Table of Contents
1. The Outlaw Biker's Betrayal
2. Christmas In Texas, A Mail Order Bride Western Romance
3. The Beach House, Our Secret
4. Stuffed by the Two Rival Cowboys
5. The Rancher’s Touch
6. The Shamed Montana Bride, A Mail Order Bride Western Romance
7. The BBW MILF Gets Taken Rough
8. In Too Deep with the Montana Cowboy Brothers
9. Montana Surrender, A Mail Order Bride Western Romance
10. RUTHLESS, Sons of Silence
11. The Cowboy Abducts A Bride, A Western Historical Romance
12. Tempting My Best Friend’s MILF
13. Owned by the Bad Boy Outlaw
14. The Billionaire Cowboy’s Last Hope
15. Spread Wide By The Well Endowed Cowboy
16. Rival Brides and the Billionaire Montana Cowboy
The Outlaw Biker's Betrayal
By: Sienna Williams
The Outlaw Biker's Betrayal
© Sienna Williams, 2016 – All rights reserved
Published by Steamy Reads4U
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to the seller and purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Warning
This book contains graphic content intended for readers 18+ years old.
If you are under 18 years old, or are not comfortable with adult content, please close this book now.
Chapter One
Anne had always thought of herself as the golden child. Among four siblings, she was the one who got straight A’s through high school, and halfway through college she was still maintaining that 4.0. She volunteered at both the local hospital, and the animal sanctuary, while on two sports teams. Anne was fit, tall and skinny with a good form. Dancers in the school complained that she wasted herself on sports, rather than throwing herself into dance.
Anne didn’t mind that much, dance wasn’t her calling. In fact, she didn’t have a calling that she was incredibly familiar with. All she knew was that she wanted to be perfect at everything she did. Not to inflate her own ego, but she was.
It was a chilly November day when her entire world was turned upside down.
Anne had ducked into the nearest building to escape the gathering snowstorm, and had found that thirty other people had decided to do the same thing. An old-timey song was playing, something that sounded from the fifties era. Anne casually bounced along as she pulled out her phone, scrolling through her messages. She let her mother and father know that she would be home late, and that they shouldn’t worry about keeping dinner out for her. She could reheat it when she got home.
All had seemed peaceful until a man smelling like a disgusting mix of fresh and stale cigarette smoke walked into the building. Those who had been standing near him parted like the Red Sea, and he smirked at the wave of people seeking to escape him.
Anne curled her nose and turned a stare to the man, looking him up and down. He fit the stereotype, and she felt as though she had seen him around town earlier that day. He was tall and lanky, with badly-dyed black hair that he swept back, effortlessly flawed yet still perfected. His leather jacket was loose on his body, though hugged him well. He wore ripped black jeans, and a studded belt.
All along his hands, tattoos of various things that Anne could easily imagine trailing all the way up his arms and across his chest. The man walked over to Anne, not particularly, but simply because that was where he wanted to be right then. Anne tried not to mind, really, but eventually, the smell became too much for her too stand.
“Don’t you know those things will kill you?” she asked, looking the man up and down.
Other people turned to Anne with wide eyes. They were amazed that she had dared to question such a man. In a town like theirs, there were suspicions and stereotypes were more widespread than anything else. No one wanted to question a man that looked as though he could break someone’s spine as easily as he could snap a toothpick. Anne didn’t feel a twinge of fear, though. She wouldn’t allow herself to be afraid of some man that thought that he could scare people just with the way he looked.
“Isn’t it polite to ask someone’s name before you judge their life decisions?” the man asked.
He was a foot taller than Anne, and he stared down at her with menacing green eyes. She refused to budge, staring back up at him and holding her ground. A cold well of terror was growing in her stomach, threatening to overflow, but she wouldn’t let it happen.
“I don’t think your name matters, when you’re stinking up this whole place,” Anne said. “I think we all would appreciate it if you stepped back outside.”
“It’s snowing,” the man replied.
“So what?” Anne replied.
“Why is it fair for me to have to wait outside where it’s freezing while the rest of you get to stand in here where it’s warm? Just because of the way I look? Because I smoke?” his voice wasn’t changing in volume. Rather, his anger was the controlled kind, which overpowered someone simply with a cool fear, rather than burning hot embers of yelling and screaming.
“I’ll wait outside with you,” Anne said. If it would pacify the man, she would say anything to calm him down. “As long as it gets you away from everyone else.”
He seemed taken aback, and waited for Anne to go outside before following her. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed as they entered the cold again. It wasn’t as though he was incredibly cold, but he didn’t want to stand and wait around for a storm to get simply worse and worse.
“My name is Anne Burbank, by the way,” she said as soon as they were outside. She relished in the breath of fresh air she was given, and glanced at the man out of the corners of her eyes. He was young, probably around her age. She wouldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t handsome, but his personality was enough to threaten to drive her away. It was enough to drive anybody away who had any sort of sense.
“Quincy,” he replied. He leaned against the stone entrance of the building, glancing at Anne. He didn’t know what to think about her. He had never had someone be so bossy and forward with him, especially not coming from a girl who seemed so incredibly mousy.
“You got a last name?” Anne asked. She wasn’t normally rude, but the brusque way that Quincy was treating her had set her on edge.
“Not one that you need to know,” Quincy replied. He pushed his fingers through his dyed hair, pushing it out of his face and leaning his head back. “Why does it matter so much to you, anyways?” he asked. He glanced at Anne out of the corners of his eyes, a little frown playing on his lips.
“In a place like this, everyone knows everyone,” she said. “And none of us know you.”
“I don’t see why that’s a reason to kick me out of a store,” Quincy said. “I thought it was just a stereotype that all small-town people were rude pricks,” he quipped with a grin.
“I thought all tough guys weren’t supposed to smile?” she asked.
Quincy seemed to have realized exactly what he was doing when Anne said the words, and he wiped the smile off his face posthaste. “I wasn’t smiling at you or anything,” he said. His defense was weak, and Anne rolled her eyes playfully.
“Couldn’t think of anything better?” she teased. “That was weak, and you know it.”
“So what do you do with yourself, aside from kick strangers out of buildings that you don’t even own, that is?” he asked. He looked Anne up and down, turning so he could properly look at her when they were speaking.
“I’m a college student at the local university,” she said. “I live with my parents and I work at the library.”
“Wow,” Quincy said, raising his eyebrows. “You sure are the image of a perfect goody two shoes.”
“I try,” Anne said with a flip of her hair, even though she knew that it was meant to be an insult.
“Maybe you’d like to go for a ride someday?” Quincy asked.
“A ride?” Anne repeated, eyes going wide.
Chapter Two
“What kind of ride?” Anne asked. She narrowed her eyes at Quincy. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as though she were simply a new challenge that he had yet to face before. “I’ll have you know that I’m not into drugs, or anything of that matter.”
“Jesus,” Quincy muttered, pushing off from the wall and standing in front of Anne, with only about an inch between them. “I hardly know you aside from your name, and you think I’m going to offer you drugs? You really must think lowly of me.”
“I can’t help it,” Anne said. “I don’t know anything about you. I’m going to have to assume something if you won’t tell me anything.”
Quincy felt a little flicker at the corner of his lips, pulling them up into a tiny smile again. Her excuse was just as horrible as his had been earlier, but he let it slide. “Honestly, I was just offering you a ride around on your bike.”
“Your bike…” Anne mumbled, her voice trailing off.
“As in a motorcycle,” Quincy replied. “I realize I’m just falling into another perfect stereotype for you to make fun of me for, but I would prefer that you stop typecasting me for a few moments.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” she asked.
“Maybe give me your number?” Quincy replied, a little hint of nervousness in his voice. It was uncalled for, but he wasn’t the type of guy to ask for a phone number right away, he didn’t know what to expect from the girl.
“My number?” Anne parroted.
Quincy rolled his eyes at the girl, but there was no malice behind the action. He took out a Sharpie from one of his deep pockets, and then extended his hand to the girl, his palm up. “Can you only repeat the last two words that I say, or what?” he teased.
That seemed to bring Anne back, and she smiled at Quincy. He wasn’t the normal type of guy that she would dare talk to. If they were both walking down the same side of the street, no doubt she would cross to the other side before continuing on her way. Despite that, she scribbled down her number onto his arm, giving it a few moments to dry before capping the Sharpie and handing it back to him.
“This is a real number?” he asked.
Anne scoffed at him. “Of course it’s a real number. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Now you see what it feels like to be stereotyped,” Quincy said, his smile growing. “Seriously, though, do you want a ride home? I have a spare helmet and a jacket, and I’m a safe driver. We won’t crash.”
“Maybe some other time,” Anne said. “My parents are expecting me home any minute, and I should really be there on foot, rather than hopping off the back of some Harley. I’m pretty sure they would have a cow and faint on the spot.”
“They sound like my kind of people,” Quincy said. He wasn’t sure how to end the conversation, or how to step aside to let Anne go past him. At that point, it wasn’t even that he didn’t know how, it was just that he really didn’t want to. He hadn’t been able to talk to anybody besides his parole officer in so long. It made a nice change to talk with someone who would joke around with him just as much as he joked around with them.
“Well,” Anne said, trailing off. She didn’t know where to go with her sentence. She could see the hesitance in Quincy’s expression, and she could feel the hesitance in her own body. “I should go,” she finally settled for.
Quincy nodded, but he didn’t step aside. To compensate, Anne stepped around him and headed towards her house. She wanted to glance back, but she didn’t want to look over her shoulder and catch Quincy staring at her. She would die of embarrassment. She could feel his eyes boring into her, and she walked with a little bounce in her step, trying to seem as sure of herself and as confident as she could possibly be.
There was a trilling rush traveling through her body. She had just kicked a horrifying man out of a building that she didn’t own, and she had survived through the event. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole situation had ended with her body mangled in a gutter somewhere. In fact, the outcome that she was perfectly fine, surprised her more than anything.
Her thoughts trailed to Quincy as she walked, thinking of the way he moved. Even the motion of running his hand through his hair was casual, everything he did effortless and beautiful in its own way. She wanted to know more about him. It wasn’t as simple as a desire to know, it was a need. She needed to know everything about him, his likes, and his dislikes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought about how in any other circumstance, a curiosity like that might have been filed under the crush folder.
It wasn’t a crush, though. She was certain of that. It was simply a deep, burning curiosity that was beginning to take over every aspect of her attention. Badly enough that she nearly walked into the street while the light was red. Anne caught herself just in time, and shook her head.
The snow that had been raging earlier had calmed into a simple, benign drifting of flakes. She leaned her head back and sighed, watching her breath cloud in front of her. She needed to get ahold of herself, and quickly. She couldn’t let some stranger that she had only just met lead her into a dangerous situation, be it by him specifically, or by being controlled by thoughts of him.
“Get it together, Anne,” she muttered. The light switched to green, and the little white symbol on the crosswalk meter lit up. Anne walked forward, and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She flicked it on, almost hoping to see a message or a missed call from an unknown number. Her hopes went unanswered, and she felt suddenly incredibly silly for having hoped that Quincy would have contacted her so soon. He was trying to maintain his cool-guy appearance, he wouldn’t go and try and get a girl’s attention so soon after meeting her.
Anne curled her nose at the thought, and hoped that Quincy wasn’t that way. Although, she would be lying if she said that the thought didn’t excite her.In a horrifying, chilling way. She had just given her phone number to a complete stranger, who smoked and owned a motorcycle. He wore a leather jacket, dyed his hair, and had an impressive display of colorful tattoos.
Anne squealed to herself at the thought, and tried to brush aside the feeling of warmth growing in her stomach. What had once been insatiable curiosity that then turned into a chilling fear, was now consuming excitement. She couldn’t wait for a text or a call from Quincy, and she couldn’t wait to see him again.
She didn’t even know if she would be able to last the night without hearing a word from him.
Chapter Three
The last thing Quincy wanted to do was seem desperate, so he decided not to conta
ct Anne before he headed home. The drive was about an hour from the little town to the city that he lived in, and he didn’t even know why he had taken the long drive. He knew why; to escape his bonds for just a few moments and pretend to be someone else.
However, he was on a deadline, and needed to be in his crappy apartment in the crappiest neighborhood available before ten o’clock. He didn’t like having a mistress—of sorts—but he had to deal with the mistakes that he had made.
Since he had to drive home before then, he had to leave just a bit after he and Anne had finished their conversations. He walked her as she walked down the sidewalk, a forlorn sigh escaping him. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, to hold her close, and to ruin every part of her world that she had kept as pristine as new-fallen snow. It would please him more than anything to shatter the innocence of such a girl like her.
However, he resisted. He hopped onto his Harley, and old bike given to him by his old man before he had died, and headed home. He wasn’t able to contact Anne until nine-thirty, but by then, she didn’t respond, and he assumed that she was asleep. Quincy parked his vehicle in the safest spot, one that he had paid extra money for to obtain, and then headed upstairs to his apartment. He lived on the fifth floor, and the walk was a killer—there were no elevators—but at least on the fifth floor, everything was quiet.
Quincy made himself a hearty meal of microwaveable Mac and Cheese, and flopped over onto his couch. Ten o’clock rolled around, and he still hadn’t received a knock. Ten-fifteen. Ten-thirty. He figured that maybe his date—if he could even call it that—had forgotten. He retired to his bedroom, with a creaky, painful mattress, and stretched out. He glanced at the message he had sent Anne one last time.
I think you’re very pretty.
It had taken a lot of courage for him to send a message like that to Anne. He hadn’t seen a girl, let alone talked to one, in years, and it had left him only mildly deprived. He wasn’t going to be an animal with her, but he wanted to make his intent clear before Anne got the wrong idea and assumed that perhaps Quincy only wanted to be simple friends.
The Outlaw Biker's Betrayal: A Bad Boy MC Romance Page 1