Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Sully -- Fresh out of prison, I’m done with chaos. Whiskey, silence, and my brothers in the Kiss of Death MC -- that’s all I want or need. Until Darby storms into Throttle. She’s sharp-tongued, fearless, and dangerous as hell. She stirs up trouble like it’s an art form, and I should walk away. But when she looks at me, I feel alive for the first time in years. She’s the kind of trouble that could wreck me. And I want every second of it.
Darby -- I don’t stick. Not to towns, not to people, sure as hell not to men. Stirring up chaos and disappearing before the fallout, that’s how I roll. Then Sully happens. A rough around the edges ex-con. All scars and quiet control. He should terrify me. Instead, he makes me want to stay. But staying means dragging him into the shadows I’ve been running from, and the men hunting me won’t stop until I’m gone for good.One night was supposed to be enough. Now neither of us can let go.And the danger chasing me just found us both.
This book contains dark themes, adult relationships and language, violence, and situations some readers may find triggering. Intended for mature audiences only.
Copyright All Changeling Press LLC publications and cover art are copyright and may not be used in any AI generated work. No AI content is included or allowed in any Changeling Press LLC publication or artwork
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Chapter One
Sully
The smell of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and something I thought might be grilled onions permeated the main room of Throttle. The bar was frequented by not only members of Kiss of Death MC, but most MCs in the area. People behaved for the most part, but occasionally, the place could be counted on for a good knockdown, drag out brawl. It was one of my favorite bars.
I stood alone at the far end of the bar where I could flag the bartender when I was empty. Right now, I nursed a double shot of Jack that burned less and less with each sip. Night had fallen an hour ago, but the place was just starting to get rowdy. The jukebox in the corner played Lynyrd Skynyrd. Someone had put Street Survivors on repeat which… I mean, great album. But if this kept up, I might have to rethink staying much longer.
Men in leather vests with patches proclaiming their club affiliation and road names hunched over pool tables in the back, cue balls cracking against each other in sharp retorts. Some of the guys had women hanging onto them. Some were trying to get rid of the women hanging on. I just wanted to get pleasantly buzzed. Made the company seem less offensive and more amusing.
I took another sip, letting the amber liquid slide down my throat. The bartender, a mountain of a man with forearms thick as my calves, wiped down the counter in mechanical circles, his eyes constantly sweeping the room for trouble. There was always trouble at Throttle. It was just a matter of when.
Then she walked in.
I didn’t recognize her, which meant she wasn’t a regular. Nobody who valued their skin wandered into Throttle without knowing what they were walking into. She wore a leather jacket that had seen better days. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy braid, revealing sharp cheekbones and a small scar that cut through her right eyebrow. It wasn’t the kind of scar you got from childhood accidents. It was the kind you earned.
She moved with a predator’s grace, weaving between tables without touching a single patron. Her boots made no sound on the scarred wood floor. I watched her scan the room as she made her way to the bar. When those eyes briefly met mine, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the watered-down Jack in my glass.
After ordering her poison, she headed straight for the dartboard hanging on the back wall, where three bikers were tossing darts with the casual disregard of men who owned the space around them. They noticed her approach, their conversation dying as she stopped at the edge of their circle. The tallest one, a bear of a man with a gray-streaked beard reaching his chest, looked her up and down with a smirk.
“Lost, little girl?” he asked, twirling a dart between thick fingers.
The woman smiled. Not a nervous smile, not an appeasing one. It was the serene smile of a shark who had spotted blood in the water and knew there were no lifeboats.
“Just looking for a game,” she replied, her voice carrying easily despite the blaring rock music. “Unless you boys are afraid to play with girls.”
The three men exchanged glances, amused by her audacity. The bearded one chuckled lightly. “You need to move on, sweetheart. The kinda playin’ we do ain’t somethin’ a sweet little thing like you could handle.”