Savage (Midnight Raiders MC #1) Read Online Claire Marta, Nia Farrell

Categories Genre: Biker, M-M Romance, MC, Romance Tags Authors: , Series: Midnight Raiders MC Series by Claire Marta

Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)

On a road trip that leads to a Route 66 festival in Edwardsville, Illinois, Nomad biker Savage comes to the rescue of a local man affected by the brutal Midwest heat.

And not just the heat. Dub thinks the burly, tattooed leather-clad biker is the best thing to ever walk through the doors of the old house he inherited. Thrilled that Mr. Big is handy with tools, he hires him to stay and do much-needed repairs. He hopes the biker will linger longer, but having a cat with two million followers on social media and an overprotective cousin doesn’t help advance his cause.
When trouble comes to Dub’s door, Savage steps up to save him. It only feels natural for him to take charge of the boy. With feelings forming and the attraction between them growing, a relationship blooms. But the past has a way of coming back to haunt us, and they soon find themselves in a nightmare one of them might not survive.

Savage is the first book of a new queers and gears series, Midnight Raiders MC. Book One is a standalone MM MC with kink and a consensual BDSM relationship between a Daddy Dom and his “boy.” Triggers include homophobic slurs, home invasion, violence, kidnapping, and sexual assault. Written for Ages 18+.


Chapter One

Saturday, 12 June 2021

Savage was enjoying a much-needed road trip when he learned of the annual Route 66 festival in Edwardsville, Illinois. Rolling into town on the iconic Mother Road, he found a city park sparsely dotted with tents and a crowd that looked equally slim.

Just guessing, he’d say the Midwest heat from hell was keeping attendance down this year. The forecast called for temperatures in the nineties. Factor in the sun, humidity, and the leather cut he was wearing, and he was sweating like he was back in Marine boot camp on his second day of the Crucible. He’d passed that fifty-four-hour test and earned his place in the ranks. He’d endure this sweltering heat, too.

He thought he would spend time at the festival, grab a bite to eat, and listen to some music. Looking for a place to leave his bike, he turned at the first street that wasn’t closed to traffic and headed west. He was circling back around the block when he saw two rows of angle-parked vehicles lining a closed street across from the festival grounds.

From the looks of it, a car show was going on. There was a city block of vintage cars, chrome, and custom paint. No bikes that he could see, but it didn’t matter. If it had a motor, he was into it. Planes, trains, and automobiles were just the start of a passion he’d had since he was old enough to ride a trike.

This really was his lucky day. Passing through town on the day of a Route 66 festival and finding a car show to boot. He’d start with that and go from there, letting his intuition lead the way. Trusting his gut instinct always worked best. Ignoring it was just asking for trouble.

Turning at the next light, Savage parked at the strip mall and started walking, the sun beating down on his skin. The shade trees in the park were tempting but not nearly as loud as the call of big-block engines and dual exhausts.

It wasn’t huge as car shows went, but there was a little of everything, including something he’d never seen. He approached the vintage coupe with an artist’s eye, liking the custom paint that held a more modern appeal. The body was dark red, but the fenders were a steely blue-gray, making the red rims on the wheels pop even more. The trumpets of twin horns jutted out from below the headlights, and the two halves of the oval chrome grill formed an aerodynamic wedge.

The emblem at the top of the grill identified it as a Terraplane. Taking out his phone, he snapped some pictures and emailed them to himself, just in case.

“Nice, huh?”

Savage glanced over his shoulder to see a preening stranger and guessed he was the owner. “Very,” Savage agreed. “It’s the first one I’ve seen. Yours?”

“Yep,” he chortled. “Just traded for it. Single owner. Well, two, if you count the guy who did the paint job. Lucky for me, he wanted a truck. Couldn’t wait to make the deal.”

“Jesus Christ! Kelvin, how could you?”

The accusatory tone from behind him drew Savage’s attention to the pair who’d just joined them. An attractive dishwater blond in his late twenties or early thirties was glaring at a college-age dark-haired man with loathing in his eyes.

Kelvin—the brunette—shrugged a dismissive shoulder. “You got the house and the money, brat. You didn’t need Grandpa’s car, too.”

“Neither does Paulie,” he clipped, clenching his fists and slicing a glance at the new owner. “I want to buy it from you,” he told him, tearing himself away from Kelvin and coming to where Paulie stood by the Terraplane.