But I don’t.
I’m too used to doing what I’ve been told. Too used to working and struggling and surviving to do anything different. A closed sign wouldn’t stop him anyway. He’s here to collect a debt. And I’m the only one left to pay.
Meet the dangerous enforcer of The Devil’s Host MC in this complete bundle!
Includes the following previously published installments:
Ride Me Hard
Break Me In
Drive Me Wild
Hold Me Down
I can’t process all of him at once. He’s that big. He is scruff and muscle and a white T-shirt tucked into dusty jeans. He looks weathered and road weary, like most of Jimmy’s clientele, but…more. Everything about him is intense. His knife-blade cheekbones. His heavy brows.
His blue eyes flash icy heat, and some animal instinct tells me this man isn’t looking for sass, that if he finds it, he might do something about it, something I won’t like at all.
He’s made himself comfortable in the booth with his leather jacket tossed on the opposite side along with a sleek black helmet. I’m pretty sure there’s a motorcycle parked out front now to match his accessories. If only I’d heard the rev of an engine and the spray of gravel, but I was too busy humming and watching the clock. A warning would’ve been nice. I might have locked the door a few minutes early, even if it did mean Jimmy would dock my pay.
No. I wouldn’t have locked a customer out. But I’d have braced myself better.
His hands are massive and flat on the tabletop. Tattoos crisscross his blunt knuckles, the ink broken by spidery scars. It takes my brain precious seconds to decipher the blue-black loops and whirls as letters.
It’s like he’s put them there for inspection. But not the “clean enough for supper, ma’am?” kind of inspection, the “how much damage do you think these can do?” kind.
A lot of damage. That’s the answer. A lot. Those are knuckles that have been through walls and windows. Flesh and bone.
I want to say we’re closed, but Jimmy’d can my ass for turning away a paying customer. I want to run back to the kitchen and get Harry to tell him to take his business elsewhere, but Harry isn’t any match for this man. And I’m frozen in place anyway. I can’t peel my eyes away from his hands.
I stare harder, and it hits me that the letters over his knuckles form words.
Lost. Soul.
Some fear inside me eases, because that’s almost romantic. Lost souls and lone wolves. Desperadoes. If he were really terrible, he wouldn’t have to advertise. The truly dangerous men blend in.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” he says.
I try for caustic, but the words slip out as half whispers. “Not when I don’t have anything to say.”
He laughs again, only softer this time. More smug. “I can respect that.”
Him respecting anything about me seems like the most ridiculous thing yet. Even sillier than me standing here for long minutes without taking his order. My gaze drifts up his colorful forearms, across his chest, and over the hard pecs I can make out through thin cotton. His neck, corded with muscle and more ink, flexes under my scrutiny.
Everything about him is hard, except for his mouth.
His lips look soft. And pinker than they should be. A sensual mouth, curled into a smile that says I know everything you’re thinking, and yeah you’re exactly right. A smile that says test me, please. A smile that says I’m hungry and you look like cake.
Fuck me. I want to be cake.
His blue eyes flash icy heat, and some animal instinct tells me this man isn’t looking for sass, that if he finds it, he might do something about it, something I won’t like at all.
He’s made himself comfortable in the booth with his leather jacket tossed on the opposite side along with a sleek black helmet. I’m pretty sure there’s a motorcycle parked out front now to match his accessories. If only I’d heard the rev of an engine and the spray of gravel, but I was too busy humming and watching the clock. A warning would’ve been nice. I might have locked the door a few minutes early, even if it did mean Jimmy would dock my pay.
No. I wouldn’t have locked a customer out. But I’d have braced myself better.
His hands are massive and flat on the tabletop. Tattoos crisscross his blunt knuckles, the ink broken by spidery scars. It takes my brain precious seconds to decipher the blue-black loops and whirls as letters.
It’s like he’s put them there for inspection. But not the “clean enough for supper, ma’am?” kind of inspection, the “how much damage do you think these can do?” kind.
A lot of damage. That’s the answer. A lot. Those are knuckles that have been through walls and windows. Flesh and bone.
I want to say we’re closed, but Jimmy’d can my ass for turning away a paying customer. I want to run back to the kitchen and get Harry to tell him to take his business elsewhere, but Harry isn’t any match for this man. And I’m frozen in place anyway. I can’t peel my eyes away from his hands.
I stare harder, and it hits me that the letters over his knuckles form words.
Lost. Soul.
Some fear inside me eases, because that’s almost romantic. Lost souls and lone wolves. Desperadoes. If he were really terrible, he wouldn’t have to advertise. The truly dangerous men blend in.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” he says.
I try for caustic, but the words slip out as half whispers. “Not when I don’t have anything to say.”
He laughs again, only softer this time. More smug. “I can respect that.”
Him respecting anything about me seems like the most ridiculous thing yet. Even sillier than me standing here for long minutes without taking his order. My gaze drifts up his colorful forearms, across his chest, and over the hard pecs I can make out through thin cotton. His neck, corded with muscle and more ink, flexes under my scrutiny.
Everything about him is hard, except for his mouth.
His lips look soft. And pinker than they should be. A sensual mouth, curled into a smile that says I know everything you’re thinking, and yeah you’re exactly right. A smile that says test me, please. A smile that says I’m hungry and you look like cake.
Fuck me. I want to be cake.
“Intense, dangerous, and perfectly dirty! Ride Me Hard will leave you breathless.” New York Times Bestselling author Skye Warren
“From the first word to the last my stomach was clenched tight in a ‘god what on earth is going to happen next’ tension.” Gemma Reads Too Much
“Dirty, beautiful, gritty and wild.” New York Times Bestselling author Annika Martin
“Pinch me! Am I still dreaming, in the middle of another badass biker fantasy? Nope, I'm wide awake and enjoying the hell out of Shari Slade's latest masterpiece.” iScream Books
“Everything you want in a biker story—hot sex, bikers that fall hard and lots of violence and action.” Red Hot and Blue Reads
For a limited time!
Please double-check the price before you buy!
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Book 1 in the series is FREE!
Frequently found in a blanket fort, you can also find her on facebook and twitter.
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Is he like their awful classmate, convinced he's owed something because Tess dares to be curious about sex, or does he really want to know her? Only one thing is certain: nothing is private anymore.
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I love checking new books out. This looks like a good read
ReplyDeleteShari is a new author to me and I'm looking forward to reading The Devil's Host MC series.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the excerpt & giveaway.
ReplyDeleteShari Slade ROCKS!!!! Thank you
ReplyDeleteSounds like a really great read.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the giveaway and the excerpt.
ReplyDeleteI look forward to reading Shari's book. Thanks for the giveaway!
ReplyDeleteThis looks likes a great book!
ReplyDeleteLooks like an interesting book.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the contest.
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