by Jennifer Ann
She pulls my eyes away, her face tight with a scowl. “What’s so goddamned funny?”
Staring into her eyes, I shake my head. “I can’t do this. You have to go.”
Lips snarled, she opens her mouth, but I’m saved by the sound of my best friend yelling my name from the hallway. “Where are you, man? You still alive?”
Madison crosses her arms with a frown that makes her downright ugly. Most the women I’ve hooked up with start out hot as shit on the outside, but their true intentions usually reveal themselves with time. They’re almost always after notoriety from sleeping with someone famous. Guess it’s what I get for giving groupies the time of day.
“Who’s that?” she asks.
“None of your business.” I grab a towel off one of the open shelves and wrap it around her shoulders like she’s a little kid. “Leave. Now.”
“Have you ever considered maybe your drummer left the band because you're an asshole?” She spins around with her eyes narrowed to small slits. “Before I leave, you should know I lied. Last night wasn’t anything special. It was mediocre, just like the music you write.”
There’s no rational reason why her snide remarks should get to me, but my skin crawls with the need to set her right all the same. Thankfully the bathroom door flings open to a wide-eyed Lorenzo. He’s wearing his usual style of a meticulously ironed T-shirt and cargo shorts with a thick chain around his neck, bright white tennis shoes that are somehow always scuff-free. The way his dark hair is freshly buzzed on the sides, I wonder if he finally manned up enough to pay his ex at the salon a visit or if his tight ass broke down and bought an electric razor.
Some chicks are intimidated by the size of my thick friend on first glance. Most think he’s hot until he opens his mouth. Madison, however, is clearly disgusted by what she sees. She curls her upper lip and pulls the towel tight around her body.
“¿Qué pasa, gorgeous?” Lorenzo sings, giving Madison a slow leer. “Need some help finding your clothes, sweetheart?” When his dark eyes shift onto mine, he’s grinning like an idiot. “You gonna introduce me?”
I slip a towel around my waist. “She’s leaving.”
Madison marches back to my room, grumbling something to the brunette. Lorenzo’s eyes practically shoot out of his head. “Oh shit! There’s another chick in there? Bro. Listen. I thought you were done with this shit after last time. I know it’s fun, but there’s more at stake with this solo gig and you definitely can’t afford another scandal right now.”
“Why do you think I told you to come over?” I snap. “I don’t remember inviting them back here. I don’t remember much of anything after I left the bar,” I say, blowing out a long breath and leaning against the sink.
When I realize there’s no way Lorenzo could have made it here this quickly from his place in Staten Island, I cross my arms over my chest and tip my chin. “Taking the walk of shame home from Vanessa’s again?”
“Nah, she’s old news,” he answers. I know he’s full of shit because every time he says that, they usually hook up a few days later. He braces himself against the doorway, giving me an eye-full of the colorful serpent decorating his bicep. “Rick called, said you weren’t answering your phone. The studio wants you to come in to work on the new album.”
“Fuck,” I say among a moan. “I won’t be worth a shit with this beast of a hangover.”
Truth be told, I’ve performed under worse conditions and could probably suck it up. I just don’t have it in me to face anyone at the studio. Last time I was in they second-guessed the hell out of the songs I wrote, destroying the confidence I had to build without Danny and the guys backing me up.
Rocking out in front of a live crowd has always been a way to make me feel alive, wanted. Like I’m king of the fucking world. When I agreed with Taz and Corey to take a break, I was eager to keep the high of performing alive in any way possible. It never occurred to me that I may suck on my own until the producer said my first single needed a complete overhaul.
“I’ll come up with something believable,” Lorenzo offers, shrugging. “You know, like you broke your dick from slamming too much pussy last night.” He deflects the comb I chuck at him and laughs. “Easy, brother. I’d hate to throw you down on your ass in front of your company.”
Lorenzo was a buddy from the neighborhood where I grew up and acted as my manager in the very beginning when I was a no-name. Then the band got signed and the studio wanted me to use theirs, an uptight bitch who seemed more interested in getting her hands down my pants. I insisted on using Lorenzo and said without him there wouldn’t be a deal. I wanted him to reap in some of the benefits of my success, though I’m not about to give him any fucking handouts. He has to earn it just like I did. For the most part he does a good job. He even knows when to keep our relationship professional and when to razz me in private.
“Maybe it’s time to lay off the booze for awhile,” he suggests with a casual shrug. “Not that you have a problem or anything, but we both know what a fucking disaster it was the last time you were with two chicks. You’ve always have a problem saying the word no. And bringing them here? Dude, you broke your most sacred rule!”
Running a hand through my hair I groan. “No shit. I can’t tell you what I was thinking. Like I said, I can’t remember any of it, so I can’t even tell you if they were any good.”
“I say this out of love, but you’re a stupid motherfucker. The only time two chicks wanted to get with me, one had a third nipple and the other gnawed on my dick like it was a T-bone.” Chuckling, he rubs at the back of his neck. “You are one lucky bastard, though I would think one of these days this scene will get old. Don’t you wanna knock some poor girl up and give her your last name? You could drag her and the rugrats around the country on your tour bus. You’d have someone to cook for you and keep your bed warm at night.”
“I’m in no hurry to settle down,” I remind him. “Chicks are just something to keep me warm at night.”
Shit. I think I stole that line from Danny.
“Fuckin’ Romeo,” Lorenzo grumbles, shaking his head and chuckling. “Somewhere deep down there must be some redeeming feature that makes you so popular with the ladies. We all know it isn’t that gravelly voice or your ugly mug.” Grinning, he juts his square chin across the hallway. “Shower that rank pussy off and get dressed, loser. I’ll take care of your little mistake and then we’ll hit Molly’s for bagels and coffee.”
My stomach growls in agreement, so I nod and hit him in the chest. “Thanks, man. If I’m ever dumb enough to walk down the aisle, do me a favor and talk me out of it. That shit’s not for me.”
“You just haven’t met the right one, brother. When you walk down the aisle one day, my ass better be standing right next to you.”
“When pigs fly and I decide to settle down with one chick for the rest of my life, you’ll be my best man,” I mutter, ready to be done with this ridiculous conversation. There’s nothing good about my life worth sharing in that way. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Yeah and I’m holding you to it!” he calls out as I slam the door in his face.
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Inferno Glory MC
PRAISE FOR INFERNO GLORY MC
“Sweet lord it is fast paced! Sort of SOA on a tilt-a-whirl! lol Freaking love that it is about a tough biker chicky and in her POV.” ~Perusing Princess
“Woo Hoo! I found a new author that gives good badass biker, I'm in. She teased and tantalized me with more than one "hunk of hotness" and intrigued me with the mystery of what landed Harley in prison.” ~iScream Books
“There is nothing off the table when it comes to the Inferno Glory MC and [Jennifer Ann] dishes them up lock stock and two smoking barrels!” ~Books Laid Bare
Forgiveness in the MC doesn’t come easy…
They say you can never go home again, but I was out to prove them wrong. After a three
year absence from the only home I have ever known, the Inferno Glory MC was not welcoming me back with open arms.
Until Colt Sawyer sweeps me off my bike, makes me feel like a woman again, and shows me pleasures I have never dreamed of.
Colt thinks he can save me, but I am not the MC darling everyone remembers me as, and no amount of scorching hot sex or whispering sweet nothings in my ear will change my hardened exterior.
Or at least that is what I thought.
He’s offering me passion, forgiveness and protection. And once secrets start being revealed, the protection he provides me may be the only reason I survive the Inferno Glory MC.
Warning: This story involves steamy sex with multiple partners and tattooed alpha bikers. If you’re looking for a hot and dirty ride, this is your book.
ONE
The electric vibration between my legs and against my hands is beyond amazing as I gaze upon the bright colors of spring whizzing past and inhale the delightful smells of freedom as the warm wind whips through my loose hair. I’ve waited three very long years for this moment.
Three fucking years.
A person would be amazed at what can transpire in a matter of a thousand days, give or take a few. In that precious amount of time that was stolen from me, the bitch who set me up got married and gave birth to a baby boy. The country elected a new president. My little brother graduated from high school and became a man. My favorite band released two new albums. My asshole boyfriend left me for some skank he met at the gym.
And my father died.
Meanwhile I was behind bars, fighting for my life. Between dueling gangs and crazy bitches who threatened to rape anyone with any object they could get their hands on, it’s a miracle I was able to escape unscathed with my dignity still intact.
It’s odd to see my now sculpted arms from hundreds of hours of push-ups jetting out to the handlebars of my baby, though the change makes me proud. Some of the the women I met were broken down by the system and turned to drugs, becoming shells of their former selves. I refused to lose control of my own destiny and made the best of the time I was given by keeping both my body and mind fit.
The sleeve my friend Jimmy started working on just weeks before I was locked away catches in the remaining sunlight, reminding me I need to make it my priority to get it finished. Now, even more than before, the whimsical La Catrina skull celebrating the dead means so much more with both my parents and nearly everyone else I’ve ever loved in the grave. Money’s not a problem when you’re the sole beneficiary of your wealthy grandparents’ estate, so at least I don’t have to worry about how to pay Jimmy or affording a place to stay.
Another biker approaches in the other lane. A smile stretches across my face when I subtly move my arm down to my side and flash him the sign of respect, the feeling of camaraderie that I’ve so desperately missed. When he returns the gesture, I holler with uncontrolled delight.
I’m fucking back!
Tires gliding across the highway, boots precariously dangling over asphalt, fresh wind filling my lungs; this shit is my religion. Riding started out as something I did with my father when I was old enough to walk and he was still healthy. He taught me everything I needed to know about a bike—from how to change the oil and check the tire pressure to the etiquette of traveling in packs. My ‘uncles’ were his club brothers and I spent most my life around vulgar men who liked their alcohol strong and their women loose.
Kids hanging at the club as much as I did wasn’t the ‘norm’, so my father kept my hair trimmed short and threw a baseball cap on me, as if to trick the guys into thinking there wasn’t a young lady within the mix.
For the most part, it worked, until around sixteen when my large breasts appeared and my face began to thin out, making it undeniably obvious I was a woman and not one of the guys. My ‘uncles’ became uneasy with my presence, so my father encouraged me to hang out with ‘girls my age’ at school who were into sports and boys. By my junior year of high school, I had surrounded myself with preppy dirt bags and had completely sworn off club life. My head was so far up my ass that I was into dresses, makeup, and football players—girly girl on the outside and hardened biker daughter on the inside. Talk about a walking contradiction.
After my father was diagnosed with lung cancer the first year I was away at college, I tested for my motorcycle license and spent a good chunk of my inheritance on a brand new black Sportster 883. Riding became a way to escape my reality with nothing more than the wind in my face and the smell of the earth filling my lungs. Being kept from both my father and my bike for so long was nearly the death of me.
When I pull into the club’s parking lot on the edge of town, a crippling feeling of déjà vu strikes my core. The metal one-story structure looks exactly as I remember it: plain and obscure, easily mistaken for an out-of-business repair garage without any markings or signs, even though two of the big doors on the side have been welded shut.
Shit. How can a person have so many fond memories tied to a mere building? I don’t care if I ever return to the last house my father and I owned because this is home. Despite having a troublesome childhood void of a mother’s influences, my father tried like hell to do the best for his baby girl and gave me the kind of life everyone deserves.
Parking beside a long row of black Harleys, I sit frozen to my seat, staring at the building as if expecting it to come to life. I could’ve asked for a furlough to attend my father’s funeral, but I was too pissed that I wasn’t there to say goodbye when he took his last breath and it would’ve been downright impossible to face my ‘uncles’ who were crushed for not being able to keep me out of prison despite their best efforts.
A man emerges from the back door of the club, strutting in my direction without looking up. I’ve seen my share of badass bikers over the years, but there’s something about the hot hunk that’s so very different from the rest. The dude’s face is chiseled and square like the kind of manly-man I fantasized about hooking up with while on the inside. Wavy brown hair hangs down to his angular jaw covered in light stubble, somehow putting his incredibly kissable lips on display.
He has the usual veteran biker’s collection of various patriotic and Harley tattoos running up his muscular arms and disappearing beneath the short sleeved button-down bearing the club’s logo. From the sizable bulges beneath his shirt, I imagine he’s impossibly cut and capable of great strength. When I picture myself running my hands across the solid muscles, I can’t help but shudder.
Shit. I may have just moaned out loud.
Lord help me, he’s the perfect mix of beautiful model and surly bad boy that makes me want to spank his ass and ravish the rest of him.
Swaggering like he owns the place and has nowhere else to be, his black boots crunch against the loose gravel as he hums a tune beneath his breath. Clad in blue jeans, leather jacket hooked on a finger over his shoulder, it looks as if he’s headed to the fucking runway.
As he flips a stray lock of hair behind his ear, beautiful sky blue eyes land on me.
I stutter on a shallow breath. This guy is sexy as fuck. Damn if my underwear isn’t already wet from just watching this man candy practically strut his stuff in front of me.
A dangerous, smoldering gaze takes me in from head to toe as he closes the distance between us. With a deep smile set over his beautiful and oh-so-kissable lips that bring two dimples into place, he makes a noise of approval inside his throat. That low growl that erupts from him may be the hottest noise I’ve ever heard.
Fuck me. I wouldn’t mind if he had his way with me in the parking lot right now.
Realizing my underwear has gone from wet to so soaked I may be creating my own swimming pool at my feet, I ball my hands into fists.
What in the hell is happening to me? Since when do I act like a teenage girl with her first crush and become a pathetic pool of girly hormones over some random guy?
I suck in a deep breath, completely paralyzed on my bike and at a total loss for words. No
t only is the bastard smoking hot, it’s been forever since I’ve been with a man. And I can safely say I’ve never been with a guy like this one. Something tells me one night with him would make for a once in a lifetime experience.
“Aren’t you adorable,” he says. “Are you lost?”
Though the smooth, deep roll of his voice sets my insides ablaze, my blood boils. Adorable? I’ll show him fucking adorable.
“Where the fuck’s your president?” I ask with a scowl.
“Easy now, darlin’.” He leans on the handlebars of the bike beside me. Blue eyes wide, he releases a deep laugh. “Is there a problem?”
“There will be if you call me darlin’ again.”
“Okay, I get it,” he replies with a rolling laugh. Hands held up in mock surrender, he takes a step backwards. “I can get you in to see Remmy, no problem.”
The moment he utters the name of my father’s old buddy, my eyes close and I relax. I wasn’t sure Remmy would still be in charge and had taken a chance by coming here. But the truth is, I have nowhere else to go. After our mother died, my brother opted to live with her sister and essentially severed all ties to me and our father. This place is my only family.
“Hey, you okay?” the gorgeous stranger asks.
When I open my eyes, the edges of his beautiful mouth twitch in amusement. Shit, I’d give anything to suck on those delectable lips. In an attempt to lessen the painful pangs between my legs, I adjust my hips before dismounting my bike.
Yeah, he’s hot and everything, but I'm torn between wanting to throat punch the fuck out of him and just wanting to fuck him. Everything about seeing a chick on a bike must seem like a joke to him. “I’m fucking perfect,” I snap.
“That you are,” he answers with a deep grin.
As he turns back to the club at my side, I catch a tantalizing whiff of leather and musky cologne and nearly crumble to the ground. Having gone this long without having a man inside of me is going to be the cause of my mental undoing, especially if I hang around this hunk of hotness much longer. When his hand touches my lower back, I audibly wince and pull away.
