Claimed

Book 1: The Outlaws Series

by Elle Kennedy

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Military Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

After a devastating war decimated most of the world, Hudson Lane has only known the oppressive life under her own father's tyranny. She finally escapes, branding herself an outlaw and hunted by the Enforcers. Her best chance at survival is Connor Mackenzie, an aggressively sensual fugitive who opens her eyes to the wicked possibilities of a world without rules.



As the leader of a band of outlaw fighters, Connor can't resist the beautiful stranger who asks for his protection. Despite his reservations, he agrees to introduce her to a whole new way of life. But when Connor discovers Hudson's connection to the enemies of liberty, he wonders how far he can trust the woman who has abandoned all inhibitions to challenge every forbidden desire.

Contains mature themes.

Release date: October 6, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 368

Sample

1

“I need to get drunk and laid—not necessarily in that order,” Rylan announced as the group crossed the threshold into the bar.

Connor had to duck his head to clear the top of the doorway. So did the others. All five of them stood well over six feet tall, making an imposing sight as they entered the candlelit room. Every head turned their way, but fear dissolved into mild apprehension and disinterest once the patrons discerned that the men didn’t have Enforcer logos on their clothing. Most turned away, refocusing their attention on their companions or the alcohol in front of them.

“And look at that,” Rylan said in delight. “The bartender’s cute. Must be new, ’cause I’d definitely remember those tits.”

Connor followed his friend’s gaze to the long metal counter tended by a thin blonde with serious cleavage. Yeah, Ry would remember screwing her. Skinny and big-busted was his flavor of choice. Blondie glanced up and winked at the men, her pouty red lips lifting in a sensual come-hither-and-fuck-me smile.

A sense of desperation hung in the air and mingled with the cloud of tobacco smoke hanging over the room like a canopy. Sex, booze, and cigarettes—rare luxuries these days, unless you knew where to find ’em. And hell, you didn’t even have to pay to fuck anymore. Currency meant shit outside the city, and besides, most women were as eager to get screwed as the men who wanted to screw them. But Connor wasn’t here for sex. He was looking forward to a nice date with Jack Daniel’s. It’d been way too long since he’d felt the burn of alcohol coursing through his veins.

The bar used to be a morgue, and the compartments where stiffs had once been stored now contained bottles of alcohol and supplies that the owners of the establishment had amassed over the years. They’d brought in mismatched furniture, tables and old couches, splintered wooden chairs. No power in the joint, so they’d lit dozens of candles, which danced on the cinder-block walls and shrouded most faces in shadow. The small hospital on the floors above them lay deserted, because hospitals were a thing of the past. You got sick or injured, you died. Population control, the fuckers in the “government” called it.

Connor chose a seat that allowed him to monitor both the door and the smoky main room, while Rylan, Pike, and Xander scrambled for the rest. Kade got stuck facing away from the door, which meant he’d be the first one to get a bullet to the back of his head if trouble arose.

The tabletop was scratched and stained with shit Connor didn’t even want to know about. Without any discussion, Rylan went up to the counter to order their drinks. That meant he’d be the one paying the tab, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Blondie over there was right up his alley. In a barter-and-trade era, you sometimes paid a high price for whatever you were trying to acquire, but this was win-win for Rylan—he’d get the booze and the pussy. Which made him a damn lucky bastard, because the last time they’d come here, the bartender had been male and Connor had been forced to trade a rifle for a bottle of Jack.

Fate smiled on the attractive and horny, he supposed.

“So . . . do we move?” A trademark scowl twisted Pike’s face as he voiced the question they’d all been thinking.

Connor rubbed the stubble coating his jaw. He wished like hell he had a razor, but the one back at camp had rusted to shit, and their next raid wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow. “Don’t know. I think we should wait it out. The rumors might be bullshit.”

“Word is Dominik is heading south,” Pike reminded him. “He did a sweep last week, cleared out an entire camp only a few hundred miles from here.”

Bastard sure had, and damned if that didn’t make Connor uneasy. Of all the Enforcers in the Colonies, Dominik and his band of bloodthirsty psychos were the worst. They were vicious, determined, and damn good at their job. Dominik answered only to West Colony’s Enforcer commander, who in turn answered to the council members above him. The group’s orders were simple: round up every last outlaw in the colony, force them to rejoin society, or kill them if they refused.

If Dominik really was closing in on them, the smart move would be to get the fuck out. Head for South Colony, or try to find a ship heading east, but traveling was a bitch these days. More checkpoints, more Enforcers, more bandits.

Kade spoke up. “I say we stick it out. We’ve got a good thing going here.”

Connor couldn’t disagree as he thought about the abandoned wilderness resort they’d been living in for the past year. Tucked in the foothills of the Rockies, the camp consisted of two dozen cabins and a main lodge nestled in the trees. After scouting the area for weeks, the men had claimed the old place and promptly turned it into a fortress. The resort was more secure than a military facility, just the way Connor liked it.

Rylan returned to the table with a full bottle of whiskey and five shot glasses, which clinked together in his hand. Unscrewing the bottle, he poured a stream of alcohol over the glasses, the excess liquid joining the other stains on the rotting wood.

“Hey, don’t waste it,” Xander grumbled. “Who knows when we’ll have another chance to get shit-faced?”

Rylan flopped down in his chair, slugged back a shot, then poured himself another. “So what’s the final consensus?”

Xander rubbed the thick beard covering his jaw. “Pike thinks we should go. Kade wants to stay. Con is undecided.”

Rylan was quick to throw in his two cents. “I vote for staying. I like it here. And by the way, brother, what’s with the beard? You know it’s like a gazillion degrees out, right?”

“If your pretty-boy face were capable of growing a beard, you’d look like me too right now.” Xander sighed. “Shit. I hope we find some razors on the raid tomorrow. Maybe even an electric one.”

“And candy,” Kade added, brightening at the thought. “Some real sweet shit. It’s been ages since we came across any chocolate.”

“And some really filthy porn,” Rylan added with a grin.

Connor didn’t join in, mostly because he was scared he’d snap and piss everyone off. But seriously, chocolate and porn? A war had ravaged the entire globe, for fuck’s sake. Bombs had fallen on cities like raindrops and eliminated entire populations, and those who survived were now prisoners—sorry, citizens—of the Colonies.

And Kade’s biggest problem was that he couldn’t satisfy his sweet tooth?

They’re making the best of this shit.

Yeah, maybe. Maybe Connor was a negative motherfucker for dwelling on the chaos and destruction, but what was he supposed to do—act like everything was fine and dandy? Pretend that his life was filled with rainbows and lollipops?

Fuck that.

He raised his glass to his lips and gulped the alcohol. It burned his throat on the way down, heating his stomach in a familiar, welcoming way. Screw candy and porn—the only thing he wanted from the raid tomorrow was a crate of booze. Even cheap wine would do. Anything to numb the angry, powerless feelings swirling in his gut.

“You know what? Who needs porn when you can settle for the real thing?” Rylan scraped back his chair. “’Scuse me, boys.”

Rylan headed to the counter, where he leaned forward and murmured something that made the bartender giggle. A few seconds later, the blonde eagerly followed him toward a corridor in the back, but not before tossing a not-so-discreet look at Connor and the other men.

“Think she’d be down for some company?” Kade wondered aloud.

Xander grinned. “One hundred percent yes. Did you see the way she looked back just now? That hot little number is dying to be tag-teamed.”

“Can you assholes forget about your goddamn cocks for one goddamn minute?” Pike snapped. “We’ve gotta make a decision. If Dominik’s on his way here, I say we go.”

“Since when are you scared of a fight?” Xander taunted.

Pike scowled at him. “Some battles aren’t worth fighting. Let Dominik do his thing, as long as he leaves us alone.”

And right there was the problem—Connor didn’t want Dominik to leave him alone.

He was itching for a face-to-face with that bastard, and if he didn’t have the other guys to think about, he would’ve taken off and fed his hunger for vengeance ages ago. But his men looked to him for guidance. Somehow, despite his many protests, he’d become their leader. They did what he said, even Pike, who didn’t like to take orders from anybody. Connor didn’t want any of them getting killed just so he could satisfy the bloodlust that had been poisoning his body for years.

Getting to Dominik was virtually impossible. Not only was he constantly surrounded by his legion of soldiers, but nobody knew where the West Colony Enforcers were headquartered. It wasn’t in the city, where those who survived the war had been shipped off to after the Global Council took control. Rumor had it the Enforcers moved around constantly, never making themselves targets. This was the first time Connor had an inkling of where Dominik was going to be. It was an opportunity he refused to let pass, but . . . did the men who trusted him deserve to die during his own quest for revenge?

Uncertainties rolled through his head like tumbleweed, then faded as the creak of the door grabbed hold of his senses. His head jerked up, hand instinctively reaching beneath his jacket to hover over the butt of his pistol.

Even after he decided the threat level was low, he still couldn’t look away.

The woman who appeared in the doorway held his gaze captive. Tall, slim, with wary gray eyes and long hair the color of warm honey. She wore tight black pants that showcased a spectacular pair of legs and a white tank top that revealed plenty of mouthwatering cleavage. A leather jacket and knee-high boots completed the bad-girl ensemble.

Connor’s mouth went dry.

Christ, he wanted her naked.

It’d been a long time since he’d experienced such a sudden, visceral attraction to a woman. His cock strained against his zipper, but another look in the woman’s direction and he knew the eager bulge in his pants wouldn’t be getting the attention it demanded.

She might be dressed like a bad girl, but she sure as shit wasn’t one. The fearful desperation clouding her eyes revealed her for what she was—a lost little lamb who’d wandered into a den of wolves. And yet . . . there was also determination flickering in her gaze. A sense of to-hell-with-you bravado that gave her a purposeful stride as she stepped into the room.

“Dibs,” came Xander’s low voice.

“Don’t even think about it,” Connor muttered.

He registered the surprised faces around the table realizing what his command had sounded like. Possessive. Like he was staking a claim. But that hadn’t been his intention. His body might be throbbing like crazy at the moment, but he had no desire to claim the woman. Every instinct he possessed told him to stay away from her. To keep his guys away too.

He watched as she approached the counter and spoke to the young man who’d taken over for the girl who probably had Rylan’s cock in her mouth at the moment.

The conversation was hushed, the blonde’s shoulders going rigid as the bartender said something she clearly didn’t like.

A flash of movement caught his eye. She’d slid something toward the kid, but Connor couldn’t make it out. A moment later, the bartender tucked the item in his pocket and slid a beer bottle across the counter. The blonde took it and went over to a table in the corner of the room.

Connor tore his eyes off her. He was still semihard and not at all happy about it. He shouldn’t be thinking about fucking, not when Dominik was finally within his grasp.

He could get off any damn time he wanted, but revenge? That was something he could carry with him for the rest of his life.

•   •   •

Hudson couldn’t believe she’d been forced to trade a Swiss Army knife for a measly bottle of beer. It wasn’t her last weapon, or one she was especially fond of, but handing it over to the bartender still grated. She hadn’t realized the wad of cash in her pocket was useless beyond the city walls, and that was just another disheartening item to add to the growing list of things she didn’t understand about this world.

She found an empty table and sat down, twisting off the beer cap and swallowing the lukewarm alcohol. She didn’t like the taste of beer much, but she wasn’t in the mood for anything stronger. She had to stay alert. And she definitely needed to find a place to sleep tonight.

Panic bubbled in her throat as she imagined spending the night outdoors again. She kept expecting bandits to pop out of the shadows, which made it impossible to fall asleep. She’d been in outlaw territory for nearly a week now, and she wasn’t even close to adapting to her rough, dangerous surroundings. She’d thought her training would help her survive out here.

She hadn’t expected to be this damn afraid all the damn time.

Taking a breath, she glanced around the room. Despite the low chatter and occasional chuckles, nobody looked relaxed. Shoulders were stiff and gazes were guarded. She was beginning to suspect this kind of behavior wasn’t uncommon. Since she’d left the compound, she’d realized that nobody was immune to the Global Council’s control. Even those who considered themselves free—the outlaws—continued to look over their shoulders.

When the GC had taken over four decades ago, they’d decided the only way to avoid another war was to rule with an iron fist. The council members insisted that the devastation of the world would not have happened if a strong global regime had been in place, so they’d eliminated conflict-causing factors like class, religion, free will. The new system worked, to some extent. Hudson couldn’t deny she’d been happy in the city, at least before Dominik had turned her into a prisoner in her own life.

She supposed she was an outlaw now too. A target like the rest of them. It was a culture shock to be thrust into this new world, surrounded by people who were determined to cling to whatever freedom they could.

Her gaze drifted to a table near the door, where four men spoke in hushed tones. They made a formidable sight. Gorgeous, masculine, oozing deadly intensity.

One in particular captured her attention. Late twenties, early thirties maybe, with cropped brown hair, cold hazel eyes and muscles galore. He wore a fitted olive green jacket that most likely hid a slew of weapons beneath it, and everything about him screamed warrior. The broad set of his shoulders, the way his hawklike gaze swept over the room even as he carried on a conversation with his companions.

Her breath hitched when the object of her perusal turned his head and looked at her.

Heat.

Holy crap. Nothing cold in his gaze anymore, just bold, undisguised fire.

He wanted her.

Ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart, Hudson wrenched her eyes away and gulped down some more beer. She felt flushed, her hair like a heavy curtain smothering her shoulders and back, but she didn’t dare pin it up. Even though the tattoo at the base of her neck was buried under layers of makeup, she still wasn’t taking any chances. If anyone so much as suspected who she was, she’d be killed in a heartbeat.

A high-pitched giggle sounded from the other end of the room, and Hudson turned to see a woman with blond hair and double D’s emerge from a dark corridor, flanked by a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a killer grin. He had the arrogant swagger of a guy who’d just gotten laid, and his companion’s bee-stung lips and tousled hair confirmed it. The man gave the woman’s ass a playful spank, then sauntered over to the table Hudson had been observing.

Surprise, surprise. Sexy blond guy was with the sexy foursome.

As he sat, his gaze collided with hers, and a faint smile lifted the corner of his mouth. It faded when the dark-haired outlaw she’d been trying not to ogle muttered something that silenced the group.

Hudson sighed. Now definitely wasn’t the time to get all hot for a sinfully sexy stranger. She had more pressing matters to deal with, so many of them her head was starting to spin.

Find a place where she could lie low for a while. Scavenge some supplies. Figure out how to get the hell out of West Colony. Evade Dominik, who’d no doubt sent an army after her.

Maybe the folks who ran this place would help her find a safe haven—

“Down on the floor, assholes!”

She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t sensed the danger until it was too late. She didn’t have time to unsheathe the knife on her hip, because cold fingers grabbed her arm and yanked her to the dirty cement floor.

“Stay down, bitch!”

There was a blur of movement, loud expletives, and angry shouts as a dozen men stormed the bar and advanced on its patrons.

Bandits.

Shit.

The man who’d thrown her down had neglected to search her for weapons, so she still had possession of her knife, along with the rest of the sharp steel blades strapped to her body. She gripped the bone handle and slowly slid the hunting knife down to her side, lifting her head to assess the situation. She’d heard of bandits, but this was her first encounter with them.

They looked a lot like the homeless people she’d seen in her father’s photographs of prewar Los Angeles. Threadbare clothing, dirty, reeking of booze. The Enforcers didn’t differentiate between bandits and outlaws, but Hudson needed only two seconds to recognize the difference. Outlaws fought for freedom, and sure, they raided GC supply compounds when it was needed, but they were fighting against a government they opposed, not with one another.

These men were scavengers. Broken, desperate vultures that didn’t belong, not in GC society and not among the rebels. She’d heard that bandits had no consciences, no remorse about robbing and killing and raping anything in their paths.

Her heartbeat accelerated as she stayed flat on the floor while the bandits manhandled the patrons in the smoky room, kicking anyone who so much as yelped. The leader of the band, a man with dark hair and a bushy overgrown beard, hopped the counter, assault rifle in hand.

“We want all the booze,” he snapped at the bartender.

Hudson slithered under the table. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that the five outlaws had remained seated and were watching events unfold with bored expressions on their respective handsome faces.

“Get down on the ground!” shouted one of the bandits. He was a short, skinny man with a shaved head, his unimposing physique made deadly only by the gun he waved at the group.

“No, thanks,” the outlaw with black hair and an even blacker scowl replied.

“You wanna die? Is that it?” The bandit cocked his pistol. “Because I’m perfectly happy to—”

The five men sprang into action. One second the table was upright; the next it was whipped on its side with two of them diving behind it for cover. Hudson saw a blur of arms and legs, flashes of steel and silver.

An outraged moan cut the air as the skinny bandit suddenly found a knife lodged in his upper arm. He staggered forward while his fellow robbers launched themselves at the men, their quest for alcohol forgotten.

It was a bloodbath. A gunshot boomed, sending one of the bandits crashing to the floor two feet from her head. More shots echoed in the room, making her ears ring.

She watched the scene unfold in morbid fascination. The outlaws didn’t even break a sweat, and they were completely unfazed by the fact that they were outnumbered. Fists connected with jaws. Grunts heated the air. Another explosion of gunfire took chunks out of the cement wall.

A furious male curse made her wince, and she twisted her head in time to see the blond outlaw stumble backward. He lifted a hand to his neck in amazement, and even from across the room she saw his hand come back stained with blood. He’d been hit. And yet he didn’t even miss a beat as he raised his gun and fired twice, eliciting a shriek of agony from the long-haired bandit who’d been attempting to finish him off.

A thud. Two. The bandits were dropping like flies.

Silence finally descended over the room, broken only by the groans of those lucky enough to be alive.

“Well, that was fun,” the man with the black eyes remarked. He sounded thoroughly bored.

A scuffed boot crossed her line of vision. She shifted in time to see the thick sole stomp on the chest of the bandit leader, the one with the beard. When she raised her gaze, she discovered that the boot belonged to the man with the smoldering hazel eyes.

“I suggest you round up your buddies—the ones who are still breathing—and get the hell out of here,” he said coolly.

“Fuck you,” was the strangled reply.

With a heavy breath, the man hauled the bandit to his feet. “Fine, we’ll do it the hard way.”

He grabbed the guy’s arm and broke it with a sickening crack.

Hudson flinched at the bandit’s shriek of pain, watching in amazement as the outlaw manhandled the injured man to the door. He stopped, glanced over his shoulder in an unspoken command, and his men wasted no time hauling the remaining intruders out of the bar.

Patrons slowly got to their feet. Dazed. The bartender rushed toward the blond man, but he brushed off her arm and continued toward the door, an unconscious man hanging over his broad shoulder.

Hudson stood up on shaky legs and stared at the bodies littering the floor. Eight in total. A bloody massacre. She wasn’t surprised when a few customers made a beeline for the dead, frantically rummaging through pockets and looting the lifeless men.

She was sheathing her knife when the outlaws returned. The blond had his palm clamped over his neck, and she could see blood oozing between his fingers.

“Everybody all right?” their leader asked gruffly.

The bartender hurried over. “Thank you,” she blurted out.

He ignored the declaration of gratitude. “Two of my guys will stay here tonight in case those assholes decide to push their luck and come back. But I suggest you close up shop. Location’s been compromised, which means you’re bound to encounter more of this shit.”

She nodded rapidly. “We will. We’ll close up tomorrow.”

“Good.”

He glanced around the room, his hazel eyes resting on Hudson. Warmth instantly flooded her belly, traveling through her body until every inch of her felt hot and achy.

After a long moment, he broke the eye contact. “Let’s move out,” he barked at his friends. “Xander, you and Pike take care of the bodies and make sure these folks stay safe.”

“No problem. Oh, and, Connor,” the other man added dryly, “get Ry cleaned up. He’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”

Connor. The name suited him.

Hudson couldn’t take her eyes off him as he turned and marched to the door, providing her with a nice view of his taut backside. It wasn’t until he disappeared through the doorway that she snapped out of her trance.

Ignoring the startled looks from the other people in the bar, she raced out the door, blinking to adjust to the darkness. The lights that had once illuminated the parking lot of the hospital had been knocked out, and parts of the pavement were black and cracking, most likely from the fires or explosives that had been set off by the looters all those years ago.

Everything beyond the walls of West City looked this way—dead trees and blackened earth, crumbling buildings and overgrown neighborhoods, and the coastal cities that hadn’t ended up underwater were still flooded to shit.

Hudson stopped only to grab the duffel bag she’d stashed in the bushes, then raced across the parking lot. She caught up with Connor just as he reached the beat-up Jeep parked in the lot.

“Wait!”

He froze. Turned his head slightly, greeting her with suspicion.

She stumbled toward the vehicle, aware of how foolish she was being. How reckless.

But she knew without a shred of doubt that the answer to all her problems was standing right there in front of her. This man, with his warrior body and cold eyes and military precision—he was the solution.

“Yeah?” he muttered.

“You . . . What you guys did back there . . . I just wanted to . . .”

A soft chuckle sounded from behind her. She spun around as the blond guy with the bloody neck—Ry?—approached the Jeep, tailed by another dark-haired outlaw.

“See, I told you chicks got off on violence,” Ry told his friend. He fixed his blue eyes on her. “But listen, gorgeous, don’t bother with Connor. He’s too bossy in bed. Me, on the other hand . . . I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, but that’s not what I want from him.”

“Your loss,” he said lightly before hopping into the backseat.

“What the fuck do you want?” Connor demanded.

Their gazes locked, and a rush of awareness sailed through her again.

“Say whatever you want to say so we can get the hell outta here.” Irritation crept into his deep, raspy voice.

“I . . .” She swallowed. “I—”

“Spit it out, sweetheart.”

She opened her mouth, and four desperation-laced words flew out of it. “Take me with you.”

2

Take me with you.

Definitely not the words Connor had expected to hear. They were strangers to her, and in this day and age you didn’t cozy up to strangers. You stayed the fuck away from them.

“Did you hear me?” She rested her hands on her slender hips. “I want to go with you.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you can’t always get what you want? I think someone even wrote a song about it once.”

“I don’t care. I still want to come with you.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but this is a boys-only club.”

Her agitated expression gave way to indignation. “Wow. So you’re rude and sexist.”

From the backseat of the Jeep, Rylan snorted. It wasn’t every day someone stood up to Connor; no doubt his friends were totally digging this.

He didn’t enjoy it one bit, though. He hated being out in the open like this. Yeah, he and the boys had scouted the area dozens of times, but the Enforcers were unpredictable. They lived in the shadows and ambushed you when you least expected it.

Connor just wanted to get back to base, where he could finally let himself breathe. And he had no intention of taking this woman with him.

“Please,” she implored when he didn’t respond. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Not my problem.” He headed for the driver’s door.

She trailed after him like an annoying puppy. “I saw the way you handled those bandits. Effortlessly. You guys know what you’re doing. You’ve had training.”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m all alone.” Her voice wobbled. “The people I was with were killed. I need . . . protection.”

He noted that her expression remained shuttered and emotionless when she mentioned that her group was dead. Not necessarily a sign of dishonesty, but the story didn’t sit right with him.

“Just take me with you. I promise I won’t be a nuisance.”

“You already are.”

She ignored the accusation. “Look, I can help your friend. I’m good at treating battle wounds—”

“So are we, sweetheart. Trust me, he’ll be fine.”

“