Chance Taken (Devil’s Nightmare MC Next Generation, Book 2) by Lena Bourne

Author:Lena Bourne [Bourne, Lena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-27T04:00:00+00:00

Chance

The last thing I expected to be doing tonight is sitting in a car with Veronica, trawling nasty truck stops to prove I’m not the guy she thinks I am. But with Veronica, nothing is impossible and I don’t mean that in an entirely good way. And not in an entirely bad way either. It’s weird. I should be drinking with my brothers, celebrating the fact that Hunter is going to make it. But maybe it’s too early for that.

She completely lost it on me when I came back into her office earlier, and my chest still aches from the hundred or so times she poked me while making her point. A very sad point. I had no idea her sister was trafficked at some point in the past, if I understood her story correctly. She was sobbing and heaving so hard I didn’t get everything she was saying. But I understood enough to know that she is very, very upset.

I almost regretted chasing Trixie away before she could give Veronica the info on the Riders. But that wouldn’t have done anyone any good. And it was no lie when I told her they’d pay for all that and then some.

We’ll leave none alive. Devil’s Nightmare MC started as a band of mercenaries and we’re still the best. Of course she didn’t believe me and I couldn’t say any more than that, but the end result will be the same. She’ll get her revenge just as sure as we’ll get ours.

We’re not talking much as we drive, and the violent surge of wanting—no, needing—to help her has subsided to a dull pulsing somewhere in the back of mind. It’s been replaced by a heightened awareness of her.

She put on so much perfume this morning that I can still smell the fruity undertones of it, but her natural scent is coming through again now too—a sort of mixture of sweet peach and the ocean breeze. She purses her full lips in the most inviting way when she’s focusing hard on something and that fierceness of hers is always there, just beneath the surface of her pretty face. It’s like there’s a tigress inside of her, poised and lying dormant, still and composed until it’s time to pounce. Then she pounces hard. I bet she’d be dynamite in bed if she let go of that iron self-control she has.

“This is the place, right?” she asks as we pass a sign for a rest area a couple about five miles out of town.

“Yeah,” I say and stop talking before I tell her yet again that this is no place for her, especially not at night and that it’s highly unlikely any of the prostitutes working at these places will talk to us. She didn’t like hearing it the first three times I’ve told her that.

This is the fourth place we’ve come to—at the first three the whores weren’t out yet, but now it’s full dark and they will be. She signals, gets off

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