by Nicole Fox
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.
HIS SEED: Satan’s Sons MC copyright 2017 by Nicole Fox. 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
HIS SEED: Satan’s Sons MC
Prologue
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
MARRIED TO MY MASTER: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
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
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
MOB BOSS’S BABY: The MacKay Family Mafia
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
Epilogue
Books by Nicole Fox
MARRIED TO MY MASTER: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
MOB BOSS’S BABY: The MacKay Family Mafia
GRIZZLY’S BABY: The Butchers MC
MAVERICK’S BABY: The Silent Angels MC
MOBSTER’S BABY: Esposito Family Mafia
TRIP’S BABY: The Pride MC
GRIZ: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (Chained Angels MC)
THE DADDY NEXT DOOR: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Heaven’s Horns MC)
HOGTIED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Satan's Chaos MC)
MANHANDLED: Sigma Saints MC
The Hitman’s Child: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance
DOM’S BABY: Broken Spires MC
King’s Baby: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance
Rip’s Baby: Hounds of Hades MC
Biker’s Baby: Devil’s Wings MC
Bad Boy’s Toy: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
Chopper’s Baby: Savage Outlaws MC
BROKEN ANGEL: Devil’s Route MC
CAGED: A Dark Bad Boy Romance
Born Sinner
Mailing List
HIS SEED: Satan’s Sons MC
By Nicole Fox
HE’S GOT THE GIFT I DIDN’T KNOW I NEEDED.
And he’s about to give it to me…
All of it.
All of him.
All. Night. Long.
I play with fire for a living.
But Wheeler Blake is hotter than anything I’ve ever touched before.
He stands out in the front row of my performance.
There’s no one else like him.
With those tats, those muscles, and those eyes that seem to strip me naked right then and there…
I can’t help but notice him.
And I know for a fact that he’s noticed me, too.
Because I didn’t expect to end my evening on the back of his bike.
But once Wheeler gets an idea in his head, there’s no turning back.
He doesn’t just want one taste, or one night.
He wants to give me the one thing I’ve been missing my whole life.
But a man like him comes with demons on his trail.
And Wheeler’s demons are looking for any way they can to hurt him.
Unfortunately, their sights have landed on me.
To be more specific, they’ve landed on Wheeler’s baby in my belly.
I’ve danced with fire for a long time.
But it wasn’t until now that I truly got burned.
Prologue
Ember
That morning started out like any other. I woke up before everyone else and made my way sleepily into the front of the tiny trailer that I shared with my mother and my rowdy three brothers. It was still a little dark outside, the sun barely even peeking over the horizon. I was the only one in my family that was a morning person. I could wake up before the sun and stay up long after it had gone down. It made solitary mornings possible, though there was little comfort in the solitude.
The dining room table was covered in bills—past due notices on the utilities, cards that my mother had taken out in the hopes of paying for things that we needed, doctor bills for my mother.
The list went on.
And on ...
I made my coffee as usual, running my fingers over the envelopes stuffed full of letters from people telling us what we owed them and knowing that neither myself nor my mother had the money to pay them—at least not as swiftly as the bill collectors would like. There were simply too many expenses and they just kept getting more and more extreme as time went on.
I sighed. I would need to leave soon—pretend like I was going to class when in reality ...
My stomach clenched a little nervously. A stripper. I was going to audition to be a stripper. My friend, Melany, had brought up the idea to me when I’d had to drop out of school. I simply could keep up with the expenses for it and neither could my mother and father.
“Strippers make, like, so much money!” she exclaimed. “You’ll be able to work and save a bunch—enough even to help out with your family or even go back to school!”
It was a lofty idea, and I didn’t know how accurate that was actually going to be. Eyeing all the bills on the table, however, I knew that this wasn’t something that I was going to be able to back out on. Mom didn’t make much more than pennies, it felt, cleaning people’s houses. Dad didn’t work and was never around as it was, anyway.
; I finished my coffee and got ready before any of my siblings woke up. It was easy to leave without waking anyone up; being the only girl, I got the second bedroom all to myself. There were perks to being female.
I was out as the sun was just rising, in time to make it to the bus stop not too far from our little home. It was early on a Saturday morning; people weren’t out and about yet, so I had the shabby little shop to myself. It gave me time to get my head together; I was so nervous. My heart pounded in my chest.
Would I be good enough? I was athletic, sure. Always in good shape, and I had always had good rhythm but this was ... so different. This was dancing and taking off clothes and while I wasn’t shy, it wasn’t like I had stripped before, either.
I shook my head, getting on the bus. Now wasn’t the time to back down or have regrets.
The ride across town wasn’t very long, and it was nice and quiet since there was only one other person on the bus with me, and they had headphones shoved into their ears and a hoodie drawn high up over their head. I didn’t even see what the person looked like.
When I got off the bus, I still had a couple of blocks to go. I wished that I had something warmer to wear—it was chillier than I thought it was going to be, but that was my fault, I supposed. I hugged my body, trying to keep in the warmth.
I didn’t notice the group of people until they were calling out to me.
“Hey! Hey you! With the fire hair!”
My brows furrowed as I turned around. It wasn’t a comment that I wasn’t used to; my hair was a shade of red that a lot of people referred to as flames. Bright and deep and wildly curly—untamable just like fire.
The women stood around a little makeshift fire pit down an alley that I had almost passed. That in itself was kind of suspicious. Living near the city had taught me not to trust strange people down weird alleyways calling out to you. That tended to get you robbed, or worse.
“Um ... Yeah?” I kept my eyes on them, my eyes falling to the woman in the middle. She was impossibly pretty with thick black hair and wide green eyes. There were two other women with her, spinning what looked like ... wires or strings or something with balls of fire at the ends. They had music playing.
Definitely weirdos.
The main woman waved me over.
“Hey. Fire hair. That shade natural?” she asked me curiously.
“... Yes ...?”
She laughed.
“I told you, Delilah. You can’t get hair that shade of fire out of a bottle. You have a name, Fire Hair?”
This was getting weirder and weirder.
“It’s Ember.”
The woman laughed again, looking over to the girl that she had called Delilah. She continued twirling her fire, dancing around, moving her body in sensual rolls. It was almost mesmerizing, but I wasn’t given a lot of time to admire.
“Even your name fits. That’s amazing. Your mama name you that on purpose?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She eyed me up and down, like she was trying to figure something out. I was getting more and more nervous. What was the likelihood that I had stumbled on some sort of alleyway human trafficker or organ pawner or something?
“Say, Ember, where are you going this early in the morning? Nothing good here is open this early.”
“Um ...” I started to back away a little.
“Oh, no, no, don’t leave! I promise I’m not weird.”
Right.
“I have a work interview,” I said, figuring that would answer her fine without copping to the fact that my ‘interview’ was for ... a strip club. My precaution didn’t do too much, however; the woman raised a brow.
“You’re going down to the club, aren’t you? They’re the only people that ever have ‘interviews’ this early so they can roll in new girls for the evening shifts ...” I blushed. I didn’t want to admit to her that that’s was what was going on.
“Oh, pretty thing, don’t be shy!” she said. She waved me over. “Come here, would you?”
I was hesitant. I didn’t know this woman. I didn’t know what she wanted. I had an interview. Audition. Whatever. I shouldn’t be here ...
There was something compelling, though, about the sincere way that she beckoned me over. About the fire that blazed in the pit with her and her comrades. About the way that the two other women just kept dancing and dancing with their fire.
It was like my feet just carried me over there of their own volition. I couldn’t stop it. I walked up to the woman, compelled and nervous but not running away.
“You have such pretty fiery hair,” she said. “Delilah.” The woman waved her over.
Delilah stopped her dancing and walked over to us. She tilted her head at me in interest before she looked to the other woman.
“Yeah?”
“Doesn’t she look like she should be handling fire and not dancing for a bunch of gross, gropey men?” the woman said, a conspiring smile on her face. “That complexion, that hair, the shyness—but I bet there’s something more under all that, too, isn’t there, Ember?”
“Um ... not really ... no ...” This was all so sudden. I didn’t know what to think, but I didn’t tell the woman to back off when she took the flames from Delilah and got in my space to hand them over to me. I took them, bewildered, wondering what on earth this woman was doing. She stared at me again with that calculating look, as though she were measuring me up, sizing my worth.
“God, look at her ... Just waiting to catch fire ...” She smiled. “My name’s Wanda. The other girl over there is Chloe. I think I have something better suited for you than dancing in a club, Fire Hair.”
Chapter One
Ember – Three Years Later
California in the summer is the best time for fire. The skies are clear and beautiful and the air is buzzing with electricity and excitement. It fuels the enticement of the flames, the wonder of the one of the most powerful elements being manipulated by mere human hands.
I’d been with Wanda and the girls for three years and I had never regretted it. It was hard to believe that the soft-spoken girl that I was when I met her in that alley was no longer here—instead, I was the confident, scantily-clad woman dancing before a sea of people watching me raptly as I spun fire by my hands. My costume was essentially an intricate two-piece: red silky material that clung to my body’s curves in all the right places and gold embellishments that drove home the fire imagery—especially with every peek and glimpse of the nearly-new phoenix tattoo that sat on my shoulder. There were pretty gold and red ribbons in my hair, too.
I was the main attraction right now, and I was having the time of my life.
The music festival we were performing for would go on for a week. This was day three. Organized by a bunch of fancy fresh-faced executives and entrepreneurs from the Valley, it was a cushy gig. We didn’t usually do jobs like this, but money was money, and the money we were paid was good.
“Whoo! Yeah, spin, sweetness, spin!”
Well. The pay was good. The investors, not necessarily. These businessmen were a certain brand of enthusiastic that wasn’t necessarily good, if you catch my drift.
I ignored the catcall like I had been ignoring them all during this whole gig and continued spinning and dancing among wolf whistles. This was the only bad thing about this gig so far. The entrepreneurs who had hired us were nasty little shits, to put it delicately. I was craving something a little more akin to what we were used to over these white-collar suits—something a little more raw and interesting and real.
My hip jutted out, and I rocked it to the beat of the music as I did intricate movements with my flames and watched the way the men in the crowd gazed hungrily at my body—and noticed, as I watched the crowd, that it was slowly being filled with more than just the stuffy suits that were plaguing me with their irritating presence.
Boys in kuttes and leather were beginning to spill in among the others. Bikers. My kinda men, honestly.
But my set was ending for now. The
music and my movements came to an amazing, shuddering climax and the men in the crowd roared with applause and cheers. A few of the bikers started walking forward, but they would find themselves a little disappointed if they had come in the hopes of seeing me.
I hopped down neatly from the small stage that had been set up for the fire performances, giving a demure little bow after putting out my flames.
“Encore!”
“Again!”
I smiled out to the crowd, catching the excited, enticed eyes of the men who watched me and the bikers that were also eyeing me hungrily. I gave a little smirk before walking off, retreating to my tent for the break that I was owed.
Or ... that’s what I had intended to do. Someone grabbed my arm, their grip firm and needlessly tight around my forearm. My brow twitched as I looked at who had grabbed me.
“Jameson.”
Jameson Mathers was one of the heaviest backers for this music festival. As such, he thought that he owned every performer that had been booked for the event—especially the women.
He was a handsome man, I would give him that. Blond haired, blue eyed—that classic kind of handsome that made most women weak between the knees. But he was as much a bastard as he was a looker, too touchy, and if it weren’t for the fact that we were getting paid well to be here, I would have told him from day one that he could go fuck himself.