Riptide MC, Book 2
Deuce by Anne Kane
MC Romance
Date Published: March 7, 2025
Publisher: Changeling Press
About the Book:
First impressions and all that… Sophia tried to nail me with a tire iron.
Sophia:
All I wanted was a decent guy who would treat me right and be a good dad to the kids I’d like to have someday. My first two dates from the “premier dating app” were total duds. Date number three gave me the creeps in person. Turns out my instincts were spot on. He slipped something in my coffee, threw me in the back of a van, and headed out to sell me! Lucky for me, dad’s a doomsday prepper. Taught me mechanics, hand to hand combat… all the things you teach your little girl if you think the world is going to hell. So I pried the door open with a tire iron and jumped out. And landed at the feet of a 6' 6" tatted up biker.
Deuce:
When Rattler and I stopped behind a van at a railroad crossing. a woman came hurtling out the back like an avenging angel. Blood dripping from road rash on her arm, she still tried to nail me with a tire iron. Turns out a trafficking ring abducted her, and she isn’t keen on the idea of being sold to the highest bidder. She has guts, I’ll give her that. After my old lady split, I thought I was done with couples shit, but Sophia makes me rethink my life. Sophia’s mine, and if those assholes want her back, they’re going to have to go through me.
WARNING: Deuce contains graphic violence and adult situations. There is no cheating, no cliff-hangers and a guaranteed happily-ever-after. Enjoy!
Read an Excerpt:
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Anne Kane
A fresh wave of dizziness assailed me, and my vision blurred.
“You don’t look so good.” George sounded concerned, meeting my eyes for the first time since we’d met. “Some fresh air might help. How about we step outside for a minute?”
“Good idea,” I mumbled. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. What was happening?
I pushed myself to my feet, and George came around the table. Putting an arm around my waist, he helped steady me as I stumbled toward the exit. Thank goodness we’d picked a table near the door. The dizziness worsened, and I was having trouble seeing.
“Can I help?” It was the girl from the counter. “Should I call someone?”
By now, if George hadn’t been holding me up, I would have fallen flat on my face.
“Can you get the door for us?” George sounded confident, like a man who had things under control. “She just needs a little fresh air.”
“No problem.”
She opened the door and I staggered outside, leaning heavily on George. The fresh night air hit me in the face, but it didn’t make me feel any better. My stomach started to churn. Add nausea to the list of symptoms.
Someone wrapped an arm around me from the other side and helped George half carry me across the parking lot. I turned my head, attempting to see who the new person was but a fresh wave of dizziness assailed me.
“Parked the van over there away from the lights.”
That would be the new person. A guy. I didn’t recognize the voice. Deep. Possibly sounding creepier than George. I tried to pull away but whatever was happening left me too weak.
We stopped for a moment, and the creaking of metal hinges sounded loud in the night.
“Up you go.” George grasped me by the waist. The touch of his hands creeped me out, but I was too weak to protest.
“Careful. Don’t want to bruise her up. Hard to get full price for damaged goods.” This comment came from the mystery man as I concentrated on keeping the contents of my stomach where they belonged.
“I know what I’m doing. Not like this is my first time.”
I felt myself being lifted and placed down on a pile of material that smelled like used motor oil. George’s presence disappeared, and I heard the metallic echo of a door slamming shut.
I rolled over, and the sudden movement increased the nausea. I pushed myself up on all fours, my head hanging down as I took deep breaths and tried to steady myself. The smell from the questionable stuff under me did not help with the nausea.
The floor shifted suddenly, and I lost my balance, falling to the floor. My stomach heaved in protest, and I vomited up the bitter coffee along with the lasagna I’d had for dinner before heading off to meet George.
Having emptied my stomach, I collapsed on my side, breathing heavily. The nausea and dizziness retreated to a manageable level. I opened my eyes cautiously.
I could see better now. It was dark, but as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I realized I was in some type of vehicle, and it was moving. I recalled the words of the mysterious second man. A van – like a delivery truck. There was a wall. I couldn’t get upfront to where the guys were sitting. And I was damn sure I didn’t want to go where they were taking me.
I pushed myself upright into a sitting position. Despite the lingering dizziness in my head, one thing was abundantly clear. I needed to get out of here.
I used a handful of whatever I was laying on to wipe my face, gagging at the smell. Standing seemed like a bad idea, with the van lurching back and forth. It needed a decent alignment. Or some new shocks. Whatever. Not my problem.
I crawled to the back of the vehicle. I was still weak, but as my head slowly cleared, I realized I must have been drugged.
The bitter tasting coffee. George must have slipped something in my coffee when I went to get the rags to clean up his mess. Had the mess been intentional to get me out of the way so he could spike my drink?
These guys knew what they were doing, and that spurred my need to escape. There were two of them and one of me. Even if I managed to throw off the effects of the drug, there was no way I could fight off two full grown men. My imagination went into overdrive. I had to assume wherever they were taking me was not public. They could do whatever they wanted and there would be no one to hear me scream.
Fear-fueled adrenaline overpowered the remaining drug in my system. I scrambled my way to the back of the van and clawed at the doors.
I screamed as loud as I could. Surely someone would hear me and go for help. Or call the cops. People didn’t seem to want to get involved these days, but surely a woman screaming from inside a van would get some kind of response.
“Scream all you want. No one else can hear you,” George shared with an repulsive chuckle.
Weren’t these delivery vans supposed to have a release on the inside so people didn’t get trapped in them? I got unsteadily to my feet and reached up as high as I could, sliding my hands down the doors. It had to be here somewhere.
Two thirds of the way down, I found it. My heart sank. There was a latch all right, but someone had broken it off. When I tried to push it, the latch swung loosely around in a circle without any effect on the doors.
I screamed in frustration and banged on the doors until my hands felt raw. Sinking down on my haunches, I let out a helpless sob.
I pulled myself together. I wasn’t going to just sit here and wait for whatever sick plans these guys had for me. I crawled across the floor, feeling frantically for something, anything, that I could use to pry the doors open.
In the front corner, I found it. A tire iron. Gripping it tightly, I made my way to the back of the van just as it lurched to a stop.
I could hear loud engines, other vehicles pulling up behind the van. I screamed again. And again. Surely they could hear me, but I wasn’t going to count on it.
Standing was a whole lot easier now that the van was still. I inserted the sharp edge of the tire iron between the two doors and pried. Nothing happened. I screamed in frustration and jerked harder on the tire iron. Nothing.
I could feel time running out. Fear of what George and his buddies had in store for me intensified with each passing moment. I had to get out of here. No knight in shining armor was going to ride in on a white horse and save me.
I moved the tire iron down so that it was in line with the broken release and threw my entire body weight against it. For a second, it held fast. Then the lock gave way with a loud screech of bending metal.
The doors burst open.
Off balance, and still gripping the tire iron with both hands, I fell out of the van and landed on the pavement with a painful jolt. I rolled over and staggered to my feet.
Less than a car length away, staring at me from the back of a shiny red and chrome motorcycle, was the most dangerous looking man I’d ever seen.
About the Author:
Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all with a happily ever after.
She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing guitar, singing and of course, reading.
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, & TikTok: @changelingpress
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