Crimson: Satan's Savages MC Book One by M. L. Beeson

Author:M. L. Beeson [Beeson, M. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

After what seemed like hours of staring at the ceiling pondering Dozer’s advice, I was finally able to get some much-needed rest. I wake up about ten o’clock a.m., get dressed, and brush my teeth. Looking in the mirror, I look tired. You can tell by the big purple bags under my eyes, maybe it is stress. Whatever it is, I look like hell. At least my outfit it cute, I am wearing a red tank top that zips up the front, a dark pair of form fitting skinny jeans, and my black chucks.

Well here goes nothing, it’s better to face the wrath head on rather than avoiding it. I open the door of the bedroom and make my way to the stairs. After taking my sweet time taking the steps at the slow pace of one at a time, I land on the floor looking into the bar. Some of the members hear me come in, and look up to only realize it’s me before going back to what they were doing. Feeling awkward as hell, I scurry behind the bar and start prepping it for the day. I am slicing the lemons and limes, when Blade comes downstairs and sits down on the stool closest to me. Can he be any more annoying? Last thing I need is him in my bubble.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“You want some coffee?” I ask, not looking away from the fruit I am cutting up.

“No. When you’re done, we are taking a ride.” Oh fuck, I am in some deep shit.

Without saying another word, Blade gets up and grabs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and walks out the door. Finishing up the lemon and limes, I put them in the container and put it in the small refrigerator. I quickly wash my hands and dry them on one of the bar towels. Taking a deep breath, I walk outside to find Blade leaning against his bike smoking his cigarette.

I’m trying desperately to find the words to let him down easy. “I don’t think this is such a good idea. I have shit to finish here.”

“Just get on the bike, darlin.” Blade turns to take his position on his beast of a bike and holds his hand out, waiting for me to finish the battle with my internal self. Finally giving in, I grip his hand and he helps me sit on the seat behind him, handing me the helmet.

Firing up the motorcycle, Blade puts the bike in gear, throttles up and eases us out of the parking lot. We are cruising through town when we pull into a small shopping complex. Blade parks the bike, kicks the stand down, hops off and offers me a hand. Following Blade’s lead, we walk into a small shop called Morrison Sporting Goods.

“What are we doing here? I didn’t take you for the hunting type,” I say, looking around at all of the outdoorsy gear.

“For one, stop assuming shit about me, I love hunting. We live in Idaho for fucks sake.

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