| Author: | Eliza Stout | ISBN: | 1230000230080 |
| Publisher: | Eliza Stout | Publication: | April 1, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Eliza Stout |
| ISBN: | 1230000230080 |
| Publisher: | Eliza Stout |
| Publication: | April 1, 2014 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
"The button up gave him an air of sensibility, but the tattoos and the Iron Disciples MC kutte roughed it all up, gave him an edge… something I had found myself unusually attracted to since we first met."
Hannah has been seeing Johnny, the vice president of the Iron Disciples MC, for a while now. Just as she is beginning to become comfortable with her new life and starts to settle in, however, her past rears its ugly head and threatens to ruin the whole thing. In order to salvage her relationship with Johnny, she is forced to lower herself even further into the gritty world of outlaw motorcycle gangs. She quickly learns that being with Johnny and being a part of that world is an all or nothing deal. The question is, is that a deal she's willing to accept?
WARNING: This 9000+ word story includes plenty of racy outlaw motorcycle club intrigue & titilating graphic scenes. It is intended for mature audiences only!
Note: This is the second installment of the Iron Disciples M.C. saga. Barring a few minor details, they do not necessarily have to be read together or in order, however it is still recommended that you read Joy Ride first, if you are so inclined.
Excerpt:
My eyes flicked open, my lips still flat against Johnny’s chest, and I saw behind him the door burst open. Johnny spun off of me quickly, and reached out as if by reflex for the loaded handgun that was sitting on the nightstand. He had to pause mid-movement however, frozen there with his arm outstretched, just barely missing the gun. SWAT officers had flooded into the room, all decked out in military grade equipment – full body armor & helmets, assault rifles, chock full utility belts.
“Freeze! Don’t move!”
They didn’t have to tell us twice.
“Ma’am, you can pull your pants back on,” one of them directed me. They seemed to be a little bit more sympathetic towards me, treated me a bit more softly. The officer waited as I struggled to pull my jeans back up around my waist and zip them up, and then he offered me a gloved hand to help me up off of the bed and onto my feet. Johnny, on the other hand, didn’t receive quite the same courtesies. One of the SWAT officers pounced on him crudely and roughly jerked and wrangled his hands behind his back, locking him into handcuffs, while another stood menacingly just feet away with an assault rifle aimed square at his face. Once they had him cuffed up and no longer perceived him to be a threat, the guns weren’t pointed at him nearly so boldly, but they still yanked him up to his feet and shoved him out of the room and out into the main barroom without a shred of respect shown.
"The button up gave him an air of sensibility, but the tattoos and the Iron Disciples MC kutte roughed it all up, gave him an edge… something I had found myself unusually attracted to since we first met."
Hannah has been seeing Johnny, the vice president of the Iron Disciples MC, for a while now. Just as she is beginning to become comfortable with her new life and starts to settle in, however, her past rears its ugly head and threatens to ruin the whole thing. In order to salvage her relationship with Johnny, she is forced to lower herself even further into the gritty world of outlaw motorcycle gangs. She quickly learns that being with Johnny and being a part of that world is an all or nothing deal. The question is, is that a deal she's willing to accept?
WARNING: This 9000+ word story includes plenty of racy outlaw motorcycle club intrigue & titilating graphic scenes. It is intended for mature audiences only!
Note: This is the second installment of the Iron Disciples M.C. saga. Barring a few minor details, they do not necessarily have to be read together or in order, however it is still recommended that you read Joy Ride first, if you are so inclined.
Excerpt:
My eyes flicked open, my lips still flat against Johnny’s chest, and I saw behind him the door burst open. Johnny spun off of me quickly, and reached out as if by reflex for the loaded handgun that was sitting on the nightstand. He had to pause mid-movement however, frozen there with his arm outstretched, just barely missing the gun. SWAT officers had flooded into the room, all decked out in military grade equipment – full body armor & helmets, assault rifles, chock full utility belts.
“Freeze! Don’t move!”
They didn’t have to tell us twice.
“Ma’am, you can pull your pants back on,” one of them directed me. They seemed to be a little bit more sympathetic towards me, treated me a bit more softly. The officer waited as I struggled to pull my jeans back up around my waist and zip them up, and then he offered me a gloved hand to help me up off of the bed and onto my feet. Johnny, on the other hand, didn’t receive quite the same courtesies. One of the SWAT officers pounced on him crudely and roughly jerked and wrangled his hands behind his back, locking him into handcuffs, while another stood menacingly just feet away with an assault rifle aimed square at his face. Once they had him cuffed up and no longer perceived him to be a threat, the guns weren’t pointed at him nearly so boldly, but they still yanked him up to his feet and shoved him out of the room and out into the main barroom without a shred of respect shown.
