Dirty Salvation (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 1)

by V. Theia

  Say something. She chastised. Anything. Pick a word. A verb. A half-baked sentence!

  "I..erm..I'm Zara Freeze." Well that didn't sound too moronic. Tell him you carried a watermelon, too.

  His laugh was rich, cream thick ... beautiful like he was.

  "Icy. I should have known from the cold shoulder you just gave to my VP. Take a seat, Zara Freeze. Lemme get you a drink. Grinder, bring the lady a beer down here." He rose his voice to the bartender before taking the red cup out of her hand she’d been clutching.

  "You got it, Prez. Here you go, babe." He uncapped a beer, a bottle so cold condensation ran down the slim neck, and he slid it over. She grasped it automatically murmuring her thanks.

  Perspective was in the beholder. No two people that night would describe what happened in the same way, simply because everyone sees situations differently, a word added here, an embellishment there, but no one's interpretation was more vibrant than Zara's right then while she soaked up the steadfast attention of a pair of blue eyes and a wicked smile.

  Her perspective was alive in color and ink and a beating of sexual longing.

  "This is your place? I mean your gang?"

  He laughed again listening with his head cocked to the side, eyes studying her, repeating the bottle to mouth action. Zara's gaze followed, wanting more than anything to lean into his space and place her hand on his throat to feel it work in swallows. What on earth was she thinking? Maybe that smoke in her face had been pot, it would explain her all gutter thoughts and all of him in raging stages of filth. I want him.

  "It’s a club, babe. I haven't been in a gang since I was seven. And it’s all mine, every broken and fucked up piece of it. You can call me Rider. I saw you come in with your girl. She's with one of my prospects, he fucks like a porn star, wouldn't expect her back anytime soon."

  "Oh." He said it so matter-of-factly like it was the norm to talk about people's sexual capabilities, the details made her cheeks stain, she dipped her head, wondering if she should go looking for Morgana, maybe her friend didn't want to be holding company with a porn star wannabe…but then, it was Morgana and she had gone looking for the guy.

  Like a best friend would in the face of a gorgeous god, Zara forgot all about Morgana, she was fascinated. Intrigued. Breathless. Caught in his stare.

  "Fuck me, look at this, she even blushes. That's fuckin' adorable, Icy. I didn't think chicks over the age of ten still did that."

  "Zara." Her throat cleared. "My name is Zara."

  "Yeah, I got that." She'd never cared for a smirking guy until this very second. It pushed his dreamboat factor up ten points. "But I love your chill. Fuckin' sexy, Icy. I'm gonna melt you until there's nothing left but a giant fuckin' wet patch on my bed."

  How could he look so smug and calm when Zara's head was going off like tiny bombs detonating behind her eyes? No one had ever stated their attentions so sexually blatant to her before, it took Zara's breath, her nerves jangling like Christmas bells, gripping the bottle tight, she'd taken a long gulp just in order to give her some time to think before she spoke.

  She’d liked the direct statement. Sexy.

  It might be the debauched atmosphere doing her thinking, but she really liked it. This outlaw biker was not just flirting with her he wanted to sleep with her. With her! Oh, wow. This was something. Be cool.

  Manic butterflies in her belly, she looked up at him from under her pale lashes, her lip caught in her teeth. She was pathetic at flirting, serious zero skills whatsoever, she was more likely to tell him of her Disney mug collection than to ask him to kiss her just so she could check if his full lips were as soft as she hoped they'd be. And her fingers itched badly to run across his shadowed beard.

  Out of her element. She wondered if she had a glaring VIRGIN sign in neon over her head.

  Was she going to disappoint him?

  She identified the basics, what went where, and how it was supposed to feel, she wasn’t stupid. But the practicalities of sex were not like reading about it. And sex with a gorgeous biker who probably liked it kama sutra style. Her nerves increased.

  Rider didn't seem to mind if she was shy and too much in her own thoughts because he reached out and stroked a long finger down her cheek. "Ready to melt already. Fuck me, you're gonna be dynamite, babe."

  She was glad one of them thought so. Zara was too busy dying inside. Was she really going to have a one-night stand with a man she didn’t even know ten minutes ago?

  Yes. She absolutely was.

  Perspective per Zara looked a lot like heaven and Hell. Stood in Lucifer’s backyard, faced with a heavenly man tempting her to dance with the devil.

  If only she could Foxtrot.

  Did she tell him now she was a virgin or would that squash any hopes of his flirtation continuing? She kept her mouth shut, because she liked his focused attention. Another long gulp, the cold beer soothing her heat and it didn't taste all that bad, she had another. And another until the bottle stood empty.

  When Rider stood to his fullest height, her eyes went up and up and then down, catching the sound of his wallet chain. Parched, her mouth dried of all moisture. She'd been right, he was so tall his beauty had been painted in the clouds.

  "You're big." Oh, shut up. She was back to the watermelon stating the fucking obvious. Rider’s laugh implied he found her amusing, cutting through her mortified stress. He had brilliant even white teeth shadowed by his close-cropped beard.

  Masculine. Appealing.

  "C'mon, Icy. Let's get outta here,” His hand enfolded hers.

  The shame of it was she didn't have one protest. She knew what this guy wanted from her, and she had no objection to it.

  She wanted him. Quite desperately actually.

  Zara couldn't raise even a margin hint of guilt for leaving Morgana, after all, it was her friend who had left her here first and thank god, she had, she thought to herself as the president of the Renegade Souls MC led her through the unruly crowd to a quieter corridor of doors.

  Innocence and wonderment pulsed in her chaotic thoughts, her fingers relaxed yet held tightly in his hand, she tried hard not to look at one guy vigorously dry humping a blonde woman in a corner, really going at it with the sounds effects, nor did she blink when the same guys hand disappeared beneath her skirt, the woman exchanged a giggle for a wet throaty moan, her head thrown back in obvious pleasure.

  Would that be how she felt with Rider? There were too many gaps in her knowledge of sex, besides the A and B logistics, she was pretty clueless on how it felt, how she'd react. Would she moan with abandon like that girl was, not caring who heard her?

  Her anxious level rose in noise, talking herself out of it. Talking herself back into it.

  He was gorgeous and he wanted her, that was all she needed to know.

  She wanted to feel him against her all pump and grind and hungry, if his fingers felt good simply holding her hand, his callouses rubbing against her skin, his body pressed to hers had to be amazing.

  The scent of him, manly and clean caused her to inhale faster than her lungs needed, just to keep smelling him. Her insides wanted to explode, every vein was banging out of control dragging blood to all the places on Zara's body that pulsed with greedy need.

  His back was so wide it was like following behind a Marvel superVillain. He had to be at least six-five inches of drool worthy man. Zara swallowed a nervous giggle, clutching Rider’s hand like a lifeline. She was going to have sex..with a man..

  Not her pink bullet vibrator.

  He painted a sexy picture wearing dark jeans, thick soled well-worn boots, a white long-sleeved undershirt beneath his black Henley and his leather cut. Zara judged his sharp unforgiving features had bewitched her, why else was she eagerly trotting to her first and only one-night stand.

  He was a gorgeous package wrapped up in a bad bow.

  She’d couldn’t claim to have been flirted with by many men, and none in Rider’s caliber. The original bad boy wasn’t that every virgin�
�s fantasy. No one wanted to go to bed with a stockbroker if the local biker bad boy with his lack of give-a-fucks was looking at her with sex in his eyes.

  When Rider led her through a doorway down the very far end she didn't have time to assess the room, finding herself slammed against a wall, and the sexiest pair of lips crashed down on hers, prying open, licking inside her mouth.

  It was the single best kiss of her life.

  Around the same time, Zara's brain stopped functioning as a highly intelligent organ.

  She’d just added ‘sex with a hot biker’ to the top of her bucket list and was ready to check it off, rubbing her hips against his. She might be inexperienced but she knew what felt good and rubbing on him like she was a cat in the throes of her first heat felt really, really, god, really good. She did it again and felt the distinct hardness poking into her.

  All those evocative things she’d only read about in smut books came flooding back into her mind until they stirred her blood to boiling point.

  Being sexually destroyed. Taken over with orgasms. Owned by an alpha male.

  She wanted it all.

  This guy was the kind of man to sexually destroy you and still you’d want to thank him afterward for ruining you.

  “Gonna fuck you now, babe…”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “My first mistake was I fucked a virgin and liked it. My second mistake was I wanted more…” - Rider Marinos.

  Three Years Ago.

  Ambrosio Marinos better known as Rider was looking at a fucking pure-born beauty heaven sent angel among Hell's nastier demons. Not that he didn't love each one of his brothers, they had a bond that went deeper than blood, but still, they were not your typical good guys.

  No one would ever describe any one of the Renegade Souls as good.

  So then, he wondered, what was Goldilocks doing in among the big bad's of Armado Springs?

  He'd seen her the moment she'd stepped into the clubhouse with her girl, hard to miss when she reeked of upper class and silverware. All she was missing was the champagne flute in her hand and the butler at her side.

  His dick wanted her instantly.

  Her face had reached out to Rider, almost as if she'd brought fucking sunlight into his place. Straight up harpooned the flaming ball and dragged it behind her. It highlighted on her platinum colored hair and dazzled right down to the fucking ridiculous dress she wore. She looked all of twelve clutching her hands together nervously waiting for her prom date. Someone should have told the princess she’d taken a wrong turn on Main and geeky pimple faced Nigel wasn’t gonna show anytime soon with her corsage.

  Right in that unhurried minute while he watched her shift from foot to foot, her wild eyes searching through the bodies, before he knew her name or what-the-fuck she was doing showing her fresh-faced innocence to his men, Rider claimed her as his own.

  His dick demanded he raises his hand in the air and claim; mine.

  The Souls President got the read of her friend right away. Groupie wannabe, tits out to there, lips glossed within an inch of their life, her skirt riding up her ass, looking for her next fuck, her hungry eyes dancing around each face until she'd taken off with Tiny into one of the back rooms, leaving Blondie all alone. Oh, fuck. He could practically hear his boys licking their wolf chops scenting a lone sheep in their den.

  Fresh meat meant only one thing for his brothers who were kicking back for the first time that month with a blowout party; She was gonna get her angelic wings bitten off if she wasn't careful.

  And from the worst monster that was within his ranks.

  His VP had caught the scent of a new game first, licking his lips and adjusting his jeans before approaching the girl. It had taken three seconds for fear to reach her eyes.

  A personal record.

  Hawk could sense fear a block away, bloodhound, it was what made his dick hard, or so he claimed. Some called Hawk a sociopath and would be on the money with that description.

  Just what twisted sick shit his VP did beneath his sheets was his business, all Rider knew was his friend had a fierce loyalty, would cut a motherfucker soon as look at him to protect his club, and had done many times, he was cold on the inside as well as the out and liked his sex served the way he liked his drinks; straight-up, on the rocks and dark as fuck.

  According to Hawk he’d never met a choked woman he didn’t like.

  If his VP had wanted to sink his nastiness into the girl, then Rider didn't feel an ounce of guilt ramming the stop sign up for Hawk before his mind games took shape.

  He was already drunk and swaying anyway. His brows twitched, his expression silently asking Rider if he was sure…he answered his friend in the same way; Not. For. Fucking. You.

  Hawk could get his dick dipped wet anywhere he wanted, for some crazy reason the women flocked to his aloof attitude with breasts out and legs open.

  The golden shy girl was not to played with by a freak-in-the-sheets and a demon-in-the-streets.

  As it went, Rider eyed Hawk part the crowd with just his menacing presence and his staggered gait, bouncing from side to side like he heard the death march in his head and it was so his jam, people got out of his way fast until he stopped to select one of the panting girls with a crook of his finger, his head back, sniffing the air as though he could scent the sex oozing out of her, a nasty hunter in the dark.

  Maybe he could, monsters had a sense of sex and fear.

  Hawk growled for her not to touch him and to follow.

  In 3..2..1 she would be bent over something and show time.

  Rider pitied the poor girl who eventually fell for Hawk, she’d need an iron will and a lot of fucking chains.

  A lot of sex happened in his club.

  As unrepentant in their sinning, as the Souls were for their outlaw lives.

  The only rule Rider put in place was that if the women were not agreeable to your advances you stayed the fuck away.

  He was trying to drag the Souls out of the gutter without adding rape to their rap sheet. Any of his boys mistreated a woman they were fucking gone, no ifs buts or and's.

  The fuck was wrong with a guy who didn't remember he came outta a woman and yet he wanted to plow his fist into her face or force his dick into her?

  Fuck as many groupies as you wanted, but if they said no, then you take fucking no as her answer.

  He had zero tolerance for anything else.

  She wanted it, Prez. Fuck off, Piece of filth. She really meant yes, Prez. Bang. Gone.

  Unlike most of the MC's in the area and neighboring cities Rider's boys got this rule, they enforced it, even morally questionable Lawless got a yes before he dove between any woman's thighs and that bastard flew his own freak flag.

  The common room was a wide-open plan space after several walls were taken out in the renovation last year, leaving three brick walls and a row of six windows four-foot-high and three-foot-wide each that looked out onto the mountains. Sectional couches and overstuffed functional chairs, coffee tables, hardback chairs, an 82-inch tv up on the far wall and a sound system loaded with enough speaker power to deafen those in the state of Texas. Rugs were scattered on the floor in no particular formation, they were threadbare and scuffed from too much wear and tear from hundreds of boots walking over them daily,

  And then there was the wrap around bar Rider had commissioned to be made specially from a carpenter friend he knew. The chrome top gleamed having had a new polish only earlier from one of the hangaround's.

  The common room was lived in, usually a mess if one of the hangaround's or prospects hadn’t been through with a vacuum, but it felt like a home away home to Rider and his boys.

  Off the common room was several corridors that led to storerooms, crash rooms to flop in, around twenty private rooms most of his brothers kept for fucking if the need struck, then a fork in the hallway down to the wide industrial kitchen, that had several long tables pushed together and custom made benches to fit everyone around when it was grub time, even further ba
ck out of sight was the clubs Church, the most sacred private room they held meetings, only those patched in got to step over the threshold.

  It came as no surprise to anyone when a year ago, Ambrosio Marinos, the then Vice President, had cleared out the deadwood of the Renegade Souls. Most of the old timers who had held onto outdated morals, who thought nothing of watching a girl being treated like shit, or turning a blind eye to new shitheads bringing drugs into their territory, if they got their cut they didn't care about the Souls long set out rules.

  In total, Rider had cut forty-five cancerous members out of the club, and some of the others had chosen wisely and opted out to other chapters, it was days later he was voted in unanimously as the new President, the gavel passed from uncle to nephew, a new generation of Souls began that day.

  He'd been Renegade Souls material from birth and became Rider when he was sixteen earning the name. Souls were in his blood and now he controlled the gavel he was giving it his damnedest to run the club his way.

  He might be an outlaw but Rider had a certain set of rules to obey, new ideas to made lucrative for one and all, and he dared anyone to go against him.

  No surprise at all. Rider had literally bled for the Souls. It was a no brainer who took the Prez patch to govern them into a new direction once the dust had settled. With so much backstabbing it was a wonder he’d survived that brutal year of war from within.

  He'd been thrown to the wolves and came back leading the pack.

  The sweet piece walking hesitantly towards him was going to test all his rules.

  His gaze raked her up and down, his mouth watered, fuck, she was cute balancing on her heels, he wanted to know just how sweet she tasted.

  With his palate accustomed to the groupies hanging around doing what he wanted at any time of the day, those girls who thought opening their legs was the sure way of becoming an old lady, he suddenly wanted a different flavor in his mouth.

  Pity they didn't stay in school long enough to get the lesson no biker was taking on an old lady that had done a caterpillar for all the brothers, his firm and fast rule being if a club girl had worn the come of any one of his brothers she was for fun only, he sure as shit wasn't giving her an Owned by Rider cut.