Genres: Contemporary, Fiction, General, Romance
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Also by this author: Bear, Jase, Gunny, Mica, Slate
Shattered following a devastating betrayal that results in the death of his friends, Lane Robinson finds himself in Fort Wayne, Indiana, a world away from his previous life as a Marine. Robinson is trying to forget the past, but healing from the deadly deceit that cut blood deep is hard, and memories of that treachery taint every interaction in his life. He misses the comradery and bond he had with his brothers in arms, and now can’t help but view everyone around him with mistrust and suspicion.
Robinson meets a member of the Rebel Wayfarers motorcycle club, and with an introduction into the biker’s circle of friends, he finds that elusive sense of home that has been missing from his life for too long. Initiated into the club and now called Gunny, Robinson buries himself in his new life as a Rebel member.
Secure within his newfound family, Gunny fills his days with solitary work and finds he possesses a gift for motorcycle restoration, forming a career out of this exacting passion. Trying to leave behind the man he was before the club, unfortunately his feelings of cynicism aren’t so easy to set aside. Even within the club, surrounded by members he readily calls brother, he grants his trust to only a few. One of those is Davis Mason, national president, and a man he is proud to call friend.
Into this meticulously constructed life dances Sharon Elkins, the one woman who seems to possess the ability to tear down the walls he has spent so long building. She is the first person who sees beyond his surface façade, the first he’s let get close in so long…can he trust the emotions she stirs in his soul?
As she becomes an ever more important part of his world, darkness from their former lives collides in a dangerous cascade of conspiracy and schemes. Can he protect the woman he has come to love, and will they be able to fight their way clear of the chaos that threatens to entrap them?
“These towering walls you have built to protect your heart
do nothing more than imprison your spirit.” – Dean Jackson
ARC provided by Author/Publisher for honest review.
I just finished Gunny and I just loved it! This is apart of the Rebel Wayfarers series so for me it’s a definite must to read this in order. From the beginning of the series to the last book (Jase) Gunny has gotten more developed and we see that he is protecting Sharon (Jases sister) in Jase so we get to see why he is the way he is and why he does the things he does. He’s the quiet one so to read his words, they just broke my heart. He’s an ex-marine and it is not by his choice. He misses the friendship that he had and gets to see a glimpse of that with meeting Deke. He had lost his way and finds what he is looking for with the Rebel Wayfarers. He earns his rankings within the MC but still at times keeps things on the himself. He suffers from PTSD and very few know the details. But these are his brothers, his family and they are there for him no matter what. From what he experienced he will only get close to a select few.
“What most people did not realize was when you came home, when you left the battlefield behind, sometimes you brought things back with you too.”
Now he doesn’t expect his strong reaction to Sharon. All he can do is keep an eye on her but when she has to leave, he can’t let her go. She is broken physically and mentally and he will do what he can because she is his whether he wants to admit it or not.
“A sense of calmness had settled over him at the feel of her soft skin under his rough palm, and he took in what seemed like the easiest breathe in a decade, holding her arm. It seemed like…everything that had ever troubled him just…receded, pulled back for this moment, gave him peace.”
Sharon hasn’t felt safe in forever. After finally escaping her ex husband she finds solace dancing and lands a job at Slinkys. Always looking over her shoulder mentally exhausts her but when she meets Gunny she feels safe.
“When he approached her now, as it had earlier, the fear lodged inside her swelled as it always did just because he was male, but far stronger than alarm was a sense of coming home. Held in his arms, she was peaceful, because she would never have to fear, not while in his presence. He would protect her, would never hurt her. She felt no panic, because with him, she was safe.”
When her ex finally catches up to her, she doesn’t know what to do. She gets helps unknowingly from the Rebels MC. As Gunny and Sharon both grow close quickly they will both have to let down their walls and protect each other.
“He simply had to know…needed to know she was okay, needed that to breathe. And sometimes, when he thought he saw pieces of his own fear and terror in her eyes, he wanted her to know she wasnt alone, would never be alone again.”
I’m loving this series. What makes it extra special to me is how the story intertwines with all that the Rebels hold dear. I know from this story there is still so much to learn and I’m good with that. I felt like we got enough to go on leaving me wanting more. The characters are all so versatile and distinct and I got so caught up with them that I feel like I’m one of them. Now that I have to wait on the next story, I’m getting the whole lost feeling once again!
I’ll be waiting, rather impatiently for Mason! Hell, Hoss, Deke, Duckie, Ben, Mercy, and so many more!
She curled into a tight ball on the floor, trying not to shiver at the chill in the air. Cold for Florida, the temperature would dip below forty tonight, but she knew better than to close the bedroom window, open to capture the breeze off the orange groves as it threaded through the metal rods stretching across the opening. Her heart beat faster when the crunching of gravel came from outside, small pieces of rock grinding against each other, fracturing and fragmenting by minute amounts as they were placed under pressure. The deep rumble of a car’s engine abruptly shut off, leaving stillness in its wake. Counting slowly, she measured time as she waited for him to come in from outside. In her mind, she imagined watching as he opened the driver’s door, mentally seeing him stand and stretch out his back before turning to pull a bag from the passenger’s seat. Rewarded with the quiet crumping concussion of the car door closing, she imagined him walking around the front of the vehicle, approaching the dark house.
When she came to the bedroom at precisely eight o’clock, there were no lights left burning behind her. That quiet clicking of switches plunging the house into darkness had stirred the fresh memory, striped into her back, of a howled, “You think I’m made of money?” She heard the clunk of the key in the lock, which opened only from outside, heard the knob twist and turn in the wood, the tongue of the solid latch scraping along the edge of the doorframe.
“Place?” he called the inquiry, and she immediately responded, letting him know she was where she was supposed to be; she was, as so often instructed, waiting. “Dinner?” That was the next question, and in a struggling voice, she indicated where his plate had been stored. She knew she had a fifty-fifty chance of picking wrong. Some nights, selecting the refrigerator over the warm stove was all it took to tip him to violence. Violence, she thought with a silent laugh. Raised around the controlled violence of hockey, attending her brothers’ games, she remembered thinking at the time that slashing and tripping, hooking and boarding
were the worst things in the world. They were the wickedest her teenage self could imagine. Now she knew differently, having learned the lesson time and again.
Slowly counting again, she waited for him to say something, anything to give her an idea of how the evening would go. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen… Maybe tonight will be one of the sweet ones, she thought. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four… Maybe tonight he’ll ask, ‘Baby, why are you on the floor?’ Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty… Or he’ll say, ‘I’m so sorry.’
Precisely at thirty-five, the crash of crockery sounded, and she recognized the sound of a plate dropping to the kitchen floor. Over the sounds of breaking dishes came his voice, barely audible to her ears, but wounding as if it were the lashing of the sound barrier, a clap of thunder, or the tearing sound of metal peeling back from a car’s frame. Not her name, not this time, no more than the hated single word uttered in a tone that caused a terror so visceral it manifested physically as all the hair on her body raised in a futile defense. Clasping her hands together at the back of her head, she tucked her bent elbows tightly against her temples, leaving her ears uncovered so she could hear her fate approaching.