Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Landing in South Carolina at the doorsteps of the Kings of Anarchy MC wasn’t in their plan, but would it be their saving grace?
Suddenly in this world of controlled chaos the cousins find themselves letting go of their past and Melody finds herself warming the club president’s bed.
Even with a twenty year age gap between them, Thrasher can’t deny the pull to the feisty woman. Having a single taste of her, he decides he won’t let this chance go.
Unfortunately for Melody, nothing stays behind her for long. When the men hunting the cousins crash into South Carolina, tensions erupt as Enzo “Thrasher” Flores has claimed Melody for his own.
Blood will be spilled and hearts will break, but somehow they have to hold onto each other or completely get lost in it all
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
THRASHER
There was a rhythm to the chaos. I had lived it now for years, it became second nature. Like breathing, being surrounded in noise was normal.
The thump of bass vibrated through the entire space of the Kings of Anarchy MC clubhouse.
My house.
This club was home to me.
With the speakers turned wide open, the old liquor bottles that lined the back of the bar shook like teeth rattling in a hypothermic person barely hanging on begging for a bit of warmth. Smoke filled the air; cigars, vapes, cigarettes, and weed all mixed with perfume, leather, body odor, and spilled beer. I didn’t care who lit up what as long as they didn’t burn the god forsaken place down.
My brothers were louder than the music, shouting over each other, trading shots, fists pounding against backs and shoulders in an affection not born of shared blood, but rather spilled blood.
We hadn’t had a reason to party like this in a long damn time. Tonight, though, we did.
Pinky was home.
“Get over here, you ugly bastard,” I said, pulling him into a hug that I rolled into a headlock.
“Shit, Prez!” he wheezed laughing like he didn’t just do a fucking nickel for the club. “You tryin’ to put my ass in a hospital? I’m fragile,” he teased. While the man had seriously bulked up during his time locked up, he was anything but fragile.
“You wouldn’t last in a fuckin’ hospital.” I joked, “too many nurses that won’t like your grabby hands, or crackheads in the ER, you’d catch somethin’, or worse. You spend too much time in there, they’ll figure out how you really are and end up locked in the psych ward.”
He grinned big, showing the two missing teeth in the front from a prison altercation. “Still prettier than half the pussies in here.”
We both laughed.
The clubhouse was packed to the brim tonight. The walls stained with a yellow tint from years of smoke, sweat, and spilled whiskey. Fuck knows if someone ever took the time to clean the walls, they would see just how bad. Kings of Anarchy flags hung from the rafters, the skull with a crown done with the beige accent, the space reminding everyone who belonged here. Another flag of the Palmetto tree for South Carolina done in teal, beige, and black hung beside it with our Kings skull and crown plastered over that state emblem.
Our territory ran from Florence to Columbia, South Carolina, but Kings of Anarchy were worldwide. We owned this shit and weren’t about to let anyone creep in.
People moved through rooms like heat waves, from old ladies huddled together watching their men from a distance, to the damn club bunnies in tight skirts, too-high heels, and brothers from other chapters who rode in to support Pinky. We’re all relaxed together. Even the nomads showed up because the word had spread far and wide. Pinky kept his mouth shut, did his time, and took a beating from a rival while inside that won’t go unpunished.
He more than earned this celebration.
“Yo, Thrasher,” Widower’s voice cut through from down the bar, “You see Spare’s side piece got her tits signed by Pinky? Swear to fuck, bitch is gonna get it tattooed.”
I didn’t even glance over, “Spare’s piece ain’t got no shame. We all know it. At least he didn’t have to sign her stank pussy.”
Spare had this piece that was, well, a piece. Not sure how long she had lived on the streets, really the bitch didn’t share much with any of us, but wherever she came from, she was different. Add in Spare’s brand of crazy, what those two got was a whole lot of complicated. When he first brought her around, she wanted to be a bunny. She passed the STD and STI checkup, but the bitch had a serious case of stank pussy. How Spare could ever tap that much less repeatedly, or eat that snatch, I didn’t care to know.
And bitch was crazy enough to get Pinky’s signature permanently inked on her body.
I shook my head, grabbed a beer from the bar, and moved to lean against one of the thick support beams near the center of the room.
From this vantage point, I could see most of the floor. The poker tables in the back where Hacksaw was hustling two prospects, Frootloop and Three, to the long back bar with Lettie pouring shots like a machine. Near that was a wall of women pressed together on the makeshift dance floor near the speakers and computer set up we had for Guru to keep the music going for us.
It was loud, filthy, and wild. I could see five different brothers each in a unique position for sex acts of some kind. From DK straight fucking a bunny from behind smashing her face into the wall to Rage getting his dick sucked in a corner, and then Bender eating some bitch’s pussy while standing up. Yes, he had her thighs on his shoulders, legs dangling down his back, with his hands cupping her ass and back while she moans gyrating against his face that was hidden under her skirt. Widower was hands deep down another bunny’s pants and K-9 was hands to ass starting his own adventure with his on again off again bitch.