As the president of the Sin City Outlaw Motorcycle Club, l fuck as hard as I ride and rarely go to bed alone.
The women are fast and the violence is intense.
I excel in both.
People either respect me or fear me. I’m not arrogant. It’s just the truth.
I was a king, reigning over Vegas without complication, until one gorgeous sheriff made everything fall apart.
When I saw her, I became a Neanderthal, wanting nothing more than to be between those legs.
I guess that’s where I went wrong, because my reality was shot to hell real
One kiss caused her to step over that blue line.
One night in her bed made me a traitor.
And now… we’re both screwed.
“Really? You got me donuts?” I arch a brow, dropping the lid.
He turns, a mischievous smile fitting his face.
“Don’t all cops like donuts?” he jeers. I roll my eyes, placing my hand on my hip.
“That’s so stereotypical,” I huff.
“Oh, really?” he replies, grabbing the box off the table, a smug smile still on his face.
“I’ll get rid of them then.”
“No, wait!” I nearly trip over my feet trying to grab the box of donuts. He holds them higher than me and smiles so big I think I see two dimples. Really, he’s pulling the notorious bully move holding them just above my reach? Why am I attracted to him again?
“I thought you didn’t like them,” he taunts.
“I do like them. A lot, actually.” I cross my arms, my cheeks flushing. My dad used to always take me to the local bakery to get donuts on the weekends. I would get whatever I wanted—usually anything with sprinkles—and we would drop the rest off at the department. What can I say, embrace your stereotypes.
“So, it’s true. Cops love donuts,” he states arrogantly, sitting the box back down.
One intense biker romance.
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