Savage Midnight: Skull Riders MC, #2

By LENA PIERCE

This is book 2 of the Skull Riders MC romance series! Book 3 is available everywhere now!

A savage night with the biker left me burned and broken.

He's the cause of my chaos.

And the only cure for the fire raging between my legs.

But the biker's offer will take me into uncharted territory.

Can I survive a night in his bed?

DIESEL

I light fires for a living.

And that includes the one I intend to light in the sexy young reporter who thinks she's onto a hot story.

Precious Willa didn't know how lost she was the day she followed me into the bar.

And she definitely didn't know how straight out of luck she was…

Until she went home after to find her apartment building going up in flames.

I may have had a hand in that.

But I'll have a hand in helping get her back to her feet, also.

Well… maybe getting to her knees.

Because my door is open, and my bed is warm.

And the asking price for my generosity is one she can't resist paying.

I want her body.

I want her womb.

I want Willa to bear my child.

WILLA

I should have known better than to go home with Diesel.

He strikes deals as easily as he strikes a match… and I just know he's the SOB who burned down my apartment.

But I have nowhere else to turn.

Besides, as an aspiring reporter, how can I resist getting to the bottom of this story?

And as a woman, how can I resist his other offer?

Because the truth of the matter is, I want Diesel's fire-starting hands all over me.

I want his powerful body thrusting between my legs.

I want to destruct beneath him.

And when he tells me how he wants to use me, I discover something I never knew about myself:

I want to bear the biker's baby.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MBK Hanson Inc.
• Release date: Nov 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393592716

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Savage Midnight: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Skull Riders MC) @ 2018 by Lena Pierce. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

Savage Midnight: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Skull Riders MC) (Book 2)

By Lena Pierce

A savage night with the biker left me burned and broken.

HE’S THE CAUSE OF MY chaos.

And the only cure for the fire raging between my legs.

But the biker’s offer will take me into uncharted territory.

Can I survive a night in his bed?

DIESEL

I light fires for a living.

And that includes the one I intend to light in the sexy young reporter who thinks she's onto a hot story.

Precious Willa didn't know how lost she was the day she followed me into the bar.

And she definitely didn't know how sh!t out of luck she was...

Until she went home after to find her apartment building going up in flames.

I may have had a hand in that.

But I’ll have a hand in helping get her back to her feet, also.

Well... maybe getting to her knees.

Because my door is open, and my bed is warm.

And the asking price for my generosity is one she can't resist paying.

I want her body.

I want her womb.

I want Willa to bear my child.

WILLA

I should have known better than to go home with Diesel.

He strikes deals as easily as he strikes a match... and I just know he's the son of a b!tch who burned down my apartment.

But I have nowhere else to turn.

Besides, as an aspiring reporter, how can I resist getting to the bottom of this story?

And as a woman, how can I resist his other offer?

Because the truth of the matter is, I want Diesel's fire-starting hands all over me.

I want his powerful body thrusting between my legs.

I want to destruct beneath him.

And when he tells me how he wants to use me, I discover something I never knew about myself:

I want to bear the biker’s baby.

Chapter One

Willa

Iget home at seven o’clock, not sure how to feel about the day at the station. On the one hand, Brittany hasn’t been as annoying, and Peter hasn’t been as, well ... Peter. But on the other hand, I’m still getting nowhere. Two of my proposals for stories were rejected, and maybe that was because they deserved to be rejected. Maybe that’s because I’m not sure if my heart is in this anymore.

I have my own key to the apartment so I let myself in, going into the kitchen and microwaving some leftover pasta, and then pouring myself a glass of wine. As I go to the couch, I look around the apartment, thinking this is the strangest living arrangement I’ve ever experienced. My grandmother, with her four cats and her obsession with bottle caps, was pretty strange, but this beats it. I’m living with a man in separate rooms but we kiss and touch every night but never have sex. I’m sexually frustrated and it’s all my fault.

But it’s more than that, I reflect, as I pour myself my third glass of wine. I’m tipsy, but I don’t care. It’s half past eight o’clock and the TV is playing and I’m hardly watching it at all. Diesel is out somewhere, doing something. It’s more than that, I reflect as I take a long sip from my third glass of wine. I’m sure there’s more to it than sex. I’m sure there’s more to it than wanting him inside of me. I think about that first conversation we had about a baby. Lately, when I close my eyes, I see myself holding a child with Diesel looking down at us. It makes no sense. And yet it won’t go away.

I clean up the broken bowl, scooping up the big pieces and vacuuming the small awkward ones. I shouldn’t be with a man who breaks bowls, I tell myself. I start on my fourth glass of wine, opening a second bottle. I wish Diesel was something else, but then if he was something else, wouldn’t he be somebody else, too? I think about how I told him about my past, how easy it seemed, how well he listened. Do people get to choose who they fall for, or is that decision made for them?

The TV image is slightly distorted from where milk has dried on it. For some reason, that seems hilarious. I take another sip, and then spit it out laughing.

What’s funny? I turn at the sound of his voice. He’s standing in the doorway, a bottle in his hand, his words slurred. As he walks into the apartment, he trails the smell of smoke with him.

Nothing, I say. You’re drunk.

Am’nt, he slurs. I don’t know what you’re talking about, little lady, lady little. The world needs to get off my goddamn case.

Don’t throw yourself a pity party, I tell him. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s that.

I better not do that, then. He drops heavily into the chair and then takes a swig from the whisky bottle. It’s almost empty, a few trickles dropping onto his tongue. What’re you drinking? he asks.

Wine, I say.

"I’ll have a glass. Womanly