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Authors: Cynthia Rayne

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Sweet Perdition

BOOK: Sweet Perdition
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Sweet Perdition

 

A Four Horsemen MC Novel

 

BOOK ONE

 

 

 

Copyright

 

© Cynthia Rayne 2014, Smashwords Edition

 

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review or book discussion, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

Find out more about the author at
www.cynthiarayne.com

 

 

Cover Art

 

© Sarah Laney 2014

Sweet Southern Creations

Find out more about the talented cover artists work at

http://sarah-laney.weebly.com

 

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s wicked imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

 

Chapter One

She didn’t belong.

Ryker couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Dressed in a pink fluffy gown, the woman in question resembled a Barbie doll sitting among the tattooed women in tight tank tops and leather pants at the bar. Pretty in Pink sucked down her bottle of Bud with gusto, seemingly unaware of the curious glances she received from the rest of the club.

He knew all the women here, fucked most of them, but this particular girl pricked his curiosity. Good girls don’t drink at bars with notorious reps. Perdition, like nearly every other business in Hell, Texas, had a
hellacious
theme. Just like his MC. The Four Horsemen owned and operated the bar as well as a shitload of other properties in the town.

So, what gives?

Even if she didn’t happen to be a local, Perdition sure as hell didn’t look like a wing and beer joint. Everything about it shouted biker bar. The building had been a warehouse and still maintained a rough, industrial feel. The vaulted ceiling sported two large exposed steel beams and his brothers had suspended a pair of antique Harleys from them on chains. A long, lacy string of ladies panties wrapped around the walls, along with the occasional framed poster of a nearly naked chick draped over motorcycles.
Think on your Sins
, the club motto, was painted in blood red across the surface of one large wall.

So, Pinky shoulda run screamin’ from this place. But maybe she wanted a little fun? Throw back a few and fuck a biker. Yeah, he’d bet his shit kickers on it.

Only one way to find out for sure though.

He commandeered the stool next to hers. She didn’t so much as glance up from the beer she clutched like a lifeline. He crowded close to her, letting his leg slide up against her thigh, real slow so as not to spook her. Well, not
too
much.

“Hi, Pinky,” he growled in her ear.

His husky voice normally gave the wild women who hung around his brothers a naughty shiver. It rarely took more effort to get between their thighs. Ryker never took any of them home, preferring to fuck them in one of the dozen or so crash rooms in the back. Or even the pinball room if nothin’ else was available and it suited both parties just fine. No strings pussy.

Tonight he needed the thrill of the chase.

“Go away!” she snarled, and then slid over to the empty stool next to her.

Damn.
Not expecting that one. He’d have to get creative, but she’d give in to him, eventually. He had yet to meet a woman he couldn’t lure into bed and he definitely wanted her.

Even buried beneath yards of girly fabric, he could tell she had the type of body that rocked him. Everything in all the right places. Big tits, a generous spankable ass, and a large, rounded hourglass figure.

Just like that old Queen song, he had a thing for
Fat Bottomed Girls.
He loved his women with some serious curves and she fits the bill. He needed something he could hang on to. She wouldn’t break if he decided to take her hard and fast. And all that pale skin and candy apple red hair made him want to take a bite of her. See if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

He scooted onto the stool she’d just vacated and placed a hand at the small of her back. Not quite on her juicy ass, though he wanted to give it a squeeze. Maybe a slap for good measure. Damn, he’d like to see those butt cheeks pressed into a tight leather skirt, with only a thong beneath. It’d be easy to yank it to the side and slide his cock right in.

Damn.
The thought alone got him hard.

She turned to scowl at him. She had a set of raccoon eyes and her rosy lipstick had smudged a circle around her pouty mouth. Blotches of red stained her cheeks. She’d been crying, judging by how shiny her blue eyes appeared.

Well, he could offer a bit of comfort. Nothing like sexual healing to cure what ails you.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to keep your hands to yourself?” she said, rubbing at one mascara-caked eye. She stared pointedly in the direction of
his
until he removed it. Reluctantly.

Actually, his mom could be a rebel and a force to be reckoned with in her own right. She didn’t give a crap about society’s rules, one of the many things he loved about her. “No, but she taught me to help a woman in need. What’s wrong, Pinky?”

She lifted her chin, all offended dignity and grit. Absolutely adorable. He knew grown men who wouldn’t have the nerve to get in his face. “I’m fine. Why don’t you do us both a favor and find another girl to hit on?”

He gave her a good once over. “Sitting by yourself, drinking beer, and crying in a bar because you’re fine? Ain’t buyin’ it.”

She sighed. Still annoyed, but not as hostile. “Okay. You got me.” A ghost of a smile curled her lips. “I came from my ex-boyfriend’s wedding and let’s just say I’ve had better evenings.”

He let out a low whistle. That’d be enough to give anyone a good square kick in the balls. “Damn. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” She took another swig from the bottle. “Want to know the kicker?” He nodded. “He married my best friend, instead of me.”

Ouch.
He winced in sympathy. Talk about a double whammy. “Holy shit.”

He had a hard time wrapping his head around that one. Guy must be a dipshit to not want her, even tear stained and miserable. What man in his right mind could pass on such a fine ass? “I’m really sorry.” Okay, not
that
sorry. After all, she wouldn’t be here if the dipshit hadn’t dumped her for another woman. “His loss."
My gain.

She shrugged. “Lisa, the bride, had a dry wedding reception.” She hiccupped. “I couldn’t even get trashed and pretend to be fine. I needed alcohol. Fast.” She lifted her beer and then took a healthy swig.

“Darlin’, did you ever come to the right place.” It must have been the perfect thing to say, because the flood gates opened and she started confiding in him.

Good.
First step to getting her panties off.

“And then she made me wear this neon dress.” She gestured to the pink cloud she wore. “I feel like a glittery unicorn puked on me.”

He couldn’t help but laugh.

“At least her outfit was worse.” she shuddered. “Gross. A low cut wedding dress which showed pretty much everything but her, um, nipples.”

Her cheeks got even redder and it turned him on. There’s a reason the porn industry makes naughty nun flicks. Somethin’ about that innocence. Made you want to corrupt them.

“Kept waiting for her to have a wardrobe malfunction and flash the preacher.”

He’d heard worse news. He had no problem ogling tits, even if they belonged to a bride at a wedding. “And that’s bad?”

“That’s Lisa.” She sighed. “This is going to sound like I’m bitter, but she dated a lot of guys. I mean a lot.”

“And by date, you mean fucked?”

She blinked at him, all wide-eyed and clearly flustered by his rough talk. “Your words. Not mine.” But she didn’t correct him.

He changed the subject, because he could give a crap about some chick’s wedding dress. He wanted to know more about Pinky. “I gotta ask the obvious. We’ll blow right past why you even went to the wedding and get straight to the shit, why the hell did you agree to be in it?”

She stared at him, as though the answer should be obvious.

“Because I’m nice!” She hiccupped and then pressed her hand over her mouth. “I thought I would show up, all pretty and la la la I don’t care if you're marrying my ex-boyfriend, but nooooo,” she singsonged. “I spent the night in this butt ugly dress with no alcohol to comfort me, watching her practically chew Carl’s mouth off on the dance floor.” She shook her head. “Ugh.”

“You still love the dickhead or what?” He didn’t like the thought of her pining after some jackass. Ryker didn’t know her, but she seemed a decent sort of person. She deserved better than that fraction of a man.

She made a face. “No! We broke up about two years ago. I’m over it. ‘Sides,” she slurred. “They didn’t start dating for six months after my thing with Carl ended.” She leaned over to him and whispered. “But it’s not cool, you know? She violated the friendship code. We were besties, Lisa and me. Sisters before misters, even if she is a bit skanky.” She took another good swig. “She even had the nerve to ask me for my blessing to date Carl, so I had to be all okay with it.”

“Why didn’t you tell her to fuck off?”

“I don’t want anyone to think I’m petty.”

He shook his head. If he lived to be a thousand, he’d never understand women. He preferred screwing them to shooting the shit. “If you are no longer hot for this dipshit, then why are you crying?”

She paused a moment, took another drink. “I don’t want him back, but seeing him marry someone else right in front of me set off old memories.” She sighed. “Plus, I created some sort of love triangle tragedy porn which kept everyone pointing and talking about me behind my back all night. Like a reality show or something.” She chugged the rest of her beer, then scowled at the bottle as though it were to blame for being empty.

“You gotta drink something stronger than beer to wash down that kind of pain. With a bit more kick. Like whiskey.” He signaled to the bartender for the night, Fetch.

Fetch dutifully poured two shots and then hauled ass to the other side of the bar. Pretty good for a prospect, at least he knew when to make himself scarce. Most of them behaved like neutered puppies, following the brothers around, waiting for orders.

All of the club members started out as prospects because you had to prove your worth before becoming a full-fledged member. Sort of like pledging a fraternity.

Only with motorcycles and guns.

Before he could propose a toast, she’d already downed it like a champ. “Tasted like cinnamon.” She licked her lips and he resisted the urge to moan. “
Alcoholic
cinnamon. Yummy.”

Nothing sexier than a woman who drank with purpose. “Yeah, it’s Fireball whiskey.” One of his favorites. Loosened you up and Lord knows he loved the tingling sensation it added to a good blow job.

She finally turned to stare at him, really gave him the hairy eyeball. Staring down at his boots, to his jean clad legs, to his eagle T-shirt, and then she finally met his eyes. She frowned as she stared at him.

“Like what you see, Pinky?” he drawled.

“My name is not Pinky. It’s Elizabeth Williams.” She raised her chin.

He smiled. His standards for women tended to deal with more physical attributes than personality. She cleared the bar and then some, but he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had captured his interest when he didn’t currently have his cock stuck in her.

BOOK: Sweet Perdition
6.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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