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“It’s not a question of ‘or.’ It’s ‘and.’ I need time with my brothers, with my roots.AndI have obligations to fill.”
“That’s not an answer, so I’m going to ask again. Who are you. Tarik Stone?”
“I’m the man who’s going to rock your world, beautiful.”
* * *
BIO:
Sutton Bishop has always believed in happily ever after. Despite beginning her writing career while penning nonfiction essays and articles for magazines, Sutton’s heart belonged to romance long before she wrote her first book. After marrying her teenage heartthrob and starting her own family, she finally plunged into romance writing and is still yet to come up for air. Sutton’s deeply layered and flawed characters are forced to contend with challenging plot twists that reveal their hidden motives and passions, in settings that range from America’s heartland to the heat of Guatemala, Morocco, Italy, and Spain.
Julia and Tarik’s story is only getting started.
Stay abreast of when their book releases, as well as other updates, including bookish news, culinary adventures, and gardening escapades:www.suttonbishop.com (www.suttonbishop.com)
SOCIAL MEDIA:
https://linktr.ee/authorsuttonbishop (https://linktr.ee/authorsuttonbishop)
The Darkest Renegade
USA Today Bestselling Author
Sharon Wray
ChapterOne
Isolde O’Cleary despised everything about Saturday nights. Especially those Saturday nights where she spent more time on her bent knees than her sore feet. And not the kind of “knee time” one might assume an unattached woman in a notorious biker bar would be involved in. No, instead of having fun with a hot guy, she was cleaning up puke in the only stall in the men’s bathroom.
At least it wasn’t blood.
She threw her wet rag into the bucket and reached for the stall’s door handle. Except her rubber gloves slipped and she pitched forward. She grabbed the porcelain rim before she did a faceplate into the grimy toilet she’d spent too many hours trying to clean with bleach. Her bare knees hit the uneven concrete floor and pain shot up her thighs. “Shit.”
Why had she thought working here would be a good idea?
Oh, right. In spite of the crappy job, she enjoyed her life and wanted to keep breathing.
“You okay?” The deep male voice penetrated her silent conversation, and her breath caught in her throat.
She glanced back to see Hawk Mosby, one of the most handsome men she’d ever known. As usual, he wore jeans and black boots. His warm brown eyes were crinkled in laughter. At least six-foot-four, he rested a hip against the counter with his arms crossed over his powerfully built chest. Nearby, the men’s room door swung on its rusted hinges.
Perfect. He was the only man in the bar tonight she’d been trying to avoid. The only man who’d made her tighten her apron strings and adjust her cut-off denim shorts before realizing what she’d been doing. His long dark blond hair was tied at the back of his neck, except for the strands that covered one eye, and his black cut covered his black T-shirt. She already knew that the colors on the back of his leather vest announced to the world he was a Devil’s Renegade. And he had a smaller V. President patch on the front of his cut. She just wished she’d known all that before falling into his bed a few weeks ago. If she had known, she would’ve placed him on heroff limits shelfwith the rest of her young adult mistakes. “Hey.”
Really? That was the best she could do?I am so pathetic.
What was even more pathetic was the fact she wanted to inhale more of his scent which reminded her of freshly mowed grass, pine trees, and bourbon. Not at all what most bikers smelled like. Especially one with tattoos that covered their neck and arms, all the way down to his fingers covered in silver rings.
His brown gaze drilled into hers with the unspoken question,Why did you leave my bed last week, without a word, and not return?“I was wondering if you were still in town.”
“I hope to be leaving soon.” She gave him a tight smile and changed the subject to something gross. Something that wouldn’t remind her of the incredible sex they’d had so many times, for weeks and weeks, she’d stopped counting. “I wouldn’t use this stall for a while. It stinks like puke.”
He tilted his head and offered her a soft smile, as if he recognized her avoidance tactics, and her toes curled in her boots. Honestly, she thought he’d be angrier about how she’d ditched him in that fleabag motel on the interstate.
He shook his head, as if wiping away a memory. “Good thing I just need to wash my hands.”
Her shoulders lowered on her exhale. It was silly, but she was relieved. Relieved he wasn’t mad at her as well as the fact he wasn’t about to drop his pants. She had learned the hard way that men in motorcycle clubs had few boundaries and nothing embarrassed them. She’d lost track of how many times, in the last three months, she’d been cleaning this bathroom while bikers had dropped their leathers to piss in the urinal. She often wondered if they were truly oblivious or wanted her to check out their assets. As if she cared.
Except she had cared about Hawk’s assets because they were good assets to have.
