Knight: A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense (Anathema #3)

For a limited time, all THREE Anathema MC Novels are included in this book! You won’t miss any pulse-pounding excitement with these bonus full-length novels!

Knight

Life isn’t a fairy tale. Good men die, bad ones live, and the worst frame me for murder.

I didn’t just survive the war that splintered the Anathema MC, I was the traitor who fired the first shot. Now I’m the only one who can patch us back together. If the fractured pieces of the club don’t combine forces, we’ll face an even worse enemy alone, and everyone will suffer.

I should grab my woman and ride her to safety. Problem is my damsel doesn’t think she’s in distress, and she sure as hell doesn’t want to be rescued by me.

This war doesn't give me a choice. If I want to save my club and the woman I lost, I can’t pretend to be a hero.

I have to stay the villain.

Jocelyn

The men of the Anathema MC say I bleed green. I’d rather not find out.

My club isn’t just a cheap thrill, it’s a safe territory in Anathema’s civil war. Everyone’s money is the same at Sorceress—and my favors don’t come cheap.

Unfortunately, Anathema isn’t the only one using my girls. I can handle the Feds lurking around my stages, but I can’t save Knight from the body that wasn’t buried deep enough.

Knight demands I clear his name, but betraying Anathema’s secrets won’t protect us. If we want a happily-ever-after, we have to create it ourselves.

If we manage to survive.

Excerpt :
Nothing worse than waking up early on the day of your execution.

I ran out of friends after a punch to the gut and lost the rest of my luck when the burlap sack tightened over my head.

I never figured I had a lot of time left. Nights spent riding shadow to shadow didn’t promise much, but landing on the floor of a stolen truck flashed my life before my eyes quicker than dumping a bike on the highway.

I wasn’t bleeding. I didn’t believe in signs, but a wise man read the writing on the wall when the letters spelled his name. If the Anathema MC grabbed me, I’d be dead. What they lacked in patience they made up for in good aim, especially for their reviled traitor.

I spat blood and avoided staining my cut. The President patch hadn’t faded yet—still cocaine white. I aimed to keep it that way.

The truck barreled over the road. I struggled to my feet only to be tossed against the metal walls. My knee jammed against the bolted-down containers. The storage cabin smelled rough—bloody, sweaty, and hiding drugs too hard for anything Anathema ever ran. Hell, the haul was too dangerous for anything my splintered faction could run. The Coup had connections, but nothing this good.

Neither Anathema MC nor The Coup was big enough to move the drugs that graced the truck. But Temple MC could.

Apparently, this was how we met now.

I expected men to go bad, but never the deal.

I might have freed my wrists, but unless I was smoking a cigarette before this hanging, I couldn’t do much with unbound hands. Ropes over my wrist were better than one tight around my neck.

Hard hands with harder intentions hauled me from the truck. They pushed me to the ground, but as long as I didn’t land six feet beneath it, I had a chance.