Black Crowns MC Series by Fiona Davenport – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Black Crowns MC Series by Fiona Davenport – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Wed, 23 Sep 2026 18:56:22 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.1.2 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Black Crowns MC Series by Fiona Davenport – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Ghost (Black Crowns MC #3) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/ghost-black-crowns-mc-3-read-online-fiona-davenport Wed, 23 Sep 2026 18:56:22 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/ghost-black-crowns-mc-3-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love, Virgin Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Black Crowns MC Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >63

Gavin “Ghost” Danner smiled through work that made other men flinch. The former SEAL handled every threat with a fuse for the Black Crowns MC. Until Tamsin Bellamy glared at him, and he decided she was his.

Tamsin was used to being underestimated, so she was stunned when the massive biker respected her command after a fireworks display went horribly wrong. Then inventory discrepancies were discovered, and anyone putting Tamsin in the blast radius was going to pay a steep price

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

TAMSIN

The minutes were ticking down to the fireworks display, so there was no time to spare as I walked through the launch area to verify every detail was exactly as it should be. This was normal for me. The displays my family’s company dealt with contained multiple pounds of highly explosive chemical compositions that were capable of causing fatal blast injuries, so one mistake could lose us a whole lot more than our federal license.

And this veterans’ fundraiser, hosted by the Black Crowns MC, was bigger than usual.

Past the caution tape, the field had already filled in. More bodies on the safe side of the line meant less room for anybody to get sloppy on mine.

I put my boot against the nearest rack base and leaned. When it didn’t shift, I moved on.

Unused cable was still in a firing lane that was supposed to be empty by now. One of our guys walked past like he didn’t see it.

“Cable out of the lane,” I ordered. “Now.”

He glanced at the coil, then his gaze drifted over my shoulder instead, hunting for Len the way half the older crew still did when I gave an order. “I was just⁠—”

“Out.”

I waited until the lane was clean before I pointed at a crate sitting six inches inside the restricted mark.

“That too. Other side of the paint.”

He muttered something under his breath as he hauled the box back where it belonged.

One of the radios attached to my belt crackled, and I half listened to the conversation between two crew members as I checked the spectator marks next. The crowd had crept close in a couple of spots, but the barricades we’d erected held them back.

Flipping to the launch diagram on my clipboard, I moved toward the racks. Cutting across the packed dirt toward the launch line, I was already counting tubes against the diagram when Len fell into step beside me.

He’d been with the company as long as I’d been alive. My childhood had been filled with shows he’d been in charge of, and he was the one who had walked me through my first inventory count.

“No need to worry,” he assured me. “I completed the final check of the launch racks and firing equipment myself.”

“I still need to⁠—”

“You’ve got a lot of ground to cover today, Tamsin.” His hand hovered near my shoulder and dropped again. “Let me handle this section.”

His tone was almost paternal, which irritated me since I was the safety coordinator for this event. At times like this, I realized he still saw me as a child playing at authority, rather than the competent woman who knew what she was doing, in part because he had a hand in teaching me.

Huffing out a breath, I reminded myself that we were at a public event, so I needed to stay professional. Otherwise, I’d prove him right.

“Thanks. Radio me if anything comes up.”

“Will do.”

I turned away from the launch line and glanced over at the nearest barrier. My heart raced when I spotted the irritatingly sexy biker leaning against it as though he didn’t have anything better to do. He’d been keeping a close eye on me ever since I arrived, and it was darn irritating. Flattering too, although I didn’t want to admit to that part.

Even if I hadn’t caught him staring, he would’ve been impossible to miss at six-three with shoulders that strained the seams of his black leather vest and a chest broad enough that his shirt was stretched taut. His hair was almost black, cut short on the sides but messy on top, and his neatly trimmed beard was the same dark color. His warm brown eyes seemed to track my every step.

If all that wasn’t enough to capture my attention, he had a large black-and-gray demonic skull inked on his throat, with red eyes, nose, and mouth that most people paused to gawk at. But I shouldn’t have been one of them because I needed to focus on my job, not some man who’d caught my eye. Even if it was completely out of the ordinary for me because I’d been too busy to worry about dating.

The fact that he kept shifting my focus away from my job made me want to throw the clipboard at his head. But I somehow managed to resist the urge. Barely.

When I moved to the temporary control station to read through the launch plan one last time, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that his boot was on the wrong side of the painted safety marker. Without looking up, I muttered, “You’re inside my exclusion line.”

“By three inches.”

My lips pressed together in a flat line before I pointed out, “Still inside.”

“Prez put me on site safety.”

“Stryker doesn’t hold the pyrotechnics license.” I finally looked up to glare at him. “Behind the line.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >63

Advertisement Cipher (Black Crowns MC #2) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/cipher-black-crowns-mc-2-read-online-fiona-davenport Thu, 10 Sep 2026 18:28:26 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/cipher-black-crowns-mc-2-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Insta-Love, MC, Virgin Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Black Crowns MC Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >69

Corbin “Cipher” Ralston had solid reasons to stay away from Bex Raines. She was too young for him and the sheriff's daughter, but that didn't stop the Black Crowns enforcer from wanting her with a violence that made him dangerous.

When Bex stumbles onto a conspiracy deep within her father's department, Cipher quickly gets her under his protection—and in his bed where she always belonged. Anyone who comes for what’s his is going to learn exactly why they call him Cipher

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

CIPHER

Ahead of my club president’s wedding, I had mapped every inch of the Rutledge property. I’d also done a deep dive into each guest before Stryker put a ring on his old lady’s finger. None of it demanded much conscious effort, because assessing a crowd had become as natural as breathing sometime during my first deployment.

Rebecca Raines was the only part of the evening I couldn’t reduce to useful information, because the reaction she caused in me was completely fucking unwelcome.

I’d known exactly who she was before the bride introduced us. Bex was nineteen, Jacqueline’s best friend, and Sheriff Raines’s only daughter, giving me three separate reasons to keep my hands away from her. And her father understood precisely how dangerous I could be.

Those facts should have settled the matter for a man who trusted logic. Instead, one look at her in that pale-blue maid-of-honor dress had sent enough blood into my cock to make the rest of the ceremony an exercise in controlled suffering.

The soft fabric ended above white cowgirl boots and followed a slender yet undeniably feminine body, curved in every place my hands wanted to close around. Loose honey-blond hair brushed her shoulders, catching gold beneath the strings of lights, while her hazel-green eyes seemed to shift between warm amusement and wicked curiosity depending on whether she thought she had caught me watching. Her full pink mouth made restraint even less pleasant, especially when my mind insisted on picturing those lips swollen beneath mine while I found out what sounds she made when a man stopped treating her like the sheriff’s sweet little girl.

I had spent years extracting useful intelligence from visual details, but nothing about knowing the exact shape of Bex’s ass in that dress was helping anybody survive the night.

I kept my place beside the makeshift bar, a bourbon sitting untouched between my fingers while I tracked her through the reception without moving my head enough to make it obvious. Every man who looked at her stayed in my awareness longer than he should have, and each one who made her smile produced an irrational pressure beneath my ribs that had no tactical value whatsoever. I’d convinced myself no one noticed, although Stryker glanced my way twice, looking like he was waiting for me to finish making a bad decision.

And Bex was just as aware of me, which explained why she had spent the past twenty minutes finding increasingly weak reasons to return to the bar. Her first visit had been for sparkling water, the second for a napkin she could have taken from any table, and the third because she claimed the bartender had hidden the lime wedges from her.

Each time, she stood close enough for the citrus-and-vanilla scent of her skin to reach me, gave me a warm smile, and waited as though she expected me to flirt. But I answered only what she asked and watched her walk away while my cock stayed hard enough to punish me for the decision.

A burst of laughter pulled several guests’ attention across the lawn, but mine was fixed on Bex when she stopped beside me again. She tilted her face toward mine with determination bright in her eyes and the impish curve of her lips telling me she knew exactly how closely I’d been tracking her. “You know, watching every man who asks me to dance is a lot more work than dancing with me yourself.”

“I’m not watching every man.” The lie was defensible because I was also watching the entrances, perimeter, and half the club, but the slight lift of her brows said she wasn’t interested in technicalities. My gaze dropped to the pulse at the base of her throat before moving back to her eyes, and the soft pink beginning to spread over her skin made me want to put my mouth there until the color deepened beneath my scruff. “Some of them aren’t worth monitoring.”

Her smile widened as she held out one slender hand. “Then dance with me and save yourself the trouble.”

I stared at her fingers for a second too long, imagining them tangled in my hair while I held her against a wall and dragged my mouth down her body. My restraint had already been reduced to mere avoidance, which irritated me nearly as much as the erection pressing against my zipper.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >69

Advertisement Stryker (Black Crowns MC #1) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/stryker-black-crowns-mc-1-read-online-fiona-davenport Sun, 16 Aug 2026 18:13:16 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/stryker-black-crowns-mc-1-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Erotic, Insta-Love, MC, Novella Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Black Crowns MC Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >61

Brogan “Stryker” Rourke took the skills he learned in the military and built the Black Crowns MC into an empire. Their territory was vast, with only one parcel of land needed to complete it—the Rutledge Ranch.

Jacqueline Rutledge came to Sable Canyon to honor her grandfather and build her horse rehabilitation dream. She never expected Stryker to help when trouble came for the ranch. Or that he’d move into her house and make it clear no one gets to Jacqueline without going through him first

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

STRYKER

Grief was a real fucking bastard. It settled into the corners of a man’s life like dust, coating everything so gradually you didn’t realize how much weight you were carrying until something familiar suddenly felt different.

For the past week, mine had lived in the south-facing window of my office, giving me an unobstructed view of the land where Otis Rutledge had spent most of his life.

Nothing inside the room had changed since I’d learned he was dead. My desk was still covered with operational reports from Black Castle Security, acquisition projections for Rook Holdings, and three requests Judge had marked urgent. And the former JAG lawyer who’d become the legal eagle for the Black Crowns, Rook Holdings, and its subsidiaries wasn’t prone to exaggeration.

The framed military commendations my mentor had insisted on hanging remained lined up with mathematical precision behind me. The photographs from the earliest days of the Black Crowns still showed younger, harder versions of men who had somehow believed building a motorcycle club, a security company, and a legitimate corporate structure at the same time was a reasonable plan.

My office looked exactly as it had before Otis died, but every time my gaze drifted toward that window, I felt the loss tighten beneath my sternum with a pressure no amount of discipline could force away.

I had buried men I’d served beside, and ones I’d commanded, whose families had looked at me as though I might explain why their sons, husbands, or fathers were coming home beneath folded flags. Those losses had taught me how to compartmentalize grief without denying it, because a leader who fell apart merely handed his weight to everyone beneath him.

Losing Otis struck somewhere different, though, because long before anyone called me Stryker, I had been an angry kid who carried resentment like a weapon and looked for excuses to use it. I’d been headed toward becoming the kind of man who believed fear and respect were the same thing. Otis had seen through that shit within an hour of hiring me. He had put a post-hole digger in my hands, pointed toward a collapsed section of fence, and told me that if I wanted to spend the afternoon furious at the world, I could at least make myself useful while I did it.

He never raised his voice when I rushed a repair or tried to hide a shortcut beneath fresh boards. He would stand beside whatever I’d built, rub one weathered thumb over the mistake, and look at me until irritation burned hot across the back of my neck. Then he’d make me tear the whole fucking thing down and start again, because a fence would fail if I built it wrong, and whatever depended on that fence would pay for my laziness.

Somewhere between resetting posts, mending gates, throwing hay, and learning how to calm a frightened horse without trying to overpower it, he changed the direction of my life. If I worked past dinner, another plate appeared on the kitchen table, but he never framed the meal as charity or asked questions I wasn’t ready to answer. He just told me to wash the dirt off my hands before his wife saw the mess, then expected me to carry my dishes to the sink when I was finished.

Otis understood that pride could make a hungry teenager refuse kindness, so he disguised it as part of the job until I was old enough to recognize what he had done.

He taught me that strength without control was nothing more than another form of weakness, and the ability to hurt someone mattered far less than the judgment required to know when violence was necessary. By the time I enlisted in the Army at eighteen, I no longer wanted to prove I was stronger than everyone around me. I wanted to become capable enough to stand between dangerous people and those who had no way to stop them.

That purpose carried me through selection and into Delta Force at twenty-two, where it was sharpened into something lethal beneath the command of the man who eventually became my mentor. He was the one who gave me the name Stryker after watching me become the operator he sent through a breach when speed, precision, and overwhelming force were the only things likely to end a mission without dragging it into a prolonged fight.

Years later, while I was still active duty and spending more time overseas than in California, he listened when I told him Sable Canyon offered the land, access, and isolation we needed to build something permanent. He bought it and founded the Black Crowns Motorcycle Club—brotherhood first, business second, violence only when justice demanded it.

I had thought myself an occasional adviser with a motorcycle and a standing invitation to the compound. My mentor had considered me a founding member and settled the disagreement by sewing a founders patch onto my cut while I was deployed, then informed me after the fact that the matter was closed.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >61