Savage Biker: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Road Rage MC) (Angels from Hell Book 4)

by Evelyn Glass

  “Wow,” I say, thinking about all the ways that could’ve gone wrong, thinking about how the men could’ve just shot him down the moment he threatened their new leader. “That was risky.”

  “Damn risky,” he agrees. “But what else was I gonna do? Let Clint ruin my father’s legacy? Let him ruin your father’s legacy? Fuck that.”

  I bring my hand to his face, lightly touching it. “You mentioned you wanted to meet Charlotte. I think it’s about time you did, for real.”

  Slick swallows, staring straight ahead.

  “What is it?”

  “I just . . .” He hesitates, and then gestures to his face with the whisky bottle. “I’ll scare her, Brat. Look at me. A kid don’t wanna see that.”

  “But there’s more to you,” I say, reading him. I think I could read Slick better than I could ever read anybody else, maybe even Charlotte. There’s a connection there that goes beyond mere emotion; it runs as deep as time. It’s like Slick is my best friend, my lover, and the father of my child all rolled into one. Slick is a man who cannot be replaced. Slick is another part of me. “Tell me, Slick.” I stroke his stubbly cheek.

  “I’m scared I’m not good enough for her,” he whispers, and I know that as he stares around the room, he’s not really staring around the room. He’s staring into the past, into what he was made to do. I think it’ll be years before her really gets over it. How long does it take a man to get over hell? I have no idea. “I’m scared that I’ll hurt her, which is damn weird ’cause the last thing in the world I wanna do is hurt her. But what if I do—by accident? My hands are killer’s hands, Brat. My hands are outlaw’s hands. My hands ain’t meant for holding children.” To my shock, I see that his eyes are teary. He takes a long swig of the whisky. “These hands are meant for snapping necks, nothin’ more.”

  “You’re wrong,” I say firmly, “and I’ll prove it.”

  “How?”

  But I don’t reply. I stand up and walk out of the room, ignoring his questions. I get on my bike and ride to the city, to Heather’s apartment, and then Heather, Charlotte, and I return to the clubhouse. All the way, Charlotte is bobbing in her seat. When I told her she was going to meet her Dadda, she could barely contain herself. When we reach the clubhouse, she jumps out of her car seat into my arms the moment it’s unbuckled, pawing at my face, saying over and over, “Dadda, Dadda!”

  “I can’t go in there,” Heather says, staring at the clubhouse, but then Dad appears in the doorway.

  “Heather?”

  “Jacob?”

  They stare at each other for a time, and then Heather makes for the clubhouse. I follow her, but split up with her when Dad leads Heather toward his office. Charlotte squeezes my nose, squealing, “Dadda! Dadda! Dadda!”

  I knock on the door, making sure Slick is ready. His voice is croaky when he calls out, “Come in.”

  I don’t think tears will ever start streaming down my face so quickly and so unexpectedly ever again in my life. As soon as Charlotte sees Slick—sitting in a chair now, probably so he doesn’t seem hurt—she squirms out of my grip, drops to the floor, and pads over to him. I watch as she tilts her head up at him and murmurs, “Dadda?”

  Slick grins shakily, and leans down. “I reckon so, little lady,” he says, as I cry in the doorway. He picks her up and places her on his knee, facing him. When he looks to me for support, I give him a smile of encouragement. “I’m your Dadda, alright, if you’ll have me.”

  He’s careful with her, handling her as though she’s made of glass, but then Charlotte jumps up and throws her arms around his neck. “Kiss Dadda!” she squeals, kissing him on the unbruised side of his face. “Kiss Dadda! Kiss Dadda!” She kisses him over and over, each kiss making me cry all the harder, and Slick laugh all the louder.

  “Look,” Slick says, when she’s stopped. He takes a small pocket-mirror from the bedside cabinet, and frames him and Charlotte in it. “Look at our eyes, princess.”

  “Same,” Charlotte says, grinning.

  “Same,” Slick repeats, grinning in exactly the same way.

  Epilogue

  Slick

  Being with Bri never gets old. We’re in the bike shop, which a VP and the President’s daughter shouldn’t be doing even if we do have Grizzly’s blessing now. Outside, a light sleet is falling, the air crisp and wintery. But inside it is warm. I have her bent over a bike she was working on, and her moans are about the sweetest, sexiest damn thing that exists in the world. I thrust into her one last time, grabbing her ass cheeks, and I feel her come all over me. It’s a beautiful thing, the way Brat comes. First, her pussy goes tight, so tight that I can feel it like a hand squeezing my cock, and then she starts squirting all over me, so that when I look down I see the come rubbing up and down my cock as I thrust. Damn, damn beautiful.

  When we’re done, I pull out and pull my jeans up, looking back toward the outside.

  “That was risky,” I say, buckling my belt.

  Brat giggles, facing me. “If it isn’t risky, it isn’t worth it.” She gives me a wink.

  “I was sent by your dad to make sure you weren’t in here. He’s given me clear orders that you’re supposed to be a lady now. You’re supposed to have left all that tomboy stuff behind you.”

  “Don’t I look like a lady?” She flicks her hair, which is longer than it’s ever been before. Soon it’ll be long enough that, when she’s naked, she’ll be able to cover her nipples with it. I can’t wait for that. I get hard again just thinking about it. She dances over to me, kissing me, and then wrapping her arms around. “I’m sure I’ve persuaded you to keep my secret, though, right?”

  I grin, can’t help but grin. When I think of how things are now—me living with Charlotte and Brat in the city, being VP, having a real say in the club—to how things were a few months back, it’s difficult to believe. I still have the nightmares, don’t reckon they’ll ever go away, but hell is easier to deal with when you’ve got a couple of angels of your own.

  “Thought so.” She kisses me on the nose. “Anyway, this is my bike, and I don’t exactly have another garage I can use whenever I like. But don’t worry.” Holding her grease-stained hands up. “I’m actually going full-time at another job.”

  “Are you? When?”

  “Tomorrow,” she says. “Heather doesn’t call me the Little Fashionista for nothing, you know.”

  “Goddamn, Brat.” I put my arms around her, pulling her to me so that my cock is pressed against her tight ass. Just emptied my balls, and yet I’m hard all over again. “When you talk about fashion you get me fuckin’ goin’. You’re the best of both worlds. Half greasy monkey, half fashion lady. Glamorous and dirty all in one.”

  She shifts her hips, rubbing that tight ass against me. “I think I’d prefer dirty, just one more time . . .”

  ***

  Bri

  I’ve just helped one of my regular customers, Chantelle, pick out a flowing dress which accentuates her curves when Heather comes over. Heather has been nervous all day, flustered and snappish, and I think I know why; it’s the same reason Dad was acting off when I saw him earlier. Chantelle is a busty, curvy redheaded woman with a nervous smile, which gets more nervous as Heather stomps over. She hands me the purchase catalogue. Since we’ve started buying our own stock, she’s been consulting me more and more about what to go in on. As soon as she hands it to me, I push it back.

  “I’ve already looked. See?” I gesture to the sticky notes poking out from the end.

  “Oh.”

  She flicks to the pages, and then throws her hand up. “No way!” she cries, red-faced.

  “Oh,” Chantelle murmurs, peering over Heather’s shoulder at the catalogue.

  “What?” Heather says, turning to her. “What is it?”

  I’ve picked out some biker-style gear, all leather and studs, kinky and cool.

  “I just think it looks quite—quite exciting,” Chantelle says, making for the door. “I’m sure some of the other girls w
ould, too.”

  Heather raises an eyebrow at me, as Chantelle leaves. “The girls—your regulars, she means?”

  I nod.

  “Oh, fine, fine!”

  She almost drops the catalogue when Dad walks in, dressed not in leathers, but in a suit. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him in a suit. I’m so startled by the sight that I just start laughing, which doesn’t help matters. He grins awkwardly, and Heather shoots me a furious look.

  “Heather,” he says.

  “Jacob,” she replies.

  Dad clears his throat. Heather moves from foot to foot. I watch, cringing, but I’m happy for them despite the awkwardness.

  After a while, Heather turns to me and says, “I’ll be back in time to watch Charlotte this evening.”

  “Okay, just go! And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

  Heather shoots me another angry look, and then leaves, Dad holding the door open for her.

  I spend the rest of the day helping customers, and then—once Heather has taken Charlotte, as promised, and once she’s ignored my questions about the date—I jump on my bike and head into the Rockies, sleet or no sleet.

  Slick is there, as he said he would be, sitting at a foldout table next to my dirt bike in our metal hut. He places a picnic hamper on the table, which contains champagne and some nibbles, but I’m more interested in the blanket laid out on the floor. Candlelight throws our shadows onto the walls.

  “Brat,” he says, rising to meet me. He grabs me, pulling me close to him. I love how much he takes control, how safe I feel with him.

  “Brat,” I echo. “Will you ever stop calling me that?”

  He grins, and shakes his head. “Don’t reckon so,” he says. “Unless you stopped being my Brat one day.”

  “I never would,” I say, bringing my lips to his. Before we kiss, I whisper, “I’m glad you came home to me, Slick. I’m glad you came home to us.”

  “So am I,” he says, voice throaty.

  And then we kiss, and a light snow begins to fall, shrouding us.

  THE END

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  Books by Evelyn Glass

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  Savage Rebel: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Steel Jockeys MC) (Angels from Hell Book 3)

  I won’t take no for an answer.

  I claimed my best friend’s little sister.

  I don’t give a f**k if she wants this.

  I don’t give a f**k if it’s wrong.

  Tonight, she’ll learn the truth: she belongs to me now.

  I swore I’d keep her safe.

  That’s the last thing I said to him – her brother, my best friend – before he died in my arms.

  Keeping her safe meant keeping her far the hell away from the Steel Jockeys MC.

  A little girl like Ruby had no business getting mixed up with a clubhouse full of cold-blooded killers, hitmen, outlaws, and bikers.

  We drank too much.

  Rode too hard.

  F**ked too loud and far too often.

  So, for seven years, I kept her away.

  And I upheld my oath to my fallen brother-in-arms.

  But all of a sudden, Ruby isn’t a little girl anymore.

  She’s a woman.

  Not just any woman – she’s a motherf**king beauty.

  Hair like a sunlit waterfall, skin pure and flawless, curves that test the strength of my zipper.

  Like it happened overnight, she went from being my best friend’s kid sister…

  To a woman that I’d kill to have.

  The only problem is, other people feel the same.

  Especially the men who slaughtered her brother.

  And they’re coming back to finish the job they started seven years ago.

  But there’s a difference.

  This time around, I’m ready for war.

  Because if those sick sons of b!tches think they can take Ruby from me, they’ve got another thing coming.

  From the second I saw her, I knew one thing: this girl was mine now.

  And there’s not a single man, dead or alive, who gets to lay a damn finger on what’s mine.

  I’m a motherf**king savage rebel.

  And I’ll kill to protect my woman.

  Savage Brute: A Mafia Hitman Romance (Russo Family Mafia) (Angels from Hell Book 2)

  The savage brute is determined to get in my womb.

  Bad boy. Hitman. Sinner. Brute. My nightmare come to life.

  My father says he’s here to help us.

  But then Aedan breaks in my room, pins me down, and whispers the truth:

  He’s here to kill us all.

  LIVIA

  I’ll never forget what those Irish thugs did to my brother.

  And I’ll sure as hell never forgive them.

  So I don’t understand why my father thought this was all going to be okay.

  A truce with those traitorous, killer scum would’ve been bad enough.

  An alliance with them is even worse.

  But inviting one of them HERE? In our home?

  That’s too f**king far.

  It doesn’t help that the man they chose to send to us is a towering, tatted god with eyes that seem to strip the clothing right off my body.

  He wants to give me more than just his protection – that much is obvious.

  I hate his filthy guts.

  But I can’t stop myself from getting hot every time he enters the room.

  Each time his Irish baritone rumbles across my ears… shivers go down my spine.

  He sees what he’s doing to me.

  He knows what my body wants:

  Him, in all his bloody, vicious glory.

  Pinning me down.

  Making me submit.

  Turning me into his pet, his plaything…

  And a vessel for his baby.

  AEDAN

  She’s too angry to see the big picture.

  There’s a war going on – a war that could end us all – and the only thing this mafia princess can think about is bloody revenge.

  Someone needs to teach her a lesson.

  I’m willing to volunteer…

  But she should know that I like to get VERY hands on.

  She’s in her bedroom now. So let the lessons begin.

  I go there.

  Open the door.

  Her eyes are full of fear and heat and surprise.

  She knows what I’m here for – one of the reasons, at least.

  And she won’t be disappointed in that regard.

  I’ll take her like she wants to be taken.

  Own her like she wants to be owned.

  Make her scream and moan and claw and beg.

  But there’s another purpose to my time here.

  One that neither Livia nor her fool of a mob boss father can ever know.

  Come here, little princess.

  Lean in close and I’ll whisper it to you.

  My secret.

  My truth.

  The last thing you’ll ever hear.

  “I’ve been sent here to kill you.”

  Savage Beast: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance (Prophets MC)

  He’s a savage beast – and he’s here to drag me back, kicking and screaming.

  VAL

  It’s been almost two months since I took my baby daughter and ran for the hills.

  We had to get away from my abusive ex.

  He’d given me enough black eyes and sleepless nights to last a lifetime.

  And my little girl deserves a better father than a devil like him.

  For a little bit, it seems like we’d made it out safe.

  I might be stripping to pay the bills.

  But it’s worth it if that’s what it takes to feed my daughter, to keep a roof over our heads.

  And there’s something
liberating about getting on that stage.

  Up there, with my legs around a pole and pounding music in my ears, I can be anybody.

  I can be anonymous.

  Powerful.

  Free.

  And then it all comes crashing down.

  It started with a simple request for a dance.

  But when I saw who was asking, my blood froze in my veins.

  The outlaw biker waiting in the champagne room was like something out of a romance novel:

  Rugged, tatted, leather-bound, unbelievably huge.

  I gave him what he wanted.

  And that might just be the last thing I ever do.