“Horse feathers.” My whole body’s shaking. With fear or anger, I can’t tell. “You don’t know the first damn thing about us.”
“Well, I know one thing.” She finally slides her gaze to Rooster. A bitter smile twists her pretty face. “His name isn’t Logan Randall.”
Rooster and Shelby’s story will conclude in
Diamond in the Dust (Lost Kings MC #18)
Order by clicking here.
Diamond in the Dust
Lost Kings MC #18
Life is the dirt where I’ve buried the secrets of my past.
With a few careless words, those rotting memories have been uncovered.
For years, I healed the past by living in the moment.
Until I found the woman who would be my future.
Now all those unspoken secrets have the power to destroy everything.
What started out as a simple rescue has taken me down a road I never could’ve imagined. And I’ll do anything to keep her in my life.
The ugliness of my past is buried deep.
But no matter how much dirt you throw on top of them, skeletons always have a way of crawling out of the darkest holes.
Diamond in the Dust (Lost Kings MC #18) is the thrilling conclusion of Rooster and Shelby’s story. Rhythm of the Road and Lyrics on the Wind should be read first.
Order by clicking here.
EXCERPT from Kickstart my Heart
Download Kickstart my Heart here..
Life changing events rarely announce themselves. More often, they slip into your world without warning and shred everything to pieces.
This video is supposed to be a game changer for my band.
Unfortunately, the headache to end all headaches has been fucking with me all day. Between the ridiculous strobe lights and cheesy video concept for a song I already hate, I’m ready to quit, hop on my bike and ride the three thousand miles home. This is supposed to be our big break. I should be more excited. Our manager assured us this video will be in heavy rotation on MTV. What she promised in order to secure that favor, I have no idea.
My bandmates are equally annoyed. They’re just better at hiding it. Growing up in an outlaw motorcycle club the way I did, concealing my irritation isn’t something I ever bothered to learn.
A few minutes later, when the “actress”—hired to play I’m not sure what in the video—steps onto the set, I’ve got a whole new problem.
She’s half-naked. Not uncommon in Hollywood. The odd part is how uncomfortable she looks in her own skin. Especially when you take into account that she’s set-my-blood-on-fire hot. Not your typical bleached stripper look most chicks seem to sport in California. White blonde hair down to her ass, lightly tanned skin and a decent-sized rack. Like a curvier version of the skinny blonde chick on Dynasty. I’d been jerking off to posters of that actress for years. And here’s my very own version.
So my new problem involves my dick getting way too excited for the tight leather pants the wardrobe person squeezed me into.
I haven’t gotten laid since I returned to L.A. Obviously, I need to fix that. Blondie’s exactly my type.
Watching her make out session with my friend Jacob, pisses me off. It’s a ridiculous reaction since I haven’t even talked to the chick yet. But there it is.
After we soak her with the firehose—and I’d love to know who came up with that bit of phallic symbolism, because I certainly didn’t vote in favor of it—she runs off the set, before I have a chance to sexually harass her properly.
I’m thwarted again by the director’s assistant. “Good job, guys. I’ll just need you back at noon tomorrow, so he can film you with your instruments.”
“What the fuck? Why didn’t he get those shots today?” I snarl at her, and she backs up a few steps.
“We only had the model booked for one day and needed to get all her shots in.”
Our singer, Jacob, steps up and glares down at her. “That’s totally bogus.”
“Take it up with your manager.” She snaps her gum at us, spins around, and hurries away.
We stand around complaining, and it doesn’t escape my notice that blondie hasn’t emerged from her dressing room.
As casually as possible, I step away from the guys and go knock on the door. By dressing room, I mean the closet someone threw a desk, lamp, mirror and chair in. There’s no window she could have crawled out of.
Faint sniffling reaches me, and I push the door open.
Poor girl looks like the saddest wet kitten.
“Didn’t anyone give you a towel?”
She glances up at my question and straightens her spine. Big, blue eyes blink rapidly. She’s a tough cookie. Doesn’t want me to know she’s been crying.
“No.” Shivers rack her body, and yeah, I’m an asshole, but I notice her nipples threatening to pop through her flimsy halter top. My thumbs twitch with the need to rub over them, but I keep my hands at my sides.
Pissed that a girl who’s basically an employee of my band is being treated so shitty, I track down some towels. Blondie’s eyes widen in surprise when I darken her doorway again.
“Here.”
“Thank you.” She shakes the largest towel out and wraps it around herself, then unfolds the other one to dry her hair.
“Uh, I’m sorry about the hose thing. We didn’t know about it until the last minute.”
She glances up as if she’s startled to find me still standing there.
“Chaser! We’re leaving!” Jacob calls out.
I can’t tear my gaze away from the beauty in front of me. “I’ll catch up later,” I say over my shoulder.
The guys heckle me, using a fair amount of curse words, but I’m one of those guys who the more you try to talk me into something, the less likely I am to do it.
“You don’t have to stay. I’m fine,” she says.
I’m also a guy who loves a challenge. “No, I’ll make sure you get home safely.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. But I saw the way our creepy director kept eyeing her earlier. No way am I leaving her alone with him.
Well, that, and I want her all to myself.
“Can you close the door?” she asks, pulling me out of my plans to get her naked in my apartment. Damn, she’s got a sexy voice. A hint of a foreign accent I can’t place. Pervy bastard that I am, I keep imagining her proper, princess voice, whispering dirty things in my ear all night long.
“Sure.”
Knowing she’s undressing in that room, waiting on the other side of the door is torture.
I duck into the bathroom and peel off the ridiculous leather pants the stylist stuffed me into. Once I’m in my jeans, feeling more like myself, I return to the dressing room. Quicker than I expected, she opens the door. Again, she seems surprised to find me waiting for her.
“You’re still here.”
We stand there for a second taking each other in. She’s changed into some baggy light denim shorts, a neon pink off-the-shoulder shirt, and plain white canvas sneakers. Far more conservative than her costume for the video shoot. Still sexy as hell on her.
“At your service,” I finally answer.