Free VENDETTA: A Bad Boy, Motorcycle Club Romance by Lauren Devane Page A

some beans she’d cooked with lime and cilantro. “Why won’t you leave? What reason would he have to keep you?” She’d worked in the villa as long as I could remember, but there were plenty of younger housemaids, like the one that Manuel had excused himself with after our meeting that time. Rosaline was still beautiful, with light brown hair and faded emerald eyes, but her skin was lined and I didn’t imagine she’d hop into bed with Manuel if he crooked a finger.
    “It’s complicated,” she said, and turned to get herself a cup of strong coffee. “But your offer is kind.” Her pretty lips turned up in a smile that was both disarming and sad. I wanted to pull her onto the back of my bike and let her keep house for The Fallen, not stick around here to watch Manuel drag in doped-up women and push the workers so hard that accidents and deaths had increased for miniscule production improvement.
    Then he’d added Columbia to the mix. That made it more complicated. Columbians weren’t used to working with cartels like the one run by the Deleons. They’d want more and more control, but Manuel was too blind to see beyond his wallet.
    The road flew under us as I turned toward the coast, my hands slick on the handlebars. Driving fast was like flying and having Emily’s legs tucked up against my thighs was pure sensation, even through the stiff jeans we both wore. Every time she moved against me, I remembered the way her body stiffened under mine, the way her tight depths grabbed onto my finger when she climaxed. I wanted it again.
    I was going to have her again. Possessiveness was like a living thing inside me, hungry and restless.
    The sun was starting to set when the Sonora shore finally came into view. Three days had passed since we left the villa and we’d slept for scant hours at a roadside hovel. Now I could offer her cool, clean sheets, a view of the ocean and something to eat other than shrink wrapped protein bars and dubious food from metal trays in gas stations.
    Never before had I wanted to give a woman luxury and comfort, but everything I could give to Emily, I would. Her bravery set me on fire and her defiance of the men at the villa aroused me. If I’d thought the only women who were strong enough to stand up to adversity were the ones claimed by my brothers, then I was wrong. She was the opposite of meek and I wanted to take all that passion and will and wrap it up, keep her safe.
    My twisted urges confused and disoriented me, so I pushed them aside and started to plan. Concrete plans would do more for us than obsessing over her gorgeous dark hair or the way her lips curved when she took tiny sips from her water bottle when we stopped, then smiled at me over the lid. I hated the way I was mooning over some girl that I’d just met who’d probably bolt the second I came home with a bruise on my face.
    I wanted her, but I wouldn’t force her to stay.
    If Piston somehow managed to work shit out with the cartel, there would be a lot of late nights and a lot of shit work in it for me. No way I was getting out of this one with a slap on the wrist. Piston and Dad might even ship me up to Montana for a few years and I’d have to live with one of the sleepiest branches of the club. Nothing happened there. Last time I visited, I’m pretty sure I saw a cow die from boredom.
    Emily’s perfect ass must have been getting sore, because she snuggled up against me while she adjusted herself on the seat. Pretty obvious she hadn’t ridden too often before climbing onto my Harley. She had no idea how to move with the bike, and if I hadn’t been riding with jumpy, coked-up assholes for years, I could have sent us spiraling off the road and into a ditch when she moved like that.
    Didn’t help my erection either. I was hard as iron and if she just moved her hands down a little…
    Gritting my teeth, I looked for a nice hotel on the shoreline. For myself, the first place I came across would do, but I wanted more for