Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Saxon isn’t the kind of guy you bring home to the folks–not that I have any. As the leader of the biker gang, “The Heartless Bastards,” he has fists like cannonballs, a dark past, a body covered in scars, and lips that whisper secrets I shouldn’t want to hear. When he sets his sights on something, he takes it. And now, he’s got his sights on me.
I should run. But he’d just catch me on his bike.
And when he growls my name, pins me down with his rough hands, and swears on his life that I belong to him…I know I’m already his.
Saxon doesn’t just want me. He needs me. And if I let him in, there's no turning back. He’ll tear the whole world down just to keep me. And Lord help me…I might just let him.
AUTHOR’S Craving the Bad Boy is the first book in the Heartless Bastards series. They are all standalone however, and can be read in any order you’d like! They are all all instalove, over-the-top, biker gang romances, featuring virgin heroines and bad boy alphas who will do whatever it takes to claim the woman of their dreams. Dig in and have fun ;)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
TAMMY
I’ve only been in Chesterville for two days. Two whole days. But already, the dusty, rundown streets of this tiny town feel like they’re suffocating me. When I look in the mirror now, I don’t even see the girl I was back in West Virginia. The girl who could laugh at the mess of her own life and dream about what it would be like when I “finally made it,” whatever that means. Lots of people make jokes about where I’m from, but it wasn’t one of those stereotypical reasons that caused me to leave home. I left home because my dad tried to kill me.
For every drunk, abusive, controlling, son-of-a-bitch father out there, mine broke the mold.
He wanted a son, but he got me. And from as far back as I can remember, he made sure I knew that. Crystal clear. As soon as I hit puberty, he tried to dictate every aspect of my life. What I could wear, who I could talk to, where I went. And if I stood up to him, I took a beating. But that didn’t stop me. Until one night, after losing his entire paycheck at a poker game, he came home drunk off his rocker and tried to choke me to death for buying a skirt he thought was too short.
I packed a single bag and caught the first bus out of town. I had no idea where I was headed, but all I know is when I got to Chesterville, the small town just felt like somewhere I could start over. So here I am, eighteen years old, doing my best to make something of my life.
Thankfully, I find comfort in my job. Or maybe it’s just a way to distract myself from the black emptiness that is always eating at me. Jayne’s bar is a bit dirty and wanting of customers, but when I’m here, I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than what I am now: just a girl getting by. The dim lights are like something out of a movie, and the sour stench of stale beer make Jayne’s the kind of spot where people go when they want to forget their lives for a while.
And that’s precisely why I’m here.
I’m behind the counter, going through my usual routine wiping down glasses and doing my best to block out the noise in my head, when I feel something. A pull. Like a magnetic field or a gravitational force, snatching my attention before I even realize what’s happening.
The door squeaks as it swings open, and a man strides in who is so out of place here that it’s almost comical. His very presence somehow fills the room, instantly making everyone around him fade into the background like shadows.
He’s tall. Almost too tall, with broad shoulders that take up most of the space around him. He’s rough, but the worn leather jacket he’s got on looks way too expensive for a dive like Jayne’s. His boots are scuffed and worn but somehow give off an air of mystery, like an ancient relic not yet deciphered.
Whoever he is, he doesn’t belong in a dive like this. He belongs somewhere fierce, dangerous. Somewhere meant for men like him.
My breath catches in my throat as I try to fully take in his hotness. I don’t know why I’m even trying. Men and I don’t really get along. I’ve never had a boyfriend in my life, and it’s my own fault. I know that. I’ve got a problem with trust and hardcore daddy issues, which should come as no surprise to anybody.
The mystery man’s brilliant amber eyes sweep across the room, landing on me for a fleeting second, causing a spark in my chest. Heat swells through my body, curling and boiling deep in my stomach. His eyes fix on me and don’t move. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even acknowledge anyone else. He just stares right at me, like I’m the only person in the room worthy of his attention.
He approaches deliberately, and I feel my stomach stir. Then his rough voice cuts through the silence. “Whiskey. Neat.”
I try and ignore how his deep, gravelly voice wraps around me like a thick rope, but it’s impossible. His tone vibrates through my bones, touching me in places I didn’t even know I wanted touched. George, the bartender, slides a glass over to him, and for a long moment, our eyes stay locked on each other. Magnetism. Gravity. Call it what you will, but I’m stuck, unable to look away. I’m lost in the endless intensity of those bright, burning ambers.
Finally, I somehow manage to force my eyes down to focus on anything but him. I grab a rag and wipe at the bar top–scuffed, scratched, and filled with divots from countless years of rough use. I don’t know how long he stays standing there, but when I finally find the courage to look back up, he’s moved even closer.