He never meant to hurt her.
Levi
“Painter” Brooks was nothing before he joined the Reapers motorcycle club. The
day he patched in, they became his brothers and his life. All they asked in
return was a strong arm and unconditional loyalty—a loyalty that’s tested when
he’s caught and sentenced to prison for a crime committed on their behalf.
Melanie
Tucker may have had a rough start, but along the way she’s learned to fight for
her future. She’s escaped from hell and started a new life, yet every night she
dreams of a biker whose touch she can’t forget. It all started out so
innocently—just a series of letters to a lonely man in prison. Friendly.
Harmless. Safe.
Now
Painter Brooks is coming home… and Melanie’s about to learn that there’s no
room for innocence in the Reapers MC.
Available at the following retailers:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1DsDyRt
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1yYt1Rn
iBooks: http://tinyurl.com/pwfxzyj
“You want
to watch a movie or something?” she asked, nodding toward the TV. I had a
decent one, too. Giant-ass flat-screen—homecoming present from the club.
“Sure,” I
said, reaching for the remote. I didn’t have cable, but Ruger had set up some
kind of box thingie for me so I could stream shit. “Whatcha in the mood for?”
“Not
horror,” she said quickly, and I laughed again, remembering that first evening
I’d spent with her at Pic’s house. She’d been so young and scared and
vulnerable . . . I’d wanted to eat her up.
I still
wanted to eat her.
“I can’t
believe that you and Puck were supposed to be watching over me, and then you
put in a slasher movie. That’s not how you make a girl feel safe.”
“No
horror,” I agreed, although the thought of holding her for a couple hours while
she was scared shitless appealed way more than it should. Watch it, asshole.
“How about Star Wars?”
“You like
Star Wars?”
I
shrugged. “Everyone likes Star Wars. You know, I’m pretty damned sure Han Solo
was a biker.”
She
giggled. “You mean, like a space biker?”
“See,
when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”
“I wanted
to be Princess Leia. She’s badass,” she said, taking a deep drink of her beer.
I watched as her lips wrapped around the neck, her throat swallowing. Oh fuck,
that was good. She set the beer down on the coffee table with a clink, then let
loose with the biggest burp I’d ever heard.
“Fucking
hell,” I said, stunned. “I didn’t think girls could burp like that. Shit.
Impressive, Mel. Very impressive.”
She
grinned at me.
“We’re
friends,” she told me. “And friends don’t need to worry about stuff like that.
Let me guess—you’ve never had a female friend before?”
“Not
really,” I admitted. “I’m think I’m a little scared.”
Scared
and turned on, which was weird.
“You
should be. I can do the whole alphabet.”
Damn. I
kinda wanted to see that.
Joanna
Wylde is a New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Reapers
Motorcycle Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.
