Down & Dirty: Books 1-3: Dirty Angels MC Series Box Set

by St. James, Jeanne

  She headed over as soon as she could once she saw Dex and Ace leaving for the meeting. She couldn’t leave the pawn shop until she got someone there to replace her. Luckily, her mother and Ace’s wife, Janice, rushed over to help once she explained to them what her panic was about.

  However, by the time she got to church it was too late. The meeting room door was shut and the remaining executive members were inside.

  Now, as she paced and her eyes kept landing on the closed door, she debated whether to bust inside and tell Jag that now was not the time to bring it to a vote.

  She wasn’t ready.

  She wasn’t ready at all. And she didn’t give her permission.

  Not that he needed it. He certainly didn’t. If he claimed her and everyone voted yes on it, she was screwed, no matter what she thought.

  Her head swung toward the door again and she stopped, hands on hips.

  Grizz slammed his pint glass full of beer on the bar, making the draft spill over the rim onto his hand. He cursed, shook off his hand, then pointed one crooked, gnarled finger toward the closed meeting room door. “Remember, girly, a woman don’t belong in that room ever.”

  “But—”

  “Nothin’ in that room’s your business,” he grumbled.

  If Jag was in there claiming her, it was her business. She had to stop him.

  She took one step toward the door, then suddenly she was there, hand on the knob, turning it, flinging the door open...

  “Goddamn women!” Grizz shouted at her back.

  All eyes landed on her and she froze. Ace, Jag, Pierce, Dex... And Zak? He wasn’t a board member anymore. Why was he in there?

  Her brother frowned at her. “What the fuck, Ivy?”

  Her gaze landed on Jag and he cocked an eyebrow at her, a small smile pulling at his lips.

  “You do it?” she asked him from the doorway.

  “Do what?” he returned.

  “Ivy get outta here,” Ace yelled. “We’re talkin’ business.”

  “I know! Don’t let him bring it to a vote!”

  Her uncle looked at her funny. “What are you talkin’ about?”

  Her gaze bounced to Jag and back to Ace. “The vote.”

  “On what?” Ace asked, clearly confused.

  Jag pushed to his feet and approached her. “Just what do you think we’re votin’ on?”

  “Me being your ol’ lady,” she whispered.

  He shook his head and laughed.

  Ace swept a hand around the table, looking a bit peeved. “We got two members missin’, we ain’t votin’ on shit.”

  “Oh.” Heat crept into her cheeks.

  “Bitches,” Pierce griped, shaking his head. “Heard the crazy ones are the best in bed. That true, Jag?”

  Jag’s head spun toward Pierce and his shoulders visibly tightened. Ivy placed a hand on his arm, pulling his attention back to her.

  “I thought you were in here claiming me.”

  “Should I be?”

  “No!” she shouted a little too loudly. She cleared her throat. She looked at Zak. “Can you not vote with two missing members?”

  Zak shrugged, but it was Pierce who said, “We can do whatever the fuck we want.”

  “Good.” Her answer had them all twisting their heads back to her.

  “Good?” Ace asked, clearly confused. Again.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Dex grumbled under his breath.

  “Yeah,” she stepped closer to the table. She looked Pierce in the eye. “I need to bring something to a vote.”

  “You can’t bring shit to a vote.”

  “You just said,” she lowered her voice to sound gruff like Pierce, “‘We can do whatever the fuck we want.’”

  “Know what I said, woman! You can’t bring shit to a vote.”

  “Baby, you gotta go,” Jag started, grabbing her arm. She yanked it free and looked at each one of them sitting around the table. “Jag ain’t claiming me.”

  “Ever?” Ace asked, his brows raised in surprise.

  “Ever.”

  “Sucks to be you, Jag,” Dex muttered.

  Ivy shot daggers at her brother. “Are you going to ask me why?”

  “Baby...”

  “Nope,” Pierce barked.

  “I’ll tell you why...”

  “Baby,” Jag said more firmly, grabbing her arm again. She shook her arm, but he didn’t release her this time, he just held on tighter.

  “I’ll tell you why...”

  “Ivy,” he said, the warning thick in his voice.

  Pierce let out a long, loud dramatic sigh. “Tell us why an’ then get the fuck outta here.”

  “Because I’m claiming him.”

  She could have heard a pin drop as everyone stared at her wide-eyed. Even Jag.

  Then Ace barked out a laugh and slammed the table with his palm, making her jump.

  Dex groaned and shoved his face in his hands.

  Zak smirked at Jag, shoved away from the table and came over to pound Jag on the back. “Congrats, brother. Got yourself a ball an’ chain. Welcome to the club.”

  Ivy turned slowly toward Jag, afraid of what she was going to see.

  It wasn’t as bad as she thought. He seemed kind of shell-shocked, but his gaze was heated as he stared at her. And he sort of looked... proud.

  Huh.

  “All in favor?” Ivy asked loudly, her gaze holding his.

  “It wasn’t even brought to a motion yet,” Ace laughed through his words. She was glad he was finding this amusing.

  “So make the damn motion,” she said impatiently.

  “How about I just second the motion?” Ace suggested.

  “Whatever,” she muttered. “All in favor?” she asked again.

  “Ayes,” rose up, the loudest coming from beside her.

  She bit her bottom lip as Pierce slammed the gavel on the table and yelled, “Motion carries. Jag’s officially now pussy-whipped. Good luck there, brother.”

  Jag yanked her to him and dropped his lips to hers. But instead of kissing her, he murmured, “Now, get the fuck outta here so we can finish talkin’ ‘bout your cousins’ legal troubles.”

  Oh.

  He gave her a quick kiss, then pushed her out the door and slapped her ass. “Deal with you later,” he said gruffly.

  Before she could turn around to address him, the door slammed in her face. She wandered back to the bar where Grizz just shook his head and Bella gave her a knowing smile.

  Her cell phone dinged, and she glanced at it.

  Love ya, baby.

  She texted back. Love you, too... ol’ man.

  * * *

  Jag, wearing nothing but his boxers, wandered past Ivy sitting at her kitchen table. He threw open the refrigerator door, contemplated the interior, scratched his balls, then snagged a beer, twisting off the cap and tossing it into the sink.

  He tipped the bottle to his lips and let the cold brew slither down his throat as he waited for her to bitch at him for the hundredth time about where the garbage can was located. But she remained quiet. He cocked a brow and approached the table, the bottle hanging between two fingers.

  Apparently, she hadn’t noticed because she was too engrossed in whatever she was looking at on her laptop.

  “Watchin’ midget porn?”

  “No,” she said distractedly, not even bothering to look up. “Working.”

  “Watcha workin’ on? It’s late.”

  “Something for you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. Something that will make you enough to build the custom bike of your dreams as well as put a down payment on a house.” She finally looked up over her shoulder at him, and with a smile added, “So we don’t have to wait for the ‘all’s clear’ text from Ace before we can have sex.”

  “We can have sex. Your uncle just don’t wanna hear you squealin’ like a pig.”

  “He say that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn,” she whispered, color flooding he
r cheeks.

  “So, if you can stay quiet...” his voice trailed off. “Never mind. Okay, how you gonna make me a lot of scratch so we can get our own place?”

  She turned her laptop so he could see it clearly. He leaned over her shoulder to get a better look. He blinked.

  “What’s that?”

  “A website.”

  “For what?

  “For you.”

  He read the fancy header at the top of the page: M. Jagger Jamison.

  “M. Jagger?”

  “I knew you’d be pissed if I used your first name.”

  He set the beer down on the table and swiped his finger over the touch pad on her laptop, scrolling up the page. The page was full of photos of his sketches. And there were outrageous prices under each one.

  “This live?”

  “No, I wanted to show you first and get your approval.”

  “Think you can get that for my drawings?”

  “Yes. I emailed an art dealer, and he was impressed. He actually was the one who suggested some of the prices. He said you’d make more if they were framed professionally.”

  “When you doin’ that?”

  Jag watched her jaw drop and her eyes widen. She wasn’t expecting that response from him. But she was right. No use hiding them away in a ceiling. He might as well sell them and build the dream bike he wanted as well as buy her a house.

  Get her a ring.

  Start a college fund for their kids. Since they’d most likely be super smart like her.

  “You’re okay with this?”

  He lifted a shoulder and picked up his beer. “Yeah.”

  “You won’t care what any of the brothers think?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  “You can handle it.”

  He thought about what she said for a moment as he took a pull from the beer bottle. Finally, he said, “Yeah, I can handle it.”

  He stepped behind her chair, wrapped a hand around her neck and pulled her head back. He dropped a kiss onto her forehead.

  “Gonna buy that house an’ fill it with green-eyed, redheaded lil’ girls like their momma.”

  She reached up to cup his cheek. “Nope. Badass little boys with grey-blue eyes like their daddy.”

  He stared down in her eyes, and the warmth that ran through him reached all the way to his toes. “Do me a favor, baby.”

  She smiled up at him, a dreamy look on her face. “What’s that?”

  “Don’t sell any of the ones I did of you.”

  “You can draw more.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t want no one but me to have you. In two-D or three-D.”

  “Okay,” she said softly, her eyes suddenly shiny.

  “Ready to go start makin’ those kids, baby?”

  “I’m on the pill, honey.”

  “I know, but could practice in the meantime.”

  She slapped the top down on her laptop and pushed away from the table. “That we can.”

  “Can I fuck you while you’re naked wearin’ my cut?”

  “Like the drawing? No.”

  “Baby.”

  “Jag.”

  He smiled to himself as he dragged her down the hall. It might not be tonight, but one of these nights he’d get her to agree.

  He’d dreamed about her wearing his cut for what seemed like forever. And if she only wore it while they were in the bedroom, that would be fine with him. But he was going to make sure she was screaming his name when she did.

  Turn the page to read the first chapter of book three in the Dirty Angels MC series:

  Down & Dirty: Hawk

  Welcome to Shadow Valley where the Dirty Angels MC rules. Get ready to get Down & Dirty because this is Hawk’s story...

  When strong statements must be made, Hawk, as the MC’s VP, must be the one to make them. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences, like him landing in jail. Though the club keeps an attorney on retainer, the one who shows up isn’t quite who he’s expecting. Not even close.

  Feisty, classy, and curvy, this attorney pushes his buttons in all the right ways. And Hawk can’t ignore a challenge. However, she’s so out of his league, he can’t hope for anything more than a few chances to scratch all her itches.

  When Kiki’s boss hands over the club’s account, she doesn’t know what to expect and her meeting with the overbearing, bad boy biker goes anything but smoothly. Like Hawk, Kiki loves a challenge, too. But getting involved in the club and its VP may not be what she bargained for. Especially when it comes to several run-ins with a rival MC, including one which may very well affect the rest of her life.

  Kiki needs to decide if becoming involved with Hawk is worth not only the judgment from her peers but, even worse, the violent mayhem the club becomes entangled in.

  Trigger warning: This story includes a violent situation that includes kidnapping, physical and sexual assault.

  Note: This book can be read as a standalone. It includes lots of steamy scenes, biker slang, cursing, some violence and, of course, an HEA. If you like alpha males who take charge, this book is for you.

  Chapter One

  Hawk grunted.

  About fucking time.

  As the annoying high-pitched buzz sounded, the magnetic door lock released and the reinforced steel door clanged open, he glanced up and saw a guard pushing through the door.

  He’d been sitting here long enough, waiting in this sparse room that only housed a bolted-down, dented and scratched metal table and two chairs that sat unevenly on the concrete floor.

  Not that he had anywhere else to go. He was stuck here until the club’s attorney showed up and did his legal hocus-pocus to get him the fuck out of county jail.

  All he knew was that he did not look good in an orange poly-cotton blend. He preferred denim and leather. He’d rather not be wearing a one-size-does-not-fit-all jumpsuit at all. It wouldn’t take much flexing for him to split the seams with the one he currently wore.

  Like the Hulk.

  He grinned.

  But that grin was quickly lost as the person following the guard into the room did not look anything like his lawyer.

  Not unless the Dirty Angels MC’s attorney had a sex change operation, lost at least fifty pounds—which included a gut—and slapped in colored contacts. Not to mention, found some sense of style.

  Hawk closed his dropped jaw before he started to drool like a fool. Because, for fuck’s sake, slobbering all over himself wouldn’t be very badass biker. Not. At. All.

  He drew himself up straighter in the uncomfortable metal chair and puffed out his chest until the top snap of the jumpsuit popped open.

  Then he let his gaze slowly run down that fine piece of ass from top to toe.

  Oh, fuck me, he thought as he took in the woman’s long, wavy dark brown hair, her plump suck-my-cock lips, her bouncing tits that wanted to bust out of the blood-red blouse that fit her like an if-you-can’t-acquit glove, her narrow waist, her not-so-narrow hips, which were encased in a black skirt that only came down mid-thigh—thighs that would fit perfectly around his ears—those long-ass, lickable calves, slim ankles, and... fuck... higher-than-hell heels.

  She could walk all over him as long as she wore those fucking shoes.

  He heard the clearing of a throat and reluctantly lifted his gaze to flashing, but amused, deep blue eyes.

  He hadn’t even realized the guard was gone and the door had been closed. They were alone.

  With a hard-on that wouldn’t quit, he now couldn’t wait to get back to his cramped cell to rub one out. He didn’t even care if his cellmate watched. Fuck that strung-out weasel dick.

  “Where’s Pudwhacker?”

  And when that vision opened her mouth to speak... Yeah, he just about creamed in his county-issued tighty whities. “I was assigned to your club by Mr. Pannebaker.”

  “Why?” came out sounding more like a grunt than a question.

  “Because I’m good—”

  In bed? I�
��ll be the judge of that.

  “And he’s busy,” she finished.

  The woman yanked the chair away from the table and the metal legs screeched along the filthy, pitted concrete floor. She smiled when he winced at the sound.

  “You gonna be able to sit down in that skirt?”

  She proved it when she slid that ass, which he had yet to get an eyeful of, onto the seat.

  He was jealous of that scrap of metal. No doubt. She should be sitting on his face instead.

  “Sure thing, Mr...” She flipped open his file, ran a long blood-red fingernail—one that matched her blouse—along a document inside and then tapped it. “Mr. Dougherty.”

  “You wear that for all your clients? Or am I special?”

  She plastered on an I’m-only-here-because-I-have-to-be smile. “All my clients are special, Mr. Dougherty.”

  “I’m sure,” he muttered. “Bet everyone who pays those fuckin’ high hourly fees feels special.” He reached around and rubbed his ass. “Feelin’ real special right ‘bout now.”

  She tilted her head and considered him. “You wouldn’t have to pay anything if you hadn’t been arrested.”

  Well, that was true. But sometimes statements had to be made and he, as well as his club brothers, had to be the ones to make them.

  “Shit happens.”

  “That it does. So here we are. Can we get started, Mr. Dougherty?”

  “Hawk.”

  She pursed her lips for a moment. And in that moment his balls tightened painfully. Damn, didn’t he want to shoot his load all over her face.

  Suddenly, she dropped her torso beneath the table and then popped back up. Hawk watched as her tits also bounced back, testing the top button of her deep V-neck blouse.

  He blinked. Since when were threads so damn strong?

  Then his breath rushed out of him loudly when she slipped on a pair of glasses.

  Holy fuck. She just became every man’s sexy librarian wet dream.

  I’ve been a naughty boy, Ms. Librarian.

  She placed some sort of flat computer that didn’t have a keyboard on the table. What Ivy would call a tablet or some such shit. Not that he cared. He didn’t fuck with those types of things. He barely knew the basics when he used the computer at his bar and even then, he let his computer whiz of a cousin do the rest.