by Violet Blaze
Glacier smiles, but it's not a very pretty expression.
“I thought you hated the club?”
“I do, sort of. But it's a part of my life and it has been for a long time. Saint, it's part of who you are. I won't demonize it for you, and I won't let you take more trauma on yourself. What happened last night was complete bullshit, but I lived through it—Loren and Otto lived through it—and nothing happened that we can't deal with.” I pause as Glacier pulls my wrist to his mouth and breathes against it, pressing his lips hard against my skin. He looks tense, like he needs some sort of release but won't ask for it. “I'm your wife now; I'll deal with this crap with you. You're not alone anymore.”
“I'm sorry about your friends,” he says, blinking his blonde lashes at me, and the way his voice sounds, I think he actually means that. I smile softly down at him. “If you'll have me, I'd like to go to the hospital with you tomorrow.” Glacier's mouth twitches. “I can visit my invalid fucking prospect at the same time. I think he's on the same floor as your friend.”
I bite my lower lip to hold back an even bigger smile. It feels wrong, with Loren in the hospital, but … I just like hearing Saint talk to me with some real feeling in his voice. It's refreshing and exhilarating, and it makes this totally worth it. Although I really owe my fucking friends—Loren and Otto especially—some serious favors: beer, chocolates, or whatever the hell else they want. I'll be their damn slaves for the next month to make up for last night. Some bachelorette party. Pretty typical, I guess, for a club daughter/old lady though. Guns, cartel thugs, dead people. Eh, just your average day in a one-percenter MC.
“What happened to that guy, the cartel officer?” I ask after a moment.
“We tied him up in a bow, dumped him in the parking lot at the FBI agent's hotel, and had Lyric call in an anonymous tip. They arrested him this morning. At some point they'll want you to ID him and give another statement. Not that it matters. He has plenty of other priors they can lock him up for in the meantime. Besides, I'm sure the cartel will hire someone on the inside to kill him anyway, just to shut him up. If one of our guys can get to him, that'd do it, too.”
“You understand,” I say as our eyes meet and he stares straight through me, “that no matter what might've happened, whatever price I might've paid, it'd be worth it to be with you. That's how much I fucking love you.”
“Goddamn it, Serenity,” he growls, pulling me close, pressing his lips to my throat. “You not only make me feel human, you make my monster feel like one, too.”
I go quiet then and close my eyes, listening to Saint's heartbeat, to my own. And then I slide down in the pillows and pull him on top of me. I'm only wearing panties and a loose t-shirt right now, so it doesn't take long to get me naked, to tear Saint's shirt over his head and meld our bodies together in a rush of heat. He takes me gently, slowly, so achingly careful and tender that I almost cry again. Almost. But I'm a club daughter and an old lady, so I don't cry easy. I fuck my husband and let myself drift off in his arms with a smile on my face.
I take Serenity with me to the compound the next morning. I'll be fucking damned if I let her out of my sight for the next few days. I suppose when Monday rolls around she'll have to go to school, but for now, I'm following her like my leash is taut, even sitting in the hospital room with her friends and watching that Loren guy glare at me from his hospital bed. I excused myself for a brief moment to visit my prospect, Sketch—injured in last month's cartel bullshit—because he's supposedly my damn responsibility, but I could barely manage to separate myself from Serenity for ten whole minutes.
My monster and my beast … are thoroughly tamed. Enthralled, maybe is a better word. But I like it oh so goddamn much.
“Saint,” Royal says when he spots Serenity and me as we walk into the bar. Lyric's there, nursing what must be a celebratory tumbler of whiskey, smiling over her shoulder at us. She doesn't get up though, instead glancing back at Fauna.
“Ren,” the woman says, dropping a rag onto the counter and moving around the bar. She stares at the stitches in her daughter's face, tosses me a rancid glare that I decide not to acknowledge, and then steps forward to take my old lady in her arms. “Ren,” she whispers again and I watch with wicked satisfaction as the two of them hug each other tight. “I was so fucking worried about you, baby.”
I cross my arms over my chest and stand back, giving them some room.
“Is Dad here?” Serenity asks when they pull apart and Fauna runs her hands down the sparkling gold top she's wearing. She used to put on flashy shit like that all the time before she got shot, but this is the first time I've seen it in over a month. Maybe things will settle down around here enough for me to enjoy my new wife and her company? I've decided I despise living by myself.
“He's … you gotta give him some time, baby.” Fauna touches the uninjured side of Serenity's face. “He loves you so much. He was shaking when he came back from that run. But he's just not ready yet. One day, he will be. I know he'll come around.”
Serenity takes a deep breath and nods, like this is something she expected. And then she turns and comes over to me, folding herself into my arms, almost like she feels the need to let everyone in the room—the groupies in the corner, the brothers playing pool, Fauna's narrow eyed glare—that we're here to stay.
“Are your friends alright?” Lyric asks, spinning on her stool to face us, Royal draped over the stool next to her, looking like he could use some fucking sleep. He even jumps when Smoky walks into the room with his arm draped around some new groupie, laughing loud and raucous and pausing only when he sees my icy stare zoned in on his face.
“Smoky,” I tell him, “shut the fuck up.”
He grumbles something at me and pulls his new friend over to the bar, taking the seat next to Royal.
“Loren and Otto are fine,” Serenity says, giving Lyric a tight smile. “But I think I might have to quit my internship. I'm probably going to be spending a lot of time trying to make this up to them by playing nursemaid.”
The mayor laughs and finishes off her drink, setting her glass down and letting Fauna pour her another. Serenity's mom stares hard at the two of us like she's trying her best to deal. Good for her. If something has to give, it'll have to be her. I won't sacrifice a moment, a second, an instant of Serenity's touch to make anyone else feel comfortable.
“You don't have to quit, Serenity. I'll give you some time off and you can come back when you're ready, no rush. Just in case the whole romance novelist thing doesn't work out, there'll be a place for you in my office when you get older. You know, if you decide to take an interest in politics.”
“Bloody hell, Pint-Size, stop trying to corrupt the kid any worse than she's already been corrupted.” I give him a cruel smile and he flips me off, raising his dark brows at me, begging me to challenge him. He's lucky—this time. I hold Serenity tighter, let her burrow underneath my jacket and press herself against me as I glare back at Royal, still smiling though. With my wife's body wrapped around me, I could give a fuck less about petty shit.
“So,” Lyric says with a deep breath, putting her hands on the knees of her black slacks, her green eyes sparkling at us, “you got married. You moved in together. You got shot at by thugs. Clearly, you're officially in the old lady club. You should come and bake with us.”
Serenity glances sharply back at her mother, like she's waiting for her to snap. Instead, Fauna shrugs her shoulders and sighs.
“It is what it is,” she says, which I suppose will work for now. It probably wouldn't impress Serenity much if I snapped her mother's neck.
“Okay. Next session of the Alpha Wolves Wives Club, you're in.”
“I'll be there,” Serenity says with a small wrinkle of her nose, “although I'm not really into the whole marriage thing. This is more a convenience sort of a deal.” She grins over at Lyric, and the mayor grins back. “I told my friends they're not allowed to call me Mrs. because marital status shouldn't factor into a lady's formal
title. It's Ms. only from now on.”
Lyric throws her head back and laughs while Royal rolls his eyes and grins and … Smoky makes out with a random groupie. I sigh and ignore him. If he wants to fuck around with club whores, then he's the one that's missing out. The right woman … the right person, if they can melt the ice around my monster's cold, dead heart, then they're certainly worth fighting for.
Serenity … she's worth killing for, bleeding for, dying for.
I would move mountains to save her smile.
She looks up at me and I glance down at her; our blue eyes meet and hold together.
“Do you feel up for a ride?” I ask and her smile sharpens, brightens with anticipation and excitement. I can't stop myself; I lean down and take her mouth in mine, cupping the side of her face with my hand, savoring the fresh bright taste of her on my tongue. When she pulls back, I think we're both smiling and even though I'm not used to the expression, even though I know the monster's still buried in there somewhere, I imagine I'll be doing it a lot more often.
“That's a question you never have to ask,” she says as I stroke blonde and red streaked hair back from her face, “do you want to ride, and do you love me, because the answer to both of those will always be a resounding yes.”
I take her hand and curl my fingers around it, rubbing my thumb across the surface of her ring.
“Then let's go, Ms. Nordin,” I say with a small smirk, “let's ride.” I start to pull her towards the door and pause, letting my lips twist up a little at the corners. “Oh, and I love you, too—with every dark, wicked part of me.”
I kiss her with my monster, my beast, my animal, my man.
I kiss her and feel the last shard of ice inside my chest melt away to nothing.
THE END
Dear Reader,
OMG, don't you just love Glacier? I'd seriously fight Serenity to keep him for myself. ;) What I enjoyed most about writing this book was showing a different side to "the life". Not all clubs and all people operate the same way, and I noticed during my own reading journey that there weren't enough alpha/alpha (strong men AND strong women characters), so … I wrote one!
As I was writing this book, I got the chills a lot—usually when Glacier was talking about his monster. I've written over fifty books (under various author names!) and I have to say, he's one of my absolute favorites.
If you want more Alpha Wolves MC, and you haven't read my completed three book series, "The Bad Boys MC Trilogy", I highly recommend you give it a try and see why I love Royal and Lyric so damn much. Also, I've got ideas for a book featuring the sergeant at arms for the Wolves, Smoky. If you think you'd enjoy another book in the world of Trinidad, California, let me know by sending an email to [email protected]. I'd love to hear from you!
P.S. If you enjoyed this book, would you mind leaving a review? I could really use some to let me know how I'm doing!
Love, Violet Blaze aka C.M. Stunich
A Preacher's Daughter … a Sultry Southern Biker Boy.
Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll—get your copy of this international bestselling rocker romance for FREE!
Dash Buchanan, He Tastes Like a Wild Storm … and He F*cks Like One, Too.
.
A British Motorcycle Club President Falls for the Mayor's Daughter.
DESCRIPTION
Make nice with the President of the Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club.
Yeah right.
It was what my job description called for–I just never realized exactly how nice I needed to be.
I certainly never expected to find myself twisted up and tangled in the raw, dirty world of an outlaw motorcycle club … or in the sexy, tattooed hands of the man in charge.
Royal McBride is a jerk–but a jerk with a swoon worthy accent, a big bike, and big … well, other things.
I didn't think falling in love with him would threaten my life. His life. That we'd both risk losing everything we hold dear.
The mayor's daughter … an outlaw MC president.
It's a match made in heaven … a match tested in hell.
CHAPTER ONE
Lyric
What a broken, beautiful man.
That's my first thought when I step onto the Alpha Wolves' compound, how beautiful their president is. Of course, if he knew what I was thinking I doubt he'd be pleased. Beautiful is for flowers or skirts or landscapes, not for men like Royal McBride. If I have to pick an adjective, I think dirty suits him a little better. Dirty. And brutal. And raw.
I won't let him get to me.
It crosses my mind that I'm not the first person to think that. Toni Gladstone, the woman who held my position not three months ago, she said that same thing out loud three days before she quit, announced it to the entire office.
But he got to her anyway—in more ways than one if her flushed face and mussy hair were any indication of what happened during their first meeting. Deputy Mayor of Operations and Government Affairs. Poor Toni shed her title along with her skirt after only half a week of dealing with Royal and his Wolves.
I won't make the same mistake.
I straighten my own skirt—some bland, gray wool blend that I inherited from Toni along with her title—and make sure my hair is still in place, tucked back in an austere bun that's as unflattering as it is uncomfortable. But all of this blandness, this is my uniform against the world. It's a way to survive when nothing else seems to be going right. Blend in, disappear, assimilate.
I take a deep breath and put a smile on my face.
It's hard to keep it there with my eyes glued to Royal's wide, muscular back. I haven't even been introduced to the man, and I'm already falling apart. Sweat trickles down my spine and soaks into the cotton fabric of my white button-down while I try not to admire the curve of dark denim that cups the President's too perfect ass. Oh my God, I'm already floundering here.
I take a deep breath and start forward, my heels loud against the pavement. I parked right in front of the clubhouse, so I know the whole MC is aware that I'm here. Still … nobody's acknowledging me. It's a scare tactic, I'm sure, but these men have a lot to learn if they think I'll scare easy. I might be five two and as average as you'll ever see, but I'm tough.
“Mr. McBride?” I ask, approaching the cluster of men standing on the wet pavement, gray skies above and a row of gleaming motorcycles on our right.
I pause about three feet from him—it's as close as I ever want to get. Even from here I can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, his strength, his charisma. It's frighteningly magnetic. I guess it's not just his six foot four frame or his hard muscles that keep him in control here.
“Mr. McBride?” I ask again, raising my voice a notch. I can keep quiet when I need to, but a woman in politics also has to know how to speak up or she'll never be heard. A few of the guys glance my way, assessing, and then quickly flick their gazes back to their president.
I feel my lips purse. It's not like I showed up here on a surprise visit. In fact, it was Royal himself who approached the mayor's office in an attempt to iron things out between the local government and the MC. I scheduled this meeting with Royal's secretary not four days ago. The bastard knew I was coming.
Raindrops start to fall, fat and heavy, splattering against the pavement and the metal roofs on the warehouses on either side of the long drive. The wetness slides across Royal's rock hard muscles, making the colors in his tattoos seem brighter, moistening the eyes of the wolves crouching over his biceps until they look real, like they're staring right at me.
I refocus my attention to his head of dark hair, my gaze directed up, up, up. The bastard's too tall for his own good. Still, I'm pretty sure I've got myself under control. It doesn't matter how handsome this guy is or how nice his body looks in that tight leather vest.
I take a deep breath, meeting the eyes of the wolf's head patch on his back, framed on the top and bottom with another pair of patches. Alpha Wolves on the top and Trinidad, CA on the bottom. An MC and a 1% patch sit o
n either side. Intimidating, much?
Well, it won't work on me.
“Royal McBride.” I state his name with every ounce of authority I have—and it works. At the very least, it gets his attention.
“Who the fuck …” Royal begins, turning slightly to glare at me, locking a pair of dark brown eyes on my face. His brows raise and the corner of his mouth twitches. Me, I come completely unhinged, heat flooding my body, filling up all the places I so very suddenly want this man to touch.
Oh shit.
Royal looks me up and down once, assessing, his gaze giving absolutely nothing away.
“Well, I'll be damned,” he says, his voice holding the edge of an accent I can't quite place. He's trying so hard to hide it, but … “Is this pint-size little package from the mayor's office?” Royal tilts his head and lets his lips twist into a smile. I can already feel the flirtatious waves rolling off of him, the charm being turned full tilt onto my frowning face. I don't take it personally though; Royal isn't flirting with me, not really. This is a man who's used to getting his way with a smile and a wink, somebody who thinks that anyone without a penis wants him.
Hell, it's probably true, but I won't let him see that.
“Royal McBride, my name is Lyric Rentz, and I'm the Deputy Mayor of Government Operations and Affairs for the city of Trinidad.” I force my mouth into a smile and decide it's probably best to ignore the whole pint-size comment from the Alpha Wolves President. I extend my hand and pretend that I'm not studying that handsome face, the rugged cut of that jaw, the ruthless, wry humor that surrounds the man's impressive form.
