Page 97 of Prince Charming

“Wait, I’ll take you home.”

She shook her head and closed the door with a quiet snick.

That goodbye sounded too damn final for his liking.

Their relationship was fresh and tender—still in the early stages of learning about each other. He could slay her dragons if that’s what she needed. He wasn’t a knight, far from it, but he’d play the part to get shit done.

The Dix problem and training were still pending for the day, but something else trumped everything. That was how it was when a biker found his old lady.

Their skilled enforcer was behind bars, serving time for a crime he fabricated himself so he could kill a man, but it didn’t mean Lawless was without means.

He had it pretty cushy inside.

All the recreational time he wanted. Access to the internet, thanks to a middle-aged secretary enamored with the kinky bastard. And because Lawless had persuasive ways, especially with a prison guard, he now had a cell phone for when the boys didn’t have time to ride across the country.

If anyone could figure out a way to get three people illegally across the waters, it would be Lawless, with experience in most every illegal endeavor there was.

He left his friend a text message, knowing Lawless would call when he could.

A shower didn’t put Tag’s head to rights, but he emptied his mind while the scalding water sluiced down over his head. With possibly the biggest fight of his life upcoming, his mind would usually have been deep in the zone.

Marianna changed his focus.

He was fucking bruised inside without her.

Try to cut me loose, Anna. See what a biker will do.

He’d put her over his lap and listen to her cries of pleasure and submission.

He growled her name while he shaved.

And rumbled it again while he prowled through the MC.

Be ready, Marianna. I’m not going easy now.

Easy-going Tag was yesterday.

Now he was determined as fuck to get what he wanted.

And that was Marianna Yahnotov.

TWENTY-FIVE

“Out with the old. In with the new.” – Tag

It was one of those uncommon moments when a club problem solved itself.

Tag strolled into the clubhouse that morning—tired as hell, still cranky—and bumped into Hawk.

Not literally.

The VP would have ripped Tag’s head off had someone touched him without prior warning. Hawk wasn’t touch sensitive, but he was part-asshole and hated anyone in his space unless he wanted you there.

No back slaps or bro hugs for him.

“What’s up, VP? You look less murderous this fine morning, you had your Lucky Charms?” Tag half grinned.

Hawk only rolled up a fair eyebrow.

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