Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Thu, 30 Mar 2023 14:03:26 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.1 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Wrathful Souls (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #3) Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.books2020.com/wrathful-souls-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-3-read-online-anne-malcom Thu, 30 Mar 2023 14:03:26 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wrathful-souls-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-3-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Biker, Contemporary, Dark, MC Authors: Anne Malcom Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)

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She survived the deadliest serial killer of her generation.
Or so everyone thought.
No one knew how many pieces of her he took to the grave with him. She hid her scars, her nightmares. She hid everything until she couldn’t.
Then she ran.
But Colby followed her.
He’d follow her to the ends of the earth. To hell and back. Sariah knew he would…
Because Colby had already wrenched her out of hell once.
Because Colby loved her.
Only Colby loved the girl she was before. The carefree girl she used to be.
She had to show Colby that girl was gone.
By any means necessary.

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

PROLOGUE

I told myself I wouldn’t scream.

Wouldn’t beg.

Made promises to myself when it was clear what was happening. When it was clear who he was. What he was.

But although I excelled at keeping my word with my friends, I routinely broke every promise I ever made to myself.

Why should this be any different?

“Please,” I begged, coughing a pitiful, wet sound. The single word was coppery, bitter, coated in the blood that filled my mouth.

His lips stretched out, exposing straight white teeth in a wretched smile.

“You wanted to think that you were different,” he sneered, running the knife coated in my blood along my ruined, naked body. “That you weren’t like the others.” When he leaned in, I could smell the way my blood scented his body. My stomach roiled as I fought to keep from vomiting. Not that there was any left inside me.

“But you’re just like the rest,” he whispered, the tip of his knife pressing against the soft flesh of my stomach. “Just another whore.”

My scream echoed off the walls as he pressed the knife in. He didn’t plunge it in. No. He did it with devastating slowness. Patiently. So he could inflict the worst kind of agony. So I could feel the steel tearing through every layer of skin and flesh before puncturing my organs.

He wanted me to die slowly.

That I knew.

He wanted my last hours on this earth to be bloody, agonizing, horrific.

I’d seen the crime scene photos, hadn’t I? Poured over them with a sick fascination, some kind of warped arrogance that I would be the one to find him.

And I guess I was.

But I wasn’t going to be the one who exposed him. Wasn’t going to be the girl who escaped. I wasn’t special.

I was dying.

The cuffs around my wrists had rubbed the skin raw as I tried to slip my way out of them. I thought that my blood would make them slick, slippery, aid in my escape. But that shit only happened in the movies. When you were cuffed by a serial killer who also happened to be a cop, you didn’t escape. You didn’t outsmart them because you thought that’s what you would do as the heroine of your story.

Every girl who came before me was the heroine of her own story, but that didn’t change a fucking thing. Not when the villain, the real fucking villain, was in front of them, puncturing their skin with a sharpened knife.

“Whores giving their bodies to countless men,” he continued as the blade cut through me. “So many, they don’t even know who the father is when they get pregnant.”

I let out a sob of agony when he ripped the knife out viciously. The pain was white hot. I didn’t dare look down at my torso which must’ve been a shredded mess. I could practically feel the cold warehouse air kissing exposed organs as they slipped through the tears in my skin.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce,” he hissed, waving the knife at me. My blood flew off the blade, small droplets hitting my face. “Shouldn’t be able to grow life when you abuse your body. Trash it. When you don’t keep your baby safe like you should.”

When the hand not holding the knife reached down to cup me between my legs, bile mixed with blood in my mouth.

His eyes glowed at my revulsion, his face contorting into a shape that didn’t seem human.

“No life will come out of you,” he hissed. “And in death, you’ll be mine.”

The tip of the knife teased along the seam of my thighs, between my legs. For one horrendous moment, I thought he’d put it … inside. I was already in agony, but being cut from the inside out? Maybe my body would protect me, maybe I’d finally pass out. Maybe I’d never wake up. That would be nice.

I tried to grit my teeth, narrow my eyes, rustle up my signature attitude. “Fuck you,” I whispered, the words coming out weak and garbled.

He smirked at me, keeping the tip of the knife at my entrance.

“Oh, I will be fucking you, as you so eloquently put it. But not yet. I’ll wait.”

The knife hovered for a second longer before he stood up, staring at me with disgust before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

I felt no relief as his footsteps receded. Because he’d come back. And I’d still be here.

They say history is written by the victors. Whoever the fuck ‘they’ are. But really, history is written to immortalize the villains into infamy.

This fucker would be famous. People had finally been catching on to the murders in the last month. Online sleuths were going crazy. Hell, I was the one with all of the fake social media accounts, spreading the word about the man who would eventually murder me. There was going to be a lot more publicity, especially with my death.

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Advertisement Wilting Violets (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #2) Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.books2020.com/wilting-violets-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-2-read-online-anne-malcom Wed, 19 Oct 2022 22:42:05 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wilting-violets-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-2-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Dark, MC Authors: Anne Malcom Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)

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The good girl falls for the bad boy.

Can we name a bigger, or better cliché?

Despite my ideas about the deep misogyny associated with this particular one, I’ve somehow found myself in the middle of it.
Except, I’m not the good girl. I’m exceptional at playing that role. But I’m not. My secrets make sure of that.
And he’s not a boy. He’s a man. Older than me by decades. An outlaw. A villain.
A member of one of the most notorious MCs in the country. The Sons of Templar.
More importantly, my stepfather is one of his brothers. That means I’m off limits.
He’s off limits.
But that doesn’t stop us. Nothing will. Not until there’s nothing left but the charred remains of the lives we once knew.

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

Prologue

ELDEN

My brother was holding a gun to my head.

I’d expected this to happen from the second I laid eyes on her.

The second I touched her.

Tasted her.

She tasted like perfection and my eventual demise.

I knew that this was a ticking time bomb. That we were a ticking time bomb. I also knew that it was a matter of when he found out I was fucking his stepdaughter. Not if.

I could’ve avoided this.

If I’d been strong enough to leave her alone. To say no to her. To get the fuck out of this club and as far away from her as I could’ve.

But that had been beyond my control.

Everything to do with Violet was beyond my control.

And on some level, I’d been willing to die for her. If it was a choice between a bullet and never knowing what it felt like to be inside of her, I’d choose the bullet.

Every fucking day.

“I should blow your brains out right here, right now,” Swiss seethed.

I didn’t argue with him, though I did disagree.

Violently.

I knew my brother was hanging by a thread right now and that there was a reason no one had stepped forward to try to do anything. Even though he was a husband and a father, he was still fucked-up, impulsive and unpredictable when he was mad. He was still very fucking dangerous.

And he’d just found out I’d been involved with his stepdaughter for years.

So he was mad.

Therefore, his piece was pointed in my face.

“There was a time in my life when I probably wouldn’t have fought you,” I told him. “A time when I might’ve just let what happened happen. When I didn’t care much if I was living or dying. Because I didn’t have anything to live for.”

I didn’t stare at him. Nor the barrel of the gun he was pointing in my face.

No, I stared at the indigo eyes of the woman I loved. The mother of my child, tears streaming down her face.

“Now I’ve got somethin’ to live for,” I said, not to Swiss but to her. “I’ve got everything to live for. Not gonna argue with you that this got fucked-up. That I made some bad fuckin’ choices in the midst of this. But you’re never gonna get me to wish away what I did. Because if I did, I wouldn’t be standin’ right here.”

I kept my eyes on her as I tensed, waiting. I wouldn’t go down without a fight. Fuck no. But if he was that far gone and was going to pull the trigger, she was going to be the last thing I saw before I left this world.

Chapter One

TWO YEARS EARLIER

VIOLET

I was sitting on a roof at three in the morning with a bottle of Jack Daniels in my left hand, a joint in my right.

The roof of an outlaw biker compound, it’s important to point out.

It was three in the morning.

The witching hour … when the veil between worlds was thin, when demons were more capable of sinking their talons into you, scoring your skin right to the bone… If you believed in such things.

I did, as it happened, believe in such things.

I was somewhat of a cliché for my generation. I liked crystals, astrology—I was a Scorpio rising, Sun in Sagittarius—and loved to read spicy fantasy novels with a strong female lead. I believed in magic, angels, demons, sprites and the Fae.

But my demons were not of the metaphysical variety. They didn’t come from the underworld or from mystical realms either. They were much too common, much more cliché. Uninteresting. Which made everything worse. If I was going to be battling demons, at least life could make them interesting, worthy of a chapter in my autobiography.

Violet Edwards, demon killer… It had a nice ring to it.

As opposed to Violet Edwards, just another fucked-up, rich kid with daddy issues.

I didn’t normally hang out in outlaw biker compounds. Nor did I drink Jack Daniels or any other dark kind of whisky. While in France, I had developed a taste for Pinot Noir, a crip rosé from the South when it was hot out.

But when in Rome and all that.

And my particular situation called for Jack… A crisp rosé wouldn’t do shit to dull the edges.

The night was unusually quiet. Even though I’d only been here a few days, I’d come to understand that silence, even in the middle of the night—especially in the middle of the night—was hard to come by at an outlaw biker compound. All of the married members, my mother’s good friends, lived in houses of their own. Which meant that it was only the single men who lived at the clubhouse. And they liked to party. Party freaking hard. They also liked to do a lot of other stuff that shocked even my not so naïve eyes.

No one seemed worried about sexual acts being performed in public after certain hours. To the contrary, it seemed some of them liked being watched. When that started, I took that as a sign that that was the time to be putting myself to bed—especially considering my current condition. But something had also awakened inside of me, a want to stay. A need. And every time, my eyes had always found blue ones, my body pulsating as we made eye contact, as it became clear he had been watching me too. The weight of that stare and my current condition had me scuttling back to my room, heart beating fast and shame covering me like sweat.

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Advertisement Wretched Love (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #1) Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.books2020.com/wretched-love-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-1-read-online-anne-malcom Sat, 30 Jul 2022 10:04:16 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wretched-love-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-1-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Contemporary, Dark, MC, Romance Authors: Anne Malcom Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	(Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico #1) Wretched Love
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Anne Malcom
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B0B2CTG9DZ
Book Information:
Don’t ask me how I got here, I don’t want to lie to you. I’m not a worldly woman. I’m not cultured, well-traveled or well educated. I’m just a housewife. A mother. I’m the woman with the handsome husband, beautiful daughter, the large house. If you saw it from the outside, you’d probably think I have the perfect life. You would most definitely be wrong. But I don’t blame you. We all see what we want to see, turning a blind eye to what others want to stay hidden. Especially when it comes to love. They say love is blind. But I’m more apt to say it’s wretched. Love is what made me stay. But love is also what saved me. When I found him. The outlaw who saved my life without knowing it. Until he found out the truth.
Books in Series:	Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
Books by Author:	Anne Malcom

Chapter One

Kate

I was putting on mascara when he came in.

I met my husband’s blue eyes in the mirror. Those eyes ran over me with hunger. Appreciation.

My skin tingled.

I wasn’t wearing anything particularly revealing. A tailored dress, white with little flowers all over it. It showed off my figure, trim because my husband liked me that way. I was religious about my diet, about my morning Pilates class. The same with my Botox appointments, expensive facials and a standing appointment with my hair stylist to add honey highlights and keep my naturally midnight black hair a softer chocolatey color so I never had roots.

We had an image to maintain after all.

Preston swept my hair aside and kissed my neck. “You look good enough to eat, babe.”

My stomach clenched as his hands went down to my hips, his front pressing into my back, his intention clear. My heartbeat thrummed as my body responded to his, attuned after all these years.

“I’m already late,” I sighed.

Preston’s hand at my hip tightened, and he whirled me around.

His fist plowed into my stomach in one smooth move.

I doubled over, wheezing as my breath was sucked out of me.

“Manage your time better,” he said coldly. “And don’t ever refuse me again.”

His shoes echoed on our heated bathroom tiles.

I stared at the pattern, frowning at a speck I must’ve missed when I was cleaning the floors earlier this morning.

Once the pain subsided, I straightened, stared at myself in the mirror for a second, then resumed putting on my mascara.

“I fantasize about cheating on my husband with the neighbor when I’m masturbating,” Luanne said.

The women laughed, and I merely smiled tightly.

“I don’t come to the thought of cheating,” she continued with a sly grin. “It’s the thought of the pillow talk after, being able to complain about my idiot husband that sends me over the edge.”

More shrieks of laughter.

I sipped my iced tea.

Luanne drained her rosé. It was her second, and she lifted her hand to the waiter in a way that was patronizing and dismissive, signaling another.

Her eyes zeroed in on me. Luanne didn’t like me. Of course, she never came right out and said it. No one in this little group of wives were honest about how they felt—beyond their fantasies about the neighbor. It was just pointed comments, backhanded compliments, whispers behind each other’s backs.

She didn’t like me. For many reasons. Mostly because I was younger than her, and she was threatened by that. And also because she wanted my husband. She didn’t try to hide it. Not even a little. She was always stroking his arm when we had parties, standing a little too close, laughing at his jokes, rubbing her fake tits on his arms.

If only she knew what being married to Preston was like, she wouldn’t be so eager to rub up against him.

“What about you, Kate?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “We’ve all shared. Who do you fantasize about when you use your battery-operated friend? Even though your husband is a man made of fantasy.”

I smiled tightly at her. “He defies fantasy,” I said smoothly.

They all waited with bated breath. All the ladies who lunched. The group of women Preston had urged me to befriend once Violet went to school and I had ‘nothing’ to do with my time.

Despite the fact that I cleaned our entire house daily because he could see any speck of dirt. That I made everything in our home from scratch because he didn’t want processed food. That I took his shirts and suits to the drycleaners, also daily because he wanted everything ‘fresh.’ That I spent hours on dinner because he expected me to serve him gourmet meals.

Then there were our gardens that he needed to be impeccable. He didn’t hire anyone. Except to do the grass and the pool, but they came on an exact day at an exact time. Otherwise, he didn’t want strangers in our home. Didn’t want them snooping. Seeing things they shouldn’t.

We’d bought a much larger house when Violet started high school and Preston took over for his father as president of the bank. Our mansion was only minutes away from his parents which meant his mother could and often did stop by. Her home was always immaculate, and Preston would not hear of me embarrassing us both by having the house ‘out of order.’

So it was a full-time job to keep everything how he wanted. To avoid punishment, even though he often found something wrong, something out of place.

These women, with husbands and grown children, had full-time help. They wouldn’t dream of scrubbing a toilet. They had endless time to day drink and talk about their trainers, their current diet, how their husbands didn’t satisfy them. Whatever it was that they considered ‘problems.’

I did not have that time.

But these were the women to be seen with in our small town. These were the circles to run in. To keep up appearances.

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Read Online Books/Novels:

(Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico #1) Wretched Love

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Anne Malcom

English

B0B2CTG9DZ

Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom

Anne Malcom