The one they call in from the dark when they need shit done—and there’s no one
better for the job than me.
I have a tainted soul, oil black and hungry for bloodshed.
The world is a cesspit. I give zero fucks about it, and it gives zero fucks about me, so
when some mafia prick with a vendetta toward our club tries to torture me for sport,
the last person I expect to come to my rescue is a small female with a sassy attitude
and a death wish.
She’s a complication, burrowing her claws deep into the layers of my fucked-up
Part of me wants to keep her there, drench her in the very essence of who I am until
she’s nothing but a weeping mess, craving the relief only I can give her.
She’s bringing my walls down, showing me maybe there’s some good in the world
after all. Until my brothers find us and it’s not me they’ve come for—it’s her.
She’s not who she’s been pretending to be.
She’s the devil dressed in the tight-ass skin of a bitch I’ve become addicted to.
I don’t care who has to bleed for me to keep feeding the habit:
If she’s not in my bed and on the back of my bike, she’s not going to be on anyone’s.
I’ve never played by the rules. Women don’t run gangs, yet I’m the leader of the biggest one in Liverpool. No one knows I’ve stepped into my father’s shoes and that I’m making changes. Taking on the Royal Bastards MC is not a good idea, but I want the wealth and power they have. I want my family’s legacy to live on long after I’m gone. Doing that means making difficult decisions. I didn’t expect the Royal Bastards to retaliate so savagely.
Now, I’m prisoner of their President, a man who goes by the name of Mouth. He’s dangerous, vicious and he wants to make my father pay for crimes I’ve committed. Can I survive his wrath?
This prissy woman is a thorn in my side, but she’s the only way to exact my revenge. Crossing the Bastards is an instant death sentence, and when I’m done with Genevieve, her father is going to beg for mercy I won’t deliver. I’m not someone to cross without retribution and mine will be swift. I will destroy The Dockland Gang and every person associated with them, including Desmond’s pretty little daughter. She’s a doll I want play with and I will break her down piece by piece, because now that she’s in my control I’m never letting her go.
*Warning : Contains adult content, reading age 18 +. Graphic violence and dark emotional scenes that may trigger some readers.
When an invitation shows up out of the blue, I’m reminded of a promise I made to a girl twenty years ago and suddenly my heart is pounding.
Do I dare keep it?
She’s the one girl that ever meant a damn to me, and the one girl that got away. She walked out of my life once and it devastated me. Now life is giving me another shot, but if she walks out on me a second time I don’t think I’ll survive it.
Second chances don’t come around very often. Not for a one-percent biker like me. There are no do-overs in the MC life. Not when you’re staring down the barrel of a gun. Not when you’re deciding whether to pull the trigger.
But love? Maybe for once the luck of the Irish will shine down on me and give me a second chance with the one girl I let slip through my fingers.
Living with regret is a hard pill to swallow.
Living with the same regret twice? Impossible.
Sometimes facing your past can be the scariest thing you’ll ever do.
— TEASER —
— EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT —
The sound of a pack of Harleys coming up the street draws my attention and I wander to the front of the house to peer out the window. It’s four of my brothers. They slow to make the turn into my driveway.
I backtrack through the house and go out the back door to meet them. They park and dismount, pulling their helmets off.
“Wondered how long it’d take before you found the place.” I smile. “I hope to God you brought beer.”
Red Dog grins, pulls a twelve-pack out of his saddlebag, and holds it up. “Like American Express . . . don’t leave home without it.”
I fold my arms. “Okay, you’re allowed in. What about the rest of you? Do you come bearing gifts?”
Wolf pulls a bottle of Jack out of his saddlebag. “Does this get me inside?”
“You also may enter.”
I look at Cole and Crash and arc a brow. “Well?”
Cole scoffs. “You’re lucky we hauled our asses over the mountains to come see the place.” They both shoulder past me.
Crash slugs me in the chest as he tromps up the steps. “Let’s see this Tyrolean Haunted House you’re livin’ in, Green.”
Boots trudge inside, and four leather-clad men plus myself take up most of the space in the kitchen.
Red Dog hands me the case of cans. “Don’t say I never gave ya nothin’.”
I tear it open and pass them each a beer.
They wander around the house, checking each room.
“Christ, Green, what are you going to do with a place this big?” Cole asks.
“I know who’s having the next Christmas party,” Wolf says. “Bet you could fit a ten-foot tree in this entryway.” He stares up.
“Look at that staircase, man. How old is this place?” Red Dog asks.
“1889,” I reply.
Red Dog looks up the stairs. “How many rooms you got in this place?”
“Some rich guy build it?”
“Railroad baron or so I’ve been told.” I shrug. “Never really researched it.”
Crash looks over at me, resting his elbow on the banister post. “Seriously, Green, how are you gonna pay to heat and cool a place this big, not to mention the upkeep and repairs?”
“Gram left me some insurance money. If it gets to be too much, guess I’ll sell it.”
We move to the dining room and sit around the big table.
Cole slouches back in the chair at the head of the table, one arm hooked over the back. I sit on the opposite end. Wolf and Crash sit in the middle, while Red Dog leans a hip against the buffet.
“You movin’ in probably lowered the home values of everybody in the neighborhood,” Crash jokes.
“Drive over wasn’t as far as I thought,” Cole says.
“Nope, just twenty minutes from the clubhouse.”
“How you likin’ it so far?” Cole asks.
“Better than where I was,” I reply, and wait for the jokes. My brothers don’t fail me.
“Anything’s better than that trailer, Green.” Crash grins at me.
I can’t argue with him, so I don’t bother.
Wolf leans his elbows on the table. “So you gonna hire a maid to keep the place clean?”
I know he’s only half-joking. “Yeah. Gonna make her dress in one of those little skimpy French maid outfits.”
Red Dog chuckles. “Good luck with that. Maybe you can get one of the strippers from the club to come and play house with you, Green.”
Wolf swivels to him. “Haven’t you heard, bro? Our boy here has sworn off strippers.”
“Nah, can’t be true. Say it ain’t so, Green.” Red Dog laughs and props a hand on the buffet. It lands on the invitation. He glances down, frowns, then picks it up and reads it. “What’s this? You’re cordially invited to the class of 2001 twenty-year reunion. Damn, Green, you’re gettin’ old.”
I nod and take a hit off my beer.
“Wait, you graduated high school? And you’re still that dumb?” Wolf teases.
“He probably paid someone to take the test.” Crash grins at me.
“Or slept with the teacher.” Cole joins in.
“You goin’?” Red Dog asks.
“You’re kiddin’ me. Why would you go to something like that?” Wolf asks. “We have better parties at the clubhouse any day of the week.”
“I made a promise to this girl that I would.” That gets all their attention.
“You got a high school sweetheart, Green?” Wolf teases, making kissy faces.
“Grow up,” I snap.
“What kind of promise?” Crash asks.
Cole arcs a brow. “So you made a promise to show up at this thing, and if you’re both single, you’ll date this chick whom you haven’t seen in twenty years?”
“I keep my promises, especially to Sara.”
“You mean you suckered some high school girl into this pact? I think we need to rescue her.”
“Ha ha. You guys are hilarious. I said I’d go, and I’m going.”
Red Dog huffs a laugh. “No kidding? You’re really gonna get all dressed up and go to this fancy ball?”
“It’s not a ball,” I argue.
“Says here it’s in the ballroom of the Fife Estate. Sounds like a ball to me,” he says, scanning the invitation. “Dude, did you even read this thing?” He proceeds to read aloud. “We’re recreating the magic of our Fairytale Prom at the ballroom and gardens of the Fife Estate . . . a night of enchantment under the stars . . . Black Tie required. That’s a ball, bro.”
“Fife Estate? Where’s that?” Wolf asks.
“Says here its thirty miles south of San Francisco, nestled on the slope of the Santa Cruz Mountains . . . blah, blah, blah . . . built in 1917 . . .”
“Will you shut up about that,” Wolf grabs it out of Red Dog’s hands and looks at me. “Green, are you serious about this stuff?”
“This pact or promise or whatever you made with this girl.”
“Yeah. I’m serious.”
“You realize this is like in two weeks?”
“Yeah. Couple days ago.”
“What were you plannin’ on wearing?”
Laughter breaks out around the table.
“Dude, do you even own a suit?” Crash asks.
“Crap, hadn’t thought of that.”
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
Wolf grins. “You. You’re like a reverse Cinderella. What you need is a fairy godmother.”
“He needs like a pack of ‘em,” Crash adds, finishing off his beer, and crushing the can in his hand.
“I think this calls for a run to the nearest tux shop,” Wolf says, looking not at me, but at Cole who grins and nods.
“I think you’re right, brother.”
“Oh, no,” I protest, but they’re already standing. Red Dog grabs me by the underarms and hauls me up.
“Oh, yes. Come on.”
Wolf is already pulling up the nearest location on his phone. “Ten minutes from here.”
And so, in no time at all, I find myself standing in front of a mirror in a black tux, with some old man measuring my inseam.
“While you got that tape measure out—” Red Dog starts to joke, staring at my crotch.
“Shut up,” I tell him.
The man ignores him and measures my arm and shoulders. “Very good, sir. We’ll have it ready for pickup on Thursday, next week.”
I slip the jacket off into his waiting arms. “Thanks.”
The guys all move out to the street, while I pay at the counter and get my receipt. I shove it in my pocket and head outside where my brothers wait by the bikes parked at the curb. They’ve given me hell for the last hour, and no doubt won’t be letting up until the big day, but for a chance to see Sara again, I’ll put up with whatever they dish out.
Cole is sitting sideways on the seat of his bike, smoking a cigarette. He grins up at me when I come through the door. “Remember, Cinderella, you turn back into a pumpkin at midnight.”
“Green, what if she’s a dog?” Wolf asks.
“She wasn’t a dog.”
“Been twenty years, dude,” he reminds me, and it gives me pause.
“There’s that deer-in-the-headlight look of panic I’ve been waitin’ for,” Crash says, chuckling.
“Crap,” I whisper the word, wondering if I haven’t thought this through. “I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, do I? What if she’s not my style?”
“Your style? You mean fast and easy?” Crash snipes.
“He means a stripper,” Wolf clarifies, laughing.
“Just look her up on social media,” Cole suggests.
“Do I look like a person who uses social media? Besides her name is very common, and there’s like a thousand people who pop up.”
“Maybe you need to bring a date,” Wolf suggests.
“A date? Green?” Red Dog laughs.
Cole chuckles, meeting my eyes. “I’m sure he could pay one of the girls down at the strip club to go with him.”
“Let’s go. Any excuse to stop by there is a good one in my book,” Wolf says, waggling his brows.
“F that,” I protest.
“Come on, Green. We have to nail this down today. You gotta be fair and give the girl time to come up with a dress for this shindig, don’t you?”
I roll my eyes.
“Mount up, Green,” my VP orders with a grin.
I jam my helmet on my head, and swing my leg over my seat, lifting it off the kickstand. “I hate you all.”
I drowned out their round of laughter with the roar of my Harley.
Nicole James is a USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author who loves writing about hot alpha men who’ll do anything for the women they love! Her stories are filled with struggle, conflict and real human emotion. She is the author of the Evil Dead MC series, the Brothers Ink Tattoo series and more.
Nicole loves to hear from her readers! You can contact her via e-mail, her website contact form or on her social media accounts.
The secrets haunting Beau Rochester come alive. He doesn’t deserve happiness, but he holds it in his hands. A woman he loves. A child. The past threatens to rip them away. He risks losing them forever. Jane Mendoza is determined to protect the people she loves from every threat–the mysterious arsonist, the corrupt police force. The darkest danger comes from a place she never expects. She risks more than her newfound family. She risks her life.
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance such as the Endgame trilogy. Her books have been featured in Jezebel, Buzzfeed, USA Today Happily Ever After, Glamour, and Elle Magazine. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.