Biker Rockstar Billionaire CEO Alpha (Hers to Keep Trilogy Book 1)

by Violet Blaze

  Cainen glanced over his shoulder and cursed, snatching the Taser up from the passenger seat as he slammed the brakes and the van skidded across the loose dirt and gravel on the road. Before he could press that damn trigger again, I threw the doors wide and jumped/fell out of the back of the van, using my shoulder to roll into the dirt.

  My face took a lot more of the impact than I'd intended and I sat up cursing, bleeding, my body shaking with adrenaline as I tried to cut the ropes at my ankles before Cainen got to me. He climbed out of the van, gun in hand and stormed over to me in a rage, reaching me just as I managed to get my ankles free.

  The gun pressed tight against the back of my skull, the wind blowing my purple hair around my face as I stared straight ahead, across the desert and toward the mountains. From the open doors of the van, I could hear Layla's whimpering.

  I swallowed hard and tried to get past the taste of sand in my mouth. It was all over my teeth, my tongue, choking me, taking the dry cottonmouth feeling from the drugs and amplifying it. Why you? I wondered as I struggled to speak through the overwhelming grit and dirt and dryness. One of my brothers was already dead and now I was being betrayed by another? How? Why?

  I started to turn my head to look at him, but Cainen just pressed the barrel even harder against my skull. It was such a deep violation of trust, of the love I had for this man I'd known my entire life. I had no idea what to do with the situation.

  But at least I still had the tiny blade tucked under my palm.

  Cainen breathed against my neck, sniffling, clearing his throat. Blood dripped into the dirt, spattered my jeans. I'd cut myself so many times I wasn't even sure where all of it was coming from. Could've been from a million different nicks and small wounds.

  I paused for a moment, thinking I heard the sound of a bike in the distance, but with the way sound traveled here, it could've been miles off—if it was there at all. Nobody in my family knew where Layla and I were except, apparently, for Cainen. And Dash … Dash could very well be dead.

  “Let her go.”

  I managed to get those three words out at least—even if each syllable felt like it was cutting through the aching dryness of my tongue. My brothers had been warning me for years that I was going to get myself into serious trouble one day as the Violet Assassin.

  They were right.

  But I didn't mean to drag my sister along with me. Clearly, Cainen had lost it, and he was upset with me, but none of this had anything to do with Layla.

  My face ached and burned as I swallowed again and tried to ignore the pain in my jaw, my cheek, my forehead. Maybe that's where all the blood was coming from?

  “Nobody's going anywhere. Not you, not her. Not even me. We're all going to sit here and wait.”

  It was Cain speaking to me, but it didn't sound like him. It sounded like a man desperate to convince himself that the horrible thing he was doing was right, that I somehow deserved his hatred and his betrayal. Yes, my brother was a judgmental asshole, but I'd never expected this … physical and emotional assault from him. But how could I blame him when for years I hated myself for even daring to want the things I wanted? I denied myself any chance at a romantic or sexual relationship because I was so disgusted with the idea of … well, of letting myself be … me.

  And this is what I had to show for it.

  One week ago, I'd been ready to kill Dash Buchanan.

  Now, I was wondering if I might be able to fall in love with him.

  Cainen relaxed his grip slightly on the gun, listening to that distant sound of a motorcycle coming closer, getting louder.

  “You're not even right in the head,” he repeated, “so it's no big loss. Damn it, Adelaide, but I have a wife and kids to take care of. You understand that, don't you?”

  “I think whatever you've done, it's not too late,” I whispered and Cain started cursing, kicking up dirt and gravel as he paced and ran his fingers through his hair. I managed to turn my head enough to see him, watch him move back and forth like a crazy person.

  “I have debts, Adelaide. Big ones. And you … how could you let him tie you up like that? What the fuck is wrong with you? That's sick. It's sick. God, it's just not right. It's not fucking right.”

  “Why did you shoot Layla?” I whispered and he groaned again, collapsing to his knees in the dirt not three feet from me. What an idiot.

  “When I held the gun on her, she fucking attacked me. We struggled for a while and then it went off. I didn't mean to fucking shoot her, Adelaide. Jesus.”

  “What debts, Cainen?”

  “Gambling debts,” he whispered and I closed my eyes against a surge of rage. For a moment there, I almost wanted to kill him, stab him with the small blade in my head and watch him bleed out on the desert floor. But he was my brother and I owed it to both of us to at least try.

  “Last question: who are we waiting for?”

  “I don't know. Some guy that owns the casino where I took out the credit. He wants you and Layla. Invited me to that fucking party last night to show me … that you're in bed with the enemy. Screwing the man that killed Maverick.”

  “Dash didn't kill Maverick,” I said firmly, but Cainen was barely listening anymore. He still had the gun in his hands, but his head was hanging down and he wasn't paying much attention to me.

  In a split second, I was up and on my feet, moving at him, kneeing him as hard as I could in the face. Cain's pistol fell to the desert floor as I grabbed him by the hair and hit him again and again and again. My brother collapsed into a groaning heap next to me as I picked up the gun and stared down at him, watching until he passed out.

  The motorcycle sound grew louder and I lifted my head to see Dash fucking Buchanan cresting the hill on his bike. I almost smiled, but my face hurt too fucking much.

  He skidded to a stop near the van, but he didn't kill the engine, tearing his helmet off and looking at me with wide eyes, blood speckles dotting the lower half of his face near his full lips.

  “Sugar, you alright?” he asked and I nodded, glancing down at Cain.

  The world alright was relative considering the state of my face and hands, but the situation was coming under control and that's what counted, right?

  “Good 'cause we gotta hide our asses now.”

  Dash tugged his helmet back on his head and drove his motorcycle around the back of a massive orange-brown rock formation that jutted up near the road, casting a long shadow across the wavy lines of the heated pavement. As soon as I heard the engine shut off, he was racing back around to me and grabbing my face in his hands.

  He kissed me hard and deep and fast, stirring passion and worry both inside of me.

  “Get his legs,” he commanded as I shoved the gun into the back of my jeans and tucked the knife in my pocket. Together we managed to lift the groaning asshole off the ground and toss him into the back of the van, climbing inside together and pulling around next to Dash's motorcycle.

  He climbed out and I followed after him, not wanting to waste the time to ask why, trusting him out there the same way I trusted him in the bedroom. We really had the potential to be epic partners—in ever sense of the word, too.

  Dash squatted down, peeking around the edge of the rock as silence settled over the desert and we waited with only the wind for company.

  Within a minute, several black vans appeared on the horizon, flying down the road toward us … and then zooming past. They took a left turn a few miles up and then disappeared into the desolate landscape.

  “What the fuck was that?” I asked as Dash turned back to me, breathing hard, studying me with his honeyed gaze and then stepping forward to pull me into his arms. I let him hold for a long, long time, the wind howling and whistling around us.

  “Those were Ingvar Dunham's people,” Dash said with a tight frown pulling at his lips. When he looked over at me, the look on his face was cut through with a slice of real fear. “Your brother just left me there unconscious on the floor in the hallway, Adelaide. Cecil found m
e and woke me up.”

  “Okay?” I asked, not quite sure where this was going.

  “He didn't need me, didn't give a shit about me. But he did have a deal with Ingvar.”

  “And …” I asked, still trying to put this all together.

  “Honey, that deal was for you.”

  “Me?” I blinked rapidly and tried to ignore the terrifying chill tracing down my spine. “So he knows … that at least something is going on with us?”

  Dash shook his head and tucked his fingers in his jeans pockets.

  “No. If he did, he woulda had your brother kill me or had one of his own men do it.” Dash met my eyes straight on. “He still thinks you're my … fucking Companion or what the hell those assholes call the girls and he can't under any TSR bylaws take you from me without my offering—so he figured out another way.”

  “He … wants me?” I asked, and I felt sick all over again, just like I had on the auction block when that creeper had smiled up at me. I touched the bleeding side of my face, the road rash this throbbing, burning pain that felt suddenly like Ingvar's hand, striking me and knocking me to my ass on the marble floor. “What do we do now?”

  Dash just looked at me and breathed out a huge sigh of relief, raking his fingers through his hair and taking me in his arms yet again.

  “Jesus, woman, what the hell have you done to me? When I thought for a second there that you might be lost to me, I … fuck, at least tell me if you won't be my sub that you'll at least consider trying girlfriend on for size.”

  “Who said I didn't want to try the … the sub thing?” I whispered as Dash took my face in his hands again and pressed this featherlight kiss to my aching mouth. As much as it hurt, as gritty and sand soaked as my lips were, I wanted more. More, more, more. “But first—what do we do about Ingvar?”

  “We keep on going with what we started tonight,” Dash said carefully, his eyes blazing with an anger that I desperately wanted to see unleashed on Ingvar Dunham and friends, “but now that we know he's that interested in you, we need to be twice as careful.”

  “I need to get my siblings to a hospital,” I told him and he nodded, grabbing his helmet and climbing onto his bike. We shared one last sun drenched kiss in the desert and then hopped in our respective vehicles to head back to civilization.

  Our fight was just getting started.

  Our romance was just blossoming.

  But chapter one in my story was over … and it all ended with a boy—with an asshole.

  Although a seriously likable one.

  To Be Continued …

  Book #2 Releases 06/08/17. Preorder Now!

  Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll—get your copy of this international bestelling rocker romance for FREE!

  Sultry Southern Biker Boys.

  .

  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 on 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 c
ome 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.

  Royal gives me another once-over, like he's not quite sure what to make of me. This time, I feel his gaze diving deeper, trying to get under my skin and understand what I'm all about, what makes me tick. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Mr. McBride reads minds.

  “Well, well, well,” he says, his voice dropping a little lower as he goes in for yet another head to toe look. This time around, something in his expression shifts and I feel a little chill travel up my spine, dragging goose bumps down my arms. “Lyric … Rentz,” he says, my first name a verbal caress passing between his lips. My last name though … he says that like a curse. I know what he's thinking: Philip Rentz … Lyric Rentz. I have the same last name as the mayor.