Home > War (Toxic Warriors MC #3)

War (Toxic Warriors MC #3)
Author: E.C. Land


PROLOGUE

 

 

WAR


Two Weeks Ago . . .

 

 

Thrusting into the woman underneath me, I clench my teeth, fighting the urge to come already. She’s tight, and the way she convulses around my cock feels too damn good.

“Enzo,” she pants, calling me by my name. A name I never give to anyone, but I gave to her. Why I don’t know, but I like hearing it from her. Even if it’s for this one night. She’d given me hers earlier at the bar though I refuse to think of it.

Adjusting her legs on my shoulders, I adjust the momentum, taking her harder, savoring the feel of her nails digging in my back.

She cries out, giving in to her third release of the night. I don’t think I’ve had a woman be so responsive to my touch, and I know that shit ain’t fake either.

Giving in to the need to join her, I slam inside her warm heated slickness and growl through the release leaving my body. Not for the first time tonight, I come into the condom seated inside her. But it’s the last one for the night.

I glance at the time on the nightstand shaking off the thought of falling to the side, rolling to my back, and pulling this woman into my arms. At the bar, I noticed her right off. She didn’t look like the typical woman who would be in a biker bar. Dressed in a pair of cut-off shorts, she had on a black top that I found out after getting her to my house had the back completely cut out. However, at the bar, she’d had this cardigan-type silk thing that my sister Gianna calls pastel patterns on it. She looked like a total gypsy. With her hair down and resting over her shoulders, the woman looked completely out of place, yet every man in the place wanted a piece of her. I just so happened to get in there first. She left with me after her friend was a no-show.

“Time to get moving,” I say, sliding from her heated depths and not looking at her. If I do, I’ll probably want another round that’ll also lead to more of me being inside her. I stroll to the attached bathroom to my room and stop just inside to find her staring after me in confusion. “Go ahead and let yourself out. Good times, but it’s a new day, and I’ve got shit to do.” With that said, I close the door behind me and release a breath.

I didn’t lie about having shit to do. The club’s dealing with some shit going on with our VP’s ol’ lady’s sister, who’s a bitch. More than a bitch really. I don’t have time to see to make sure she’s good to let herself out of my house and find a way home. She knew the score last night.

Fuck.

Normally I take my lays to either their place, or we hit up a motel. I don’t bring them here. I keep my space to myself. It might be only a two-bedroom house, but it’s my space, and I like it that way. But last night, I brought her here, and now I’m regretting it.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I glance at myself in the mirror, and something in my stomach tightens as I get a look at the scratches on my shoulders. Swear when that woman let loose, she fucking flew, and it was beautiful. The thought of having those marks tattooed permanently pops in my head, but I quickly shove it away.

Shaking my head, I move to the shower and turn the water up hot as I can take it. I step in and pull the curtain closed behind me. I finish my shower and get out. I walk out of the bathroom to find she’d done as I told her and gotten out of there.

With a sigh, I mutter a curse and get dressed. Time with her is over, and I need to forget about her again. No matter how fuckin’ beautiful she is. How sweet she sounds when I fuck her. And I sure as fuck need to not remember her name. A name I refuse to even think about because it suits her perfectly and makes her memorable. Fucking Shyann.

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

SHYANN


Present Day . . .

 

 

Setting the headphones on my desk, I roll my chair back enough to uncross my legs, feet moving to the floor, and I stand. I just finished up my podcast for the day and need to find something to eat.

I grab my phone from next to my laptop and unlock it, finding my best friend’s number. For the past two weeks, she’s been somewhat ghosting me. She stood me up, not showing up at the bar she told me to, and when I got ahold of her, she apologized, saying she was on a story right now for her blog and forgot to call. Doesn’t explain the fact she’s constantly avoiding me.

We had plans, and each time she’s bailed. Gianna is always after the next story for her blog. I get it because that’s the way she is. Like a dog after a bone. It’s her. But she’s not one to ignore me. The two of us have a code, and we’ve lived by that since college. Gianna and I met our freshmen year when we found out we were dormmates. Other than the times it came to family time, we’ve been inseparable. It’s why her blowing me off worries me.

I know she’s got a brother who’s in an MC, but she doesn’t talk about him much, saying he keeps his life private. I get it considering Gianna’s talked to me about their childhood. If I’d met her brother, I might go to him with my concerns. See if he’d help in figuring out what his sister’s up to, but I don’t even know what MC he’s with.

Glancing at the time on my phone, I sigh, deciding to go ahead and grab a snack. After, I’ll go outside where I can meditate. With the sun, I like to be in my garden as much as possible.

I make my way to my kitchen, open the fridge, and snag a bottle of infused water and a bowl of fruits I prepared earlier. I head to the open back door and push the screen door open, stepping out onto my porch.

I love my house. It’s my haven. Filled with green everywhere. It looks like a little cottage, but it’s a Cape Cod style with a wrap-around porch. There’re vines growing over the railing and up the sides of my home. I keep it looking beautiful and not let it overgrow to the point someone would complain. Though my closest neighbor is a quarter of a mile down the road, and we have trees separating us.

Taking a seat in one of my chairs, I pick my legs up and cross them in front of me, sitting Indian style. This is my usual way of doing anything. Some might think I’m weird, but it’s just me. I’m used to the way people look at me like I’m weird because of the way I dress in my flowy skirts, ripped up jeans, shirts, crochet, or made simple. I love it because it’s who I am. I’m a gypsy, and I don’t care if people judge me. That’s on them.

Having been raised by my grandmother, she taught me a lot of things. All of them I’ve taken in stride and became who I am. She’s the same as I am, having taught me.

Eating my fruit, I stare out into my garden, but as it has lately, I’m drawn back to the night I was supposed to meet Gianna at the bar I went to. I’m not one for one-night stands, and I ended up having one that night with a man so beautiful he took my breath away.

It was like a spark in me was struck and became whole in a way it’s never felt before.

Enzo.

Never did I expect to go home with him or ride on the back of his bike getting there. Being on the back of a motorcycle was exhilarating. I’d never felt so free feeling the wind whipping around me the way I did.

At his house, I didn’t get the chance to do anything else. We were all about getting clothes off and spending the rest of the night consuming each other. Hands touching all over. Mouth, his and mine, being used to tease and toy. Then him sliding inside me. The positions he took me in left me aching for days.

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