If I open up, will she wreck my life?
Reaper
Crashed and burned
Wrecked....
My relationship, my life, my bike
All turned upside down
But I needed to get my bike back in gear
She's the only one I need
No woman was going to ever change that
No woman was going to make me crash and burn again
My club is my sole focus
Until her...and that cute little tater tot daughter
I'm going to protect them from whatever, including family
Now I wonder...
If I open up, will she wreck my life?
My first official task was to pay off some slovenly group of dirty bikers. Of course, Frankie kept company with the bottom feeders.
We made it to this large two-story, fraternity-style home in the backwoods somewhere. It definitely could use a new coat of paint. It was decent for the type of people that live here. I open the door to see Diesel ready to help me down. It was a lousy attempt at a cheap feel and I was already in a bad mood. I hop down on my own and I hear him close the door.
I walk up and knock; Diesel is right behind me. I can feel his breath on my neck. I snarl, "Why are you so close?! Back up, or I'll twist your balls off and feed them to the dogs."
He chuckles, "I like a chase, sweetheart. Your brother said you were fair game, and I can't wait to feel that tight little pussy around my dick."
Frankie said, what?!
He's offering me up to his lackeys like a fresh prostitute and I am livid. I'd slit Frankie’s throat in his sleep if I didn't need him. He doesn't give a shit about me and right now, the feeling's fucking mutual. The way I'm feeling, his flunky here is about to have a very agonizing sex change.
"I don't give a damn what he told you! Don't fucking touch me, you mongrel." In my anger, I slam my fist against the door three times. I probably sounded like the police, but I didn’t give a shit. Somebody better answer before I commit murder on their doorstep.
"Alright, wait a damn minute!" A voice on the other side yells out. The door swings open and I'm staring at a nearly naked beast of a man, but I’m really ogling his bare chest, a nice one at that, except my eye is drawn to fresh scars on his arm that look like they wrap around his back. They are a pinkish against his warm skin. I was so fascinated I failed to see the irritation on his face until I looked up and he sneered, "What?!" He stares down at me.
"What?! Don't they teach you basic manners to address people when answering the damn door, or is it true what they say about bikers? Nothing but a bunch of brainless Neanderthals."
Everyone was pissing me off tonight.
He looks behind me and recognizes Diesel, "Hey, Frankie letting his whores deliver payment now?" He taunted as he snatched the envelope. He was about to slam the door in my face, but I wasn’t going to tolerate disrespect.
I stuck my foot in the way and put my arms up against the door frame, "Despite your ignorant statement, you seem like a decent guy, quite out of place to be a mangy, trashy biker, but what do I know, huh? You might be as bad as my brother Frankie. I’m not some vagabundo (tramp) like that cadela (bitch) he's dragging around like a fucking trophy. I don’t know why, she looks like any other $10 whore, but whatever. IF there is a next time, I suggest you show me some respect, seu idiota covarde!” (you spineless prick)
He raised his brow and shifted his weight while rubbing his chin, the muscles automatically flexing in his chest and arms. He was also in his boxers; I wonder if I interrupted his sleep or a good time? I could hear female voices from behind the door.
"Did you call me a prick?"
Oh shit. I didn't expect him to understand me!
We made it to this large two-story, fraternity-style home in the backwoods somewhere. It definitely could use a new coat of paint. It was decent for the type of people that live here. I open the door to see Diesel ready to help me down. It was a lousy attempt at a cheap feel and I was already in a bad mood. I hop down on my own and I hear him close the door.
I walk up and knock; Diesel is right behind me. I can feel his breath on my neck. I snarl, "Why are you so close?! Back up, or I'll twist your balls off and feed them to the dogs."
He chuckles, "I like a chase, sweetheart. Your brother said you were fair game, and I can't wait to feel that tight little pussy around my dick."
Frankie said, what?!
He's offering me up to his lackeys like a fresh prostitute and I am livid. I'd slit Frankie’s throat in his sleep if I didn't need him. He doesn't give a shit about me and right now, the feeling's fucking mutual. The way I'm feeling, his flunky here is about to have a very agonizing sex change.
"I don't give a damn what he told you! Don't fucking touch me, you mongrel." In my anger, I slam my fist against the door three times. I probably sounded like the police, but I didn’t give a shit. Somebody better answer before I commit murder on their doorstep.
"Alright, wait a damn minute!" A voice on the other side yells out. The door swings open and I'm staring at a nearly naked beast of a man, but I’m really ogling his bare chest, a nice one at that, except my eye is drawn to fresh scars on his arm that look like they wrap around his back. They are a pinkish against his warm skin. I was so fascinated I failed to see the irritation on his face until I looked up and he sneered, "What?!" He stares down at me.
"What?! Don't they teach you basic manners to address people when answering the damn door, or is it true what they say about bikers? Nothing but a bunch of brainless Neanderthals."
Everyone was pissing me off tonight.
He looks behind me and recognizes Diesel, "Hey, Frankie letting his whores deliver payment now?" He taunted as he snatched the envelope. He was about to slam the door in my face, but I wasn’t going to tolerate disrespect.
I stuck my foot in the way and put my arms up against the door frame, "Despite your ignorant statement, you seem like a decent guy, quite out of place to be a mangy, trashy biker, but what do I know, huh? You might be as bad as my brother Frankie. I’m not some vagabundo (tramp) like that cadela (bitch) he's dragging around like a fucking trophy. I don’t know why, she looks like any other $10 whore, but whatever. IF there is a next time, I suggest you show me some respect, seu idiota covarde!” (you spineless prick)
He raised his brow and shifted his weight while rubbing his chin, the muscles automatically flexing in his chest and arms. He was also in his boxers; I wonder if I interrupted his sleep or a good time? I could hear female voices from behind the door.
"Did you call me a prick?"
Oh shit. I didn't expect him to understand me!
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She is the author of the paranormal romance, the Bound Series, which includes Bound to You, Bound by Destiny, and Unapologetically Nessa which are available on paperback and kindle.
She is also the author of her contemporary romance, the Black Aces MC, a motorcycle club romance and the Sandman, a dark, slow burn paranormal romance.
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Sounds like a great book.
ReplyDeleteintriguing
ReplyDeleteit does sound intriguing. thanks
ReplyDeleteSounds really good
ReplyDeleteYou have to watch out for the cute kids! They can sometimes encourage relationships that you might not think about otherwise. But at least this is fiction and I am sure it will work out well!
ReplyDelete