Addicted: A Secret Baby Romance (Rebel Saints MC)
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This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
Addicted: A Secret Baby Romance (Rebel Saints MC) copyright 2017 by Zoey Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
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Contents
Addicted: A Secret Baby Romance (Rebel Saints MC)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
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Addicted: A Secret Baby Romance (Rebel Saints MC)
By Zoey Parker
No one can know she’s carrying my baby.
She’s a dark-haired vixen with a past she refuses to unveil.
Fine with me – I have enough skeletons in my own closet. No names necessary.
When we meet, it is just about sex – rough, raw, violent.
Until I learn who she really is. And everything changes.
I’m hunting for my missing sister when I come across a girl in a bar.
Not just any girl – she’s a drop-dead stunner.
In that red dress, every inch of her skin is just begging to be bit, licked, stroked.
And I’m the only man here with balls enough to do it.
It doesn’t take long before we’re tumbling around in a cheap motel room.
Strip. Spank. Moan.
Fade to black.
But when I wake up, she’s gone.
There’s just a note.
“No names,” it says. Only a phone number.
I’m struggling to put the night behind me as I get back to the mission at hand:
Finding my sister.
I’ve got a hunch that the Piccolo crime family is somehow involved.
They’re notorious sex traffickers, and if I found out they’ve touched Hannah…
Bad things will happen.
I’m going to get those bastards in my grip and squeeze until they tell me where she is.
While I plan my strike with my MC, I can’t help but call the girl from the motel again.
Night after night, we play out my wildest fantasies.
No names.
Just sex.
Things are going just about perfectly…
Until I find out her terrible secrets.
She’s the new head of the Piccolos.
She’s pregnant with my baby.
And she’s about to sell my sister.
God help me… I’m addicted to sleeping with the enemy.
Chapter 1
Toni Piccolo – Head of the Piccolo Crime Family
When I finally say I love you to any man and really mean it, it will be like a defeated general who's lost all his troops, surrendering and handing his sword to the enemy.
Why am I thinking of that quote here, now? In a club, where I’m looking for something to take my mind off things. Off my family, the Piccolos, and our business – which are pretty much the same thing these days.
I read “War and Peace” years ago, and right now, all I’m looking for is one night of forgetting.
I let the fishing hook of my gaze slide around the room, pause on a few possibilities. A minnow of a boy with a tangle of hair and a confident smirk. Maybe. Then there’s a goldfish slinking around the dance floor, all hip thrusts and gyrations. Or even the whale of a man at the end of the bar, a tall and broad beast.
They’re all eyeing me hungrily, and I can’t blame them. This dress, this front-zippered, red-velvet-tits-to-ass dress was made for sex, and that’s what I bought it for.
I stride to the bathroom, giving each of the men a moment of my glance in turn. I’ll think about who to choose while I check my hair. They all look like good prospects – but tonight, I don’t want good, I want great. Who knows the next time I’ll get away from my family again. Even escaping to this bar, which is a five-minute walk away, wasn’t easy. I had to wait hours until Carlos finally left the house.
As I brush my hair with long pleasing strokes, I glare at the smile wor
king its way onto my face.
How did I let it get to this point? To the point where I’m so cooped up in our stupid old house that I relish even getting out to a public washroom?
My brush hits a snag in my hair and I yank down, but the snag holds. Stuck here, the questions attack me:
How long will Papa be sick?
How long am I going to have to be in charge?
How long am I going to have to hide so that no one knows that I’m Toni, momentarily in charge of the infamous Piccolo family?
The brush’s bristles wrench through the hair tangle and the answers tumble down:
Probably not much longer now. He’s a fighter, Papa Piccolo. He’ll be better in no time.
So, I’ll be free soon. ‘Til now, I’ve only had to keep business running as usual, not a big deal, except…
I glance up then away, away from the horror already manifesting itself on my face. Carlos tried to keep it from me, as it were; I only found out by accident. And yet, I can’t seem to get it out of my head, what that sick bastard Clarence let slip.
I tuck my brush in my bag and stride out of the bathroom.
That’s enough hair-brushing and soul-searching for now. Now, I’m ready for some good old forgetting.
No sooner have I sat down at the bar then the minnow slides up beside me.
“You’re beautiful. What do you drink?” he asks.
“Sex on the beach,” I say.
He grins, thinking he knows exactly what I mean.
Really though, I like my alcohol tasteless, like an extra yummy juice.
Just how you liked the family business, reaping its rewards while ignorant of what was really going on, a voice in my head says.
When the drink is set before me, I down it in one gulp.
“Whoa,” the minnow says, “You must be really thirsty.”
I stare into his eyes, smile and purr, “You have no idea.”
“A drinker. I like that,” the goldfish says in a heavily-accented voice, putting another Sex on the Beach on my other side.
I let my smile slide over to him, take the straw with one hand and suck up my deliverance for tonight, my fingers playing with the straw.
Tonight’s going to be a good night, I can tell already.
When the whale appears behind me with two Sex on the Beaches in hand, I’m hardly surprised.
What follows is an all-you-can-drink competition where I lose track of the empty glasses, the men get on first-name shoving basis, until all three of them fuse into one man, goading me into more drinks, tugging me to the dance floor with a hand around my waist, snaking hands around me.
Finally, I stumble to the bathroom, stare at myself in the mirror.
This is fun, but eventually I’m going to have to choose.
I tilt my head at my reflection, hoping she has a better idea than I do.
Who am I going to choose?
Chapter 2
Gabriel Pierson – Head of the Rebel Saints
The strongest of all warriors are these two — Time and Patience.
I glare into my whiskey.
Thanks, “War and Peace,” that’s going to be a real help now. Patience is just what I need, now that my sister may be missing and it might be my fault.
I take a long swig of my whiskey, enjoying the lightness slowly seeping over my mind. That’s the most I’m gonna get, after all. That’s the rule – one drink and one drink only.
I take out my phone, stare at my sister’s text again. Off on vacation. No need to contact me.
The more I drink, the less plausible the message seems.
Hannah is all exclamation points and emoticons. She’s a planner. She gabs about anything she’s going to do for months in advance.
I shove my phone back in my pocket. I don’t want to look at that message anymore.
It’s weird, is all, Hannah going on vacation all of a sudden. Especially after how things have been going with the Piccolo family. Sure, we’ve been fighting the Piccolo family as long as I’ve been breathing, but lately it’s escalated.
Please God, don’t let it have escalated that far…
I take another drink, and, over the rim of the cup, see my plans for tonight striding on up to the other end of the bar.
Sex on legs. Red dress, one zipper pull away from naked; thick wild curls down her back; black eyes on me. Now, that was a “come hither” look if I ever saw one.
Chapter 3
Toni
I knew there was a reason I waited to throw out my line – the shark hadn’t arrived yet.
Now there’s no mistaking him. Hulking bodybuilder chest, tattoo-sleeved arms, smirk like he knows already – that’s him. That’s my escape for tonight.
His white hair and ice blue eyes look strangely familiar – I think he’s even an albino, but I’m probably just wasted.
I throw him the look and he takes the bait, strides right on up to me.
“Some dress,” he says, gesturing to my tits.
“It’s convenient,” I shoot back, my gaze on his crotch.
“What do you drink?” he asks.
“Why don’t you try it?” I ask, putting his hand on the zipper.
Our eyes meet in understanding. I don’t need anything else to drink. I need him. Now.
I let a slow smile slide over my face. I love teasing men like this. Daring them to do what we both know they won’t.
His fingers close over the zipper. His gaze goes from the hint of my cleavage to my full red-lipped smirk.
I raise my eyebrows. Go on, I dare you.
His hand pulls down, and I gasp.
My bare breasts exposed, I rip myself back and zip the gaping sides of my dress back up. He chuckles and tilts his head at me, as if examining a strange bird specimen.
“Shouldn’t make offers you don’t mean.”
He smirks, and I step forward, get all up in his face, put my hand on his cheek.
Game on.
I slide it down, from his cheek to his lips, my hand pulling his lower lip down a bit as it moves on, over his stubbled chin to his thick neck, his muscled chest, his rock-hard abs, his belly, the top of his jeans, onto his crotch.
I grasp his package, and saunter off to the bathroom, tossing a “see ya” over my shoulder.
Every man in the room’s eyes follow me as I strut to the hard-wooden door at the end. The one with the little lady figurine sign that, if my expectations are correct, will be disregarded in no time at all.
I barely have time to glance in the mirror before he’s here – the albino – slamming me to the wall, pressing his lips over mine, running his hands over my velvety sides. He shoves his pelvis into me so I can feel the outline of his dick, hard already. His hand plays with the zipper of my dress, zipping down a bit, then up again. A bit down, then up again, teasing me.
I shove him back.
I command, “Unzip me.”
He shoves me back.
“Shut up.”
And, in one swift motion, he unzips my entire dress. The sides flop down and his gaze and hands go where they were, grasp my body’s every curve, every fold, envelop my breasts, one on each, while I suck on his neck, moan my pleasure in licks and tugs of his ear and earlobe.
“No bra, you slut,” he says, removing his hands so he can get a good look at my chest.
“You haven’t even seen my thong yet,” I shoot back.
I twist around so I can rub my ass on his dick, and he can enjoy the red satin ruffles twisting between my ass cheeks.
“Jesus,” he groans, rubbing himself back into me.
He shoves me back to the wall, presses his thick rod to my ass.
“Who said you could do that?” he demands.
I whirl around and throw my mouth on his, my tongue dancing with his, my fingers unzipping his jeans and burrowing into his pants.
I’m wet already. I want him – now.
“Fuck me,” I say.
“Shut up,” he says.
His chest pr
essing me into the cool tiles of the wall, he growls, “You haven’t earned it yet.”
Heated want coils through me.
I try to struggle, but it’s no use. Fuck, he is so strong.
I kneel down, direct my plea to the hard pillar in his pants, “How do I earn it?”
The door opens partway, hits his back.
“Shit,” he says, slamming the door closed.
“Hey man-” a male voice behind the door says.
“One minute,” the albino says, his back against the door. He leans over to pick up my dress, and hands it to me.
I throw it on and zip it up hurriedly.
His eyes snake up and down me, then he asks, “You ready?”
As his paw of a hand locks around my wrist, I almost feel like asking “For what?” But instead I let him pull me out of the bathroom without a word.