Contents
Title Page
Copyright
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Black Thorns MC
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
EPILOGUE
Next Book in Series
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Franca Storm Library
About the Author
BLACK THORNS MC
BOOK 4
FRANCA STORM
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
HEARTLESS. Black Thorns MC. Book Four.
Copyright © Franca Storm (2019). All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Cover Design by Clarise Tan at CT Cover Creations
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LOYALTY.
HONOR.
BROTHERHOOD.
Chapter 1
~Halle~
Maybe this isn’t the best decision I’ve ever made.
Come to think of it, I could’ve just stumbled into a leading role in one of those trashy horror flicks. Pretty, helpless, blonde woman walking alone in the bad part of town late at night. Then, BAM! She becomes a demented killer’s plaything.
I guess it’s a good thing I don’t fit that old, misogynistic stereotype then.
Helpless isn’t my style.
The screech of tires behind me has me thanking my lucky stars that it’s not my car burning unnecessary rubber. Dammit! Georgina can’t drive stick to save her life. We should’ve checked before nominating her the designated driver tonight. She’s the newest addition to my erotic dancer ensemble at Temptress, so she’s paying her dues. I’m sure Cassie, the car’s owner, is going to be regretting it tomorrow though. She’s too wasted to care tonight. Her contagious giggling reaches my ear, along with the high-pitched shriek of my name from the other trashed backseat passenger, my most popular dancer, Lisa.
I throw my arm up to offer them a wave. Twisting my body as I do, I catch a glimpse of Cassie’s wild, red hair hanging out of the window as the BMW speeds away. It slips my mind that I’m not all that sober either. Note to self: stilettos and too much tequila aren’t a good combo. Wavering, I just manage to stop myself from face-planting on the concrete. Having attention drawn to my feet, even for a moment, has me realizing, through my drunken stupor, just how bad they’re hurting. I’m gonna have blisters! Not sexy at all. It takes skill and a great deal of grace to be able to walk in the silver, six-inch beauties I have strapped to my feet without looking like you’re tottering about on stilts. You manage the heels, you don’t let them manage you. But with the way they’re killing me right now, all that’s flung out the window. They’re scraping along the concrete, like nails on a fucking chalkboard. No grace about it. When it comes to a night of dancing your butt off, designer heels are no longer a girl’s best friend. They become an enemy you loathe with a passion.
What was I thinking, turning down the girls’ offer to drive me home? The Mother Hen in me had surfaced, as it often does around my girls. I need to stop by Temptress first, which would’ve meant them having to drive through Brockford’s Saturday night traffic. It would’ve taken ages just to navigate through that crap in one direction, let alone trying to get back out again. Lisa and Cassie were already on the verge of passing out when I left the car. I wanted Georgina to get them home ASAP, so she wasn’t faced with the impossible task of trying to drag each one of them from the car when she pulled up outside their apartments.
So, I’ve just got to suck it up. It might not have been the best decision for me, but it was for them.
Besides, I can handle myself just fine.
With that in mind, I ignore my aching feet and stroll forward towards the alley up ahead. My shortcut. I come to a halt when I reach the turnoff, scanning the area now that my eyes have adjusted well to the darkness. No sign of any trouble, or any lurkers waiting to jump out at me.
Steeling myself, I step forward.
“Uh uh,” a growled command comes from behind me.
I freeze in place.
Heavy footsteps crunch on the dirtied concrete, closing in. “How many times do I gotta tell you not to pull this shit?”
I smile to myself, my back to him. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Hal.” A warning.
Another crunch of a footstep.
My pulse starts jumping like crazy, a delicious quiver rolling down my spine. He’s almost upon me, I can just feel it. Feel him. He’s drawing it out, taking his time. Making me wait. The anticipation might have me on edge, but it also makes everything all the sweeter. Every nerve-ending in my body is standing at attention for him, electrified just by his proximity.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. “About who you are? A big, bad man with impure intentions for this innocent little damsel who happens to be walking down this alley? Is that it?”
He’s on me then, shoving me up against the wall.
It’s so quick and sudden that a startled scream starts to escape me, but his large hand clamps over my mouth, muffling the sound. His other fists in my hair at the roots. His huge body pins me tightly between his chest and the dirty brick.
I try to turn my head to see him over my shoulder, but he refuses to let me, tightening his fisted hold in my hair. The sharp pain has me whimpering. I hear him groan, getting off on it. His weight presses into my back and he has me jolting in the next moment as his tongue blazes a trail of wet heat along the exposed skin of my neck. The slow, sensual lick has me bucking in his arms. Well, as much as I can with him pinning me so forcefully against the wall. Being forced to take it drives me out of my mind. He knows that about me. So well. He continues to drag his tongue up my neck until he reaches my ear, then he snags my lobe between his teeth, grazing it, before retreating with a soothing lick.
His hand finally leaves my mouth and his fingers glide up and down my thigh.
“Smiter,” I moan.
I feel his breath at my ear. “Yeah, sweetheart. I am a bad man. Dangerous and wild all the way. I ain’t a guy no sweet thing should play with, cuz I devour that kinda innocence whole.”
His hand slips between my legs and delivers a jolting slap to my pussy that has me gasping and throwing my head back against his chest.
“Good thing you ain’t no innocent little thing, yeah?” He breathes into my hair. “You’re the sexiest f
ucking bad girl I’ve ever had riding me.”
I’m so turned on now that I can’t even try to play the game anymore. My panties are frigging soaked and I’m literally panting out into the night.
His fingers slide up under my skirt. He jerks my panties aside and I shudder uncontrollably as one rough, callused finger parts my lips. “Mmm… yeah,” he growls against my ear. “Just the way I like your pussy, Hal. Dripping wet and begging for it.” I draw in a sharp breath, as he teases my opening, just circling it, but not pushing in further.
“Smiter,” I whimper.
“Could fill you with my finger right now and take some of the edge off. Or, you could wait like the patient girl I know you can be and let me play with you. Then, you can have my cock.”
He’s such a bastard, pushing me right to the fucking edge as he lays out his offer with his wandering finger. His very talented wandering finger.
“What’s it gonna be, Hal? One finger? Or, my big, fat cock filling you up?”
“I… I want to play.” How I manage to choke out the words, I have no idea. He’s driving me to utter distraction. All I can think about, all I’m aware of, is his finger and the sparks of pleasure it’s firing through me. I need more. So much more.
“That’s good. Real good, sweetheart.”
He pulls his finger out of my panties and there’s no time for me to even voice my protest, because, in the next second, he’s grasping my shoulders and spinning me around to face him.
Our gazes clash.
He smirks at me. I retaliate with my own, and his evolves into a salacious grin, as he looks me up and down. His unique slate-gray eyes rake over my skin-tight, red dress that barely brushes the tops of my thighs. It has a plunging neckline and I’m wearing a long silver necklace with a blood-red star pendant that draws attention to my boobs. He raises an eyebrow at my silver strappy stilettos, before lifting his gaze to my long, bleached-blonde hair, which is curled tonight and falling in waves. I look hot. Really hot. I’m a big believer in flaunting what I’ve got. I’m proud of my body and I enjoy demonstrating that fact. Although, Smiter hasn’t always been supportive of that choice. To say he’s uncomfortable with it would be an understatement. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had him drape an item of his clothing over me to cover me up if he thinks I’m showing too much skin in public.
But, right now, we’re alone and it’s late. He can just enjoy.
This game of ours has become a routine for months now. He randomly shows up out of the blue. We rile each other up. Flirt dirty. Play hard. Then, for the grand finale, we fuck even harder.
After that, he disappears into the ozone. Regret pierces me, as I consider that last part and I feel my sexy smirk slipping. I force myself not to go there and to focus on the treat in front of me instead. The delicious sight of the hot-as-hell Sergeant-at-Arms of Black Thorns Motorcycle Club.
He’s built like a tank. He easily towers over six-foot. He’s all bulk, but that bulk is hard muscle. My eyes dip to his abs hidden beneath a gray muscle tee and framed by his leather cut with all the markings that signify various things about the club, including his role as Sergeant-at-Arms. God, those things are so damn lickable. Just like his heavily-inked skin. His most prominent tattoo is the eagle that starts on his chest and snakes all the way up his neck. A true work of art. He has his nipples pierced too, two small golden hoops hang from each one. The first thing most people notice about Smiter is that four-inch, jagged scar beside his left eye. But, for me? Beyond the whole biker fetish thing anyway, it was his slate-gray eyes. I felt an instant connection when those eyes burned into mine, that burden of past pain. That unspoken depth of understanding. We’ve never actually talked about it, not in all these months, but I know it’s what first drew us together. More than just screwing around. If either of us just wanted that, we could’ve gotten it from a series of random hookups.
“So, you just happened to be in the neighborhood tonight, huh? Tracked me down?” I ask, preparing to close the distance between us once again. I can’t wait until later. I need something to tide me over now. He’s left me hanging and my body is crying out for a fix that only he can give me.
“Been down in Brockford on club business for a few days.”
What? He’s been here that long and he’s only now coming to me? Well, if that isn’t a cold shower upon my overheated, highly-aroused state, I don’t know what is.
“A few days?”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand over his shaved head, still smirking at me. “Now I’m thinking I shoulda come to you sooner.”
My breath hitches. He gets it?
Taking a step forward, he adds, “Cuz the way you’re looking tonight has my cock hard as steel.”
Disappointment settles in the pit of my stomach. Of course. Sex. That’s all he meant. He doesn’t get it.
He towers over me and shakes his head, his smirk disappearing. “But, I’ve told you time and again to wear a jacket or something when you’re walking about this hellhole city. It ain’t safe these days.”
I roll my eyes. “Please.”
In my less-than-sober state, it slips my mind how much he hates eye-rolling. All trace of flirtation and humor evaporates from him instantly. Great.
“I was club-hopping tonight. What I’m wearing is plenty appropriate for that.”
“Well, it ain’t for walking these streets in the early hours of the morning,” he snaps back. “You know what it says to the assholes ˈround here?”
I slap my hands to my hips, not at all happy with this lecture from him. I’m a grown woman, not a naïve twenty-something newbie to city life. I’m in my mid-thirties for crying out loud. “Oh, please do enlighten me, Smiter.”
He snatches my wrist, making my gaze snap to his abruptly. “Prime target and easy access.”
“Urgh! Don’t be a pig!” I scream at him, thrusting my hands into his chest.
He doesn’t move one little bit from the impact. Being the tank that he is, a shove from someone barely scraping five feet has absolutely no effect on him.
“Got no choice. I’m tryinˈ to get through to your stubborn ass and it ain’t never easy with you.”
“What’s it to you? Really, Smiter? I haven’t heard anything from you in weeks. The last time I saw you was at Runner and Sarah’s wedding when we hooked up in the coatroom. You disappeared a second after you’d got off and that was that.”
“Been busy.”
Wow. As excuses go, I don’t even know how to dignify that one. Pathetic? Does that even cover it? What’s a level below that? Or, several levels below that, actually? Why am I bothering with any of this? If this level of aggravation I’m feeling towards him escalates, neither of us will get what we want tonight. He’s already worked me up. There’s no way I’m letting him leave Brockford without finishing what he’s started.
With that in mind, I swallow down everything else and tell him, “Well, I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
“Me too.” He runs his hands up and down my arms, starting to rev me up once again. “With what you pulled tonight, it’s real clear you need my special kind of play to put you back on track.” His hands slide up to my shoulders, my neck, and tangle in my hair. He tugs lightly, forcing my head back and my eyes to his. “Gonna walk you home and then I’m gonna punish you for putting yourself in danger.”
A shiver of excitement travels through me. I know exactly what kind of punishment he has in mind. The deliciously, erotic kind. “Yes,” I gasp out. “Do it. Please.”
“Oh, sweetheart, save your begging for later. You’re gonna need it.”
We smile at each other with anticipation.
“Come on,” he says, releasing my hair and taking my hand.
That’s when something occurs to me.
My foggy, tipsy brain remembers my agenda. “I need to stop by Temptress, before I head to my place.”
“What for?”
“I need to pick up some paperwork, so I can get it done at home without any
interruptions. It’s a nightmare trying to get it done at the club.”
“Fine, we’ll make a pitstop.”
I wince and shift my feet in my heels. I’m about to explain to him that they’re killing me and that’s why I’d planned on taking the shortcut through the alley. But, in the next second, he’s scooping me up. I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me out of the alley and starts walking us down the high street. I keep forgetting how amazingly perceptive Smiter is.
“Better, sweetheart?” he asks, smiling down at me.
“My hero.”
He laughs.
“You’re just pulling heroics all over the place tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yeah?”
“First, stopping me from walking down the spooky alley. Now, saving my aching feet.”
“Never figured you as the kinda woman who’d want that.”
“I’m not. Usually.”
“Usually?”
“It’s different when you do it.”
He frowns, a wary expression coming over his face. “How’s that?”
I’ve seen that look of his too many times. It’s his freaked-out expression. It means, in his mind, I’ve overstepped the bounds of our booty call arrangement and accidentally crossed into relationship territory. “Uh… just because I always know it’s going to lead to mind-blowing sex.”
Talk about thinking on my feet. I’m actually incredibly impressed that my tipsy brain came up with that one. I’m lying through my teeth, though. That’s the sad part of all of this. The reason it’s really different when he pulls the hero card out, than it is when other men do it, is because I feel comfortable with him. I like him doting on me and throwing his heroics around. I never thought I would. I’ve never been a woman to ever want a hero type. But when Smiter does it, it feels good. I’ve never been with a man who I’ve felt comfortable with on every single level. That’s how I know just how rare it is to find it, how precious it truly is.
But I can’t tell him any of that, or he’ll run a mile. He’s beyond gun-shy about anything encroaching on relationship territory.
HEARTLESS Page 1
