captured on film.”

  “Sal, here’s one I know a few of the men would approve.” Dell chuckled and held the camera up for Sal to glance at the display.

  “Maybe in my kitchen.” Sal nudged Dell who smirked. “You know get the men’s mouths ready for their favorite dish.”

  The women laughed as a few more saw the ass shot and Dell passed the camera back to Meadow without deleting any image. “You’ve got a good eye.”

  “Thanks, sorry about—”

  Dell waved her off and tilted her head to the side as if she were scanning Meadow deeper than the surface.

  “Day out ladies? How are we all doing?” Meadow grasped at the sliver of salesmanship she still possessed.

  “Better than you.” Dell walked around the table toward her.

  “Excuse me?” Meadow wasn’t sure what this woman saw.

  “Makeup doesn’t cover up the emotional stuff.” Dell pointed to her face.

  Meadow rubbed her throat slightly, the pain from the bruises reminded her the makeup she’d used to cover up her face and neck was only a mask. It didn’t heal the damaged flesh. “I’m not sure I understand. Would you all like to look at my art? I took this picture earlier this year in the mountains.” Meadow walked over to the pictures she had framed. “You have a particular subject you’re looking for?”

  “This picture is beautiful. Do you do custom work?” another older woman with the group asked.

  “Yes, on occasion. My name is Meadow by the way.” Meadow reached out to shake the woman’s hand.

  “I’m Roxy. It’s nice to meet you Meadow. So, custom work, we were thinking about having someone come out and take pictures of our town.”

  “That would be something we could talk about. I’d be interested in doing that. New landscapes draw me in. Where do you live?”

  “We live in Bridge Run.” Roxy moved over to her other pictures and started looking at each one.

  “I know where that is. There’s a club that lives there. Are you all a part of that group?” Meadow wasn’t sure she wanted to involve herself into this group. She’d heard a lot of stuff about that MC. Then again, rumor verses fact, truth verses fiction. Any motorcycle club came with baggage. Or maybe she’d just watched Easy Rider one too many times.

  “The Steels, yes, matter of fact we are. Does that change your mind about helping us?” Dell asked. She was a beautiful woman. Her blond hair pulled back into a braid with a bandana wrapped around her head. Assets appreciated by any man straining against the cotton of her tank top.

  “Nope. I take my job very seriously. I can take pictures of anything for a certain fee.” Money was tight and for an extra fee, she could tamp down the fear factor when it came to this group. Hell, the men want ass shots, she’ll shoot asses. Not her favorite subject matter, but cash was cash.

  “We’d pay you what you ask of us. Our men, Steel and Tiny wanted pictures of the entire compound and town taken. Bikes, and stuff, though if we show them Sal’s pic here, we might end up in thongs along the fence line.”

  “Guess it would be better than bare assed,” one of the other women joked. “Then again, you do shoot boudoir?”

  All of the women were eyeing Meadow now.

  She feared her face was becoming as flushed red as her hair. Sal’s ass shot aside, Meadow was a bit conservative when it came to sex. Part of her imposter syndrome she suspected.

  “Would you be interested?” Dell asked. “At least for the landscape shots?”

  “Certainly. I charge three hundred dollars an hour. You keep all the pictures. I can shoot film or digital. Develop them and put them into frames for a fee.” Meadow didn’t think they would want her to take the pictures once they heard her price, but there was an extra risk with this group and she couldn’t ignore it.

  “We’ll talk about it and let you know. Do you have a card?” Roxy asked.

  “Yes, I do.” Meadow pulled out a business card. She turned it over and wrote down her cell number on the back. “You can call me anytime.”

  “Do you have other prints we can look at, or a portfolio?” Roxy asked.

  “Yes, I do at home. Haven’t set up my website yet. I just recently switched to digital. I’m a bit old school.” Writing her address on the card as well, she handed it over to Roxy. “Here you go. My address and phone number. Contact me and we can set up a time for you to come and take a look.”

  “Okay, we will. But for now, I think we’ll look at your art and see if there is anything we can use in our clubhouse.” Roxy walked over to the pictures.

  Dell stood in front of the table and she kept glancing over at Meadow.

  It was apparent she wanted to say something, but Meadow wasn’t sure what. She tried to not feel uncomfortable, but couldn’t help it.

  “Who hit you honey?” Dell finally asked.

  “Nobody. I had an accident a door hit me,” Meadow lied.

  “Was it a revolving door?”

  “Huh?”

  “Seriously, when was the last time a door wrapped around someone’s neck?” Dell replied. “The bruises around your throat don’t look like any door I’ve ever known. Try my scarf was caught in the vacuum.”

  Door, wall, cabinet all go to why is there a welt on your eye? The knee jerk response to where’d did you get that shiner had become automatic.

  “Whoever is hitting you doesn’t deserve you. We can help you if you like. We have our ways.” Dell stood by the table and waited for Meadow to answer her.

  “It really isn’t anything. I’m okay.” Meadow hated when people took notice of her.

  Her phone alerted her to a text. Glancing down she noticed Clive had sent her a message.

  Bitch, you better be home in time to make dinner or else.

  Meadow hated when he sent her texts like this one. He still must be mad about their fight. She ignored the text and walked over to Dell and her group of women. “Can I help you decide if any of these prints or paintings work for you?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, we’ll take these three.” Roxy pointed to three of her pictures of the mountains. Two prints and one painting, three times the price. “The frames are amazing, you get them locally?”

  “I make them.” Meadow’s cheeks heated up.

  “You’re making me think we’re getting a steal,” Roxy said. “All that work. It’s crazy, how you can barely tell the difference between the painting and print. I’m jealous.”

  Bills paid, with a chance for more this month. Meadow breathed a sigh of relief as the women walked away with their purchases.

  Dell glanced back with a bit of a sorrowful look, then continued on her way. How could women who exuded confidence with every step, ever be jealous of Meadow, when all she could think was she’d love to be able to walk into a room with half of what those women possess?

  Christopher ‘Freaky’ Andersen walked into the clubhouse for the Steel MCs after a long day of work. Flipping houses was his job for them and it was hard work. He’d put in ten hours today and it didn’t feel like he got anything done. They were tearing apart a house in town to renovate it and then sell it for a profit. It was his way of contributing to the MC. A way to make money for a few of the guys as they rebuilt Turnabout Creek, Montana.

  Approaching the bar, he saw Topaz was serving, her platinum blonde hair cut short with a cute flash of blue at the front. Wearing a crop top and jeans she was working all she had, considering the Hoez weren’t dancing at the Roadside bar, just the club’s personal one.

  “Can I get a beer?”

  “Certainl
y Freaky. How was your day?” With a twist of her wrist, she handed him a Mich Golden Light and tossed the cap into a bin. The woman had a knack for remembering everyone’s favorite type of beer.

  “Long and hard. Demanding as always.” He took a long pull from the bottle then set it down on the bar.

  Several other members were entering the club house, but everyone was doing their own thing. Bounty and Cream walked in holding hands. Their pup Bailey walking in lock step as if his little butt was on guard duty. The scruffy white puppy with brown spots and a curled tail was finally showing his size, coming almost to Cream’s knee. He was surprised how well Cream was doing nowadays. They were in the process of buying a house in town. She didn’t want to stay at the clubhouse. Not that he blamed her, she was a grown ass woman. The dorm like setting that the men lived in was contusive to fucking, but not a relationship.

  Freaky’s single ass still lived at the clubhouse, but had his own room. Now, his only want was for a shower and a meal. “Topaz what time will dinner be done?”

  “In about an hour. You hungry I can make you something now?”

  “No, I can wait. I’m going to go up and take a shower.” He finished his beer then headed upstairs to his room.

  Stripping his clothes off, he stepped into the hot shower. The scalding hot water massaged tense muscles from the demolition he’d done that afternoon. Scrubbing away the dirt and aches, he blew out a hard breath before turning off the spray and snapping the towel from the top of the curtain bar. He walked naked into his room as he rubbed his body and flop of hair. Having left the Guard a few years ago, he still kept the tight buzz cut on the sides and back, but liked having his hair a bit long on top.