Ride (Bayonet Scars #1)
Death comes in Armani. Salvation comes in leather.
Principessa to the Mancuso crime family, Alexandra knows a thing or two about living outside the bounds of the law. Suffocated by the life her father has laid out for her, she makes a choice she can't take back, changing the entire trajectory of her life.
Thrust into the dark and dangerous world of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club for her own protection, Alex finds herself faced with the last thing she needs right now: the man of her dreams. He’s sex in leather, the devil incarnate, and one hell of a kisser. But he’s also off-limits. Ryan Stone can be her friend, but he’s forbidden to be her lover.
Third-generation Forsaken, Ryan knows nothing other than life on two wheels, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He enjoys the many privileges that come with the patch, and the only laws he recognizes are the ones set-forth by his club. That is, until who he wants more than anything isn’t allowed on the back of his bike or in his bed. Balancing his desire for her body, and need to keep her safe, Ryan tries to keep Alex at a distance. Finally having made a choice for herself, she’s done hearing the word “no” and will push boundaries even Ryan himself doesn’t dare cross.
Excerpt:
Smiling at him, I place my right hand on his leather-bound right shoulder, using it for support as I awkwardly swing my left leg over the bike. I find myself on wobbly footing, but Ryan’s right hand grips mine as I dig my nails into his leather vest, and his left arm snakes behind him, pulling me closer to him. With his guidance, I land properly on the back of his leather seat. “Not used to having something this big between your legs?”
“I bet you’d like the answer to that, wouldn’t you?” I say before I can catch myself. Ryan turns just enough so that I can see the lascivious smile that’s spread across his face. His tongue darts out and licks his lips, sending a shiver up my spine. My father would have had a holy fit had he caught me being mouthy in front of his men. Carlo Mancuso likes his women compliant. But the way Ryan’s looking at me, with his eyes practically glazed over, I’m guessing he likes his women mouthy. “How long till Nevada, Cap?” A deep voice asks from somewhere behind me. I fumble with getting my feet situated on the small foot rests that stick out from the rest of the bike. Surprising me, Ryan clears his throat and says, “A few hours.” The surrounding bikers mount their Harleys and start up their engines. Ryan follows suit and the bike come to life with a deafening roar. The bike’s intimidating rumble vibrates every inch of my person. I take advantage of my position and wrap my arms around Ryan’s midsection, pulling myself as close to him as possible. He leans back minutely. I let my cheek rest on his shoulder blade. Slowly, the bikers spread out along the side of the highway, facing the road. Ryan steers the bike through the crowd and, like a shot, we’re the first on the highway. We kick into another gear and speed up, the rush of the wind and the sudden speed jostling. I let my fingers dig into his taut abdomen as we sail down the concrete stretch, surrounded by nothing at all discernible beyond the neatly laid rows of green that stretch for as far as my eyes can see. A little too late, I realize I’ve left my bag in the van. My Aunt Gloria gave me that bag, and it has the few worldly possessions I now own. Fear claws at my heart. If I lose that bag, that money, then I have nothing.
“Ryan?” I ask, but he doesn’t react. I say it a little louder this time, and still nothing. I give myself a moment before screaming his name as close to his ear as I can. He jumps in place, but somehow keeps the bike steady. “What?” He asks loudly, though not nearly as loud as I was. Leaning toward his ear I say, “My bag! I left it in the van.” I think he’s not going to answer me, given how long it takes him. But when he does, there’s a noticeable smile in his voice. “It’s safe,” he says. I know better than to ask how. Men of power, who have power because they’ve taken it, not because it’s been granted, they aren’t to be questioned. So I let myself trust him, even though I don’t know him yet. The highway stretches out before us, but nothing changes. No matter how many miles we clock or how long we ride, it all just stays the same. “How do you like it?” Ryan shouts over the cacophony of engines. I snuggle into him, not knowing if I’ll ever get another opportunity to be this close with him. “It’s incredible,” I say. A smile breaks out on my face and I laugh. The rush of the wind and the power of the bike overtake me and, for just a moment, everything feels right. “You’re smiling,” he says. “You can feel that?” I ask, surprised by the attention he’s paying to my movements.
“Oh, I can feel a lot more than that.” He revs the bike and speeds us up, leaving the others in our wake. They catch up in a minute; a few of the men flip Ryan the bird and shout curse words at him. We’re going so fast, my entire body goes rigid. My hands clamp down tightly onto his hard abdomen, feeling his flexing muscles beneath the leather. My thighs tighten around his hips, searching for confirmation that I won’t fly off the back of the bike. Beneath my touch, he shivers. Whether it be the wind or my touch that’s affecting him, I imagine it’s my touch. Testing the theory, I run my thumb in small circles on his abdomen. Straightening his position, his breathing changes. It picks up at first, and then catches before evening out. And I know, without a doubt, that it’s me that he’s reacting to, a thought that both excites and terrifies me.
“I bet you’d like the answer to that, wouldn’t you?” I say before I can catch myself. Ryan turns just enough so that I can see the lascivious smile that’s spread across his face. His tongue darts out and licks his lips, sending a shiver up my spine. My father would have had a holy fit had he caught me being mouthy in front of his men. Carlo Mancuso likes his women compliant. But the way Ryan’s looking at me, with his eyes practically glazed over, I’m guessing he likes his women mouthy. “How long till Nevada, Cap?” A deep voice asks from somewhere behind me. I fumble with getting my feet situated on the small foot rests that stick out from the rest of the bike. Surprising me, Ryan clears his throat and says, “A few hours.” The surrounding bikers mount their Harleys and start up their engines. Ryan follows suit and the bike come to life with a deafening roar. The bike’s intimidating rumble vibrates every inch of my person. I take advantage of my position and wrap my arms around Ryan’s midsection, pulling myself as close to him as possible. He leans back minutely. I let my cheek rest on his shoulder blade. Slowly, the bikers spread out along the side of the highway, facing the road. Ryan steers the bike through the crowd and, like a shot, we’re the first on the highway. We kick into another gear and speed up, the rush of the wind and the sudden speed jostling. I let my fingers dig into his taut abdomen as we sail down the concrete stretch, surrounded by nothing at all discernible beyond the neatly laid rows of green that stretch for as far as my eyes can see. A little too late, I realize I’ve left my bag in the van. My Aunt Gloria gave me that bag, and it has the few worldly possessions I now own. Fear claws at my heart. If I lose that bag, that money, then I have nothing.
“Ryan?” I ask, but he doesn’t react. I say it a little louder this time, and still nothing. I give myself a moment before screaming his name as close to his ear as I can. He jumps in place, but somehow keeps the bike steady. “What?” He asks loudly, though not nearly as loud as I was. Leaning toward his ear I say, “My bag! I left it in the van.” I think he’s not going to answer me, given how long it takes him. But when he does, there’s a noticeable smile in his voice. “It’s safe,” he says. I know better than to ask how. Men of power, who have power because they’ve taken it, not because it’s been granted, they aren’t to be questioned. So I let myself trust him, even though I don’t know him yet. The highway stretches out before us, but nothing changes. No matter how many miles we clock or how long we ride, it all just stays the same. “How do you like it?” Ryan shouts over the cacophony of engines. I snuggle into him, not knowing if I’ll ever get another opportunity to be this close with him. “It’s incredible,” I say. A smile breaks out on my face and I laugh. The rush of the wind and the power of the bike overtake me and, for just a moment, everything feels right. “You’re smiling,” he says. “You can feel that?” I ask, surprised by the attention he’s paying to my movements.
“Oh, I can feel a lot more than that.” He revs the bike and speeds us up, leaving the others in our wake. They catch up in a minute; a few of the men flip Ryan the bird and shout curse words at him. We’re going so fast, my entire body goes rigid. My hands clamp down tightly onto his hard abdomen, feeling his flexing muscles beneath the leather. My thighs tighten around his hips, searching for confirmation that I won’t fly off the back of the bike. Beneath my touch, he shivers. Whether it be the wind or my touch that’s affecting him, I imagine it’s my touch. Testing the theory, I run my thumb in small circles on his abdomen. Straightening his position, his breathing changes. It picks up at first, and then catches before evening out. And I know, without a doubt, that it’s me that he’s reacting to, a thought that both excites and terrifies me.
Thrash (Bayonet Scars #2)
Loneliness suffocates the heart. Acceptance breaks down walls.
As a Lost Girl to the Forsaken Motorcycle Club, Nicole Whelan knows how to party. She’s not cut-out for relationships and her life is way too complicated for anything more than casual encounters. But one night when she falls into Duke’s bed at the clubhouse, he sees something in her that he can’t let go of—no matter how many times she tries to run.
Having been left to raise her teenage brother, Jeremy, she’s already got her hands full and isn’t looking for anymore complications. But Duke’s just watched his best friend fall for the only girl he couldn’t have, and then almost lose her so shortly after, shaking him to his core. Faced with his own loneliness, he’s more determined than ever to break down Nic’s walls and show her that he can be good for her; but he’s got a bad track record and she’s got a bad temper. Changing his ways isn’t easy when he’s not sure what he’s even changing for.
The violence and turmoil are at an all-time high, and Forsaken is in a vulnerable place when a twist of fate breathes new life into the club. It’s a much-needed beacon of hope for the embattled biker family, even if everyone’s not exactly on board. With Duke and Nic’s relationship already on shaky ground, and something even more important at stake, the Forsaken Motorcycle Club will fight like hell to keep their family together and whole.
Love is never more precious than when it’s new.
Excerpt:
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says with a gravelly voice. “But remember who I am. I am Forsaken. I’ve killed men for less-- tortured them because I can.” My lungs stop for a moment and when they resume, all I can force out are breathy pants. I don’t want to enjoy this-- any of this-- but I do.
“Pushing me is not wise, Nicole. If I have to scare you to shut you up, I will. But I won’t ever hurt you,” he says, his voice falling to a whisper. “Don’t complicate shit, chill out, and understand this-- I want you as my woman. That means you represent me and I’m responsible for you. I let you pull that shit again and my brothers will start questioning whether or not I can handle the shit I gotta do for this club if I can’t even handle my woman. Do you understand that?”
“Pushing me is not wise, Nicole. If I have to scare you to shut you up, I will. But I won’t ever hurt you,” he says, his voice falling to a whisper. “Don’t complicate shit, chill out, and understand this-- I want you as my woman. That means you represent me and I’m responsible for you. I let you pull that shit again and my brothers will start questioning whether or not I can handle the shit I gotta do for this club if I can’t even handle my woman. Do you understand that?”
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About the Author: As a child, JC was fascinated by things that went bump in the night. As they say, some things never change. Now, as an adult, she divides her time between the sexy law men, mythical creatures, and kick-ass heroines that live inside her head and pursuing her bachelor's degree in English. JC is a San Francisco Bay Area native, but has also called both Texas and Louisiana home. These days she rocks her flip flops year round in Northern California and can't imagine a climate more beautiful.
JC writes adult, new adult, and young adult fiction. She dabbles in many different genres including science fiction, horror, chick lit, and murder mysteries, yet she is most enthralled by supernatural stories-- and everything has at least a splash of romance.
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Can't wait to read these... and the covers are HOT!
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to checking this series out.
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ReplyDeleteI haven't had a chance to read this series yet, but I've heard very good things about it. I'd love to read for myself.
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