This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, 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.
CARSON: Satan’s Ravens MC copyright @ 2017 by Kathryn Thomas and E-Book Publishing World Inc. 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 embedded in critical articles or reviews.
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CARSON: Satan’s Ravens MC
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
Epilogue
HAWK: The Caged Kings MC
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
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
EPILOGUE
OTHER BOOKS BY KATHRYN THOMAS
CARSON: Satan’s Ravens MC
By Kathryn Thomas
CARSON WON’T REST UNTIL HE HAS ME BENT OVER.
He’s a violent man.
And he’s here on a violent mission.
If I want my family to live…
I have to give him all of me.
There was no hiding from him.
Once his eyes landed on me…
That was the end of it.
No running.
No avoiding what was to come.
And when it came –
When HE came –
It was as brutal and rough as his reputation.
He took everything he wanted from me.
And the craziest part was…
That I didn’t want it to end.
Carson didn’t come here to help me.
But now that he’s had a taste,
He sure as hell isn’t going to leave without me.
I belong to him now.
Chapter One
Carson Hale was on a mission. Working for the Satan’s Ravens MC as a mercenary that handled other biker clubs’ dirtiest work, he was almost always looking for something or someone. There were days he had to be a lover and other times he’d had to be a murderer. It was all in a day’s work. Fortunately, today was the former.
He’d checked out a few seedy dive bars in the last few days as he surveyed the sexy woman he was going to pump for information, and he hoped the pumping would be literal and figurative. This assignment should have been one that was quick and to the point, but it was hard to get a handle on where the mark actually spent his time, and he’d been told that this woman was the key to Argo Picerno’s location.
At times, it was difficult to walk into other people’s shit and clean it up, but this guy must have fucked up pretty bad to make The Reapers want to see the last of this man. He’d not gotten a crap load of information about Argo. All he knew is he was the caporegime—a term used in the mafia for a high ranking made man with major social status and influence. He also knew that the people who paid him to do their dirty work wanted to make an example out of him. In other words, the Cap— that was the nickname of the mark he was after— was living on borrowed time.
The woman sitting at the bar was too far away to see exactly what she looked like, but what he did know from her picture is that she was shaped like his best wet dream brought to life. Although he had trailed her, she was slippery. He didn’t know where she came from or where she went because she seemed to appear and disappear within seconds. She also changed her look quite frequently. This was all going to change because tonight he would sit down and talk to her. That way he could find out more since the way he was going about it didn’t seem to be working.
She changed her look as often as she changed her clothes, apparently, since he’d seen her long, thick, dark hair just yesterday. Now, she wore her hair in a short blonde swingy style that would have been cute if he hadn’t had fantasies of twisting her hair in his hand and using it as a handle to bring her pussy slamming onto his cock time and time again. This is why Beast, the boss of the Satan’s Ravens, tried to keep him on a leash. Carson knew his cock had a lot to say and played an important part of some of his dumbest incidences. Even now as he walked over to the bar, his fingers twitched watching her stand up on the rungs of the stool to lean over to talk to the bartender. That ass was made to squeeze and slap. Judging by the choice of leggings the woman wore, she knew it was one sweet asset she was showing off. He liked a woman who knew what she had and used it to get what she wanted. Now he just had to figure out what that was.
He slowed his gate to take in the situation. In his line of business, one had to be careful and figure out the best way to get what was needed. Carson wasn’t from here, so he knew he’d be looked at as an outsider, and as a man, that was dangerous anywhere you went. This woman looked very out of place in this dark din of misery. Like a crystal vase full of flowers on a poker table, it made him wonder what her purpose was and why was she here. There wasn’t a guy in the place whose gaze didn’t keep visiting the vision of loveliness that sat in their presence almost daring someone to come over and say something. The bar was full except for the chair on either side of the woman he kept his eye on, and even if he didn’t make what he was looking at obvious to people, he figured they were probably watching him. Those chairs remained empty although there were people who stood by the bar.
Moving right next to her, Carson slipped into the stool and settled in. He could almost feel her surprise. A woman like her probably enjoyed the men making her feel like an untouchable queen, but it was going to be a different ballgame this night. What she didn’t know was that he was much different from the guys here who seemed to be content to sit around and watch the woman like live entertainment. Carson had nothing to lose and everything to gain by talking with her.
“So what’s good here,” he said picki
ng up the dirty piece of paper that was the menu he scanned it quickly. Carson wondered what her response would be to such a ridiculous question.
“I hear the quiche is good.” Her voice was as alluring as her ass had been. How did these men just sit here and let this woman marinate without even trying to talk to her? He was sure there was a reason, but he just wasn’t sure he cared what that reason was.
He turned in his chair a little so he could see her up close but more to let her see him. There was a lot riding on this little endeavor. This was a chance to prove himself to be more than the fuck up he’d been previously and a chance to let the big boss know that he was ready to commit to the job and, more than that, he was ready to accept more responsibility. Carson hadn’t been willing or able to show that recently and had been caught up in a few wonderfully dumb situations that came from fast cars, faster woman, and his cock that was a powerful leader. Did it help that women liked where that cock would lead them? It shouldn’t, but it did.
He knew that his pretty boy looks was one of the reasons he stayed in such trouble, but it was also the main reason he was given a chance with this assignment.
“Have you tried it?” he asked and enjoyed the expressions that crossed her face. Carson knew a little about a lot of things, but he knew women inside and out. Women were fascinating, and he liked learning about each one that crossed his path. Most of the women he’d been with thought he was a great lover and although he liked to let that stroke his ego every once in a while, he knew the truth. Going from foster home to foster home had given him a few skills like learning people quickly and finding out what they liked. Little things from noticing that they liked to be petted or learning that they like a more rough treatment. It wasn’t always sexual, but as he’d gotten older he’d honed it to that particular skill set.
“Tried what?” she said with her deep brown eyes blinking a few times like she was trying to clear the smoke that filled the room from her eyes.
“The quiche.” This was Carson’s favorite part. He knew the exact moment she became interested in him from the slight widening of her eyes to the subtle parting of her lips to get just that much more oxygen to slip between them. It wasn’t enough to let him know she wanted to meet the powerful leader between his legs, but you wouldn’t be able to tell that to the rising flesh in his pants. Hungry looks from pretty girls always got him going.
She looked down at the menu and shook her head. “I don’t think I’d eat anything they made here.”
“Where would you eat?” This game she’d started was more fun than he’d had in a long time especially while on a mission.
“Are you looking for quiche?” she asked, was puzzled.
“Is that what you’re offering?”
She smiled, and he could tell she was at a loss of what to say. The woman studied him like she was going to be tested for accuracy when describing him later. He threw up a couple words of thanks for his sweet Irish mother who gave him the blackest of hair combined with the lightest of green eyes. He’d been told it was a stunning contrast. That was about all his mother or father had given to him, and there were times he was grateful that they had given him at least that and other times he cursed the couple that didn’t use protection and thought to throw away the baby boy they didn’t want.
“My name is Lonnie,” he lied as he stuck out his hand for her to shake. It was not something most men in this environment would have done, but he wanted to touch the soft looking hands that were fiddling with the napkin that she pulled from under her drink.
“Lynn,” she said with a smile. “Who are you, and where are you from?”
“I’m just a guy looking for a meal and a bit of conversation from a beautiful woman.” He was used to giving quick witty replies, but for some reason he didn’t think they would go over that well with this woman.
“Judging from the décor of this place on the outside and inside, it’s hard to believe you thought you’d find a suitable match for either of those needs before you walked in here.” She looked at him as she waited for a reply, and his smile got wider. He loved an intelligent woman. It wasn’t something he went looking for because woman who just liked him for his looks were easier, but they weren’t as exciting.
The bartender chose that moment to come over with Lynn’s drink and asked what he wanted.
“I’ll take an Irish Whiskey, neat.” It was the only thing he liked to drink. Maybe it kept him close to his heritage or maybe he just liked the way it tasted, but if he had a choice that’s what he chose.
“Coming right up.” The bartender walked away to get his drink but was hounded by other people with orders as he walked away. It was a good thing he wasn’t in a hurry and he didn’t like his drinks with ice or he’d have been disappointed.
She looked around the place, and he knew what she saw. A bar filled with roughneck bikers and their babes. It wasn’t like she could be surprised though, because he followed her in here. It wasn’t the other way around.
“This isn’t a great place to come looking for women or conversation.” She tried again as she watched him, and he looked around like she did.
“Really?” he questioned as he returned to look at her. “I think I did a pretty good job finding a beautiful woman, and I can only imagine how great the conversation is going to be.”
“You didn’t say where you were from,” she replied. He could see his stunning looks were only going to get him so far and thought up a tale to spin for his back story, like he always did.
“I’m a construction worker from a small town in Nevada looking for work in the city.” He watched her face to see how his tale was being received. Carson could tell when people thought he was lying because that’s what he’d done all his life. It was a good skill learning who he could dupe and who he couldn’t.
“What kind of construction do you do?” She wore an expression of disbelief, and he was shocked at how much he liked that. Most women took what he said at face value and kept it moving.
“I do a bit of everything… brick mason, carpentry, general construction.” He liked to keep his descriptions pretty basic and as close to the truth as he could. Did he do construction? Not unless you count taking someone’s face apart with his fists which he would classify as more of destruction.
“You came all the way here from Nevada to look for construction work?” She moved her gaze to her glass and swirled her drink. It was a move to make him feel more comfortable and less interrogated. He knew that move too.
“What can I say? I wanted to move to a big city, and since I’m looking for work, why not move here?” The story seemed plausible, and he didn’t know what she found questionable about it. He’d told tales about who he was and where he’d come from all his life because anything was better than the truth. He’d come from nowhere, and he was an unwanted nobody. That was his real truth; who could blame him for choosing to share a better one?
She turned toward him again, and he thought she was going to try another tactic. When she picked up his hand and placed it on her neck moving it down toward her breast, he was surprised but liked where this was leading. This was his kind of woman. Maybe she was a prostitute. Who else would have him feeling her up in front of everyone in the seats? This woman did not give a fuck about her surroundings, and she was making him forget where he was as well. He hadn’t even had to work hard, and he was practically squeezing her tit before he’d received his first drink. She took his hand away right when he was about to feel that hard nipple he’d noticed under her green ‘Masonville Lemonade – Suck it and See’ tee shirt.
“You have great hands,” she said turning his large dark one in her small soft one, “but they don’t do construction.”
“And you know this because?” He looked down the bar for the man who was supposed to be bringing his drink and wanted to ask for a glass of ice water as well. This woman turned him on and turned the tables faster than he’d seen anyone do before.
The bartender came back with hi
s drink, and he was glad that the man had such perfect timing. The man’s appearance gave him a minute to get his hand out of the ones he wanted to wrap around his cock, collect himself while he pulled out a few bills for his tab, and think about how he could work out his story for his way to observant friend here.
When he turned back, she had one eyebrow raised, and he wondered who was playing whom.
“I love men’s hands, and I’ve made a life of studying them. You can learn a lot about a man from his hands.” She put her hand out like she wanted him to put his hand back into hers, but this time she seemed to be asking permission. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be figured out, but there was no way he was going to be able to get around this. If he wanted to keep this whole thing going he was going to have to play the game. He placed his hand in hers and waited to see if she was any good at this hand studying she thought she’d been doing.
“Well, what do you see?” he asked as she turned his hand this way and that looking harder at his hands than he ever had. Now that he was looking at them there was a lot of marks and dings on them but he wondered what she’d get out of it.
“You’re a fighter,” she said cautiously.
It took everything Carson had to remain relaxed in her grip. The urge to ball his hands into a fist and pull them away from her was strong, but he resisted it.
“…but you take care of yourself. Your hands are strong.” She looked up at him. “I know that from the way your fill out your shirt more than your hands, but your hands are strong too. They are also very clean— no dirt around your fingernails or overly large calluses. It appears that your knuckles have been busted a few times, and you have scars that probably should have had stitches. Your hands are a product of a full and busy life. You’re smart, but you don’t mind playing it down, and you’re very observant.”
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