Savage and Racy: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Bad Boys MC Trilogy Book 3)

by Violet Blaze

  "Royal McBride is a brutal, broken outlaw … and he's all mine."

  Savage and Racy

  Copyright © Caitlin Stunich 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield OR 97478.

  www.sarianroyal.com

  ISBN-10: 1938623150 (eBook)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-938623-15-8 (eBook)

  Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

  "Edo Pro" Font © Vic Fieger

  "Coolvetica" Font © Typodermic Fonts

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  this book is dedicated to

  freedom. pure and simple.

  may we all have the power to make our own choices.

  Oh God, you've caught me crying here in my author's note! This is the last book in the "Bad Boys MC Trilogy", and I'm so going to miss Royal and Lyric. How will I ever survive without my sexy British biker president? At least I can guarantee you a happy ending, right? ;) If you haven't read the first two books in the series, I highly recommend starting with "Raw and Dirty" or you'll miss out on most of the fun! Also, I have good news for those of you that have been emailing and messaging me on Facebook asking for a "Glacier" book. Your wish is my command: "Glacier" is now available for preorder. That book will run a tad darker than this series, so make sure you're prepared. Now, enjoy the heart-stopping end to this trilogy and don't forget to leave a review!

  As you're reading, Tweet, Snapchat and Instagram your favorite passages to me @IAmVioletBlaze #savageandracy. I'm pleased as punch to answer questions, hear compliments or complaints, or just chat! You can also find me by seeking out C.M. Stunich on Facebook. Super secret tip: C.M. Stunich and Violet Blaze are the same person. =P

  ~Love and happy reading, Violet Blaze

  www.violetblazebooks.com

  www.facebook.com/violetblazeauthor

  www.twitter.com/IAmVioletBlaze

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  I emerge from the Trinidad Police Department splattered with blood and hurting, but alive.

  The night is wet and dark, shadowed in fog and heavy with salt tinged drizzle that obscures the gathering crowd at the bottom of the steps. Too bad it can't stop the flash of smartphone cameras and the chatter of reporters.

  I lift my right arm up to cover my face as I blink away stars and curl my bare left hand into a fist by my side. I can't decide if that was a mistake or not, taking Royal's engagement ring off before I stepped outside.

  “Miss Rentz, can you tell us what happened in the Sea Salt parking lot tonight?”

  A girl's pretty face, dark with wet mascara, her chest blooming with blood.

  That's what happened tonight; I shot somebody. I shot several somebodies.

  “What can you tell us about the FBI's involvement in the matter?”

  I raise a brow at that one—where the hell did they get that information from—but I'm not about to stand here and field questions that I don't know how to answer. My name is Lyric Lenore Rentz, and I'm the mayor's daughter, an outlaw's fiancée, and … tired as hell and covered in other people's blood.

  I run my hand down my face as my sister grips me tight on one arm while my mom digs her fingernails into my bicep on the other side. It feels more like I'm comforting them than vice versa.

  “The mayor promised the agreement with the Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club would help clean up the city; what prompted such a violent crime spree?”

  The three of us push into the crowd, Kailey and Mom huddling up against me as we try to move through the thick cluster of people. The department's managed to spare one officer as an escort, but even that's a stretch. Trinidad was never built to deal with a mass shooting or a drug cartel; resources are stretched to the breaking point right now.

  “Deputy Mayor, do you have any comments on tonight's tragedy?”

  I keep walking because if I do decide to talk to reporters, I want to talk them as myself, not as Pint-Size the Biker Chick or Deputy Mayor Rentz. At this point, I'm not sure I know how to do that properly. But I'll figure it out; I always do.

  “Can I take your car?” I ask Kailey as she unlocks the black sedan with her key fob and then just stands there, blinking at me with big, watery green eyes. My hands are shaking as I hold one out to my mom and gesture for my purse.

  “My car?” Kailey echoes as she tucks some blond hair behind her ear and stares at me like I'm a crazy person.

  I can feel my lips flattening into a tight, thin line, but I can't let go of the resolute control I have over myself. I'm in desperate need of a shower, some food, and a nap—in that order. But there's something else I feel like I need first.

  The crowd follows us over, but keeps a short distance, just enough for the three of us to form a half circle against my sister's car, our backs to the crowd. The officer—some wet behind the ears, fresh out of the academy rookie—stands facing them.

  “May I have my purse, please?”

  “What do you need your purse for?” my mom asks, her mouth quivering as she reaches up to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. Who uses handkerchiefs anymore? That's right—my mother. Looking at her, you might think she was the one who was kidnapped tonight. “You're coming back to the house with us anyway.”

  “I'd like my purse,” I repeat as my mom sighs and grudgingly passes over the wet leather of my bag. The police recovered it from the Sea Salt parking lot and gave it to her while I was giving my statement. There's about a ninety-nine percent chance that she rifled through it already, probably found the two condoms I was keeping in there for emergencies. “And I'd like to borrow Kailey's car.”

  “You can't go anywhere,” my mother says, holding her hand out toward the police officer, like he can somehow keep me from leaving. But I'm not under arrest here, and I'm still free to do what I want.

  Mom stares me down with her matching green eyes as I hold my hands out for Kailey's keys.

  “I'll meet you back at the house in a few hours,” I tell them as reporters shout my name, and the situation starts to take on this edge of urgency. I don't blame the crowd; this is the biggest thing that's happened in the city since that shooting ten years ago between the two motorcycle clubs. People are hungry for a taste of danger and strife and, maybe, just a little chilled with fear.

  “Where are you planning on going?” my mother asks as I reach down and pull the keys from my sister's curled fingers. Kailey might be a tad … pushy at times, but she doesn't have a very dominant personality. I manage to take them from her without a fight.

  “I'll see you in two hours,” I repeat as I lean forward and give her a kiss on the cheek. I do the same with my mom and climb into Kailey's car, slamming the door and locking it before anyone can stop me. My own car is still in the grocery store parking lot, and I won't get it back until it's finished being processed for evidence. It could be days.

  I start the engine and breathe the leather scent of the upholstery in deep, the smell reminding me so much of Royal that my breath hitches.
It's strong enough that I almost don't notice the metallic tang of blood on the back of my tongue.

  Almost.

  The crowd parts as I ease the car out of the parking space, forcing people to move through sheer force of will, and take off down the wet, foggy road. If I speed a little, who's going to stop me? The police are swamped with the double crime scenes; the FBI agents are both in the hospital.

  And me, I only have one destination in mind.

  The Alpha Wolves Compound looks like a military fortress, sitting bathed in harsh white industrial light and surrounded by a chain-link fence. The effect is made even more ominous by the unbroken darkness of the forest and the sea on all sides.

  There aren't any reporters out here, but as soon as I pull up to the gate, I can see a pair of police cruisers in the parking lot outside the clubhouse. Shit.

  I roll my window down as a man in a leather cut approaches, his right hand hovering near the edge of his vest, like he's getting ready to pull a gun on me at any moment.

  “Lyric Rentz,” I tell him and then get caught up in the rest of the words that try to escape from my mouth. I'm engaged to marry your president. The man doesn't wait for me to say anything else, giving my face a long, careful look before he buzzes me in.

  Royal must've told his guys to expect me.

  The thought makes my heart skip a beat and my stomach twist painfully.

  And that's before I see him coming out of the clubhouse in a clean pair of jeans and a buffed black leather vest. He's walking down the wooden steps of the deck with two plainclothes detectives on his right side. As soon as I pull into a parking space next to one of the cruisers, I see two uniformed officers sitting inside.

  Hmm.

  Without hesitation, I climb out and grab my purse out of pure habit. The chances of somebody stealing something from me while the Alpha Wolves Compound is on lockdown are slim to none. The door slams behind me and I lean against it a moment while Royal shakes the hands of the detectives and they climb into an unmarked SUV in powder blue. In less than a minute, both cruisers and the SUV are gone and there's nothing standing between Royal and me except for the glossy black surface of wet pavement.

  Rain falls in a slow, easy drizzle, tainting the air with white mist.

  “Hello, Pint-Size,” he says, his voice rough and low, edged with a fine line of violence.

  “Mr. McBride,” I reply as I lean my back against the cool metal of Kailey's car and blink away the droplets of icy water collecting on my lashes. My hands are still shaking, and my heart is pounding nervously, but I don't trust myself to move yet.

  Royal comes toward me, his boots scraping against the rough pavement as he takes a few long, easy strides and appears from the mist in a glittering sea of tattoos, his full mouth twisted to the side in a derisive smirk, his brown eyes dark and impossible to read as he looks past me and toward the road outside the chain-link fence.

  “Fucking rozzers,” he murmurs before dropping his gaze to my face. On the outside, he looks calm, but I can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, can see the frantic flutter of his pulse in his throat. Royal's hands curl into tight fists as he looks me over and then pulls in a long, low breath.

  As I was driving, I slipped the engagement ring back on my finger. I kind of wish I'd left it on there in the first place, let the reporters snap pictures of it. Who cares if they talk? Who cares if everyone knows? But I kind of do. And that's the problem.

  I look at Royal as he watches my face and his smirk turns down into a deep frown. With everything in me, I want to throw myself into his arms. But I don't trust myself, not yet.

  “That FBI agent …” he starts, and I shake my head, strands of short, wet hair clinging to my lips as I reach my fingers up and pull them away. He doesn't have to explain for me to know what he's talking about: I hit Special Agent Heather Shelley over the head with my gun. I did it to protect her, sure, but mostly … I did it to protect Royal McBride.

  “Agent Shelley was injured, but it looks like she's going to be okay. She woke up just as the paramedics were loading her onto a stretcher, but couldn't remember what'd happened right before she blacked out.”

  Royal keeps staring at me—mostly at my lips—and I wonder what he's waiting for, why he's holding back. Because right now, we both are. Big time. My own gaze gets caught on the soulful depths of those brown eyes, on the thick muscles in his biceps and forearms.

  “I thought you might show up here,” he says, voice still deep and rough with emotion.

  “You mean you were hoping that I'd show up here,” I correct and he smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, but I like it anyway. “I'm supposed to be at my parents' place.”

  “You're supposed to be here with me,” he says and I almost laugh. Only … it's hard to laugh when the president of an outlaw motorcycle club walks up to you and pens you in against a car with his arms. Royal puts a palm on either side of my head and leans close, towering a full fourteen inches above me. It's the biggest height difference I've ever had with a man, and it certainly presents its own challenges, but … I like it. There's so much more of him to love.

  “I know you're probably busy …” I start, but Royal just makes this growling sound in the back of his throat and turns my knees to jelly. “I felt like I needed to see you.”

  “I never should've left,” he rumbles as I look up and into his eyes. He's so big, and the night's so dark, that Royal McBride is literally all that I can see right now. He takes up my entire field of vision. “Left you in that basement like that.”

  I raise an eyebrow as my fingernails scrape against the metal of Kailey's car. It's taking everything I have to keep my hands off of this man.

  “What were you supposed to do? Carry me out of there on the back of your bike?”

  “Damn right,” Royal says as I hear the low murmur of male voices. He doesn't even bother to glance in their direction, that penetrating gaze of his focused solely on my face. It's almost too much, that stare, the warmth of his body. When I close my eyes, I can smell his scent, that dichotomous mixture of machine and forest: leather, oil, wet earth, rain … and blood.

  Royal might look clean, but he still smells like blood; we both do.

  “And then what? I'd have to explain how I disappeared seconds after Agent Shelley passed out? That I somehow magically ended up here? You did what you had to do.”

  Royal keeps staring at me, his body close enough to mine that the pebbled points of my nipples brush against his t-shirt. Even under a tank top and bra, the sensation is powerful enough to make me gasp. Royal's body thrums with violence and heat and … need. The same wild feeling that made me steal my sister's car and drive all the way out here is radiating out of him, making my lids flutter and my body melt back against the car.

  I wish he'd take me here, right now, up against Kailey's sleek, back Lexus; I wouldn't even care if anybody saw us, if they were watching. Then, at least, they'd know that Royal belongs to me, that I belong to him. I am so not thinking like a logical person right now. Must be the shock. Yeah, that's it: I'm in shock.

  I tap the fingers of my left hand against the car and the metal of the ring pings gently, drawing Royal's attention away from my face for a split second, just long enough that I can catch a breath.

  “I did what I had to do for the club,” he whispers as he turns back to me and leans down, getting even closer, his body covering mine protectively. When his lips brush against my ear, my entire body shivers with violent need. “But that wasn't what was best for you. I regretted it as soon as I walked out of there.”

  “That's stupid,” I whisper back, because it is. Leaving me there really was best for me. Clayton Moore kidnapped me and took me to that grow house, so that I could make a scripted call to my father. I was there as the mayor's daughter, not as Royal's lover. It was best for everyone to keep it looking that way. “You—”

  “Pint-Size,” he growls, voice dropping dangerously low. “Touch me.”

  “I …” A million prote
sts die on the tip of my tongue as I try to control the wild swirl of emotions in my chest. If I let myself think too hard about the specifics of what happened tonight, I might lose it. For now … there's a reason I drove all the way out here and it wasn't just to talk. If all I'd wanted to do was speak with Royal McBride, I could've used a phone.

  “Touch me,” he commands again, dropping his mouth to the side of my neck and pressing his hot lips to the thundering animal of my pulse. “Do it before I do it first and things get out of control; I don't trust myself tonight, Pint-Size.”

  “Neither do I,” I murmur through a gasp as Royal's stubble rubs against the side of my cheek and he breathes warm against my ear. My lids flutter and my hands seem to come up of their own accord, sliding under his shirt, fingers trailing across the hot skin of his abs. The sound that escapes his throat is only half-human.

  “Bloody hell,” he snarls as my hands trace their way up, fingertips teasing the hardened points of his nipples. Royal presses our bodies even closer, giving me a front row seat to the hard length of his erection through his jeans. “Maybe this is a mistake? I should send your arse home. I have so much shit to deal with here; I feel like I'm going to just fucking explode. You're a goddamn distraction, Pint-Size. When it comes to you and the club … I feel like I can't make anything but the wrong choice.”

  “If you're going to explode,” I tell him as I rest my cheek against his chest and press a kiss to the dark fabric of his t-shirt, “can you wait until you're inside of me?”

  “Fuckin' hell,” he breathes with a small, sharp laugh, pulling back and looking down at me again. A long, wet second stretches between us, the salty mist clinging to the dark strands of Royal's hair. “Fuck.”

  Drip, drip, drip.

  The rain hits the branches of the towering redwoods all around us, draining through the needles with a sound like hundreds of miniature waterfalls.

  And then just like that, Royal snaps. He lifts me up onto the hood of the car and tugs me close, putting his hot, hard body between my thighs as our mouths connect in a violent crash. My fingers end up tangled in his hair as he curls his against the metal hood of the Lexus and leans low for that perfect kiss, the ratio of desperation and need and danger just right.