Claiming What’s His (Savage Brothers Second Generation #5) Read Online Jordan Marie

Categories Genre: Biker, Erotic, MC, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Savage Brothers Second Generation Series by Jordan Marie

Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)

She needs someone to be a hero. She’s getting me.

King has never expected much out of life and for the most part that’s exactly what he’s been given.
Hell, even his name was a joke his mother made. Still, he wore it proudly.
He’s never depended on anyone.
As the newly appointed enforcer of the Demon Chasers MC, he has a lot on his plate.
A rival club has tried to make moves, and it’s King’s job to make sure they regret it.
That’s the only thing he has time for right now.
Besides, he has secrets, and they are intent on ruining his life.

A chance meeting with a beautiful woman stops King in his tracks.
Shelby is everything he never thought he would have.
She has secrets of her own. Secrets that haunt her.
Even when she tries to push him away.
King won’t allow it.
Shelby needs someone to heal the emptiness inside—an emptiness that he understands. It’s going to be him.
He won’t let it be anyone else.
She belongs to him.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1


Fuck. I never saw this shit coming. The last thing I wanted was to be anywhere near Dragon West and his perfect family. I’ve had so much hate built up for that motherfucker over the years that it oozes out of every damn pore in my skin.

I look back at T’s house and shake my head.

I have two fucking choices. I can stay and put up with this bullshit or I can pack up and leave.

I thought I had decided. I had my crap loaded and was ready to hit the road. Then, Ford made me the DC’s enforcer. That may not sound like shit to some people, but moving up in the club, proving myself, means a fuck of a lot to me. I gave Ford my word, and I’ve always done my best to make sure my word meant something.

The thing is, T is here and as much as I didn’t want to, I like the fucker. I respect him. In some ways I can see parts of myself in him. The two of us might not have had the same struggles, but we fought like hell to overcome every obstacle in our way. I’ve worked alongside Grunt, Jonesy, and Doc for a long time. I even approve of the new prospects Ford’s taken in. I would trust T at my back over any of them. He didn’t hesitate to jump in and save Ford’s life. He didn’t even fucking blink. He didn’t know Ford—not like the rest of us. He did it because that’s the man he is.

Shit, now I feel like I’m at sea, drifting and waiting for something else to start fucking with my head. I dreamed for years about what I would do if I came face to face with the ghosts from my past. I’m finding out dreams and reality are way fucking different.

I hop on my bike and head into town. I need to clear my head and being back on my bike does that for me. It’s the only place I feel free.

That I feel like I can fucking breathe.

There are usually two things besides my bike that make me feel better. Food and fucking. Those are the things that feed the body and the soul. I park up outside of the little brick building right off Main Street.

William’s Diner is a staple in the town. The owner is a petite little stick of dynamite named Billie Mae Patrick. You should never call her Billie Mae though. Unless you want to see the sweet little woman breathe fire. She hates her middle name. I address her by Billie. She fixes good food and I want to keep eating here—that means, the name Mae never passes my lips.

The place is empty when I get inside. That’s not a huge surprise since it’s Saturday and well after the lunch rush. Still, Billie’s not even in her usual spot behind the bar, manning the cash register. The bell above the door jingles as it closes, and I take a spot in the nearest booth. I don’t bother opening a menu that’s secured at the end of the table next to the window. I already know what I want. I glance around the place and it’s reminiscent of an old fifty’s diner. Except the red leather stools and booth seats are green. There are Irish sayings written on the wall with a mural of what I can only assume is some place in Ireland. There are no curtains on the windows. It’s all open, though there is some kind of screen over the windows that deflects the sun without blocking the view.

“What can I get you?”

I jerk my head around because I recognize that voice, and it’s definitely not Billie Mae’s.

“You work here,” I respond, watching her sparkling, river-green eyes dilate.

“Yeah,” she says, moistening her lips, her eyes dropping down.

My cock jerks in reaction against my pants, but that’s exactly what it did the first time I saw this sweet little honey pot.

“Well, fuck me. You’re the nurse from the hospital.”

She blinks. “Yeah,” she finally acknowledges, her lips twitching. “You’re the guy holding up the wall and helping your buddies ignore hospital policy of two to a room at one time.”

“Guilty.” I smirk. “What’s your name?” I ask, my gaze raking over her.

She’s tall, standing a good five-nine. That means she’s perfect to bend over the back of the sofa and fuck hard. Her brunette-not-quite-auburn hair shines even more today than the last time I laid eyes on her. She’s got a body with just enough curves that a man could ride her all day long and get lost in the soft, sweet heat she gives him. Her tits are large enough to wrap your dick in but not so big you’re afraid she’ll give herself a black eye when she’s riding your cock. Perfection, really. There’s not a damn thing I don’t like about her—except that she’s standing here in this diner and not in my bed. At least today she’s wearing tight jeans that are molded and stretched across her perfect ass and a green T-shirt with gold lettering that has the name of the diner across the front. The outfit shows off her body much better than those scrubs but fuck, if I wouldn’t rather see her naked.