Page 113 of Dirty Salvation

Next, he followed it with a t-shirt that was slung over a chair, he stomped back into his boots, the only things he'd bothered to remove along with his cut.

He was angry. One look atherand he'd needed to stroke it out of himself or rush her, driving her down to the floor and rut like a disgusting animal.

The VP could just imagine how that would fucking go. He'd be riddled with bullets in seconds.

The little bit of a thing would surely get him killed.

Wearing his menacing glower when he walked out of his room, shrugging into a fleece lined leather jacket he zipped to his chin. The raging climax had done nothing for his mood if anything he was wound tighter.

Tighter still when he caught sight of her laughing with Capone. The two had their heads bent and Hawk saw fucking Red.

KillerRed.

To execute his brother for daring to stand so close to the little bit of a thing.

She tossed her head back, the remnants of her laugh still present on her clean face, not a smudge of makeup as far as he could tell, and her black hair in soft messy waves halfway down her back.

So friendly, open, giving of her time.

The hair he pictured grasping from behind while he growled for her to open her legs for him and to take it like his good girl.Shut the hell up, you don't touch her. If only he could listen to himself. Too far down that rabbit hole, wrapped in an unhealthy addiction, Hawk’s dark cloud followed him to the door, shoulders tense he needed out of the club, to go into town, find a bar, get drunk, choke a waitress into an orgasm before he lost all sense and killed Capone for talking to Gia.

A few more steps and he'd be gone, out of sight, safe from her.

Gia.Fucks sake. Hawk always knew he was an animal.

Just a few more steps. He kept on prowling.

Maybe it was fate that had them both looking the same way right before he stepped out into the hallway. Gia’s eyebrow rose in question, watching him. She mouthedare you okay? Hawk scowled at her and carried on.

Ignoring how his dick ached. She had to remain a skeleton in his closet, the one pushed furthest towards the back.

Of all things Hawk had done in his life, the downright evil and filthy, the man with no conscious was keeping a very dark secret, one that most definitely would get him killed.

A Little bit of a girl. So pristine. So clean.

Rider’s baby fucking sister.

Off limits wasn’t new to him.

No fucking wonder he was scowling

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“You do what you have to, son if it means bending a few laws you know it’s for the club.” - Uncle Jed

Business was good. Business was great at least here in the mountains. But still, Rider had a shit ton on his mind while he sat his desk in the small cabin office just off from the bike shop. It was frigid cold, he could see his breath in the air when he exhaled on a sigh, he needed another space heater in here before he dropped dead of hypothermia. But the clubhouse had been too noisy for him to think when he’d woke up so he’d trampled over here before any real work would be done that day, he still had four hogs to work on before the day was out.

Long tapered fingers drummed on a pile of invoices that needed chasing up for payments, he wouldn’t tell Zara he’d found them stuffed inside a drawer under a pile of protein bars Texas loved to chew on, he didn’t know why 'cause they tasted like cardboard dipped in sheep shit, the bills were probably from months ago, she’d only just caught up with all their backlog, he quietly left them on the desk she used, as his office manager she’d find them eventually and hopefully deal with it without scowling at him for ignoring the paperwork for so long, though her upturned lip was cute as fuck and he could use it as an excuse to fuck her over her the desk again.

He dragged both hands through his hair letting go of an inhale. His mind was truly occupied if he couldn’t get lost in a sex fantasy or two.

Business was draining some days and exhilarating the next. Outlaws were notoriously famous for preferring the rough and the illegal parts of their lives. One percenter's didn’t only straddle the line of the law, they more often than not stepped their boot over it. Rider liked making money, he loved his club, every chapter of it, thriving and when it wasn’t the shit weighed heavy on his shoulders. No president wanted their branch to close due to lack of funding and if he could prevent it, without scattering good men across into other chapters, then he went above and beyond.

Rider had come a long way from the dreamer he'd been. But he'd known one day he'd get here, it wasn't an option not to. He'd known one day he would be the president of the mother chapter of the Renegade Souls. And not just that, he'd be the president that dragged the MC's sorry ass into the twenty-first century.

Long before his prospect days, when he was just a young boy no longer wet behind the ears, the club had well and truly opened his eyes to what MC life was all about, waiting eagerly to patch in for his club and family, Rider saw how opportunities were not being utilized to their fullest potential.

The thing with the older members, they never did like change, they wanted to ride, have booze and pussy on tap and they were happy fat old men, not caring if the club brought in a dime. No ambition what-so-fucking-ever.