Risky and Wild: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Bad Boys MC Trilogy Book 2)

by Violet Blaze

  With a masculine growl that curls my toes, Royal plants his hands possessively on my hips and pulls me to him, crushing our bodies together as he curls around me, kisses me hard, tongue sliding into my mouth, drawing a moan from my throat that has nothing to do with the show we're supposed to be putting on and everything to do with him.

  .

  Risky and Wild

  Copyright © Caitlin Stunich 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Road, Springfield, OR 97478.

  www.sarianroyal.com

  ISBN-10: 1938623177 (eBook)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-938623-17-2 (eBook)

  Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

  "Edo Pro" Font © Vic Fieger

  "Coolvetica" Font © Typodermic Fonts

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  this book is dedicated to the open road.

  Physically. Metaphorically. You deserve to travel it.

  Welcome to Royal and Lyric's world! This is Violet Blaze reporting for duty. ;) Whether this is your first time joining us or if you're here to continue this risky and wild ride, I hope you enjoy getting down and dirty with the Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club and their world of redwood trees, ocean views, and ... murder? Anyway, your favorite sexy British bad boy president is back and trying to make things work with Pint-Size ... I mean, Lyric. ;) Taste the rainbow of beautiful brutality, fall in love with this couple, and don't forget-if you loved it, please leave a review!

  As you're reading, Tweet, Snapchat and Instagram your favorite passages to me @IAmVioletBlaze #riskyandwild. I'm pleased as punch to answer questions, hear compliments or complaints, or just chat! If it takes me some time to get back to you, it can probably be blamed on a good book. Or a cocktail. Most definitely a cocktail.

  ~Love, your kick ass new BFF, Violet Blaze

  www.violetblazebooks.com

  www.facebook.com/violetblazeauthor

  www.twitter.com/IAmVioletBlaze

  www.instagram.com/IAmVioletBlaze

  play.spotify.com/user/iamvioletblaze

  *FREE Copy of Book #1: Raw and Dirty included in the back! If you need to read that before starting Book #2, Click Here*

  There's an outlaw motorcycle club president sitting outside the mayor's office.

  He's leaning against his bike, a mountain of steel and leather and hard planes—and I'm not just talking about the motorcycle. Royal McBride is a wall of lean, sculpted muscle wrapped in dark wash jeans and a belt with a metal buckle in the shape of a skull. He has his black riding boots crossed at the ankles, a leather vest slung over his muscular shoulders. In one tattooed hand, he's holding a cigarette. In the other, a phone. One look at him and my entire body flushes from head to toe. I feel warm and cold all at once, and my thighs clench tight with a rush of memories and heat.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper, but it's hard for me to sound as freaked out as I should. I spent all day yesterday in this guy's bed, I think as I swallow hard and reach up to check on my bun. I made sure it was extra tight, extra smooth, extra perfect today. I feel like I have to try twice as hard to be boring with this raw and dirty little secret tucked under my heart. Like somebody will see it if I don't.

  I'm asking you to be my woman, Lyric.

  Oh my God.

  I'm dating a one-percenter. Like, a criminal. Like, a real life mob boss or something.

  That's scary as hell … but his smile … it's magnanimous.

  Royal grins at me, big and wide and open. He has a nice smile, too nice maybe.

  “Don't give me that shit-eating grin,” I scold as I get close, just close enough to smell him, that wild mix of wet earth and wild things, like he really is part wolf or something. It mixes with the urban scents of oil and leather, turning my insides into an infinity twist. “You really shouldn't be here.”

  Royal flicks his cigarette to the cement and slides his phone into his pocket, giving me a slow, penetrating once-over that curls my toes inside the boring black kitten heels on my feet. It hits me then, in the bright early Monday morning sunshine what I agreed to yesterday.

  I agreed to be this guy's girlfriend.

  Oh dear God, I think I must be losing my mind.

  “Lucky you, I've got a legitimate reason to be at the mayor's office,” he growls back at me, leaning in close, putting those full lips of his right up against my ear. I take a sudden step back and smooth an imaginary wrinkle from my skirt. Everything is different now, I tell myself, yet it feels like yesterday never even happened. It was too surreal. I got … kidnapped by rival bikers on Saturday, woke up in Royal's bed on Sunday. And then I shared ice cream with pet wolves for hours until he came home and ravaged me. Again. And again. And oh God, again.

  I'm still sore between my legs, but I won't let him know that.

  “A legitimate reason?” I ask as I reach a gentle hand up to my cheek, like I can check if my makeup's still in place just by touching it. My nose aches from that elbow I took to the face, and my chest is throbbing from the burn of the seatbelt. Mostly my heart thumps and pulses and beats like a drum as I stare back at Royal and let the risky and wild little secret between us flower and blossom.

  If my dad found out I was dating him, he'd fire me. If the world found out, I could lose my chances of ever becoming a somebody in politics. Nobody's going to vote for a woman who dated a criminal like Royal McBride.

  “I have a right proper meeting with the mayor, Pint-Size,” he says, standing up straight and smirking at me, looking me over again like he can see the pink crotchless panties I'm wearing beneath this stupid skirt. When he looks at me like that, I want to tear it off and climb on the back of his bike, tell him to get me the hell out of here.

  Instead, I cock my head at him and try to remember what's going on in my life besides Royal McBride. For the past week, he's pretty much consumed my every waking thought. I glance up at the old Victorian that's currently serving as my father's office. It's tall and green as mint ice cream, decorated with a nautical theme of ropes and seagulls and buoys. Inside, it has boring blue carpet and way too many desks for the size of the space.

  It's the complete opposite of Royal.

  It's also the center of my life, my world—or at least, it was.

  “About the agreement?” I ask, the one that I drafted up, the one that's mostly a bunch of fancy fluff about the local government and the Alpha Wolves MC working together amicably to reduce local crime, clean up local highways, and make nice with each other. In all reality, it pretty much does nothing. To the people of Trinidad though, it'll mean something. To my career, it's pretty much everything.

  And my brother got beat up because of it. Sort of. I really have no idea what Sully and Brent are … were? … up to. Still, I can never forget that I was the one that called Brent in, that this is partially my fault—even if Royal told me to never speak of it again.

  A chill travels down my spine as he moves over to the front door and holds it open for me.

  “After you, my Pint-Size Princess,” Royal purrs as we stare at each other for a long, hot second. I feel like my skin is going to burst from the flood of hormones. But what happens when this wears off? Because attraction, passion, like this, it ca
n't last forever … can it?

  God, we need to have a grown-up talk. Like stat.

  “Thank you,” I say, scooting past him and groaning when he reaches down with one of those big, tattooed hands and cups my ass. “Royal,” I snap, but I can't deny that I like it, that I lean into him, that I wish he'd throw me into the wall and—

  My sister appears on the staircase, just one thin sheet of glass away from us. I slap Royal's hand away and walk quickly, wrenching open the door that leads from the foyer into the rest of the office. Royal is right behind me; I can feel him. The heat from his body, the creak of leather from his vest, his smell.

  “Oh, hello there,” Kailey says, ignoring me and zeroing right in on Royal as he stands behind me and pretends he wasn't just groping my ass. “Dad's … I mean, the mayor is expecting you.” Kailey gestures with one perfectly manicured hand. “Come on up.” A pause. “Lyric, you're late,” she says and then she's turning around and sliding her hand up the banister towards the second floor.

  “She's a bloody bitch, isn't she?” he asks me as he slides by with a smile, pausing to press a kiss to the side of my throat before disappearing up the steps, his boots loud, zippers clinking as he takes them two at a time. I stand there for a while and try to get my head on straight.

  Dating Royal is just a … a thing.

  I have no idea how to compartmentalize it yet, but I will. I'll figure it out.

  I follow after them and take a seat at my desk, thanking heaven above that it's facing away from my father's office and the wall of windows that look right in on it. I'm not there five minutes when Kailey's sitting on the edge of my laptop and giving me a sympathetic pat on the hand.

  “I am so sorry about Brent. I had no idea he was that depressed. If I had, I would've taken him up on his offer of dinner out. Poor guy.” I pause, my hand halfway to slapping my sister's thigh to get her off my computer. Dinner? Brent asked her to dinner, too? What a creep.

  “What do you mean 'depressed'?” I ask as I switch tactics and yank the laptop out from under her long, thin thigh. She raises both her blond brows at me, green eyes taking in the puffy bridge of my nose, the bruise that's partially visible on my throat. “Kailey, what?” I ask, reaching up to adjust my collar.

  “Don't you watch the news? Or check your phone, like ever? Brent is dead, Lyric.” My eyes snap up to hers while the blood drains from my face. In fact, I haven't looked at my phone because it got thrown off a cliff by a crazy motorcycle club flunky. And I haven't turned on a TV because I was too busy watching Royal McBride ride me into his mattress. “I guess he killed himself or something. It was front page news today,” she adds in a conspiratorial whisper. “An FBI agent dying here, in Trinidad. Oh, and it turns out he was under some sort of internal investigation or something.”

  I feel sick.

  “Excuse me,” I say, standing up suddenly and glancing over my shoulder. There's Royal, looking all easy and carefree and friendly with his big smile and the loose way he holds his shoulders. He did this. My heart starts to pound as I stand there like an idiot. I whip my head back around and gather up my computer while Kailey watches me like a hawk. Great. More information for her to hold over my head. But in this moment, I don't care.

  I head down the stairs and into the break room, locking the door behind me and flipping open my laptop. A quick internet search for Brent Gilman and it comes right up. There's a picture of his car surrounded by police, a shot of his perfect smile right next to it.

  I scan the article quickly, find another. Another. This just happened. Like literally just happened. The articles are from Saturday, but the suicide happened on Friday, the same day Brent stopped by my house to ask me out.

  My fingers slide along the screen of my laptop, flick it closed as I stare at the yellow-orange color of the oak tabletop beneath it.

  Brent is dead.

  Royal's VP is dead.

  Maybe I set all of this in motion by making that phone call, but I certainly never pulled the trigger. That means that somebody else did because there's no way that arrogant self-serving a-hole would kill himself.

  Either my new boyfriend had his club members commit Brent's murder … or he did it himself.

  Royal's gone by the time I let myself out of the break room, just in time for my father to call me into his office and start the day off right.

  “Your sister said that Brent's death came as a bit of a shock?” he says, but he's not even looking at me, his eyes on his computer as he focuses on whatever it is he does in here. I make a noise that's half-acknowledgment and half-dismissal. “This isn't the greatest news, obviously. But I have a contact that says Brent was facing criminal charges as well as looking at a dismissal from the FBI. It makes sense that he'd want to take his own life, and why not here? In beautiful Trinidad. Just steps away from Heaven.”

  “You never miss a chance to grab an angle, do you?” I ask, pointing my finger at my dad and trying not to scream. I'm upset about Brent, not devastated, but upset. My dad doesn't even care. Does he have any idea what his son was up to? That he and Brent were screwing around with the Alpha Wolves? God. What a mess.

  I reach up a hand and find my bun has come undone again. Not a surprise. My neat, little life is about to turn into a shit storm.

  “Life is all about turning tragedies around on their head,” Philip continues, looking up at me with a mild half-smile on his face. “Like you did with the Wolves. Now that we've got everything settled up on paper, we'll put their name on a plaque and assign them a highway to clean up, get them to do a holiday toy drive or something. The public will see that I'm cleaning up the city both physically and metaphorically. You've done well, Lyric, although I'm sure you know that.”

  I stare back at him, but I don't feel like I've done anything but stir up trouble. And death.

  “Stop by the hospital on your way home and visit your brother, will you?” he asks as I sigh and drop my hands to my sides. I nod, but my skin is itching to see Royal. I want his hands all over me, his mouth on mine, his body buried inside of me.

  But I also kind of want to pretend I never met him.

  I stare at my dad for another minute before I realize that he's just effectively dismissed me.

  Great.

  I head back to my desk and work until everyone else is gone, until the sky is dipped in inky darkness speckled with stars. I have no phone so there's no way for Royal to contact me. Since it's after five, if he calls into the office, he'll get my sister's desk and it'll go straight to voice mail.

  I take comfort in that, in knowing that the downstairs doors are triple locked and covered with security cameras. The whole time I'm working, I know that I'm really running. From Brent's death. From Royal. From yesterday.

  Never thought I'd say this so bloody soon, but … you got it, love. I'm yours.

  I sigh and put my head in my hands.

  “Yesterday feels like a fairy tale,” I whisper as I rub my temples in slow circles.

  “We can always recreate that,” Royal says and I scream, standing up so quick from my desk that the rolling chair topples to the floor. When I glance up, he's just … sitting there and staring at me with a stupid smirk on his face. With a creak of leather, Royal rises to his feet and moves over to me, putting his palms flat on my desk. “Come on, love, how about a kiss for your old man?”

  “How did you get in here?” I choke, deciding to ignore the old man comment as he reaches his right hand back to his jeans and slides out a ring of keys. I recognize the Victoria's Secret PINK keychain as Kailey's.

  “Pinched it off your sister,” he tells me, tossing them in my direction. “You didn't hear me come up?”

  “I was too busy thinking about Brent's suicide,” I snap back as I curl my fingers around the silver keys and glare at him. Even if—and this is a very slim if—he didn't have anything to do with Brent's death, I'm sure he knows all about it. “Something you failed to mention to me while you were sucking on my tits yesterday.” I color at
the words, but I use them anyway. Something about Royal McBride makes me feel bold.

  “That would've killed the bloody mood, don't you think?” he asks me, staring back like this is no big deal. At least, that's what his mouth says, but his eyes … his pupils are dilated and the muscles in his cheek twitch ever so slightly. “I thought you said you hated that tosser anyhow?”

  “You're avoiding the question.”

  Royal comes around the desk suddenly and pushes me back with his body, right into the wall of glass windows that lead to my dad's office. The breath whooshes out of me, and I feel like I'm on fire as I crane my neck back to look up at him.

  “You didn't ask one,” he states simply, leaning down and capturing my mouth as the fingers of his right hand slide along my jaw. Royal nibbles at my lower lip with his teeth, dragging a groan from my chest that I can't seem to keep quiet. Oh. Now I remember why I agreed to date the asshole.

  I lift my hands up and put them flat against his chest, the soft cotton of his t-shirt strained over those taut muscles. Before I know it, they're roving up and under his cut, over his shoulders, fingers squeezing tight.

  “What did you have to do with Brent's death?” I ask bluntly, certain that I'm about to lose my mental faculties to Royal's stupid British charm. He pauses a moment, his stubbled jaw working as he glances to the side and thinks about how to say this.

  That scares the crap out of me.

  “I didn't kill him,” Royal tells me, his voice ringing with truth. But then his dark eyes flick back to mine and I feel my breath catch. “But I was going to.”

  “Why?” I whisper, pushing back against the glass as he leans into me, the hot heat from his body melting me into a useless puddle. “I already told you—”

  Royal cuts me off by putting one of this big tattooed hands over my mouth. His dark eyes narrow on me as he stands up and pulls his body back a little.

  “Brent was working with Mile Wide,” he tells me. “The club that kidnapped you. And Lyric,” he lets go of my mouth and I suck in a big breath, “this has nothing to do with you.” His voice is firm and dark, a warning. You calling in Brent … don't ever mention that to anyone ever again. You hear me? “He was shaking me down, shaking the club down. But we didn't kill him. Somebody else beat us to it.”