Malcolm (Dirty Aces MC, Book 1)

While Malcolm Hyde may look like your very own personal Jesus, he’s anything but a saint. Covered in tattoos and leather, he’s a smoking hot biker and nothing but trouble.

As the president of the Dirty Aces MC, Malcolm is known for being cold and calculating. One bad decision – getting into business with the wrong person – is all it takes to bring down the entire MC. It’s happened before to his predecessor, which is why Malcolm refuses to let it happen again on his watch. He doesn’t trust anyone except for the few men who wear the same ace of spades patch on their back.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t ever take his eyes off of me – the new girl. I never intended to make an enemy out of Malcolm or the MC when I was sent to steal everything I could from them.

After Malcolm finds out what I’ve been doing, he’s furious and shows no mercy until I spill all of my secrets, ones that could very well end my life. That’s when he makes me a surprising offer – he’s willing to take care of all of my problems, and the only thing he’s asking for in return is for me to completely surrender myself to him.

Spending two weeks in bed with a bad boy biker sounds more like a reward than a punishment.

There’s just one little catch – once he claims my body, there’s no guarantee he won’t steal my heart too.

It’s going to take a gallon of whiskey to help me get through the club’s end of the month accounting bullshit and the headache it’s causing.

I fucking hate math.

It’s my least favorite thing in the world. But after Lowell, one of our own damn guys, stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from the MC, I have no choice but to suck it up and take over the accounting. I’d rather be sitting back, smoking a joint while playing poker or blackjack with all the other guys on our gambling boat, but that’s not going to happen tonight.

Having someone like me, a grumpy bastard who came from nothing and doesn’t like to spend an unnecessary penny, do the books can be problematic for the club, because I want to cut out all sorts of shit that the guys love, like pay-per-view at the bar.

“Hey, it’s Malcolm, right? Can I get you a beer?” a woman asks me sweetly while my head is bent over one of our beer vendors invoices. Ronnie, our bartender, and most of the waitresses know better than to bother me while I’m fucking working.

“No, but you can get me a fifth of whiskey,” I say with a sigh since she’s already interrupted.

“How much is a fifth?” she asks.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter when I finally lift my eyes to see which of our waitresses is seriously asking me that question. Well, that explains the problem. The skinny little blonde that I’ve never seen before looks too young to be holding a tray and serving alcohol. The last thing we need is a goddamn ABC violation.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask her.

“Oh, I’m Naomi,” she says with a smile.

“Where did you come from?”

“Sea Breeze, just north of here.”

“No, honey. I don’t care where the fuck you were born. I want to know how the fuck you got on my boat,” I snap at her. “Who hired you?”

“Oh, um, Fiasco,” she answers with her cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

“Of course he did,” I mutter as I eye her from the top of her short blonde hair pushed behind her ears, down the curves of her tight, sleeveless black dress to the toes of her black strappy heels that wrap around her ankle. She’s sexy as hell, sure, but way too young and innocent to be working in a Dirty Aces establishment.

“How old are you? Show me your ID.”

“I-I don’t have my ID on me. It’s back in the employee room though, in my purse,” she responds.

“How old does your ID say you are? Your real one. And if you know what’s good for you, you better not fucking lie to me,” I warn her with a threatening glare.

Her blue eyes lined with long, thick, black lashes widen comically, making her look even more like an innocent teen model who got on the wrong damn boat.

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Prove it,” I tell her, spinning toward her in my barstool. When she continues to stand there in front of me, unmoving, I say, “Hustle, honey. I ain’t got all day.”

“Yes, sir,” she responds. Setting her round tray down on top of the counter next to me, she hurries off behind the bar to the employee lounge, stumbling in her heels like she doesn’t have much experience wearing them.

A moment later, she comes running back, the small plastic ID card in her hand.

“Here,” she says, panting and making me think of other ways to take her breath away, especially when I see her date of birth along with the watermark that tells me her license is the real deal.

“How long have you been working here?” I ask.

“Tonight’s my first night.”

“No shit,” I huff. “Why don’t you go find a job at Applebee’s or some other family establishment tomorrow? You sure as shit don’t belong here.”

“Why do you say that?” she asks, giving me a little bit of attitude and drawing my attention to her pink, pouty lips that belong on a porn star.

Ignoring my dick’s interest in her mouth, I tell her, “Look, honey. I don’t have time to baby you every time somebody slaps your ass. And I sure as fuck won’t be wasting the club’s money on attorneys for sexual harassment lawsuits. Tonight’s your last night.”

Her front teeth bite down on her plump bottom lip and then she steps forward. Stroking her hands up both of my spread jean-covered thighs, she moves into the space between them. Her hips are so lean that she wedges them right on in until her flat stomach is rubbing up on my dick.

“I’m not easily offended, and I promise I won’t cause you any problems.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “How do you plan to prove that?”

“However I need to,” she says, not so subtly grinding against my hard bulge. “Just ask Fiasco.”

Goddamn him for screwing everything that walks. I’m both surprised and a little pissed that he was able to convince a girl like Naomi to do him. But if there’s one thing I know about the women who hang around the Dirty Aces’ establishments, it’s that they’ll do anything for the right price, be it cash or dope.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” I tell her, which is the honest to god truth. No matter how sexy she is or how many times she tries to push up on my dick, I don’t screw the help. Ever. It’s a hard and fast rule of mine ever since I’ve been in charge to avoid drama. All the other guys, except for Nash, who has his own reasons for abstaining, pass our girls around like they’re toys, each taking a turn playing with them. Hell, sometimes two even bang one of them at the same time. Their motto is any pussy will do, while I’m a bit more selective. Not that I’m monogamous or anything of the sort. Back in town, I’ve got three women on speed dial who come for me and only me whenever I want them. Silas calls them my Booty Call Squad. Each knows about the others, so I’m not screwing around behind anyone’s back. They’re welcome to walk away and see other men whenever they want; but while they’re fucking me, they keep that pussy on lockdown for me and only me. It comes at a high price to have convenient pussy, but doesn’t it always?

Naomi is quiet for several seconds as my rejection sinks in. Eventually, she asks, “Then how do you want me to prove I’m not easily offended?”

Inspiration hits with an idea so fucked up that I’m willing to bet she would rather jump ship than go through with it. It’s low, almost as low as Fiasco went, but all she has to do is decline and quit, which I’m certain she’ll decide to do.

Reaching around her back with my left hand, I find her dress’s zipper and slowly start to lower it, counting down the seconds before she jumps ship. “You’re going to prove it by taking your dress off and finishing your shift wearing only what’s underneath,” I tell her. “If you make it to the end of the night, you can keep your job.”

Before the zipper even reaches her lower back, the top of her strapless dress starts falling forward, revealing her bare tits that are small, perky handfuls with bright pink pointed nipples. Lower and lower I go down her tan body until the waistband of a pair of black lace panties are uncovered. After passing over the curve of her hips the dress sinks to the floor and pools around her ankles.

I figure she’ll be yanking the material back up to cover her mostly naked body within ten seconds at most. Instead, she just stands there between my thighs unflinching. She must be in shock.

Glancing up at her perfect, flawless, completely blank face, I can’t figure out what she’s thinking.

“Well, what’s it going to be?” I ask her.

REFUNDS POLICY

There are no refunds for ebook and audiobooks with instant downloads, so please purchase carefully.

There is no return for change of mind.

If you have any problems with the delivery of digital items, you should contact help@bookfunnel.com.

For all other inquiries contact authorlanehart@gmail.com.