STORY EXCERPT

The car door slammed, and a wall of stench hit me like a physical force. My stomach heaved. I clamped my hand over my face, which only made Tag snicker. He flashed brown-speckled teeth.

“Welcome to my daily hell,” Tag muttered, nodding toward Gap. “Dude’s got a medical condition called Never-Touched-Soap.”

Gap didn’t even flinch at the insult. The funk radiating off him had a life of its own—sweat gone toxic, like something had crawled into his clothes and died there months ago.

Hammer took the wheel with Silent Moe riding shotgun. Neither cracked a window. Christ. Maybe their sense of smell had died from prolonged exposure.

As we cruised through town, panic replaced disgust. Deluca’s Auto Repair sat just inside Temptation’s border off County Road 21. I’d driven past it a hundred times but never stopped, not even when my transmission was making those death rattles last winter.

Everyone knew Howlers Motorcycle Club owned it. The town tolerated them because they kept other trouble out, and the cops conveniently ignored whatever went down there. Probably thanks to well-placed envelopes of cash.

And you just accused them of hiding Hammer’s missing product.

Two scenarios played in my head. Either the Howlers would kill Hammer for being an idiot or they’d kill Hammer and me for the false accusation. Hammer was too stupid to understand he was walking into a hornet’s nest thinking his reputation would protect him.

The Plymouth turned onto County Road 21, and my heart wanted to crawl its way out. My mind was blank. No brilliant escape plan. Nothing. Just the certainty that Deluca would shove me into a car trunk and introduce me to the bottom of Temptation River.

Tag’s leg tapped mine. “Hook me up with Maria.”

My sister might’ve slept with plenty of losers, but even she had limits. “How about I hook you up with a dentist instead?”

Gap’s laugh came out as a wheeze. Before I could blink, Tag had a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back until my neck cracked.

“Think you’re funny?” His breath hit my face like a toxic cloud.

Hammer’s eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror. “Save it for later,” he said, his tone flat as week-old soda. “Nobody touches him until I get what’s mine.”

The threat barely registered. By the time Tag got his chance, either Deluca’s crew would have already put bullets in my head or Hammer would do the job himself once he figured out I lied. Either way, I had more pressing problems than Tag’s dental hygiene. Like staying alive for the next hour.

Tag released me with a shove. “You and me later,” he promised, eyes narrowed to slits.

I wasn’t sure why, but my mind immediately went to sex and I was dry heaving all over again.

I’d rather let a cactus hump me.

The brakes squealed as we pulled into Deluca’s lot beside a black Nissan. Heads turned our way immediately, conversations dying mid-sentence. The garage stood like a fortress—an L-shaped concrete building set back from the road, surrounded by barbed wire fencing.

Classic Cadillacs and a blood-red Jaguar lined one wall, but what made my mouth go dry was the row of motorcycles along the fence. At least fifteen chrome monsters were gleaming in the sun like weapons on display.

You should’ve told them Blackflower Cemetery and saved everyone the extra trip to dump your body.

Tag was the first one out. Despite my lungs screaming for fresh air, I froze as men in leather cuts emerged from the garage. Not grease monkeys but the kind of men who made violence look like an art form.

Hammer’s crew suddenly seemed like Boy Scouts in comparison.

Only one guy in a faded blue work shirt looked as if he might actually fix cars.

“Drag him out,” Hammer ordered.

Tag reached in with a ruthless grin. I swatted his hand away, but Gap shoved me forward. Then I was yanked out like I weighed nothing.

“Is my stuff inside or out?” Hammer asked with unnerving politeness.

“Outside.” My eyes darted between the strangers sizing us up.

Hammer’s fingers dug into my bicep as he dragged me toward the garage bays, forcing me to keep up. Each step felt like concrete was hardening around my feet, but his grip left me no choice but to scramble forward, his entourage trailing behind us.

For a split second, I considered kicking over the nearest motorcycle. A quick death was preferable to prolonging the inevitable.

Then one of them stepped forward, flicking a lighter to a cigarette. He inhaled deeply, tucked the lighter away, and started walking toward us as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

Holy shit. If this was my executioner, at least I’d die with something gorgeous to look at.

Blue bandana, worn jeans hugging all the right places, white tee stretched across a chest that belonged on a billboard. A chain swung from his belt loop, disappearing behind him. Silver rings adorned each finger like brass knuckles with style.

My stomach knotted with a confusing mix of terror and lust that had no business existing in the same moment.

“Something I can help you with?” The guy’s eyes swept over Hammer’s crew before landing on me. I tried to look away from eyes the color of frozen whiskey, but my neck muscles refused to cooperate, as if his stare had short-circuited the connection between my brain and body.

Hammer’s fingers dug deeper into my bicep. Tomorrow I’d have a bracelet of purple bruises. If I lived that long. “My friend here left something valuable at your garage,” he said, his voice smooth as polished steel. “Just need to grab it real quick.”

As Blue Bandana stepped closer, the patches on his leather cut came into focus. “1%” was stitched in the top corner. Below that, “I’m not your fucking brother.” Another declared “It’s not a lifestyle. It’s a way of life.”

But the patch that turned my blood to ice simply read “President.”

Oh god. Preacher Deluca himself.

ADULT EXCERPT

He reached his hand out. “Go ahead.”

“What?” My damn brain had exited the conversation the moment Preacher had leaned back and made himself look edible.

“Kiss me.” He leaned up, pressed his hands back behind my thighs.

Every rational thought fled as I stared down at him, medical supplies forgotten on the nightstand.

“Bold of you to assume I want to kiss you,” I managed, even as heat pooled in my stomach.

Amber eyes gleamed with amusement. “Liar.”

Before I could argue, his grip tightened and he tugged. My knees hit the mattress on either side of his hips, hands bracing against his shoulders to keep from falling completely. The stitches pulled slightly under my palm, reminding me why we were here in the first place.

“Your shoulder—”

“Will heal.” His hands slid up to my waist, thumbs finding the strip of skin where my shirt had ridden up. “Stop overthinking.”

Easy for him to say. My brain was a storm, trying to process wolves snarling, gunshot echoes, the heat of Preacher Deluca beneath me, and the way his gaze locked onto me like I was the only thing that mattered.

I leaned down, slow, watching his pupils swallow the amber of his irises. His grip tightened, but he didn’t rush me. My hands shook as I cupped his face, the coarse hair of his beard rough against my palms.

“Still scared?” His voice was rough, barely a whisper.

“Terrified.” Not of him. Of the way my pulse raced, of how much I wanted this, of what it would change. “But not enough to stop.”

Our mouths crashed together, no hesitation this time. His lips were hot, tasting of smoke and whiskey and something darker, something that made my stomach clench. A whimper clawed its way out of me.

His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back as his tongue pushed past my lips, demanding. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, sharp enough to make me gasp.

That sound set him off. In one motion, he sat up, pulling me flush against him, his mouth slanting over mine with a hunger that left no room for doubt.

My fingers dug into his hair, nails scraping his scalp as his teeth dragged along my jaw. “Fuck,” I gasped.

“Been wanting to do this since you glared at me from the concrete,” he growled against my throat, his lips finding the spot where my pulse raced.

“That’s…ah…that’s concerning.” My hips rolled forward, grinding against him, and we both groaned.

His hands slipped under my shirt, calloused palms skimming up my spine. “Take it off.”

I sat up just enough to tear my shirt over my head, baring everything—the sharp angles of my ribs, the bruises blooming on my arm.

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice rough.

His mouth found my collarbone, teeth grazing the ridge, making me hiss as he worked lower, his beard scraping raw against my skin. When his tongue flicked over my nipple, I arched into it, a broken sound tearing from my throat. He chuckled darkly, teeth closing around the sensitive peak just enough to make me gasp.

“Preacher,” I choked out as he sucked hard. My cock throbbed, leaking through my jeans.

“Love the way you do that.” His teeth scraped the sensitive peak. “Again.”

I shoved at his shoulders instead, He went willingly, sprawling back against the sheets, amber eyes burning as I crawled down his body. My lips trailed over the dips and ridges of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jumped, his breath hitching when I nipped at his hipbone.

“Where the hell—” His voice broke as my fingers hooked into his sweats.

“Up.” I yanked them down, and his cock slapped his stomach, thick and flushed, the tip already wet. My mouth watered.

“Trent.” His hand found my hair, not guiding, just holding on. “Your jaw—”

His dick was heavy in my hand, flushed dark. I cut him off with my tongue, licking his cock from root to tip, savoring the salt and musk. His hips jerked when I took his cock into my mouth, a strangled sound tearing from his throat.

“Thought you didn’t whimper.” I pulled back just enough to speak and possibly to breathe. Then I swallowed him deeper, inch by inch, using my hand to detract the inches I couldn’t take. I had a lot to work with.

“Motherfuck.” His fingers tightened, hips lifting just enough to hit the back of my throat. “Your mouth—”

I hollowed my cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock as I took him deeper. My hand worked the base, thumb tracing the thick vein pulsing there. His hips jerked, a broken word escaping his lips, half curse, half plea.

“Trent—” His voice was wrecked, the warning clear.

I pulled off with a wet sound, saliva stringing between my lips and his cock. His eyes were nearly black, pupils blown wide, only a sliver of amber left. “Want to hear it again.” Looking up at him through my lashes, I licked my lips. “That sound you make when you’re trying not to beg.”

“You’re a menace.” His breath hitched as I swirled my tongue around the head, lapping at the bead of salt there. “Fuck.”

“And you love it.” I grinned as I crawled back up his body. When I kissed him, he groaned into my mouth, tasting himself on my tongue.

His hands were everywhere—skimming my sides, digging into my hips, yanking at my jeans. He flipped us, pinning me beneath him. His weight pressed me into the mattress, his cock grinding against mine through the rough denim. I arched up, nails raking down his back, and he groaned into my throat.

“Clothes. Off.” He sat back on his heels, yanking my belt free with a sharp snap. The zipper rasped as he dragged it down, then my jeans and underwear were gone, peeled off in one rough motion.