Rough Ride – Men of Valor MC Read Online Mila Crawford, Aria Cole

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC, Romance Tags Authors: ,
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Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Rough Ride - Men of Valor MC

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Aria Cole, Mila Crawford

Language:
English
Book Information:

Malcolm Rough Miller hasn’t had an easy life. A horrific act of violence caused him to be alone, forcing him to navigate life on his own from a young age. He joined the Valour MC to get justice for others, something that he’s been denied for most of his life. He didn’t expect that saving a young girl would lead him to the curvy social worker or how she would break down the barriers that he’d made around his heart.

Clair Baxter has always wanted to help people. From a young age she knew she wanted to actually make a differences. She never thought that a biker from a local Club would rock her world in ways she had ever imagined.
Books by Author:

Aria Cole, Mila Crawford



Chapter 1

Malcolm

My freedom came from the wind whispering through the night and the engine rumbling underneath me. Nightly drives from the courthouse to the clubhouse were my favorite part of the day. Nothing cleared my head more than a night ride, just me and the open air. It was the only time that I could fuckin' cancel all the damn noise. Night rides were perfect, the only thing that could have made them better would have been fewer red lights; just sail through non-stop, wind washing over me. My eyes focused on the flashing crimson ahead, willing it to turn green, when I saw some punk-ass kid cornering a girl. Nothing made my blood boil more than young girls being taken advantage of. I didn't even care about the oncoming traffic or the cars that honked their obnoxious horns at me. I drove my bike right toward them, only stopping when I was directly in front of the asshole's leg. Someone had to hold them accountable, someone had to make them pay.

"You better get the fuck off her if you want to live." I revved the engine to let the fucker know I meant business. The truth was, I was going to beat the shit out of him either way, but he didn't know that yet.

"No one wants trouble," he said. The little punk actually thought he could step up to me. I cracked my knuckles and smiled at him.

"You should have thought of that before you cornered this young lady."

"This bitch?" he said, taking her by the arm and pushing her toward me. The fucker was a coward to boot, which wasn't all that uncommon for scumbags. Big bark, no bite. They pretended to be badass, but when someone like me challenged them, they fell apart like delicate flowers.

"Get your hands off her," I said quietly. “Now.” People assumed a raised voice was the best way to inflict fear, but they were wrong.

"She's my girlfriend," he retorted. His voice shook, as did his hands as he glared at the girl. The punk acted like she was the one to blame for them being in this predicament. His fingers dug into her skin as she shrank from us both. Under normal circumstances, I’d assume it was because she was wearing next to nothing and the night was cold, but the terror in her eyes told a different story. She was terrified; that look of primal fear couldn't be faked, and it was a look I knew all too well.

I killed the engine of my bike and jumped off. Show time. I leaned against the seat, arms crossed, looking at the little scum.

"I don't give a fuck who she is to you. Get your fuckin' hands off her." When he didn't do as I asked, I stepped up to him. " Was it not clear what I said? Do I need to get my fist involved?"

"He's not my boyfriend," the girl said in a shaky voice. She glanced at the scumbag, slightly less terrified and stepped back.

"Now that it’s settled, take your hands off her before I break them. I will crush your scrawny bones"

"Fuck you, bro. This ain't none of your business. How about you piss off!"

"I tried to do this the easy way," I said, taking a step toward him. He took one back and stumbled to the ground, taking the girl with him. “But now you went and told me to fuck off. Know what I do to assholes who tell me to fuck off?

I couldn’t decide what to do first, wrestle the girl from his grip or let him taste the cement. He settled it for me by letting her go to save his own ass. He fell, ass first onto the concrete anyway. Kid was making it too easy.

I didn’t even wind up before my fist connected right to his face. I didn't have to hit him, he’d already busted his own ass on the sidewalk, was already down, but all I saw red. Transported back to the worst day of my life all over again. It always happened like this, I’d go from a grown man, six foot six and three hundred pounds of muscle, to a seven-year-old again, hiding in the closet feeling the piss soak my pants. I couldn't regulate shit; therapy didn’t help. I just wanted the fucker to feel the same fear she must have felt. I couldn't see or hear anything; just me, my fists, the night and the growing pool of blood. You can’t hurt women if you’re dead. You can’t take advantage of young girls with a hole in your head. Vengeance. I served it up every chance I got, like saving one young kid made up for all the ones who’d been lost—for the ones I couldn’t help. For my sister.


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