Voss (Henchmen MC Next Generation #8) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Henchmen MC Next Generation Series by Jessica Gadziala

Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)

Guilt was a foreign emotion to Voss.
Until the night his gut told him he needed to help a woman walking alone at night, but he didn’t.
Only to come back and find that the worst had come to pass.

Determined to make it up to her, he takes her in, helps her heal, protects her, and vows to make it right.

He never expected to start to have feelings for her.
Or that the threat was so much closer than either of them could have anticipated…

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



“Who the fuck are you?” Brooks asked as I made my way down the hallway, coming into the opening of the common room to see who he was talking to.

And there he was.

A guy sprawled out in one of our chairs, drinking out of one of our coffee mugs, looking like he belonged there.

When I’d never seen his ass before.

And, clearly, Brooks hadn’t either.

He was tall with medium-brown hair that was a little longer than most of us kept ours. He had a sharp jaw and bright blue eyes in a face that anyone would call good-looking.

There was some ink peeking out from the neck of his shirt and maybe some on his arm. I couldn’t tell from far away.

The weirdest shit was what he was wearing.

A fucking pink Hawaiian shirt with little black palm trees all over it.

“Sully,” the man supplied, then took a sip of his—our—coffee. Casual as could fucking be.

“Okay. Let’s try this again,” Brooks said, tone deceptively calm.

The guys, they gave Brooks a bad rep sometimes. Mostly because he was always on their asses to do what they were supposed to be doing. What they missed was that was what made Brooks good at his job in the club. Being the heavy, while the president, Fallon, got to be a little more laid-back.

It had been a smart move on the president’s part to put an “outsider” in the position. He knew that since a good chunk of the brothers in the club were legacies, that having another legacy in a position above them might not be the best bet.

This kept shit fair.

As an “outsider” myself, I hadn’t seen Brooks let any of the legacies off just because they were related to the OG members of the club.

“Sure, go ahead, Boss,” Sully invited, giving him a smile that reminded me of some college kid on a beach. Despite him clearly being in his thirties.

“Why are you trespassing?” Brooks asked, tone just toeing the line of angry. “This is private property,” he added.

“Is it?” he asked, glancing around. “Might want to tell that to the half dozen or so pretty girls out front,” he said, pointing toward the front yard.

Pretty girls weren’t hard to come by in this club.

First, you had all the club princesses. Who saw the clubhouse as their own personal second home. Throwing all that untouchable pretty around.

Then there were, of course, the club girls. The ones who came to hang out because they had some kind of biker fetish and wanted to fuck one, or all, of us.

It was a Wednesday night, but that didn’t mean jackshit around these parts. Princesses and club girls came and went as they pleased.

Brooks, confused, and not getting anywhere, moved a few feet across the room to look out front.

“Did one of them invite you?” he asked, making me figure that meant it was the princesses since none of the club chicks would invite guys to the clubhouse.

“Nope,” Sully said, shaking his head as he reached his free hand out for the remote, casually clicking around on the TV.

Brooks glanced over at me, eyes going small in a very What the fuck? way.

“Did Fallon invite you?” he tried.

“Who is Fallon?” Sully asked.

A rumbling sound moved through Brooks’s chest then.

“Who invited you then?” he asked.

“I did,” Sully said, settling on some random 80’s movie on the TV.

“In that case… get the fuck out,” Brooks said, yanking the door open, and waving into the void.

“This is just getting to the good part,” Sully said, waving to the TV where the nasty-ass rich heiress went overboard and got amnesia.

As Brooks’s gaze slid to me, likely ready to tell me to escort our trespasser out, a woman moved through the door he was still holding open.

“Oh! Hey, so you met him,” Layna said, walking over toward Sully’s chair, and dropping her ass down on the arm.

“Did you invite him?” Brooks asked.

“No. He was here when I got here,” Layna said, reaching up to rustle his hair like they were the oldest of friends. “He’s cute. Can we keep him?” she asked.

“Angel face, I would consider myself a lucky man to be kept by you,” Sully shot back with that same surfer guy smile as before.

“Come on. Half of you guys are related to me,” Layna insisted, even though neither of us in the room were, and, technically, none of the brothers were actually related by blood to her. “Can we have a couple more touchable guys around?” she asked, still fingering the guy’s hair. “What do put in your hair?” she asked.

“Nice, right?” Sully asked. “And it smells like peaches and vanilla,” he told her, leaning his head closer as a silent invite to get a whiff.

Which she did.

“Layna, stop fingering the stranger’s hair,” Brooks demanded.

“Well, if you don’t like me fingering his hair, maybe he can—“ she started, wicked smile toying at her lips.