Bear Outlaws: Paranormal Biker Reverse Harem Romance
© Copyright 2020 by Lilly Wilder All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
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Bear Outlaws
By: Lilly Wilder
Table of Contents
Foreword
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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
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Come Stalk Me!
Foreword
As a nurse and single mom, I've got no time for love. There's something sexy about Frank Saunders, but he's my patient, a criminal biker, and a bear shifter. It's bad enough that I can't stop my fantasies, but his brothers are also on my mind. Why am I drawn to triplets that have torn this town apart? During the day I treat victims of their violent escapades, but at night I can't stop my desire. A flattering mating proposal, a promise of protection, triplet hotties to fulfill my every fantasy, I'm certainly headed for heartbreak. Didn't I swear off destructive bad boys forever? I should have the strength and sense to resist temptation. Especially with my obsessive ex-husband lurking in the shadows. Now I have to choose between the safe and familiar, and the intoxicating adventure that awaits. Even if it means confronting my past once and for all.
Bear Outlaws
Chapter 1
Jennifer
I have become one of those mothers. The mother I swore I would never be. Hair perpetually unwashed. Stained clothes. Mismatched socks. No makeup. It only took three years. Well, three years and a toxic man. And now I was living a life unrecognizable to the girl I used to be. I raised the soft leather I was clutching between my fingers to my face and inhaled deeply. Stale smoke and aged bourbon clung to the fabric that used to hug my curves every weekend, filling my nose with the scent of my old existence. I remember a lifetime ago, bar hopping, endless parties, haze-filled dances and thrill fests that I called my twenties. Boy how things have changed. Now I lived in loose scrubs or pajamas.
Would they even still fit? I stepped out of my sweatpants and kicked them aside. What other treasures from my past were hidden in the back of my closet? The last time we moved I didn’t even bother to unpack the boxes. Whatever was inside was a mystery.
My leg slid into the first pant leg easily enough. Feeling the caress of the well-worn leather flooded my brain with memories. Dimly lit bars and the sting of strong liquor burning my throat. Sweaty bodies pressed against me. Tim’s fingers tugging at the front buttons. The look in his eyes when he slowly peeled them off to reveal black lace. I exhaled and gripped the waistband. With a grunt, I wiggled and shimmied the pants as far up as I could. They stopped halfway up my hips. Those days were long gone. I looked in the mirror. Although my hips had expanded beyond the capacity of my pants, my body was still an hourglass shape. It was simply carrying around a bit more sand in my hourglass these days. Welcome to motherhood. Now, if anyone peeled my sweatpants off, there would be nothing for them to find other than the massive bush I was sporting. Single motherhood had done little for my beauty routine. Self-care my ass. Shaving my calves was a treat I reserved only for summer months. It didn’t matter how hairy you were when you were simply a milk machine.
"No pants!" Camille yanked her pajama bottoms halfway down her chubby legs and squealed with delight. Her blonde curls bounced as she explored the floral fabric with her fingers. I was jealous of how fully engrossed my kids could get in simple experiences. The only thing I was that excited for these days was going to sleep. Or perhaps if I could somehow get alone time. Simply the thought of five minutes alone made my nipples hard.
In my fight against insanity, distraction was my only weapon. It was literally a godsend these days. It usually stopped my children from completely destroying things. Usually.
As if on cue, Camille began to bang her fists against her knees. Apparently, it is also frustrating when your pants don’t come off. Great. The last thing I need is another battle this morning. I'd already been late to my shift three times in the last month. Please, please, please don't let her lose her shit. I wiggled out of my previous life's pants and reached for a fresh pair of scrubs. Out of all of the nurses in the hospital, there were only three of us that wore the hospital-issued green. All the other nurses my age wore vanity scrubs that reflected their personalities. There was a time where I wanted pretty things. Now, function ruled the roost. And besides, at twenty-five dollars a top, it was now considered a luxury. Buying food and paying rent were more important. I glanced into Avery's crib. She was still asleep.
I love you but please stay asleep longer. I need more time. Camille is enough of a handful on her own. Gathering my strength, I tackled Camille’s frustration with the focus of a hostage negotiator. My daily routine lives or dies with my ability to deescalate tense situations. Perhaps, I missed my calling. "Yes, Mommy's got no pants right now. I'm changing my clothes to get ready for work. Remember I wear my special hospital clothes."
"Pants!" Camille pulled her leggings back up.
The fabric was hitched on her diaper and gave her a lumpy look, but at least they weren’t around her ankles. Thank God. Now, I had to reinforce her behavior. Or something. Parenting was such a social experiment. "Yes. Pants!" I cheered and pumped my fists. Thank God for small victories.
Camille's round face broke into a toothless grin. She clapped and squealed. "Pants!" Her bare feet stomped the carpet in a little dance. That's the thing about the little life-changers. Just when you're ready to run away screaming, they crack you up. What's so bad about retiring leather pants? I’m sure there is some magazine article shaming animal-wearing ancients like myself. I was thirty-two after all. Leather pants and leopard print used to be sexy. Now my fashionable self was shelved. That's not all you retired. There was also your free time, savings account, and sex life.
I liked to pretend that motherhood was a costume change, but there was no denying that my life was unrecognizable from only a few years ago. Are you happy now? Guilt flooded my senses. I love my girls. My life is much better now. But, is this all you want out of life? What happened to romance?
Pushing that thought away, I grabbed the diaper bag from the changing table. Pull-ups, wipe
s, diapers, check. A spare outfit for each, check. Camille's teething ring, Avery's penguin, my shredded dignity, check. All they need are some snacks. Using the hair tie around my wrist, I twisted my hair into a messy bun. Grabbing two socks off the floor, I made faces at Camille while I yanked them on. She gurgled and cooed and then began pawing at the carpet fibers. Well, at least she's entertained. Children were an inspiration when it came to imagination. With anything ordinary, they can assemble a world of trouble. I used to know someone like that. And I married him.
I sighed audibly. Camille looked up at me. I smiled. She went back to raking the carpet fibers with her hands. The dark red carpet lightened from her attention. When was the last time I vacuumed? This weekend I need to get serious and clean Add vacuuming to the ever-growing list of chores that I neglect. This house was disgusting. My stomach rumbled. Did I have time to eat? I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand and swiped up. Six-fifteen. Eight minutes to get out the door. Another day of hitting the drive through. No wonder my pants didn't fit. I was just going to have to make it work.
I took another look at Avery. Her gentle breaths were moving in and out in a soft rhythm. Her cheeks were pink. I’m not sentimental, but there is something about seeing her small and peaceful. Camille was that tiny once. It felt like another lifetime ago. Unfortunately, I did not have the luxury of letting her sleep. We needed to get going or I was going to be late again. I scooped up Avery and did a quick sniff test. Powdery goodness. Her eyes were still closed.
Was it worth the risk of waking her to change her clothes? Every time I dropped one of the girls off in their pajamas, I could feel the daycare manager’s judgement. She smiled sweetly, but it was written all over her heavily made-up face. You're gone all day. Can't you at least change their freakin' clothes? I knew that look because it was exactly how I used to look at mothers with screaming children, and babies with stained clothes or food on their faces. Before I knew how impossible motherhood was. We were all adrift on a sea of unmet expectations, worry and sacrifice. Guilt was the life jacket that kept us from sinking. That and the bone-crushing love. Fuck 'em, let her sleep. I strapped Avery into the car seat and grabbed Camille by the hand.
"Let's go pumpkin." I balanced both of them until we made it into the kitchen. "Mommy's just gotta grab your snacks from the fridge." I let go of Camille's hand and put Avery down on the island countertop. At least I didn't forget the snacks. After the girls passed out last night, I cut up apples, washed baby carrots, and measured pretzels into daycare-approved sustainable packaging. A list was sent about sugar content and allergens. They actually started throwing away offending snacks. Hence, the ultimate pleasurable evening arranging lunch boxes sans contraband.
Tossing the snacks into the diaper bag, I searched the refrigerator for something I could cram into my mouth. Only a few eggs and a questionable orange stared back from the bare refrigerator. I couldn't put off groceries any longer. On my way back from work today. You would think that someone with such an empty fridge would be thinner.
If only I was more determined and driven, we wouldn’t be in this mess. What have you done with your life? In the academic advisor’s office of community college, getting my nursing license seemed like a smart choice. I had limited time and a desperate need to support myself. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant, I could have taken the time to figure out my passions and skills. Perhaps I would have my bachelor’s or even my master’s by now. I surveyed the kitchen for anything else I was forgetting. Camille was doodling on the cabinets with a purple crayon. Where the fuck did she even get a crayon? She was nearly two, but she knew exactly how to find what she wanted.
We were so late, I didn't even have time to properly scold her. I swooped her up and grabbed the crayon from her chubby fingers. She began to wail. Avery's eyes shot open in surprise. Of course. Was it too much to ask to have my morning without a side of meltdown? My hopes of getting the girls to daycare without drama were shot to hell. I went over to the door to the garage and propped it open. After hoisting the diaper bag onto my shoulder, I grabbed Avery's car seat. Camille dragged her feet and whimpered. At least she wasn’t refusing to go. Avery's wails drowned out Camille's complaints. I hurried to the car. My breasts began to tingle and ache. Not now, I just friggin' pumped. I was blessed with my mother's breast milk productivity. My cup runneth all over the place.
Oh shit, the breast milk! There was no way I was going anywhere without my liquid gold. If I didn’t bring it to daycare, they would feed her formula and serve up a passive aggressive lecture later about the merits of my own moo juice. The last time it upset her stomach for days. Sometimes pumping was the only thing in my day I felt good about. I wasn’t going to give that up. Especially since formula mothers were the lowest rung on the daycare social ladders. Not that any of the other mothers speak to you anyway. But I really did not need another reason for them to judge me. Last time, I was told to “Slow down and relax”. It took all I had not to punch her in her well-meaning face.
The garage was chilly from the early morning air. Perhaps I should look into getting a new sweater. This was ratty, but shopping was out of the question. Our last move cleared out my savings. I had to make sure we had enough to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. After hoisting Camille and Avery into the car, I snapped and belted the car seat in place. Camille began to search the car floor, presumably for something to stick in her mouth. Yesterday, I caught her drooling all over a French Fry. It was stale enough to cut someone. The last time I had fries in the car was over a month ago. I think.
"Camille! Mommy needs you to sit like a big girl." She crawled over to her booster seat and sat down, waving her arms and legs. Small favors. That's all I need. I buckled Camille and Avery in and made a mad dash back to the refrigerator. Popping a few servings of breastmilk out of the freezer, I ran back into the garage and turned the lock. After it clicked, I climbed into the driver's seat and pressed the button to close the backdoor. With a slow grind, the doors began to close. Jamming my keys in the ignition, I turned the engine on. Camille continued to wail. Maybe I should feed her first. No, it's a five-minute drive. She'll have a bottle at daycare. You'll be late again. I’m a terrible mother. My phone pinged from the center console. I picked it up and swiped through the messages. Three texts from Kassie.
Bikers got another one. KTFO. TGIF.
Can you stay late today?
Boss is offering time and a half. I put your name down.
Karen was either the best friend I ever had, or my worst enemy. I was going to have to pay double for daycare again this month. This month alone, five men were beat up badly enough to wind up in the hospital. KTFO was our code word for someone that was beaten unconscious. Shorthand for knocked the fuck out. It might sound crass, but dealing with injured or sick bodies all day, we needed to distance ourselves from humanity. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to do our jobs. One thing was constant about my employment in hospitals across this country, nursing duties were pretty much the same. And the comradery amongst hospital staff was strong no matter where you were. It kept things at least quasi-normal while we moved around. We chose to move here because of the cheap housing and good hospital pay. I was hoping this would be our last move, but right after I moved here, something changed. A biker gang moved in right after, changing this small town to dangerous after dark. Lucky me.
Sometimes I feel cursed. Out of all the towns in this country, why here? And why does everyone sit back here and let these bikers run their lives? I’ve seen some of them around the hospital. They seem to run this town. And some of the nurses are even groupies. They seek them out. I’ve kept my head down, but I knew they were simply biding their time until they got heartbroken or worse. Watching from the outside, it was disorienting to see how these professional, educated women could get caught up with career criminals. Of course, none of them knew my secret. You were one of them. And not that long ago. There’s something to be said for bad boys. The thrill of the chase, danger,
the rush of a push and pull power struggle was exciting and sexy. But excitement doesn’t clean up vomit or change shitty diapers in the middle of the night. And neither does sexy. My last priority these days was my libido. To think there was once a time where I wanted sex twice each day.
My engine whined as I turned the keys. It took a few tries, but the tired engine roared to life. An orange light on the dashboard caught my eye. Empty. Now I had no choice. There was no way I was going to have time to feed Avery and get gas. I pressed the button to open the garage door and began to slowly back out. Avery's cries continued to grate my nerves and heart. If someone told me four years ago that this was going to be my life, I would have thrown a drink in their face. And perhaps had sex with them in a bar bathroom. But definitely not believing a word. Camille began to whine again for good measure.
"Cookies! I want cookies!"
Avery began kicking her chubby feet in time with her sister’s cries. Luckily, she didn’t join in. Perhaps she thought it was a game. One of her socks was missing. Just another thing for daycare to judge me for.
Could today be any more of a disaster? Sweat pooled in my armpits and pricked against my lower back. Arriving at work on time without sweat stains is beyond my grasp. Sure, getting these two out the door was never a picnic, but I was doing the best I could. Why did it never feel good enough? Camille deserved cookies and a better breakfast than cereal, every day. And Avery deserved to be breastfed whenever she wanted. And they both deserved a father that wasn't crazy or that thought drinking during the day was a better use of his time than working and providing for his children. A father that wasn’t violent and didn’t spend his time running around with a biker gang scheming people out of their hard-earned money. A man that made the world a better place. Preferably a father that didn’t try to strangle his mother or knock out her teeth. I pushed my tongue against the front tooth I lost the last time I saw my ex-husband.