Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
If you love erotica, one-click these hot Scorched releases… Good Girls Like it Dirty
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Cathleen Ross. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
Scorched is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Nina Bruhns
Cover design by Cover Couture
Cover photography by
Nelka7812/Deposit Photos
4 PM Production/Shutterstock
ISBN 978-1-64063-633-0
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition September 2018
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
To Nina. For your patience and all the time you spent making this story sing.
Chapter One
Payback should be a bitch. But spying on Stacey Martin through her bedroom window in the darkness was giving Troy DeLance a hard-on. And Troy wasn’t happy about it.
Troy groaned out loud as Stacey unbuttoned her silky dress and it slipped to the ground, leaving her wearing virgin-white bra and panties. She had a body that was more siren than virgin. When she pulled her long, sun-blonde hair from its ponytail, it draped over her slim shoulders, down to her cute little rounded ass. She pursed her lips as she glanced out the window.
What he wouldn’t give to have her doing things to him with that sweet, pouting mouth.
Dirty things.
But that wasn’t going to happen. This was official business for the Slayers MC—the motorcycle club both he and his prospect, Animal, belonged to.
It didn’t matter that Troy’s attraction for Animal’s half-sister Stacey jolted into him like a slug from a gun. He’d met her for the first time two weeks ago…but she’d been dressed then. Semi-naked? Oh man. He didn’t want or need this untimely attraction. She was so not his type. Far from it. His club nickname was Beast, and that fit him to a T. She was definitely a beauty, but unlike the fairy tale, this little scenario was not going to end happily.
Not for her, anyway.
His gaze still riveted on her, he pulled at his tightening jeans and shifted on his Harley so he was more comfortable. He wasn’t such a creep that he’d jerk off while he spied on the girl. Instead, he fingered the roll of duct tape, planning his revenge on her brother.
A year ago, Animal had gone out of his way to join the Slayers as Troy’s prospect. Back then, Troy had seen schoolgirl pictures of Stacey in the auto parts shop Animal recently inherited from his dad. Who knew the guy’s sweet-looking kid sister would grow up to be such a striking young woman, pretty enough to model on a catwalk? No wonder Animal had never brought her to the club parties when she was in town. There wouldn’t have been a man there who wouldn’t have wanted to bang her.
Troy tried to remember how old his prospect had said she was. Twenty? No. Twenty-one? Anyway, it didn’t make any difference. He wasn’t going to date the girl. He was going to grab her and trade her. He fingered the gun at his hip. Animal’s betrayal of their friendship by snatching Troy’s own younger sister, Lizzie, and making her his sex slave deserved a slow, torturous beating…if not worse.
The MC didn’t hold with unnecessary violence. Not since Troy’s father had taken over from his grandfather and the Slayers started making money from the legit bike shops and nightclubs they now owned. Lawlessness brought cops, and cops were trouble.
But in this instance, Troy had no other option. Crimes against Slayers and their womenfolk had to be punished. Troy had brought Animal in, so it was up to him to fix the problem. Luckily, being military, he was the most experienced enforcer in the club.
First, he needed to draw the little jerk out from whatever shithole he was hiding in. And he knew just how to do it. He knew Animal and Stacey were close, so it was a no-brainer. Troy would get Lizzie back, send Animal his own sister in return, then beat the crap out of him.
So, for the next twenty-four hours, he was going to stick to Stacey like bitumen on gravel.
And then he’d grab her.
Snap! The bra strap went, and she turned toward the window so he copped a full shot of her firm, high tits before she flung the scrap of fabric onto the bed. Cherry nipples. Heat flooded his cock. She was singing something, her lips moving to the song, and…dancing. Holy shit. He couldn’t hear the words from where he stood in the shadows just outside her ground-floor bedroom window, but he definitely appreciated the way her body moved. She was a woman in every sense of the word. He didn’t need much imagination to picture her moving under him.
She had wide eyes the same color as Animal’s piercing blue ones, but that was the end of the resemblance. Damn, she was sexy with her petite nose and lush, soft mouth. Delicate in a ladylike way, unlike the usual club women or hangers-on. No tattoos marked her pale skin, not even a scar or a mole. She was like a long, fresh drink of milk. He bet she’d smell good, too.
A thrill of need made his cock rock-hard and his balls tight. Shit, he’d recently returned from a three-month mission with his U.S. Army Ranger Corps, special ops team, and hadn’t gotten laid in a while. He so did not need the torment of sweet, young flesh.
When she slid her panties down her thighs, his throat went dry, and the primal urge to fuck grew to the boiling point. She had the sweetest blonde pussy that he would love to plunder with his fingers and tongue.
But no.
Stacey Martin was strictly off-limits. Not one blonde hair would be harmed in his quest for revenge.
Besides which, Animal had told him his half-sister’s mom was a New York trust-fund socialite. A much different world than Troy came from. A world he had zero
interest in having anything to do with, even if it just involved mindless sex. Because a woman like that would always want more than just mindless sex.
His cock throbbed, which was damned uncomfortable. Then Stacey dropped something and bent down to retrieve it, giving him a perfect view. He swore his balls went blue the precise moment the image of her rounded ass and lovely pussy exploded in his brain. She was so close he could easily break the window, climb in, and snatch her right now.
Fucking-A. What was he thinking?
He needed to get this job out of the way pronto, or he’d be dreaming about this little trust fund princess and her naked body for the foreseeable future.
He’d grab her tonight—which meant he needed to go back to the club and get the SUV, supplies, and extra fuel. Animal had to be a damn moron to kidnap Lizzie and leave his own sister unguarded. Especially when he’d been specifically warned off by the Slayer’s president—Troy’s dad, known in the club as Razor. A prospect should know better.
Troy narrowed his eyes. He would get his sister back. Then he’d make sure the little shit paid dearly.
And Princess Stacey was the key.
Chapter Two
Stacy Martin flopped onto her bed, fluffed the pillow under her head, and frowned up at the woefully inadequate ceiling fan lazily moving the sultry air. New Orleans was a damn sight more humid than New York, and her house was like a steam bath. Humidity was supposed to be good for the skin, but her asthma didn’t like it one bit. She always had her inhaler close by.
But heat and asthma Stacy could handle. Her half-brother Brian’s crazy-ass behavior, she could not. She and Brian had inherited their late father’s ailing auto parts store, and she needed her brother on duty. It was either that or the bank was going to foreclose on their mortgage and they’d lose everything.
She’d made a deathbed promise to her father to get the business back on track from a recent rash of bad luck. She would go to hell and back to make good on that vow.
It didn’t matter that her mom was wealthy. Stacey wouldn’t be coming into her trust fund for ten more years, and she didn’t plan to spend them sitting on her ass begging for handouts. Business was in her DNA. She was determined to get to the bottom of the thefts plaguing the small shop in Gert Town and pull it out of the red. Which, apparently, made her a hell of a lot different from Brian.
Her stomach clenched in foreboding. What the hell was going on with her brother? Their dad had passed away a week ago. But instead of taking her through their father’s inventory and procedures as Dad had begged him, Brian had chosen instead to hang out at that drop-kick biker club, where he went by that ridiculous name, Animal. Which left Stacey alone to do both their jobs.
Well, fine. She was up for it. Monday she was taking over the reins because Brian had gone AWOL. Timeout, he’d called it. She snorted. More like an excuse to party and hook up with his new biker whore.
What the hell was wrong with him? Couldn’t he see they were both one step away from living on a grate? She adored her big brother. After their parents had separated when Stacey was ten years old, she had chosen to spend every school vacation she could with him and Dad. One of these days, he was going to get himself into real trouble, and she wouldn’t be around to save his sorry ass.
She gave her pillow an angry punch, trying to get comfortable. Sleep was a bitch. For an hour, she’d been tossing and turning in her bed like a fish flung on a hot rock. Even a cold shower hadn’t worked. Sleep was impossible with all the worries running through her mind.
She knew next to nothing about the spare parts business. Thankfully, she’d just finished her business degree—though her mom had tried to force her into studying law, offering to pay for everything if she did. Stacey had refused to be bribed. She was rock-stubborn, so her mother said. Accounts, organization, and office management—that was her wheelhouse. Mom wanted her back in New York, but Stacey knew exactly why. And she had no intention of being molded into a trophy bride for some hotshot banker. Like hell.
Someday—like in a million years—she might marry a polished New Yorker with an Ivy League education. A man of her own choice. Maybe. But she was going to make something of herself first, far away from her controlling mother and stepfather.
She yanked the sheet up over her silk nightie, briefly savoring the crispness before it warmed and wilted against her skin, and willed sleep to come. Strung out, she needed to banish the suffocating edginess of her troubles.
New Orleans was home now. She had promised her dying father she’d look out for her older half-brother. Clearly he needed her steadying influence. Since burying Dad, she’d never seen Brian look so crazed.
And dangerous. Hooked on some woman from that damned biker club. He wasn’t even a full member yet, just what they called a prospect—basically a lowly gofer—for a biker named Beast.
She rolled her eyes.
Beast. Seriously.
Then again… Her whole body had tingled when she’d met the huge biker a couple of weeks back when he’d been in her kitchen talking to Brian. Damn, what a body! She’d itched to get her hands on the compelling bad boy. Especially after he’d surprised her by volunteering to get Dad’s cancer medication. That was when she’d really melted. Kindness and hotness made for a lethally attractive combination. Yep, the man was pure sex on two legs. A big bit of rough with muscles up the wazoo.
Yeah, she’d happily tangle with Beast, then run away as quick as she could, laughing it off as just a wild adventure. He was totally wrong for her, of course…but sexy as hell.
She shook her head. Nah. Who was she kidding? No way would she ever do something as dumb and dangerous as sleeping with a man from the Slayers. Bikers weren’t her style. It’d be like playing with a rattlesnake.
She wished Brian would come back. Something was very wrong about his sudden disappearance. Did Beast have something to do with it? Unease rippled along her spine. It was one thing to have a crush on a woman, but when Brian had casually said she was the MC president’s daughter, Stacey’d told him he was insane. Even she knew that was not anyone to muck around with. There’d be consequences. Dire ones.
But Brian had never understood the word “no.” It was like a flame to a moth. And ever since Dad died, Brian had been as out of control as he’d been inconsolable, a drifting boat with no anchor. She’d hoped her moving down here would help pull him out of his grief. But it hadn’t.
Finally, the woozy sensation of sleep crept over her, and she started to drift off.
Then, suddenly, a large hand closed over her mouth.
Her heart slammed into her throat and fear surged through her. She couldn’t breathe. She bit down but couldn’t get traction. Fuck! She clawed at the hand, digging in with her fingernails. It was a strong, firm, man’s hand, smelling of liquor and a trace of engine exhaust.
Thrashing and kicking, her leg met rock-hard muscle, and she heard a grunt. Momentarily, the hand came off her mouth. She sucked in a much-needed breath and tried to scream, but it soon clamped down on her again, this time with something sticky.
What the fuck? She couldn’t open her lips.
“Feisty, aren’t you?” the man growled, but he sounded more entertained than angry. He flicked on a flashlight and shone a thin beam of light in her face, blinding her.
The calm amusement in his deep voice was maddening. He was entertaining himself like a cat would with a captive mouse. He rolled her over onto her stomach and pinned her with his knee. But at least she could breathe.
She arched up and turned. In the semi-darkness, she could barely make out the huge figure looming over her. Her pulse raced as terror clotted her thinking. He was wearing a black leather vest with distinctive patches.
A Slayer. Shit!
In his hand was a roll of silver tape. Calm as you please, he’d stretched out a length and was biting it off with precision. He’d obviously done this before. Composed and unaffected by her struggles, this was a man who clearly loved his work.
&nb
sp; Why didn’t he kill her? Wasn’t that what lawless bikers did?
Or rape her? Hell, she was nearly naked.
His hand seared her flesh as he grabbed her wrist. Hitting out with her free hand, she aimed for his balls. He shifted and laughed. Laughed, the bastard!
Her chest heaved as he secured her wrists and taped them together. Heart pounding, she realized she couldn’t suck in enough air. Her desperate wheezing filled the room as she clawed for her puffer on the bedside table. No chance to reach it. Not against his overpowering strength.
He taped over her eyes and everything went black. Then he wrapped the tape around her ankles as if securing a bag of potatoes and slung her over his shoulder.
Her nightie slid up her back. Damn it! She wasn’t wearing underwear. Desperate and exposed, she rose up and thumped his head with the full weight of her bound hands.
“Settle down, and you won’t get hurt,” he muttered, unperturbed.
Pure primal instinct kicked in. She brought her fists down again on his back, thumping his kidneys.
He growled. Slap!
Pain hit her, and her back arched up as the sound rang out. The skin on her bare bottom seared like steak on a BBQ. Tears sprang to her eyes. She heard him chuckle as he closed the front door with a snick and carried her outside.
All of her neighbors’ lights were off, so there’d be no help there.
She moaned and writhed in distress, but he easily deposited her on the back seat of a roomy vehicle, throwing a blanket over her. The car started and backed out of her driveway, the sound of the engine smooth and low enough not to alert anyone.
The blanket smelled of stale beer, earth, and dust. She coughed and wheezed, her breath backing up in her lungs as she twisted, thrashing her head from side to side, trying to get the rug off her face. Her chest heaved with the alarming rattle of an asthma attack.
Shit, shit, shit.
Without medication, she’d suffocate.
It was only a matter of time.
Chapter Three
Stacey had stopped thrashing around and gone eerily silent. Was there something wrong with her? At the wheel, Troy cocked his head and listened carefully for any clue from the back seat.
Snatched Page 1
