“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Amber whispered.
“I am, baby. Do you really think I’d let something like a few bullets from a damn Wild Rider keep you from me?”
“That’s what kept my dad from my mom.”
My stomach felt hollow. It could’ve been the cocktail of whatever drugs I was on, but one look at the fear in Amber’s eyes and I knew. She’d been to hell today. No amount of kissing or joking around would fix this. Last year she’d lost her dad because a fucking Wild Rider shot up the parking lot Brittany, Stitch, and a few others were standing in. She knew more than most the cost of living our life.
“I know, kitten. I shouldn’t have joked about it. I’m sorry. But I’m fine. The first bullet wound was only a graze—”
“And the second hit an artery or something. No one bleeds like that from a little flesh wound. Don’t diminish it, Bam.”
“Okay. You’re right.”
“Damn straight.”
“I’m sorry I put you through that. I guess one of the guys saw us riding through town and decided to get some retribution. And your family got caught in the scrap. Again. I’m so fucking sorry that this touched your family again.”
“I’m not.”
“What?” I blinked at Amber in confusion.
“At least now we’ve got this whole conversation out of the way. I won’t have to wonder if I’m cut out for the lifestyle. I’ve seen the worst that can happen, almost had it happen with you, and I’m still coming back for more. If that doesn’t say I love you, I don’t know what does.”
“Baby,” I whispered before I kissed her hard. Tears stung my eyes, but I was man enough to call them what they were. I loved this woman. She was so fucking strong and smart and gorgeous. I don’t know how the hell I got so lucky to call her mine, but I was hanging onto her with everything I had.
Or I would be, once I got feeling back in my arms.
I fell back onto my pillows with a frustrated groan.
“Oh God. Are you okay?” Amber sprang off the bed and hovered over me with a worried expression. “Does it hurt somewhere? Of course it hurts; you were shot twice. I should go get someone.”
“Kitten, come here. I’m fine.” I tried to reach out to her but still couldn’t function. “I swear to God, I’m fine. I’m just frustrated that I can’t hold you.”
“Oh.” Amber’s lips trembled, then she smiled. “Okay.”
“So how about, in the meantime, you climb into bed with me and hold me? You look fucking exhausted, kitten.”
“I am kinda tired.” Amber rolled her eyes, then crawled into bed next to me, taking a ridiculous amount of care not to jostle me. She curled up to my side and cautiously wrapped her arm around my abdomen, settling her hand near my heart.
The combination of the adrenaline, the drugs, and the comfort of Amber’s presence had my eyelids drooping. I wanted to say something deep and meaningful to let her know that I was so fucking happy to have her in my life, but I couldn’t make my brain or mouth work. Instead, I mumbled, “Love you, kitten. So glad I didn’t have to drag you back to my place like a caveman.”
I was on the edge of sleep when I heard Amber whisper back with a smile in her voice. “I always thought you looked more like a Viking. Love you, Bam.”
Epilogue
Bam
THREE MONTHS LATER
I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my Wednesday night. I was sitting on my bike outside the English building of the community college, waiting for Amber. It’d been too late for her to get back into her college this year, but my girl wasn’t letting any grass grow under her feet. She was busy knocking out a few required classes that would transfer when she finally enrolled next semester. I was so fucking proud of her.
She’d also moved out of her mom’s house and into my place. Her mom hadn’t put up a fuss. Brittany—as she demanded I call her—had actually schlepped more than her share of boxes and suitcases, and even helped Amber unpack. If that wasn’t a ringing endorsement of our relationship, I don’t know what was.
Speaking of rings, I had a square ring box burning a hole in my pocket.
I was gonna propose to Amber tonight. Maverick had helped me plan the whole thing out. After dinner at the fancy steak joint in the Mother Lode Casino—with me wearing a button-up shirt; Mav had been adamant about that part—I’d get down on one knee and pop the question. Then champagne, followed by drunk and engagement sex. That last bit was my part of the engagement night planning.
Amber would be wearing my ring by the end of the night.
Life was finally turning around for the both of us. My arms had healed up fine. Got all the function back and everything. My mom had apparently been full of shit. She’d never filed anything about my grandmother’s will. All of Grandma’s wishes had been carried out, and the Tahoe house was officially mine—downed tree, bullet holes, and all. A few of my Brothers had helped me sort out the tree, and one of our members was a carpenter who took his pay from me in beer, so we were slowly fixing the damage the Wild Riders had done. Our war was nowhere near over, but now we had a firm alliance with the Bratva, since the Wild Riders had killed Ruslan in cold blood. Both our organizations had lost family members to those bastards, and neither one of us would rest until the Wild Riders were six feet under. Every last fucking one.
And the Bratva were proving to be an excellent alliance, since they’d dealt with all the Wild Rider bodies. We hadn’t heard one fucking peep from the local LEOs about any of the shit that went down that day in Tahoe. It was almost like it’d never happened. Well, aside from the bullet holes in the house and me. And Ruslan.
The doors of the building burst open, and an odd mix of twenty- and thirtysomethings, and a few older students, left the building. My eyes skimmed over them, then snagged when I saw the one I was here for. Amber walked next to a girl about her age; both had backpacks slung over their shoulders. My girl was laughing at something her friend had said. Then her eyes locked with mine, and her smile grew even bigger. She said something to her friend and didn’t wait for a reply as she took off toward me.
I barely had time to swing off my bike before she was in my arms. She laughed as I caught her.
“Funny meeting you here like this. I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who hung around college campuses.”
Something about what she said reminded me of our first conversation outside of Howl. The night that everything changed for me. Deciding to screw with her, I repeated what I could remember of it. “Did you drive yourself out here, or am I taking you home?”
Amber’s brow wrinkled, and it took her a second to catch on. Then she bit her lip to hide her smile. “I left my car at home and took an Uber.”
“Fine. I’ll take you home.” I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. “Get on the back of my bike, kitten.”
“Always, Bam. That’s where I belong.”
Damn right. And after tonight, she’d belong to me forever.
A few minutes later Amber wrapped her arms around my waist, and we rode home. Together.
To all my fabulous readers who begged me for Bam’s story. This one’s for you!
Acknowledgments
First, I have to thank you, the readers! You have all been so passionate about my True Brothers MC series. I love hearing from you, how excited you are to read my books and your eagerness for certain characters’ stories. You guys make my day with every email, FB message, and tweet! You’re the reason why I do this! Thank you!
To my awesome husband, Dave—Thank you for putting up with all the dirty dishes, cold meals, and our fussy toddler while I’m busy chasing deadlines. I love you and all the wonderful things you do for me!
To all the amazing people behind the scenes at Loveswept—Sue, Gina, Erika, Madeleine, and everyone else I’m forgetting, so sorry—thank you for taking a
chance on me again!
To my awesome crit partners, Amy Isaman and Paisley Hendrix—Thank you for all early morning Starbucks meetings and thoughtful feedback! You two always keep me on track and true to my characters.
To Gloria—Thank you for all the hard work you do to get the word out about my books and brainstorming help you give me. I appreciate all you do for me, and I am so thankful I get to call you a friend.
BY GILLIAN ARCHER
Reluctantly Royal
True Brothers MC
Ruthless
Rebellious
Resilient
Rough Ride
PHOTO: PAISLEY HENDRICKS
GILLIAN ARCHER has a bachelor’s degree in mining engineering but prefers to spend her time on happily ever after. She writes the kind of stories she loves to read—the hotter the better! When she’s not pounding away on the keyboard, she can be found surfing the couch, indulging in her latest reality TV fixation, or baking something ridiculously tasty (and horrible for her waistline). She lives in the wilds of Nevada with her amazing husband, gorgeous little girl, and goofy dog.
gillianarcher.com
[email protected]
Facebook.com/GillianArcherWrites
Twitter: @gillianarcher
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Read on for an excerpt from
Bishop
An Arizona Vengeance Hockey Novel
by Sawyer Bennett
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Bishop
I see her and it’s all over for me.
At least for tonight, anyway.
“I’ll be back,” I mutter to Dax as I push away from the bar, snagging my beer at the last second.
Shouldering my way through the crowd filled with twentysomething yuppies here to take advantage of the last few minutes of happy hour, I keep my eyes locked on her. How could I not when those full, wet lips wrap around a straw sticking out of her fruity looking cocktail prompting wild images of those same lips wrapping around my cock.
Before I can reach her, another man—who I’m sure is having the same lewd thoughts as I am—steps up to her and blocks my view. An involuntary growl rolls up out of my chest and I grip my beer bottle harder than necessary. More images swamp my brain and I can see myself cracking the bottle over the fucker’s head. I figure at that point, I’ll just drag her off to my lair like a caveman.
“No, thank you,” I hear her say as I pass behind her.
“You’re going to turn up a free drink?” the man asks incredulously.
“I can buy my own drinks,” she purrs at him before taking another long pull from her straw. Her cheeks hollow slightly and my dick twitches.
Stepping to her other side, I set my beer on the bar and lean an elbow right beside it. Her neck twists and her gaze locks with mine. Fuck me but those eyes are incredible…a golden, amber color that I’d noticed earlier from across the bar. Even in the softer light provided mostly by neon beer signs, they almost glowed. I also noticed her gloriously long chocolate-colored hair flowing down her back that was practically bare given the sexy halter top she’s wearing, and her long ass legs and curves everywhere. Tits, hips, ass…all fucking spectacular.
The original plan had been to buy her a drink too, but that’s clearly not the way to this woman’s heart.
“What can I offer you besides a drink that would get you to talk to me?” I ask her.
The man on the other side of her snorts but apparently my honest question has some merit. She tilts her head, studying me for a moment before she replies, “Read any good books lately?”
Well, fuck. I’m not much of a reader.
I shake my head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Not my thing.”
“I just finished a re-read of The Count of Monte Crisco,” the other guy says moving in closer to her. I see the humor flash in her eyes before she twists her neck the other way to give him her attention.
I see an opening and make my move. Staring over the back of her head at him, I correct his slip of words, “It’s The Count of Monte Cristo.”
The gorgeous woman who I am bound and determined to take home tonight turns right back my way. My eyes drop and I grin at her. “I read it in high school. I have a good memory so we could talk about that if you want.”
“I meant Monte Cristo,” the man blurts out almost frantically, but she doesn’t look back his way.
Instead, she holds out a perfectly manicured hand to me. “I’m Brooke.”
“Bishop,” I return as I shake her hand. I have an inherent sense that she would not be charmed if I kissed it.
To give the other dude credit, he knows this is defeat and melts away into the crowd.
Motioning to the stool beside her, I ask, “Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest,” she says sweetly, swiveling slightly to face me. She uncrosses her legs and re-crosses them, not even bothering to pull down her scandalously high-riding skirt. It’s black with shiny silver threaded through and the silvery top she’s wearing displays a set of fantastic tits. I noticed them when I first noticed her, but since coming to stand beside her, I’ve kept my eyes meticulously locked on her face. She knows they look phenomenal and she knows I’ve already looked.
“Are you here by yourself?” I ask her, because while not totally unusual, most women come out dressed like that in packs for a night of fun out on the town.
“I was actually meeting a co-worker here tonight but she texted me just a few moments ago that something came up and she couldn’t make it.”
That works for me.
“Gotcha,” I say as I pick up my beer and hold it up to her. “Then hopefully I can keep you well entertained in her absence. So what did you think about The Count of Monte Cristo?”
Brooke laughs and picks up her drink, tapping it to my bottle. “Actually, I’m not big into the classics. I’m more of a fashion magazine kind of girl.”
The fashion thing I get right away. I’ve dated enough women and paid for enough designer bags and shoes to know that Brooke is very much into high quality retail. However, her refusal to let a man buy her a drink tells me she’s also independent so may not be into a man buying her those things.
Honestly, I wasn’t into it either—where I bought someone I was dating something expensive. I did it, I guess, as sort of a thank you, and it was something they’d wanted. I did it knowing exactly what it meant to them. The women I date—and that most professional athletes date—are in it for the lavish lifestyle I can provide with even grander hopes it could be a permanent thing one day.
It’s just the way it is.
“So what does this fashion magazine kind of girl do for a living?” I ask her, getting settled into the type of conversation that I hope will spark enough of a connection that I’ll be fucking her later.
Her smile is neither coy nor flirty, but as direct as her gaze. “I do event planning. What about you?”
“Sounds exciting,” I say, having no goddamn clue what that even means.
She shrugs. “That remains to be seen. I just relocated out here.”
Funny. So did I.
Now would be a good time for me to wow and amaze this woman with the fact that I’m a professional hockey player, and I just moved here to join the newly franchised team, the Arizona Vengeance. And you know, if it puts her in my bed all the more quicker, so fucking be it.
I shoot a quick glance down the bar where I’d left Dax, my teammate who joined me here in Phoenix direct from our positions with the New York Vipers. The Vengeance is the first team that’s been added to the league in eighteen years and I’m not overly thrilled to be here. The Vipers are poised this year to give the Carolina Cold Fury a solid ru
n for their money for the championship and to now suddenly to be moved out west to an expansion team has not made me happy. It’s why a night fucking my brains out with this gorgeous creature would be a great way to end my summer vacation before training camp starts tomorrow.
Dax is talking to a woman—leaning intimately close—and I’m guessing he’s going to be getting lucky tonight. My eyes come back to Brooke, and I decide to leverage my star status to move things along. If my gut is right about this sexy as fuck lady, it’s going to be a long night.
Before I can even tell her about how I’m a hot as shit right winger, she leans into me and places a hand on my thigh. “Bishop?”
I swallow hard, frozen by the softly suggestive tone in her voice and because her eyes seem to glow golden as she stares at me. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to be honest,” she murmurs from way down deep in her throat. “I came out tonight looking to have some fun. I’m homesick and out of sorts, and don’t know anyone around here other than a co-worker who I met today and who stood me up. I’ve had three of these daiquiris and I’m feeling frisky. Do you have any interest in getting out of here?”
Jesus fucking Christ. I just scored the jackpot of all jackpots. The absolute most gorgeous, hottest woman in this place tonight and I didn’t even put forth an ounce of effort other than to remember The Count of Monte Cristo. My eyes cut to her drink glass. “Three of those?”
“I’m not drunk,” she says as she starts to pull her hand away.
My hand clamps down onto hers, holding it tight to my thigh. My muscles leap under her touch. “Didn’t say you were, and I figure I’ll know soon enough when you get off that stool and start to walk. Just want to make sure you don’t wake up with regrets.”
She appears to be fine. Her speech is clear and our conversation was quick and natural. Some women would be blitzed on three drinks. Others would be fine.
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