Page 1 of Slayin Villain (Royal Bastards MC: Nashville, TN #11)

Rachel

I met Villain the day I fucked his president.

That’s not a confession. That’s just how things go at Royal Road, Nashville’s hottest mess of a biker clubhouse, where fireball shots flow faster than forgiveness and sin is currency.

Back then, I was still in scrubs.

Nurse at Silver Springs, the place no one wanted to die in.

I worked double shifts, wiped asses, pushed morphine, and smiled through bullshit family visits.

Satan, their old vice president, was there, and his men liked to bust him out every now and then.

All for show. To give him a rise in more ways than one.

Yeah, Kingpin liked to fuck the nurses in front of the old man while he pretended to sleep.

I just happened to be a new nurse.

Lucky me.

That’s how I got invited to Royal Road. I was tired. Horny. Curious.

And yeah, I hooked up with Kingpin that first night I met him, in Satan’s room. Biker was dangerous and rough and didn’t ask questions. I never expected to see any of them again.

But then came Villain.

I remember the first time he looked at me like I wasn’t just another hangaround with fire-engine red hair and thick tattooed thighs stuffed into denim shorts.

“Yours?” He’d asked Kingpin, cigarette dangling from his lips as he nodded toward me across the casino.

Kingpin laughed. “She’s her own damn problem. Or she can be yourn.”

Villain just smirked. And from that moment on, I was Villain’s problem.

It was a typical night at Royal Road. One that tasted like too much whiskey and not enough sense.

The compound was buzzing, live music pumping, nude girls dancing, Harleys lined up like beasts ready to stampede.

I had on a fishnet black dress so short it should’ve been illegal, hugged every curve.

And no bra underneath, just pasties. Let them look. Lately, they all had been.

But I only danced for him.

I spotted Villain leaning against his bike near the gate, arms crossed, watching like the lawman he was. Or rather a lawless man, since he enforced the rules of outlaws. He was all muscle and menace, golden hair and inked forearms. Dashing like a fairytale prince. Deadly, like a villain should be.

When he saw me, his blue eyes darkened even more.

“You trying to start a riot wearing that?” he asked when I reached him.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I said, slipping my fingers under the hem of his cut and tugging him closer.

He pulled me into his chest, hand resting just above the curve of my ass, claiming me without saying a damn word.

“You’ve been gettin’ a lot of attention lately, Red,” he murmured against my ear.

“I’m not doing anything,” I whispered, fluttering my fake lashes.

“That’s the problem.”

I laughed. “You jealous?”

He didn’t answer. Just grabbed my face and kissed me hard, one of those messy, mouth-on-mouth, the-whole-club-watching-be-damned kisses that screamed, MINE, loud enough for everyone to hear it.

Later, after fireball shots and dancing and a quickie in the back hall that left my thighs shaking and his zipper open, I was sitting on the bar, beer in hand, pretending to watch the game. But really?

I was watching him.

Villain.

All ink and attitude, leaning against a support beam like he owned the place, which, technically, he didn’t.

But damn if he didn’t act like it. Cut stretched tight across his broad chest, one boot planted, the other crossed over his ankle like time meant nothing.

He was telling some story, I’d heard fifty-eleven times, and the guys around him were eating it up. But his eyes?

His eyes kept finding me.

He finished the story, shoved off the post, and walked straight over like he had a score to settle.

“You lookin’ at me or just checkin’ for weak spots?” he said, crowding between my knees with that lazy smirk I knew better than to trust.

“Depends,” I said, sipping my drink. “You planning on disappointing me tonight?”

His hands went to my bare thighs, slow, possessive. “Not unless you’re allergic to orgasms.”

I laughed. “Cocky.”

“Only ‘cause I got a reason to be.”

He leaned in like he might kiss me, but stopped just short, breath brushing my cheek. “Come to my room.”

“You always say that.”

“Yeah,” he said, lips grazing my jaw now. “But this time, I ain’t askin’.”

My breath hitched. “And if I say no?”

His hands tightened. “Then I’ll stay right here and make you wish you hadn’t.”

“Villain,” I warned.

“I’ll fuck you on this bar and make my brothers jealous.”

I slapped his shoulder. “Stop.”

“Done it before, and I’ll do it again.”

Biting my lip, I turned three shades of purple remembering that night.

“Red,” he murmured, like the word please. “Come to bed.”

God help me, I wanted to say no. Just to make him suffer. Just to keep the upper hand. But I set my drink down, wrapped my legs around his waist, and said, “Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

He carried me off the bar like I was nothing. And absolutely everything. Someone whistled. Someone cheered.

And I didn’t give a goddamn. Not that way. I cared the other way. I felt like Villain’s prize.

Because the way his hand slid under my skirt on the stairs? The way he whispered mine against my neck?

It was better than anything.

Better than breathing.

His room wasn’t fancy, but it was his since he moved out of the row of tiny houses behind the club.

It was nice that he had a private room instead of bunking with his brother, Thorn.

I’d felt he’d moved just for me. Dark walls.

Big bed. Weapons on display like trophies.

I’d lost count of how many times I’d been fucked against that padded headboard.

He didn’t take me straight to his bed.

No, Villain pinned me to the door the second it slammed shut, hands flat on my thighs, hips pressing me hard enough I could feel every filthy thought between us.

“You want me?” he rasped against my throat. “Gotta earn it.”

“Earn it?” I panted, squeezing my legs around his waist. “I already have you, baby.”

He growled like a beast, spun us around, and dropped me on the dresser with a thunk. Bottles clattered. A lamp hit the floor.

His mouth found mine again, hot, rough, claiming. Every drag of his tongue was a promise. Every nip of my lip was a threat.

Villain didn’t undress me. He ripped me out of that fishnet, tearing the fabric like he had a personal grudge against fashion.

“You know how long I’ve been watching you dance in that dress?” he hissed, dragging his hand up my thigh. “Fantasizin’ about choking on your moans while this pretty pussy tightens around me?”

I bit my lip. “You’re all talk.”

He froze. Blue eyes glinting. Dangerous.

Then his fingers slipped inside me. One, then two, then three, and I stopped breathing.

“Still think I’m talkin’?”

I whimpered. “Villain…”

“Say it again,” he ordered, fucking me with his fingers like he had something to prove. “Say my name like it’s the only thing your lips know how to do.”

“Villain,” I gasped, digging my nails into his shoulders.

He dropped to his knees, and drank me in, as if he was worshipping a goddess.

Once I was putty, he took what he needed. On the dresser. On the floor. Bent over the edge of the bed. Then finally, in the bed, tangled in the heat of sweat and swearing, mouths hungry, bodies greedy, like neither of us knew when we’d get another chance.

We had hours.

And we used every minute.

I laid across his bed in nothing but one of his old shirts, sweaty and sore in the best way, watching him light a cigarette. The neon light outside cast red shadows across his face. He looked almost soft in that moment.

Almost.

But like the devil, too.

“You ever think about putting your name on me?” I teased, tracing the ink on his neck with my finger. A pack of wolves howling at the moon.

His gaze cut to mine, slow and deliberate. “All the damn time.”

I blinked. “Yeah?”

He took a long drag. “I’ve been thinkin’… maybe it’s time I gave you a patch.”

My heart did something stupid. “A property patch?”

He nodded once. “You want it?”

I sat up, pulse kicking up. “Thought we didn’t do that. Thought I was your open arrangement.”

“I don’t think I used those words,” he said, smirking.

“You said…” I started.

He finished, “That you need to keep those legs open for me.”

“You said, I was your dirty little whore, one of many.”

“You still are. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want your ass wearing my name.” His voice dipped lower. “Every brother’s been starin’ since you came outta your shell. And I catch one more prospect lookin’ at your big jugs, I’m gonna beat the ink off him.”

Heat flushed through me. Not just lust. Emotion. Need. I felt seen. Like I wasn’t just some thick girl riding biker dick for fun. Like maybe I belonged. For once.

“You wanna brand me?” I whispered while trembling.

He leaned in, kissed my neck, then my ear. “I wanna mark what’s mine.”

I swallowed hard, biting back a smile. “Then do it.”

He smirked and winked. “Soon. I’ll get my name tatted on you.”

“Villain or your real name?”

He stilled.

There it was, that flash of hesitation. The thing he always held back. He’d never told me his real name. Never told anyone in the club since coming to Nashville as far as I know. All I knew was that he had a brother in Knoxville and a past he didn’t speak of.

“Does it matter?” he asked finally, brushing my hair behind my ear.

I nodded. “Not to them. But it matters to me.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He pulled me onto his lap instead, settling me over the hard line of his cock.

“You’re trouble, baby,” he murmured. “Soft and sweet and built like a fuckin’ dream. I should lock you up.” Licking his lip, he looked absolutely divine.

I rocked against him. “Then why haven’t you?”

“Because I’m not ready for what happens when I do.”

I kissed him slow. Deep. And in that moment, I believed it. Believed he meant it. Believed he wanted me.

And if there was another woman in his life, he’d done a damn good job hiding it.

Because right then?

It felt like I was the only one he saw.