Allen, an in-depth study of a Denver Motorcycle Club, the Chaos MC, depicting how they pulled themselves out of the life of the outlaw, cleaned up their club, earned legitimacy and became the foremost purveyors of custom-design cars and bikes in the United States. A stunning, often moving, always no-holds-barred portrayal of a club that found a moral compass and built a brotherhood who made it through hanging on to one thing: Loyalty.
Benito watched it.
Yes, he did.
But before he did, he switched out to the best wine he had. A thirty-five-dollar chardonnay he’d been saving for a special occasion.
Through the movie, he drank the whole bottle.
He also ate all the brie.
This was unusual. He was careful with calories. He worked out. Clients liked their fucks fit.
He still ate every bite.
And when the film was done, he went into his bedroom. He moved to his sock drawer and pulled from the bottom the framed photo of him and his mother that his auntie took when he was five.
Outside the armchair and some clothes, it was the only thing Bounty had left behind.
His mother had been beautiful.
But she looked sad.
She always looked sad.
Benito never understood that.
Now he did.
She saw his path, even that early.
And she spent her life trying to steer him from it.
He’d known better.
He’d been wrong.
As she knew he would be.
He put the frame on his nightstand.
He sat on the side of his bed.
He did not write a note.
He also did not hesitate.
He simply reached into his nightstand and took out his gun.
He put it to his head.
And he blew the bullet right through.
Tack
Two weeks later . . .
They rolled out of the forecourt as one.
They hit 25 North.
And kept going.
Past Fort Collins the road opened up and Tack looked right, toward his son, when Rebel, on the back of Rush’s bike, her long hair flying all around, arched her chest into his boy’s patch, lifted both arms up in the air and let out a rebel yell.
Even through his thick beard, Tack could see Rush was smiling.
His wife behind him did the same as Rebel.
Tack looked in his mirror and saw it happen down the line.
Tabby.
Lanie.
Carissa.
Millie.
Rosalie.
Keeley.
Sheila.
Renae.
All the men, all his brothers, all their lips curled up.
Tacked grinned at the open stretch of tarmac in front of him, glinting in the sun.
And Chaos rode.
The End
Dive into more from Kristen Ashley.
Discover The Hookup now!
When the new girl in town, Eliza “Izzy” Forrester decides to hit the local drinking hole, she’s not ready to meet the town’s good, solid guy. She’s definitely not prepared to engage in her very first hookup with him.
Then Izzy wakes up the next morning in Johnny Gamble’s bed and good girl Izzy finds she likes being bad for Johnny.
Even so, Izzy feels Johnny holding her at arm’s length. But Johnny makes it clear he wants more and Izzy already knows she wants as much of hot-in-bed, sweet-out-of-it Johnny Gamble.
Floating on air thinking this is going somewhere, Izzy quickly learns why Johnny holds distant.
He’s in love with someone else. Someone who left him and did it leaving him broken. Whoever was up next would be runner up, second best. Knowing the stakes, Izzy will take what she can get from the gentleman that’s Johnny Gamble. And even knowing his heart might never mend, Johnny can’t seem to stay away from Izzy.
Until out of nowhere, his lost love comes back to town. He’s not going back, but Johnny still knows the right thing to do is let Izzy go.
And Izzy knew the stakes, so she makes it easy and slips though his fingers.
But that’s before Johnny realizes Eliza moved to town to escape danger that’s been swirling around her.
And that’s why Johnny decides to wade in.
That and the fact Eliza Forrester makes breakfast with a canary singing on her shoulder and fills out tight dresses in a way Johnny Gamble cannot get out of his head.
Turn the page to read the first chapter now!
The Hookup
Panties
Izzy
I WOKE UP to the sound of a ceiling fan.
I did not have a ceiling fan.
Obviously, this made me open my eyes and do it fast.
Which brought to my brain the fact that I was lying on tan sheets. They had a slight sheen to them. I could feel them too, and they were soft. They looked and felt expensive.
But they were not my sheets.
The pillow my head was on was not my pillow.
And the nightstand next to the bed that had three used condom wrappers, some change, a cell phone, an alarm clock and