Lawless: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Stone Devils MC) (Broken by the Biker Collection Book 1)

by Nina Park

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

  Lawless: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Stone Devils MC) (Broken by the Biker Collection Book 1) copyright 2018 by Nina Park. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

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  Contents

  Lawless: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Stone Devils MC) (Broken by the Biker Collection Book 1)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sneak Preview of HOPELESS

  Hopeless: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Damned Devils MC) (Broken by the Biker Collection Book 2)

  CHAPTER ONE

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  Lawless: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Stone Devils MC) (Broken by the Biker Collection Book 1)

  By Nina Park

  There’s nothing to stop me from making her mine.

  She begged for my help.

  And I can never resist a damsel in distress.

  CADE

  What is it about a beautiful woman who needs rescuing?

  I just want to do my job for the Stone Devils MC.

  But one look at those liquid brown eyes and those plump lips forming the word “HELP,” and suddenly, I’m planning the violent overthrow of the last mafia scion in the city.

  Marco Santorelli certainly deserves to be brought down.

  He’s a cruel, out of control monster.

  I’ve heard the stories of his appetities; I’ve seen it firsthand.

  He uses women like rags and has them killed when he’s bored of them.

  I’m no saint myself, but a man in our world must have a code, and the Santorelli family has gone way too far.

  It’s fallen to me to bring them to justice.

  But there will be no courts or lawyers involved.

  There’s only one way to settle this:

  Blood on the streets.

  Precious Falyn has gotten herself mixed up in a violent game.

  If she wants to make it out of this intact, she’ll have to stay close and listen well.

  But, as innocent as she may be, it turns out that she has lessons to teach me, too.

  About loyalty in the face of danger.

  Lust in the face of abuse.

  And love in the face of everything you know crashing down around you.

  FALYN

  Life has never been too kind to me.

  But just when I think I’ve finally found a little bit of freedom, I end up in a hell I never knew existed.

  A drunk man in an alley chases me into an unmarked club.

  Somehow, I stumble onto a brightly lit stage…

  And into the arms of a man who says he owns me now.

  A slave auction?

  I thought that kind of thing only existed in dark mafia movies.

  But the mob boss I now belong to is as real as it gets.

  He orders me to do things.

  Sick, twisted things – just for his own savage pleasure.

  And if I refuse, he swears he’ll carve me up and bury me deep.

  My only hope is the man in the club who saw me plead for rescue.

  He’s an outlaw biker with sins of his own.

  But something in his eyes gave me courage.

  And in this dark and lawless world, sometimes courage is all we have.

  Chapter One

  Falyn

  The club music pulsed through the walls and the floors, moving up my legs and vibrating my entire body. Lacey kept plugging her ears to drown out the sound, but I’d grown used to it over the last six months. I’d visited just about every bar in the city – honkytonks, tequila bars, Scottish-themed pubs, hotel bars, discos – and if my mom’s warnings about losing my hearing due to loud music were true, I was sure to be deaf by the age of thirty.

  But that might as well have been a lifetime away.

  I was nineteen, and though people liked to treat me like a teenager, I’d been living on my own for six months and doing just fine, thank you very much. My mom and stepdad kicked me out of the house. They claimed it was because of my “rebellious behavior”, but the truth was that all of my stepsiblings were grown and out of the house and my parents couldn’t wait for me to fly the coop, too.

  And when I failed to fly, they threw me out of the nest.

  “You need to find a job and learn how to support yourself, Falyn,” my mom said, a suitcase of my belongings clutched in her nervous hands. “We aren’t doing this to be cruel.”

  I knew that. They were doing it because they wanted to have sex in every room of the house and not worry about being walked in on. I know because I heard my stepdad whisper that very thing to my mom through the paper-thin wall that separated our rooms. I wanted to bring it up, but even the thought of mentioning my mom’s sex life to my mom had my face flaming red.

  My stepdad stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on my mom’s shoulder. “Your mom is right. We are doing this for your own good.”

  He had a porno mustache and a beer belly, but my mom worshipped him like some kind of god. His word was gospel, and there was no way I’d be able to convince them to let me stay. So, I’d called Lacey from the front porch, and she’d agreed to let me crash with her.

  Lacey had been my friend since we were in elementary school. She had dishwater-blonde hair that she dyed platinum and pale skin that she paid to have sprayed bronze. Basically, she was Malibu Barbie. More importantly, though, Lacey had a studio apartment with a pull out couch, and she had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever met.

  Originally, the plan had been to crash in her living room for a few weeks, but six months later, she’d acquired a used dresser from the side of the road for my clothes and given me my own drawer in the bathroom. We were practically married.

  “Is it not loud in here?” she asked, hands pressed over her ears to drown out the electronic music pouring through the speakers.

  To be fair, electronic music was far from my favorite. The synthesized harmonies and repetitive beats gave me a headache, but that also could have been the shots I’d just done with a guy at the bar.

  “You’re such an old lady,” I joked, grabbing her hand and tugging. “Come dance with me.”

  She shook her head, bottle-blonde hair whipping back and forth, catching the multi-colored lights from the ceiling. “I’m going to find Avery.”

  “She’s probably passed out in a corner somewhere.” Avery was a lightweight, but she insisted on
pounding drinks at twice the rate of anyone else regardless of any efforts made to slow her down. “Go find her in a few minutes.”

  Lacey bit her lower lip, torn between her friend duties to Avery and her fear of disappointing me.

  I waved her away. “Forget it. Go be the world’s best friend.”

  She smiled in thanks and turned on her heel towards the bathrooms in the back of the club. There was a long line of women standing against the wall outside the women’s restroom, and it was easy to imagine Avery hunched over one of the only two toilets in the building, slowing down the already painfully slow bathroom line.

  The club seemed surprisingly busy for a weeknight, but signs all over the bar were advertising cheaper drinks for “Thirsty Thursday”, which more than likely explained the crowd. I wouldn’t know since I hadn’t bought a single drink since arriving at the club. I had a pretty convincing fake ID, but older men desperate for a few minutes of my time had served as my alcoholic benefactors.

  Most of them were trying to get with Lacey, and she insisted they buy something for her friend, as well, but a few of them seemed to take notice of me. Where Lacey was a stereotypical tall blonde, I was the slightly less desirable short brunette. However, my hips flared out in wide curves that had always served me well, and the red dress I was wearing clung to my chest and allowed my ample cleavage to spill out.

  And regardless of what “they said”, no man could resist a good dose of cleavage.

  I put this theory to the test when I reached out randomly into the crowd in front of me and clung to the first muscular arm I felt in search of a dance partner. I pulled the strange man towards me, separating him from the throng of people, and he spun around in search of who was grabbing him, surprised.

  “Hi,” I said a little breathless, looking up at the stranger.

  The beautiful stranger. God, I didn’t realize men could be beautiful.

  His eyes narrowed for a second, and then he glanced down down down until his eyes stopped at my chest.

  Ha. Got him.

  “Want to dance?” I asked, tipping my head towards the dance floor and licking my lower lip.

  He hesitated, looking over my head at the clock that hung above the bar. I took the opportunity to study him. He had deeply tanned skin and a shock of golden-brown hair that sat in a barely restrained coif atop his head. His jawline could have cut glass and the tendons and muscles that roped down his neck and across his shoulders made me want to fan myself.

  Not to mention the tapestry of tattoos revealed by his tight short sleeve gray T-shirt. They were individual tattoos that somehow merged and blended together into a seamless design that moved from his collarbone to his wrists. I wanted to reach out and stroke them, but considering I’d only just met the man and I’d already crossed the bounds of normalcy by yanking him out of the crowd, I resisted.

  He still seemed preoccupied with the clock above me, so I placed a soft hand on his chest and drew a little circle over his tight pectoral.

  “Come on, please,” I begged, pouting out my lower lip.

  Still without a word, the man ran his tongue over his front teeth and then all at once pushed me towards the dance floor, his hand firm and flat against my lower back as we navigated the crowds.

  The speakers were still blasting electronic dance music, but the beat was consistent enough that I figured it wouldn’t be difficult to slip into a rhythm. As it turned out, I didn’t need to do anything. The man, quiet and reserved only a few seconds before, wrapped his strong arms around my waist and pressed me against him.

  Let me clarify: against him. I felt the length of him through his pants, hard and pressed against my thigh.

  I looked up at him, a surprised smile spread across my lips, and he winked at me. It felt as though I was in a romantic dance movie and this man was the Patrick Swayze of my dreams. He gyrated into me, pushing and pulling on my hips as our bodies dipped and swayed to the music. The dance floor was packed, so even if I’d wanted to put more space between us, it wouldn’t have been possible.

  And luckily, I didn’t want to. He smelled like rain and cedar and sex. When he pulled me against his chest, I went gladly and took deep breaths of him.

  The music vibrated through the floors, and between that and the feeling of Mr. Mystery Man’s hands on my body, I forgot all about Lacey and drunk Avery. He moved his hand from my hip, following the curving lines of my body up to my neck, and then dipped me backward, my top half falling away from him while my lower half pressed even more firmly into him. I moaned.

  Actually moaned.

  Sure, sleeping on a pull out sofa meant it had been more than a little while since I’d had a good lay, but that was no excuse for moaning because a man was touching me. I mean, it was almost embarrassing. But still, I couldn’t stop myself. He felt good. His muscular thigh shifted, so it was positioned between my legs, and as we danced, he grabbed my hips and massaged me against him.

  I felt like a dog in heat, but the warm bursts of pleasure moving through my body wiped away all sense and common decency. I slid up and down his leg faster and faster, my hands wrapping around his neck and tangling in his surprisingly silky hair. My red dress rode further and further up my thighs until it was barely concealing my panties, but I didn’t care.

  The music was reaching a crescendo as the man wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him, our hips crushed together. The bass had faded away, making way for the melody, but I felt the intensity in the club ratcheting up. The man was pulling me against him in tune with the drum beats, sending bursts of pleasure through my body with each graze.

  I felt half-crazy, my hands pulling and tugging on his hair and his neck, begging this stranger for more. He pressed his cheek against mine, and I felt him smiling as he pressed himself against me with one final thrust just as the beat dropped.

  The crowd around us went insane, jumping in time with the beat and the flash of the strobe lights, but everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. My body pulsed and clenched around his thigh. I tipped my head back as heat burst from my center and flowed to my limbs. I thought I felt the man press a kiss to my throat, but I couldn’t be sure. My head was swimming in endorphins and ecstasy.

  As soon as I regained mobility in my legs, I jumped off his leg and turned around, grinding down into him. He clutched my hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there, and even through his jeans, I felt him growing hard. I wanted to return the favor. I reached an arm behind me and around his neck, tipping my head back, so it rested on his shoulder while we danced.

  His hands drew a line from my hips to my chest, massaging the skin there. One hand broke free and traveled down the smooth planes of my stomach, growing dangerously close to my center before pulling back up and sliding a finger along my sternum and up my neck.

  Who was this man?

  I pressed my hips harder against him, and he groaned into the side of my neck, his breath warming my skin. I could tell he was close.

  “I have to go.”

  My eyes snapped open at his words. What? Now?

  “What? Now?” I asked, voicing my thought out loud.

  I let go of his neck and turned around to look at him, but he was already pulling away, disappearing between bodies in the crowd.

  “Wait!” I called, hating how desperate I sounded, but I couldn’t let this man get away without at least learning his name.

  He turned around and gave me one last look, freezing me in place with his ocean-blue eyes, and then disappeared into the mayhem of the club. I stood up on my tiptoes to try and find him again but being 5’2” meant everyone around me was basically a giant, making it impossible to see anything.

  Frustrated (emotionally, not sexually – because as we just covered, the man gave very good thigh), I moved back in the direction of the bar, hoping Lacey had found Avery and was waiting for me where I’d left her.

  I found my way through the maze of people and walked the length of the bar, but there was no
sight of Lacey, Avery, or the mystery man. I was beginning to think I was drunker than I thought, and I’d imagined the entire encounter. Surely, I couldn’t have been lucky enough to pick someone like him out of the crowd at random. However, the residual warmth in my midsection told me that it had indeed happened.

  “Hey there,” a deep voice called from behind me.

  I turned, hoping my tattooed knight in shining armor would be standing there, but my hopes were dashed when I turned to find a slightly older, leathery man in front of me. He looked as though he was incredibly handsome once – a brooding brow, blonde hair, white T-shirt. He was a total James Dean type.

  However, time and the sun had been unkind to him, and he had deep lines around his eyes and mouth. Like my mystery man, he was also heavily tattooed.

  “Hi,” I said, raising a single hand in response before turning away.

  “Do you want a drink?” he asked.

  I quickly surveyed the people in front of me, and when I didn’t find my friends or my Dirty Dancing dreamboat, I turned back to the man and nodded.