by Katie Ashley
Copyright © 2016 Krista Ashe
Cover photograph © David et Myrtille/Arcangel Images
Author photograph © Lauren Perry
The right of Katie Ashley to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in this Ebook edition in 2016
by HEADLINE ETERNAL
An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by arrangement with NAL Signet,
a member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
A Penguin Random House Company.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN 978 1 4722 2917 5
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.headlineeternal.com
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Praise for Katie Ashley
By Katie Ashley
About the Book
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
One: Bishop
Two: Samantha
Three: Samantha
Four: Bishop
Five: Samantha
Six: Bishop
Seven: Bishop
Eight: Samantha
Nine: Bishop
Ten: Samantha
Eleven: Bishop
Twelve: Samantha
Thirteen: Bishop
Fourteen: Samantha
Fifteen: Bishop
Sixteen: Samantha
Seventeen: Bishop
Eighteen: Samantha
Nineteen: Samantha
Twenty: Bishop
Twenty-One: Bishop
Twenty-Two: Samantha
Twenty-Three: Bishop
Twenty-Four: Samantha
Epilogue
Excerpt from the incredible Vicious Cycle
Take a wild ride with Katie’s Vicious Cycle series
Find out more about Headline Eternal
About the Author
Katie Ashley is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Proposition series and the Runaway Train series, as well as several New Adult and Young Adult titles. She lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia, with her two very spoiled dogs. With a BA in English, a BS in Secondary English Education, and a master’s in English Education, she spent eleven years teaching middle school and high school English until she left to write full-time.
Find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/katieashleybooks, on Twitter @KatieAshleyLuv, or visit her website www.katieashleybooks.com for news and updates.
Let Katie Ashley take you on a wild, powerfully romantic ride:
‘I was blown away. The tension. The suspense. The romance. The twists and turns . . . Katie Ashley’s ability to bring characters to life are incomparable . . . I never thought I could care about anyone like I do the Vicious Cycle series characters. They are so complex, so alive! . . . This book reveals a different side of Katie. Tough. Bold. Badass. Intensely beautiful and heartbreaking’ The Book Avenue
‘What does Katie Ashley do well? She writes beautifully sexy love stories. What she does really well is she writes wonderful men who are ready-made to fall in love with’ Literati Literature Lovers
‘You know how much we loves us a HOT read, and there is plenty of heat here, ladies’ Flirty and Dirty Book Blog
‘Full of everything I love in a romance book. A sexy, scared-of-commitment leading man . . . a very relatable, beautiful woman . . . drama to last for days, and a scorching love story that left me wishing this book would never end’ The SubClub Books
‘It was all fabulous. Steamy, romantic, swoon-worthy’ Smitten’s Book Blog
‘[Ms. Ashley’s] got me good and hooked’ Fiction Vixen
‘“Wow” is all I can say . . . If you are new to Katie Ashley, treat yourself. I promise that you will not be disappointed’ Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
By Katie Ashley
Vicious Cycle Series
Vicious Cycle
Redemption Road
Last Mile
About the Book
When ATF agent Samantha Vargas’s partner takes on a case to infiltrate the Hells Raiders MC, Samantha agrees to go undercover as his old lady. Determined to take down anyone involved in the drug trade, she is surprised to find herself drawn to the very man she is investigating.
Mechanic Benjamin ‘Bishop’ Malloy has worked hard to carve a place for himself both in and out of the MC world. Taking one of the club’s new hang-arounds under his wing, Bishop finds himself conflicted over his growing attraction for the man’s girlfriend.
Even though she’s determined to bring down the Raiders, Samantha discovers their world isn’t as black-and-white as she thought. And as the stakes grow higher, she’s in danger of losing more than her heart.
Want more sexy, gritty biker romance? Return to the dangerous and seductive world of the Hells Raiders motorcycle club, in Vicious Cycle and Redemption Road.
To my faithful readers who embrace me across genres:
I’m forever in your debt for the amazing blessings
you have bestowed on my life.
You have my sincerest and deepest love.
Acknowledgments
My thanks first and foremost go to God, from whom all blessings flow, and my cup certainly runneth over personally and professionally.
To my agent extraordinaire, Jane Dystel, who always has my best interests at heart in both my personal and professional lives. Here’s to many more successful years together.
To my NAL editor, Kerry Donovan, thank you for being such a pleasure to work with on this series. Thanks for ensuring the books were the best they could be, for allowing me to keep as much control of my “babies” as possible, and for being there when I needed you.
Thanks forever and always to Kim Bias for talking me down from the ledge, working me through the plot points and being my first reader, doing daily writing goal check-ins via text, and generally making my books and my life so much better. Love ya hard, woman!
To Marion Archer—I could not and would not put out a book without your amazing feedback. I’m forever shaking my head at your comments and wondering, “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Most of all, I thank you for your friendship. Your prayers and support from across the ocean get me through.
To my cousin Kim Holcombe, and my friends Kristi Hefner, Gwen McPherson, Kim Benefield, Tiffany Allred, Brittany Haught, and Michelle Eck—thank you so much for taking such good care of me and Olivia during the first days and weeks of her life. That tender care greatly enabled me to finish this book. I love you all so very, very much!
To Katie Brown and Stephanie Frady: Thanks for watching Olivia to give me some writing time . . . and some sleep!
To my babysitter, Robin Riddle, thanks for taking such great care of Olivia and me so that I could do all things writerly without worrying about Miss O.
Cris Hadarly, my dearest friend and greatest book supporter. We may be oceans apart, but I couldn’t ask for a better person to be in my corner. I wil
l forever be in your debt for your unfailing contributions to my writing career. Thanks for going along on the crazy roller-coaster ride that has been the past three years. I love you with all my heart.
Jen Gerchick, Jen Oreto, and Shannon Furhman: Thanks for your unfailing support of me and my books—it means so much that you’ve embraced us. Most of all, I appreciate your friendship, which sustains me during the good and bad times.
To my street team, Ashley’s Angels, thanks for the love and support!
To the ladies of the Hot Ones—Karen Lawson, Amy Lineweater, Marion Archer, and Merci Arellano—thanks for your friendship, book support, naughty memes that make me laugh, and hours of Zoom chats. They mean the world to me.
To my naughty sistas of the Smutty Mafia: Thanks for keeping me sane and making me laugh!
To Kristi Hefner, Gwen McPherson, Brittany Haught, Kim Benefield, Jamie Brock, and Erica Deese for being the bestest friends a gal could ever ask for. I thank God for having you all in my life for so long.
PROLOGUE
Knives and forks clanging together mixed with idle conversation echoed through the dining room and grated on eight-year-old Samantha Vargas’s last nerve. Peering out into the hallway, she eyed the golden hands of the antique grandfather clock for the millionth time. It was almost seven, and her father was now thirty minutes late. While her mother and siblings seemed unaffected by his tardiness, she was on pins and needles awaiting his presence in the house.
“Ignoring your food isn’t going to make Daddy get home any sooner,” her mother chided, motioning her fork at Sam’s untouched plate. “Eat up.”
With a sigh of frustration, Sam picked up her fork and started poking at the food that was usually her favorite but tonight held no appeal at all. She brought some of the arroz con pollo to her lips. Just as she was about to take a bite, her ears perked up at the hum of a car’s motor. When a door slammed outside, Sam jerked her head up. “He’s here!” she cried, flinging herself out of her chair.
As her black Converse tennis shoes beat a hot path out of the dining room, her mother called, “Samantha Eliana Vargas, get back here and finish your dinner!”
Ignoring her mother’s command, she sprinted down the hallway and threw open the front door. She barreled forward off the porch and onto the path, where she jumped into her father’s arms.
He dropped his briefcase onto the concrete, unable to juggle them both. He then chuckled at her enthusiasm. “I guess this means you’re glad to see me, huh?”
“You’ve been gone almost a week,” she protested as she tightened her arms around her father’s neck. When she pressed herself flush against him, she could feel the gun holster through his suit, along with the steel of his gun. It might have freaked out most kids, but to her, it was comforting. It was how she identified her father. Like on television and in the movies, he was one of the good guys fighting against all the bad ones committing crimes.
“This case took a little longer than I thought, mija. But rest assured that after tomorrow, I’ll be home now for a while.”
“I’m so glad.” She pulled back to stare into his dark brown eyes—the same ones she had inherited from him. Of course, she had inherited so much more from him than just his eye color. Unlike her older brother and sister, who favored their mother, she was her father’s Mini-Me. She wanted to be just like him when she grew up. Law enforcement was in her blood. Her grandfather had been a detective with the Miami police, and then her father had become a DEA agent. She had a strong desire to beat the bad guys, just as they did. While other girls her age were playing with Barbies and other dolls, she was learning from her father’s stories how to dismantle weapons and read body language.
“Come on. Let’s go inside. Your mama promised to cook my favorite dinner tonight, and I’m starving.”
Sam grinned. “She did.”
“And that’s why I love her so much. She might be a good Irish girl, but she tries her hardest to make her Cuban husband his favorite foods.”
As they climbed the porch stairs, her mother and siblings were waiting in the doorway. Her father eased Sam down onto her feet so that he could give her fifteen-year-old brother, Steven, and thirteen-year-old sister, Sophie, each a hug. Being teenagers, Steven and Sophie didn’t think it was cool to show the same kind of excitement for their father’s return as she had done.
Drawing her mother into his arms, her father gave her a lingering kiss. “Mmm, I’ve missed you, Jenny.”
Her mother smiled at her father. “I’ve missed you, too. Do we have you all to ourselves for a while?”
“I have one last thing to wrap up tonight around nine, but after that, I’ll be chained to my desk for the next few weeks.”
A relieved sigh escaped her mother’s lips. “Since that’s the safest place you could be, I’m glad to hear it.”
After bestowing another kiss on her mother’s lips, her father added, “You worry too much.”
“Daddy, can I go with you tonight?” Sam asked. When he shook his head, she argued, “But it’s Friday night. I don’t have school tomorrow.”
“There’s a little too much heat on this one for you to come along.” As disappointment clouded her face, he reached over to tweak her nose. “Next time, mija.”
From her father’s no-nonsense tone, Sam knew not to press the issue any further. Once he took his seat at the head of the table, she reluctantly sat down in her chair. Her dinner held a little more interest than it had before her father got home, and she managed to clean her plate because she knew it would please him.
It was during those last few bites that a brilliant idea formed in her head. She would prove to her father she wasn’t too young to see a case with heat. If she was going to be an agent like him one day, she had to start somewhere. Just as with her siblings, he had started her off young by teaching her how to shoot a gun down at the range as well as demonstrating several self-defense moves.
Of course, if she was to succeed, she would have to be a little sneaky. That was where the idea came in.
“What’s the grin for?” her father asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.
“Nothing,” she murmured.
After the dinner dishes were washed and her siblings scattered off to their own Friday-night social events, Sam pretended to be interested by what was on television. When the clock ticked closer and closer to nine, she faked a few yawns and then claimed she was tired and turning in early. She held back a smile as she kissed her parents good night.
When she was sure they weren’t paying attention, she slipped out the back door. She hustled around the side of the house to where her father’s sedan was parked. Throwing open the car door, she dropped down onto the floorboard. She covered herself with her blanket. Her body trembled so hard with excitement that her teeth knocked together. She didn’t know how long she waited before her ears perked up at the sound of her father coming up to the car. Once he was inside, she took shallow breaths, afraid that he might somehow hear her breathing over the car’s engine.
After the car made a few turns, Sam knew they were getting on the interstate, and from there, she imagined they were heading from the suburbs into Miami. Her mind whirled with different scenarios of what her father had to do. Maybe he was going to meet with an informant or do some undercover work. Those thoughts sent excitement pounding through her veins.
It seemed like an eternity before the car pulled off the interstate. It coasted along at an even speed, and then they made another turn. At the way she was shaken about, she imagined they had abandoned the paved road for gravel. Once they came to a stop, Sam eased the blanket off her face, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.
Her father turned off the car and then fumbled around in the front seat. The unmistakable scratchy sound of a radio filled the silence. “This is Agent Vargas checking in at 1901 Liberty Avenue.”
“Roger that, Vargas. Do you seek assistance?” another voice crackled over the frequency.
“No. Just a routine inf
ormation exchange.”
“Good luck. Ten-four.”
“Ten-four.”
A few minutes went by. The blaring of motorcycle pipes came from behind them, causing Sam to jump where she hid. She couldn’t imagine what business her father could possibly have with a motorcycle gang. The last time they were in the city, a group of bikers had roared past them. The emblem on the back of their leather vests had frightened her even more than the noise had. It was a skull that looked as though it had an American Indian headdress. Her father had called it a “death’s-head.”
Wondering if this biker was part of the same scary group, Sam eased up to peer out the window. Out of the shadowy darkness, a man dismounted his bike and came strutting across the parking lot. As he grew closer, the lone streetlight allowed Sam to get a better look. Long, dark hair spilled over his broad shoulders, but she couldn’t make out much of his face since it was covered in a beard. Even in the dark, he wore a pair of sunglasses, and Sam wondered how he could possibly see anything.
“Good to see you again, Willie. You have the location of the drop like you promised?”
“No,” the man muttered in a gravelly voice.
A frustrated grunt came from her father. “I thought we had a deal. The location of the drop ensured the close of the case, but most of all, it kept you out of jail.”
Willie shrugged. “All I have is a message.”
“What is it?” her father questioned, both caution and apprehension filling his voice.
“People who fuck with the Rogues get put to ground.”
“Oh shit!” her father muttered before he began frantically shifting in his seat.
An explosion like a cannon blast went off beside the car. Sam bit back her scream at both the noise and the fact that something warm and sticky showered over her in the backseat. A few seconds ticked agonizingly by . . . or was it minutes? Sam’s heartbeat drummed so loudly in her ears she was sure her father and the man were going to hear.
