If you love the motorcycle romances of Joanna Wylde and Julie Ann Walker, don’t miss Violetta Rand’s irresistible novel about a sexy-as-sin biker who tempts a good girl to go bad.
Lang Anderson may be the new leader of the Sons of Odin motorcycle club, but his personal life is in shreds. He’s struggling to take care of his three young sisters in the wake of tragedy, while rumors of drug dealing within his ranks jeopardize everything he’s built. The last thing he needs is another distraction—like a bar brawl over a woman—but Lang is a sucker for a damsel in distress. And this one gets him roaring like a finely tuned engine.
High school guidance counselor Lily Gallo is no fender bunny. So why can’t she get Lang off her mind? Lily’s head says the rugged, rough-and-tumble biker who came to her aid is bad news. Her body begs to differ. But when Lang’s troubled kid sister walks into her office, Lily’s determined to help, even if it puts her in the crossfire of a gang war. On a crash course with danger and desire, Lily partners up with Lang to fight for his family—and for love.
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Unlike his Brothers who preferred the classic Softails or full dressers, Lang rode the sinister Night Rod Special. He chose bikes like he did women—favoring off-the-line explosive handling. Just as he mounted his bike, two news vans screeched into the parking lot, effectively blocking his exit route.
Sandy Fuentes, an investigative reporter the club was well acquainted with, jumped out of the first vehicle, straightened her ass-hugging miniskirt, and snatched a microphone from her cameraman. She scooted across the asphalt, nearly slipping on the gravel in her heels as she stopped in front of him.
“Lang Anderson,” she said, throwing him her best fuck-me pout. “Corpus Christi wants to know . . .” Her tagline. “With your president on a fast track for lethal injection, what’s next for the Sons of Odin?”
She was easy on the eyes, and Lang couldn’t blame her for trying to get an exclusive. Depending on her mood, which shifted with the wind and on whether he’d fucked her right the night before, she might provide her fans with an accurate report. Regardless, he liked her aggressive personality and the way she rode him like a racehorse.
Lang crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against his bike. “Nice to see you too, Sandy.”
She grimaced, always affected by the way he spoke her name. It disarmed her every time. “No sweet-talking your way out of this one, Lang.”
He grinned. “You mean the way you sweet-talked your way into my bed last night?”
His Brothers catcalled and laughed.
Sandy’s face flushed and she spun around, signaling her crewman to kill the camera. “What the hell, Lang? Thought we agreed to keep our association a secret.”
A secret? Her bright yellow Corvette parked overnight in the club lot spoke for itself. He didn’t fuck and tell, she did. “Turn your camera on, Sandy, I’ll give you a statement.”
“Really?” Her hand slipped to her hip. “Why?”
Lang edged closer, leaned in so only she could hear him. “Because you give the best blowjobs.”
The slap stung his face, but he didn’t care. A little pain reminded him of the kind of life he chose to live. “Clubhouse, eleven tonight.”
She inhaled, her pretty face a mixture of emotions. Lang didn’t trust her at all. But she warmed his bed, and he never had to ask twice. Gaze sweeping her hourglass figure a last time, he turned to go.
“Wait,” she said.
Lang didn’t bother looking at her.
“I’m getting tired of our arrangement. I want more.”
So did Lang. More for himself, but most of all, more for Maya, Leigh, and Trisha, his little sisters. The only ones who inspired him to hold back, to contemplate his future, to keep from diving headfirst into a life of violence that could easily swallow you whole. And as for women—he’d never found one worthy of commitment. And if he did, she wouldn’t deserve the life of being a biker’s old lady. Property.
“There’s nothing more to give, Sandy.” He turned, then pounded his chest with his fist. “My family and Brothers are the only things I care about.”
“Is that a quote?” she asked, doing a shitty job of masking her hurt feelings.
“Don’t take it personally,” he advised. “Take it for what it is.”
People considered him many things, all the clichés: dark and dangerous, violent and crude, barbaric even. But never a liar. And with women, he told it like it was. Mutual pleasure, nothing more. And if he really liked someone, she could stay the night in his bed. But when the sun came up, don’t let the door hit you . . . Better not to tie himself down, living the life he did.
He felt the weight of her stare on his back as he climbed on his bike. The Harley roared to life underneath him, louder than a small aircraft. That thunder between his legs always made him smile. He raised his hand, gesturing for his Brothers to follow in formation, arranged by rank. He merged with traffic on North Shoreline Boulevard, wondering what the future held for the Sons of Odin.