Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
One massive party. Hundreds of bikers. One broken rule: No bloodshed.
The night started off with leather, tattoos, motor oil and muscles, but a little shameless fun with three tough, sexy men from the Screaming Eagles MC ended with one person dead, another in critical condition, and me running for my life. Now I’m locked inside the walls of their compound with the murder weapon in my purse, surrounded by dangerous bikers eager for revenge.
The only thing I know for sure is that someone set me up, and if it gets out that my father’s an enforcer in the Devil’s Brigade MC, it could spark a war. I don’t think he did it, but maybe I’m just naive. I didn’t even know about his second life until Mom died last year.
Now I understand why she kept me away. Every day brings new temptations that make it hard to remember why trusting men like them is a bad idea, and resisting is even harder.
Mad Dog fights hard and plays harder, but a little spice makes the pleasure all the sweeter.
Rebel’s cool and calculating, unless he’s on top of me and control is the last thing on his mind.
Riptide lives up to his name. His passion is deep and dangerous, threatening to pull me under and leave me utterly drenched.
I’m a waitress, not a badass biker, and I can’t get out of this on my own. Luckily, with Rebel, Mad Dog and Riptide at my side, I won’t have to.
The Screaming Eagles are out for the blood of whoever shot one of their brothers, and I won’t be safe until we figure out who wants the blame pointed my way. At first this was all about their vengeance, but working together, it’ll be sweet revenge
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
MELODY
“So where’s my father, anyway?” I ask. “Was he going to meet me somewhere?”
It’s been an hour since we got to the rally, and I haven’t seen Dad anywhere. I’m sure he has better stuff to do than hang out with me, but it seems strange to finally be invited to a motorcycle event and he doesn’t even bother saying hi. Maybe it wouldn’t suck so much if I wasn’t stuck with the human version of a wet blanket.
Red shrugs. He’s staring down at his phone.
Ooookay. “You must have a better plan than me. I haven’t had a signal in ages.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Should we get drinks, or…?”
“Real fucking chatty, aren’t you?” he snaps. “Stay here, I need to go check on something and I don’t want to have to chase you down.”
“Cross my heart, hope to die.” If my fingers are crossed behind my back, that’s my business.
I wait all of thirty seconds after he’s out of sight before ducking between a tent selling handmade leather gear and another where the buzz of a tattoo gun competes with the distant rumble of motorcycles racing down the old landing strip. Freedom, finally! Time to explore.
The sound of the engines has always been nostalgic for me. It reminds me of hot summer nights with my window open, hearing Dad’s bike come down our street and knowing there’d be pancakes in the morning.
He was never the kind of father who showed up to soccer games or helped me with my homework, but he laughed a lot and Mom was happier when he was around. It took a while for me to understand that not everyone had a dad who missed stuff because he was in jail sometimes, or had uncles with names like Clutch.
It sounds bad, but until Mom died last year I thought he was just a good-natured deadbeat. It wasn’t until we talked about me taking over the house that I learned the truth about his second life as an enforcer for the Devil’s Brigade MC. If you ask me, the whole thing still sounds like something out of a TV show.
It’s hard not to gawk like a tourist at the rows and rows of motorcycles lined up on the cracked dirt and dried grass. I make my way around the grounds, feeling invisible in the crowd. I wasn’t sure what to wear to a biker rally, but it’s hard to go wrong with ripped jeans and a black T-shirt, knotted at my waist to show off a little skin. It’s more than a lot of the other girls here have on.
Crap.
Out of what must be hundreds of people here, I only know three of them, so of course one is coming my way. Uncle Clutch is talking with a tall man I’ve never met, even though he’s wearing a vest with a Devil’s Brigade patch.
I step to the side, turning my face away. A group of beefy men with back patches reading Riders of War are arguing loudly about motorcycles. It’s the perfect cover. I just ditched one babysitter and don’t want another one. Knowing my luck, he’ll ask me where Red is. I slip behind the noisy bikers, and let out a relieved breath when Uncle Clutch and the other guy continue past me without noticing.