Viper: A Dark Alpha Motorcycle Club Romance (Road Kill MC Book 8)

by Marata Eros

  Don't want too much retrospection. Instead, I fill my time with the consultation work I finally took Perry up on. Led to some arrests of deserving scumbags. Perry and I are hanging when we can, and I'm basically a Road Kill rider now. Feel more at home at that camp than any other I've ever been a part of.

  The last year has been like living as a sleepwalker. Vaguely awake, but sleep drowning my feelings at the edges. It's not a perfect existence, but a content one.

  Day by day, the numb continues to creep in like slow-moving quicksand. It doesn't worry me. It's better than feeling.

  I have my sister, nephew, and now a half-brother to love. I'll throw Viper in there somewhere too. And now there's Temp here.

  I know for a fact she noticed the liquid chemistry we have. My eyes run down her outfit, which hides everything that matters but shows me the potential.

  Her hair is board straight and thick, running just past her shoulders. It’s black like a raven's wing. Her jewel-like seawater-colored eyes are very slightly almond shaped. Exotic. Intoxicating. Wakes me right out of my brain fog. Not sure if that's a good thing.

  “You don't have to hold my elbow the whole way. I'm fine, really.” Black eyelashes sweep closed in a swift blink, briefly resting like ebony lace over fine cheekbones.

  Usually, I go for cheap, easy, and bottle blond. Temp is refined, classy and dark.

  Candi wants me to settle down. I just want to keep running my bike on the road, forget about the past, and bang a different woman every time. Simplicity.

  Temp is staring up at me.

  “Right.” I lift my hand and check out her car. It's a thirteen-year-old Dodge mini-van.

  “Sexy wheels,” I say more for something to say to distract me from my own thoughts than anything.

  She laughs, and the sound drives up my spine, making me wonder what other sounds she would make.

  Boner goes quarter-tilt. Fuck. I shift my weight.

  “Oh,” she turns away, thank God, and surveys the ugly mini-van. “Yes. It's a requirement of the state. For us to transport children in certain types of vehicles.”

  “Ah.” I tip my head back, checking out the sky. Stalling.

  “My other car is awful too. My real car.”

  I look down at her, reassessing her size. She might be a bit taller than Candi, but she's as tiny as my sister, with curves in all the right places. Built to fuck.

  “Yeah?”

  Her voice lowers. “Yeah. It's a real hunk of shit.”

  She surprises a barking laugh out of me.

  Temp grins at my amusement. “They don't pay social workers a lot, and well…” She spreads delicate hands wide. “I just keep using the same POS because it runs when I turn the key.”

  Great sense of humor. “You don't look like a cursing girl.”

  Shaking her head, she says, “I am. Any chance I get when there's not a child listening, I'll swear like a sailor.”

  “Kids around a lot?”

  She bites her lip in a most distracting way, and I notice how deeply pink they are. “Yes.” Then she seems to remember something. “Oh! I forgot to give this to Candice.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and that pull between sweeps back, engulfing the moment with weight, like an invisible bubble has captured us.

  “Or you—I can… can give it to you, Puck.” Reaching inside a slim black clutch purse, she extracts a small card.

  Charlotte “Temp” Temperance

  206-631-6312

  I look up from the card, meeting her gaze.

  “In case there's any issue. Legal, transitioning, whatever.”

  “Whatever?” I ask softly and step close to her.

  Temp takes a step back, a soft pink blush tinting her face. Stroking the card between my fingers, I realize I want to have sex with this girl. Badly.

  My eyes rove her again. Probably out of my league. Too sweet. Too perfect. So not for Puck.

  Then her fingers brush mine as I sweep the card out of her hand, and that lick of heat flares. Eyes clashing, she backs away and slowly moves to the van.

  She gets in the driver's side but peeks around the front of the dash windshield. “Nice to meet you, Puck.”

  Is it me, or is her voice a little breathless?

  “Same here,” I say. My eyes say a lot more than my words—if she's looking.

  She pauses, hand wrapping the door window frame as she stares. Finally, Temp slips inside the vehicle and starts the engine. She pulls away, and I watch the disappearing van until there's nothing to watch.

  I mean to give the card to Candice so she can file it somewhere in the house and forget about it. But as Charlotte Temperance pulls away, I stuff the card in my pocket instead.

  I’m intrigued. And probably damned for it.

  Epilogue

  Viper

  “God, babe, you feel amazing.”

  I'm gentle. I treat Candice like something fragile, though she's taught me her temper, her pain, and her longing to be treated as an equal. But in this, I'm always tender.

  I sink into her slowly, pull out slowly, and thrust in sure and steady. She arches her back, widening her legs, hips rising to meet mine.

  Gabriel William Morgan is asleep in his cradle in the corner of our bedroom.

  “Shhh.” She kisses me on my jaw. “You might wake the young prince.”

  My lips quirk, and I slide in deep, holding still inside her. “You can nurse him.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I bend my head, capturing a nipple and kissing it. It tastes sweet, the smallest remnant of milk at its tip.

  “Perv,” she says.

  “You got it.” I lick the tip then kiss her on the mouth. Deeply, long and wet, like she likes it, pumping into her shallowly, and Candice moans, capturing my head and yanking it down for more kisses. My arms hold my body high so I don't crush her. Flatten her tits, and milk will leak. Does anyway when I make her come. Which I already did. Twice.

  “Kiss me, Viper.”

  I do. “Whatever you wish is my command.”

  Impaling her deeply, I roll us so I'm on my back and thrust upward.

  Candice groans.

  “Ride me, baby.” Rolling her hips, Candice moves with a fluid grace.

  Palming her tits, I knead them gently, squeezing the fullness, loving the silky feel.

  Candice's head tips back, and her palms land on my thighs, fingers biting into my flesh.

  “Close,” she whispers, eyelids low. Rising and falling on me, her wet heat engulfs my cock.

  My favorite part. Seeing my woman blow.

  Her pussy squeezes my cock once, then her body tenses. I reach between us, turning my thumb up, and slide it between her cleft.

  Moving my thumb back and forward, I thrust deeply, and her knees come together, squeezing my hips. She gives a hoarse shout of pleasure, nipple tightening as her pussy starts pulsing around my cock.

  Can't last. Not with the fine treatment of her body. My release follows her so closely, it’s almost simultaneous. Grabbing her hips, I hold them still, shooting everything I got inside.

  Releasing one hand, I slide it up to the small of her back and press forward. Candice drapes herself over my body as I soften inside her.

  My other hand joins the first, and I hold her against my body as our heaving breaths slow to panting. Then we're breathing deeply.

  “You were noisy,” I say.

  Candice pops her head off my chest. “Gabe didn't wake up.”

  I smirk. “Give it time.”

  Her smile is wistful. “I love you, Viper.”

  Can't talk for a second. Might cry like a girl. Didn't ever think something like this existed. Once. Maybe. But never twice. Got the whole thing. Beautiful wife. Healthy son.

  I find her hand between our bodies and lift it. Admiring the rock I put on that tiny finger, I say, “Always.”

  Her eyebrow lifts. “Always?”

  “All of it. For always.” The love. The life. The everything.

  Candice slides her a
rms around my neck and hugs me. I crush her to me.

  The baby starts to fuss, and Candice’s milk leaks against my chest. She slides out of bed to get Gabe, and I admire her as she tends to our son.

  Luckiest man on the planet.

  THE END

  Love Road Kill MC? You might also enjoy, THE TOKEN, a dark romance.

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  ***Please let me know if you have interest in reading Puck or Storm's stories ….

  Love Road Kill MC? You might also enjoy the sample which follows, also by Marata Eros ....

  CLUB ALPHA

  A novel

  New York Times Bestselling author

  MARATA EROS

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2014-15 Marata Eros

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Marata Eros Website

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  Editing suggestion provided by Red Adept Editing

  Proofed by Corinna

  Cover art: Willsin Rowe

  ***Club Alpha is a STANDALONE, PSYCHOLOGICAL DARK ROMANTIC SUSPENSE and contains scenes of graphic violence. May contain triggers***

  Synopsis

  “Would you pay fifty million for your soul mate?”

  Francisco “Paco” Castillo is a bilingual billionaire with unconventional ideas about love, sex and possession. He believes there is no other half to make him whole. Paco dreams of experimenting with a dangerous reality not of his own making. Club Alpha owner, Zaire Sebastian, can make Paco's vision a reality—for a price.

  Greta Dahlem is an extreme sports executive whose ambition masks a terrible secret. When her mentor Gia Township, sponsors her as a player in Club Alpha, Greta's unsure she can survive the inherent risk of the game Zaire weaves. But in her heart, Greta yearns for a man who will complete her, and erase the brutal tragedy of two years ago.

  As the fantasy progresses, Greta comes to realize she is the loose string in a plot of murder and deception that begins to unravel. Without knowing who to trust, Greta must decide between two men. When the three are thrown together, the lines of reality and fantasy blur.

  Is there any way for her to know what is real?

  PROLOGUE

  Greta

  Completion.

  That's what it is to graduate with honors, and finally go after what I'll be in this life.

  Marketing. International travel, stretching the bounds of the four languages I've mastered. Perfection.

  Hot guys.

  My eyebrows flick up. Speaking of which.

  I track a handsome specimen right now.

  A man moves across the room lithely, coming to stand at the exact opposite of the huge bar. His crystal tumbler full of amber liquid catches the light. His coloring suggests he’s Latino or some exotic Spanish mix. At six feet two-ish, he’s built to move, dance— and do other stuff.

  My lips curl at the other stuff part of my internal monologue. I'm so wanting to find out what the sex fuss is all about. By all accounts, it's pretty life altering. It's beyond time.

  My studies are through—it's Greta Time now.

  His gaze locks with mine, and he smiles. A deep dimple winks at his cheek, and a cleft bisects a chiseled, square jaw.

  Beautiful green eyes with thick black lashes rim the windows of his soul.

  He pauses, and I say yes with my eyes.

  Please approach me.

  My breath catches like a trapped bird in my throat.

  What a beautiful man.

  My hand grips the smooth curved wood of the high-end bar I find myself in; the other holds a low ball of peach schnapps.

  I take a sip, grimace slightly, and set down the drink.

  People flow between us as we stare across the room, and I lose him momentarily as the moving scenery of bodies blocks my line of sight.

  I crane my neck, swinging my head side to side, searching. I remind myself that I'm not here to meet a man. I'm here to meet my fellow graduates and celebrate our graduation from the most prestigious university in Washington state.

  Someone sits down beside me but it's not him. I look around the other man.

  Tall, dark and handsome has vanished.

  I take another absent-minded sip then knock back the rest of my sweet drink. Disappointment burns alongside the alcohol inside my stomach. Where'd he go? I restrain myself from pouting.

  I stand. Against my better judgement, I'm brazenly determined to seek him out, then a wave of dizziness hits me.

  My hand flies out to the bar and latches on. Frantically, I look toward the entrance, hoping my friends will arrive. Though I'm known for being frighteningly punctual, none of them share that trait.

  I lift my fingertips from the polished surface and touch my forehead. My hand comes away clammy and shaking.

  Alarm sweeps through my system. What's wrong with me?

  I forget the man with the deep-green eyes—and my drink and friends—as another wave of dizziness follows the first.

  I stagger backward toward my seat, my knees hit the stool, and I sit down abruptly.

  “Miss?” a low voice murmurs from my elbow.

  I turn my head, but my neck feels loose, as though it’s made of rubber.

  A man's face wobbles in front of me, his features coming together and shattering in the field of my vision.

  “Are you well?”

  Well? No. I shake my head, and streamers of color flow across my eyes. I groan, feeling nauseated as the dizziness grows.

  I feel pressure at my elbow then a grip. I'm walking?

  “Is she—” a deep melodic baritone voice inquires.

  “I have her.” Curt. Final.

  “Okay?”

  “Fine,” says the disembodied voice at my side.

  I'm gliding. My head tips back against a warm chest.

  Everything fades to black.

  *

  Paco

  Standing at the edge of the bar. I sip the sparkling cider.

  My bodyguard, Robert Tallinn, remains by the exit while eyeing the entrance.

  Though I’ve attended school in the states for many years, I still believe America is the most aggressive country in all the world. I remain vigilant while traveling.

  My jet is scheduled to leave for Costa Rica early in the morning, and that is why I partake only of the non-alcoholic beverage in my hand.

  Tallinn fought my spontaneous urge to visit the lounge within the elite hotel we're staying in.

  Coffee is grande in Seattle. Very. I am here to romance the local coffee barons for their money, in exchange for my beans—a perfect trade, in my estimation.

  Tallinn hates the lack of protection the hotel offers. I told him it's his job to keep me safe.

  His smile was tight at those words.

  I raise my glass to him now, and he glowers.

  I laugh then take a sip and set my glass on the smooth polished surface of the wooden bar.

  That’s when I see her, and my back goes ramrod straight.

  The crowd is thick. Beautifully attired people mingle with others they consider to be of equal caliber.

  But she stands out like an angel among demons.

  Her head is tipped over a pale-amber drink. Her platinum hair is twisted into a loose bun at her nape. The size of the knot tel
ls me its length—but not how it would feel in my hands.

  Her graceful neck is bent as she studies nothing at all. She appears to be frozen in time. Waiting.

  I stand, drink forgotten, and stare at the most beautiful woman I've ever beheld.

  She lifts her face as though she has become instinctively aware of my gaze on her. Eyes like a late-summer sky fall into mine, and my chest grows tight. Light-pink color rises to her fair skin, and I feel myself harden inside my slacks at just a look. The attraction is beyond casual lust.

  I feel as though gravity has asserted itself and I am being pulled into her orbit.

  I must meet her.

  As we continue to stare, people move between us, and another man sits beside her, large enough to block my view.

  I set the tumbler at the edge of the bar and begin walking toward her.

  I see her searching face for an instant as she appears to swing around the torso of the man who blocks our mutual appraisal.

  I understand in a vague way that my approach isn't casual.

  Someone steps in front of me.

  “Oh, pardon me!” a woman says.

  I go around her impatiently.

  The angel stands. She appears to look shaken and unwell.

  I stop.

  The man beside her rises, his back facing me, and takes her elbow. She remains hidden behind him.

  I vacillate, thinking of the connection, the electrifying chemistry from a glance. I begin walking again.

  I intercept them, and the other man is half-carrying her, his arm locked around her narrow waist.

  My eyes are for her, though, as I pose the question to the man, “Is she—”

  “I have her,” he says in a closed tone. Final.