Outlaw’s Ink: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Metal Monsters MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 4)

by Sophia Gray

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

  Outlaw’s Ink: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Metal Monsters MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 4) copyright 2017 by Sophia Gray. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

  ***

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  Contents

  Outlaw’s Ink: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Metal Monsters MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 4)

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Also by Sophia Gray

  Outlaw’s Ride: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Vicious Thrills MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 3)

  Outlaw’s Kiss: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Raging Reapers MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 2)

  Outlaw’s Sins: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Violent Spawn MC)

  Exposed: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance (Fury Riders MC)

  Ignite: Satan’s Blazes MC

  Diablo: Hellriders MC

  Savage: Rogue Demons MC

  The Baby Bump: Black Knights MC

  The Baby Vow: The Angel’s Keepers MC

  The Baby Oath: Anarchy’s Reign MC

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  Outlaw’s Ink: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Metal Monsters MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 4)

  By Sophia Gray

  Wild. Savage. Dangerous. Irresistible.

  The wanted outlaw Carter Winslow is a risk I can’t afford.

  But one stupid mistake, and I’m forced to ride with him whether I like it or not.

  And by the time I realize how far we’ve gone…

  It’s way too late to turn back.

  CARTER

  In my line of work, emotions are nothing but a weakness.

  Pity is for civilians, not for biker criminals.

  And giving Billie mercy goes against everything I’ve veer stood for.

  After all, the girl almost ruined everything we’d planned…

  And damn near got us killed.

  The right thing to do would be take her out back, pull my trigger, and put her out of her misery.

  Who cares if she was just a pouty-lipped bartender with more t*ts than brains?

  She was in the wrong place at the wrong time… and naïve enough to draw my attention.

  I’ve never been one to stop and consider the ethics of things.

  Shoot first and ask questions later.

  But getting her involved was my own fault.

  I was the one stupid enough to leave a slip of paper behind in her bar…

  Paper that laid out my club’s plans to rob a bank for a massive haul of cash.

  Maybe she thought she was doing the right thing, by showing up at the address scrawled on the sheet to return what we’d lost.

  Maybe she didn’t know what she was getting into.

  But when the guns came out and she realized the kind of mess she’d stumbled across…

  Well, she caught on real quick.

  She’s a huge liability now.

  But despite how much sense it makes, something in my gut won’t let me leave the girl in our dust.

  I don’t care if my men think I’m a damn fool.

  I’ve made up my mind.

  This broad is coming along for the ride.

  BILLIE

  Maybe no one else would agree, but I thought my life was pretty good.

  I liked working at the bar.

  Flirting with danger, but never close enough to feel its wrath.

  Until it all came rushing in at once.

  I was entranced from the second Carter walked in.

  He didn’t look like any of the other men at the bar.

  There was something in those eyes that wouldn’t let me look away.

  I thought I was doing him a favor by returning the paper he’d lost.

  I didn’t know who he was or what he’d been planning.

  Stupid, stupid me.

  Because now I’m a hostage, a fugitive, a pawn in the game of a dangerous outlaw with a quick trigger finger.

  There’s money under the motorcycle saddle…

  Wild lust in the biker’s eyes…

  And, soon enough – a ring on my finger to show that I belong to him now.

  What they say is true.

  I’ve been branded by the biker.

  And the outlaw’s ink will last forever.

  Prologue

  Billie

  Billie Rosewood let out a sharp gasp as Carter's powerful hands slid behind her thighs, lifting her up and setting her down on top of the motel's small desk. Her naked ass still stung from where he'd slapped it moments before, and the hard wood beneath them made them ache.

  Carter's hands moved restlessly from Billie's legs to her back to her neck, finally sliding around to her chest so his rough fingertips could explore her erect nipples. His lips quested over her mouth, the side of her neck, and her shoulder. Her heart buzzed inside her chest at his touch.

  She'd wanted him from the moment she saw him.

  But in her wildest dreams, Billie could never have imagined it like this—in a no-name motel at the edge of the desert, with over a million dollars in cash and a massive .357 revolver on the bed, and lawmen at their heels.

  She was an outlaw now, notorious, a woman on the run. The excitement of it was making her wetter than she'd ever been before, almost as much as Carter's touch was. His brown hair gave off a dizzying scent of sunshine, sweat, and road dust as he kissed her breasts.

  “This is what you've needed from the start,” Carter murmured.

  “Oh God, yes,” Billie breathed. “Please don't stop.”

  Billie reached down between her legs, her fingers finding Carter's belt buckle and undoing it. She unzipped his fly and his cock emerged, pressing against her inner thigh eagerly. She stroked it slowly, relishing its warm throb against her palms as it grew even harder.

  “And you'll do anything for me, won't you?” His voice was husky with desire.

  “Anything,” she promised. “Anything at all.”

  Carter's mouth found
hers again as he reached into his pocket. Billie heard the faint crinkle of the condom wrapper as he opened it, rolling the latex sheath down his shaft quickly. A moment later, Carter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his body as he penetrated her deeply.

  “Take it,” he hissed. “Take every fucking inch.”

  A low moan escaped Billie's lips. Every thrust seemed to set off fireworks in the core of her being, hissing and sparking and exploding outward to the tips of her fingers and toes. She wrapped her arms and legs around Carter as tightly as she could while their bodies rocked back and forth together, their rhythm growing faster, harder, more insistent with each new push.

  “Your pussy feels so good,” Carter whispered.

  “It's yours, baby,” Billie said softly, digging her fingernails into his back. “It's all yours.”

  Her tailbone slammed against the desktop over and over, sending bolts of pain up her spine. She knew that she'd be nursing a bad bruise later, but for now, each impact just made the whole experience seem more real and drove her closer to the edge.

  The top of Carter's cock rubbed against Billie's clit hard with every movement, and she felt herself growing light-headed as a pressure built inside of her, just waiting to be released. It spilled out in a warm gush a few minutes later, her orgasm soaking them both as she dug her fingernails into Carter's back.

  He inhaled sharply and came, biting the side of her neck hard enough to leave a mark she'd wear proudly afterward. She cried out, her sounds of passion mingling with his in the cramped motel room.

  Their bodies remained pressed together for a long time, heaving and quivering. Somewhere out in the desert, a coyote started to howl.

  Billie smiled.

  She knew exactly how that coyote felt.

  Chapter 1

  Billie

  Three Days Earlier

  Billie stood behind the bar at The Boot Hill Saloon and brushed her auburn hair back seductively, considering the proposition Clem Folsom had just made.

  Beneath the red bandana tied around her neck, there was a thin sheen of perspiration on her breasts. The first four buttons of her denim shirt were undone, and she saw Clem's pale blue eyes flickering from her face to her cleavage and back again. The shirt was tied up at the waist, revealing her flat tummy. Her jean shorts were so tiny that the flaps of her flat white pockets were fully visible, resting against her outer thighs.

  Clem gulped nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he waited for her answer.

  “Okay,” Billie agreed, taking a sip from her beer and wiping her mouth. “How much money have you got?”

  Clem grinned nervously, reaching into the pocket of his grass-stained overalls. He pulled out a handful of crumpled bills and counted them out on the bar. “Fifty bucks.”

  “Not bad,” Billie commented, nodding. “For how long?”

  Clem's smile widened, revealing two rows of small, crooked teeth. “Heck, gal, since it's you? I'd go a whole forty-five seconds.”

  Next to him, Big Pete Crabtree let out a wheezing guffaw and slapped his knee with a huge, hairy hand. “Boy, are you kiddin'? This is Billie Rosewood we got here!” Pete pulled out a roll of bills and peeled off five twenties. “I got a hunnert dollars fer the full sixty seconds.”

  “Aw, yer a couple a' cheap-ass pikers, both of ya,” Red Hawley sneered, tossing some money on the bar. “I got a hundred an' fifty bucks says we're gonna have ninety seconds of pure goddamn poetry in motion tonight. What do you say, darlin'?” He winked at Billie lasciviously.

  “All right, boys, all right,” Billie said, sipping her beer again. “No need to fight. There's plenty of action to go around. Only what if I say anything less than the full two minutes is a waste of this lady's time, huh?”

  The men gaped at her, astonished.

  “No way,” Pete said, shaking his big head vigorously. Dust and hayseeds drifted down from his shaggy gray hair, settling on the surface of the bar like snow flurries.

  “Nuh-uh,” Clem agreed. “Ain't no way a little gal like you is gonna be able to hang on for the full two minutes. Not with somethin' that big an' powerful between yer legs.”

  “Ninety seconds,” Red chimed in. “Anythin' more than that an' yer gonna be on the ground lookin' up, feelin' like you just got punched in the pussy by a freight train.”

  Billie shrugged mildly. “Well, maybe you're right, and maybe you're wrong. But there's one surefire way to find out, fellas. And in the immortal words of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, 'Money talks and bullshit walks.' So are you in, or not?”

  The three men exchanged skeptical looks. Finally, Clem said, “Okay, you're on. Show us what you got.”

  Billie nodded and finished her beer in three long gulps. “I'll need some tunes to get in the mood,” she said, pushing a button on the bar's stereo. The song switched over to Merle Haggard lamenting about how there ain't no good in an evil-hearted woman.

  Satisfied, Billie walked around the bar to the mechanical bull in the center of the room.

  “Hey, Carlito,” she called out to the bar's owner.

  Carlito was in his early fifties, a short, stocky Mexican with a shaved head and a white handlebar mustache. He looked up from the table he was wiping down, his eyebrows raised.

  “I'm gonna ride Bessie,” Billie announced, stepping up to the bull and straddling it. She wrapped her fingers around the fake horns, ready to hold on for dear life. “Make sure you turn 'er all the way up, y'hear? I want to make sure these boys get their money's worth.”

  Carlito shook his head and chuckled as he positioned himself next to the control switch for the bull. Billie's entire body tensed up as she prepared for the machine to start moving. She'd never actually managed to stay on for more than one minute and ten seconds, but she felt lucky tonight.

  The other bar patrons formed a loose circle around the platform with the bull. All the faces were familiar, especially the men's. They came to the saloon to drink almost every night, swapping the same old stories and dirty jokes. Sometimes it seemed to Billie like she'd either dated, fucked, or rejected every man in Cactus Hollow at one time or another.

  Sometimes she fantasized about leaving, but where was there to go? The town was close to where the borders of Texas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico converged. It seemed like deserts and wheat fields stretched out to infinity in every direction.

  Carlito counted down loudly. “Tres...dos...uno!”

  He hit the button and the huge machine heaved between Billie's legs. She gripped the horns as hard as she could, her palms already slick with sweat. The hairy bull head rose and fell sharply, its glass eyes reflecting the neon beer signs over the bar.

  As the crowd around her cheered and hollered, Billie stole a glance at the clock on the wall.

  Only twenty-two seconds. Shit.

  She squeezed her legs together with all of her strength as the mechanical beast bucked and lurched. Her head bounced in every direction with such force that she felt like her neck might snap at any moment. With each sudden movement, her crotch slammed against the unforgiving saddle. The sound of the patrons whooping blended into a single constant roar, like the sound of a seashell against her ear.

  Another peek at the clock.

  Fifty-seven seconds.

  Okay. Not bad.

  The bull reared up suddenly and Billie was almost thrown backward. Her wrists ached from how tightly she was clinging to the horns, and the bones in her arms felt like tuning forks. She felt herself starting to slip off to the side and tried to hold on tighter, but her fingers were filled with pins and needles and she worried that soon they'd go completely numb. She kept one leg hooked over the back of the machine and threw herself to the other side to counterbalance, straightening out.

  The clock again.

  One minute and eighteen seconds.

  Come on, goddamn it, she thought. Forty more seconds. You can do this. Tonight's the night.

  The monstrous machine shifted to one side unexpectedly, and Billi
e's right hand came loose from the horn it was holding. She flailed, trying to find her grip again but clutching at air instead. The other hand lost its grip a half-second later and she felt her ass rise off of the saddle. She let out a sharp yell and plunged both hands forward, desperately grabbing for the short patches of fake fur on the bull's neck. Her inner thighs connected with the saddle again, but the muscles in them were burning viciously.

  She felt her sweaty hands lose their purchase on the brown fur and closed her eyes, preparing to be thrown off...

  “Two minutes!” Clem screamed. “Well, I'll be butched. She did it!”

  The bull came to an abrupt stop and Billie came down hard on top of it, gasping and panting. Her shirt was soaked with sweat and the space between her legs felt like it had been hit by a wrecking ball.

  She rolled over and let herself fall to the floor on her back, sore, exhausted, three hundred bucks richer and laughing triumphantly as the men at the bar drank a toast to her.

  Chapter 2