Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
William
They don’t call me Satan for nothing. I’m cold and calculating, and I don’t soften for anyone.
Except him.
Since the moment I laid eyes on him in the back of that seedy club, he’s been mine.
I rescued him. Gave him warmth and safety. And in that time, I vowed to protect him from everyone who wished him harm.
Which means when a rival club threatens to expose his past and rat out his location to the one person my husband is afraid of…
I’ll stop at nothing to eliminate the problem.
No one gets to target my husband and live to tell the tale.
~*~*~
Chet
If there’s one thing in this world I know my husband cares about, it’s me.
They call him Satan, but it’s because he really is the devil in disguise.
Yet despite how cruel he can be, that man is my safety. My home. He’s my rock. The grounding force that keeps me sane and whole.
But danger still lurks, and when that danger comes for me, my husband goes on a war path. There’s not a soul who will put a stop to him.
While I know he’s trying to take care of me in the only ways he knows how… his actions are driving a wedge between us.
I’m not sure I recognize the monster staring back at me.
Will I lose my husband to the blood lust, or can we manage to hold on to the fragile bond we have?
This is an MM motorcycle club romance set in the Ghost Born MC world written by T.O. Smith and Layne Daniels. These books do not have to be read in order, but there is an overarching plot, and the series is best understood if read in order
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
William
There wasn’t much in the world that I gave a fuck about. But the one thing I would burn the entire world down to the ground to keep?
Chet Wang.
He was five years younger than me, and when I found him, he was nothing more than an eighteen-year-old boy who was desperate to escape an abusive, shithead father. His mother had disappeared when he was a mere kid without a word to Chet or his father. And when she left that house, she disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving Chet alone to deal with his asshole of a father.
Chet had been damn near starving when I came across him. He was dehydrated as fuck, and he’d been on his knees for some sick son of a bitch in the back of a seedy club on the east side of San Antonio, where I’d been doing a drop for Rico Martinez, one of the wealthiest and most dangerous men in the country. I’d watched Chet from the shadows, intrigued by the boy, but my intrigue turned to rage when Chet tried to come up for air and the asshole pinned him to the wall and forced him to choke on his cock.
I’d ripped the overweight bastard off Chet, pummeled his face in for not respecting Chet’s boundaries, then dragged Chet out of that club and to my bike.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Chet snapped, slapping at my arm. “Let me go! He owes me money!”
I stopped and spun around to face him. Chet, whose name I’d learned while in the club, had not been expecting the abrupt stop and crashed into me. My hand latched onto his bony hip, holding him against me as I ran my eyes over his face. He had a black eye and a bruise on his cheek that hadn’t been visible in the dark hallway of the club. Dirt was smeared across his forehead, and his hair was too long and greasy, like he hadn’t been able to wash it in a few days.
“How much did he owe you?” I asked, my voice low. I wasn’t all that used to talking.
Chet glared at me. Most people were afraid of me. Trauma had put a dead look in my eyes. Some people thought I was a psychopath, but truth was, I was just a monster born of a shitty past. Foster home after foster home had neglected me, but long before I got put in those homes, my father had done a damn good number on me—raping me, beating me, starving me.
“A hundred dollars,” Chet muttered.
I released him, then pointed a stiff finger in his face. “Stay,” I commanded.
He bared his teeth at me, enraged. And fuck, it was a beautiful sight. “I’m not a dog.”
I shook my head and sighed before heading back for the club. The man who’d assaulted Chet was still unconscious on the floor. Reaching into his pocket, I grabbed his wallet and snatched out all his cash, which was damn near five hundred dollars, then dropped the wallet on his face.