Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3) by Max Henry

Author:Max Henry [Henry, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Dark Romance
Publisher: Max Henry
Published: 2016-12-10T05:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

Sawyer

Fucking girl’s going to do my head in.

Don’t know what the fuss is over anyway . . . .

As if you’ve ever liked anyone.

Thought a little intensity in the kitchen might sway her my way, and it almost did. She had that defiant look in her eyes, the one that says she knows she’s bitten off more than she can chew but she’s going to make a fine show of trying to eat it anyway. But then she blew that fucking kiss on her way out the door, letting me know the chase is on.

She’s fucking with me, playing hard to get.

Thing is, I’m never one to let prey go.

Especially when it presents a fair workout to catch it.

Still love you, Dana girl, but can’t stay celibate forever. She’d understand. Getting my dick wet doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what she meant to me. Just means I’ll be getting a little extra cardio on the side while I avenge what that fucker did to her. Not as if I’m looking for anything long-term. A little fun here . . . .

A little blood there . . . .

I yank the strap on my saddlebags a notch tighter. The leather complains; it’s not as though it needs to be shackled down so damn tautly, but if I’m not taking my pent-up frustrations out on this fucking strap, I could guarantee there’d be a few expensive machines in the garage that are a little worse for wear by the time I cruise out the gates.

Abbey fusses with the truck in my periphery; making it damn fucking obvious she’s trying to attract my attention. Thought I had her this morning when she flashed me that pink pussy, but dang, the girl’s done a right one-eighty. She’s playing hard to get for sure.

Maybe she is as equally fucked in the head as me?

What you trying to say . . .?

Come on—not as though we’re exactly over the moon about being stuck with each other, is it?

Touché . . . .

I throw my leg over the seat and unscrew the fuel cap, giving the machine a wobble between my legs to see where the level is. Damn gauge has been playing up for weeks, but Cedric, the young guy they have in the workshop here, isn’t quite as careful with his work as Fingers. I’ll be handing my keys over to the old boy as soon as we pull into Lincoln; wouldn’t trust anyone else with my ride.

I replace the cap and make the fatal error of glancing up as a flash of light off chrome catches my attention. Fucking Abbey’s standing up on the front wheel of the F150, ass hanging out of her cut-offs for the entire world to see as she makes a show of wiping off the windshield.

“That really necessary?” I call across the yard.

“Will be when the sun starts to set,” she hollers back. “Makes it hard to see when the light hits this road grime.”

She’s not wrong, but I’m not buying her excuse either.

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