Genre: Paranormal, MC Romance
Forced into prostitution at the age of 17, Shelly has never known the soft touch of a man. She’s found them to be cruel and vicious. But when she sees him across the room – the man they call Ghost – she knows he’s unlike anyone she’s ever met before.
Ghost has noticed her. How could he not? Those legs. Those curves. That gorgeous mouth. But Ghost isn’t ready for an old lady, and his beast won’t settle for anything less when it comes to Shelly. So he keeps his distances and watches. And waits.
When Ghost realizes Shelly is being forced to sell her body, and that her pimp is a little too free with his fists, he realizes he can’t sit back and wait any longer. Charging in on his Harley, he swoops in and rescues the damsel in distress. There’s only one problem. Who’s going to rescue him from her?
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2015 Jessica Coulter Smith
“Oh, fuck yeah, baby!” Crimson pounded into Shelly like he hadn’t just fucked her a half hour ago. She made all the appropriate noises, squeezed his cock as hard as she could, but in the end it was just a job. A really fucked up job. He finished with a groan, then pulled out of her. With a slap on her ass, he trudged into the bathroom.
Shelly pulled down her dress and watched him, waiting for the right moment.
“I’m going to get cleaned up,” he said as he pulled off the condom. “And while I’m in here taking a shower, you’re going to get your ass out of my room.”
Once upon a time, she’d have felt dirty if she’d been discarded so easily. Felt used. But those emotions had been closed down a long time ago. She might as well have been a sex doll for all that it affected her. The last time she’d had an orgasm was…hell, she couldn’t even remember. She wasn’t sure she’d recognize an orgasm if she had one at this point. Sex was a means to an end. Mostly it kept her alive and fed.
With his back turned to her, Shelly knew she had precious seconds for the next part of her job. She snagged his wallet out of his discarded jeans and opened it up. Her heart sank when she saw it was only a few hundred, but she palmed it just the same. Unfortunately, she wasn’t as sneaky as she’d thought.
Crimson wrapped his hand around her throat and slammed her into the wall. “You’re going to fucking steal from me? You’re a dumber bitch than I thought. I knew there was something off, but I never thought you were a thief.”
She dropped the money and clawed at the hand holding her hostage as black dots swam before her. Shelly gasped for air as her lungs protested. Clawing at his hand, his arm, even reaching for his face, she kicked her feet as she tried to find purchase on the carpeted floor. Would he really kill her over such a small sum? She knew the bikers could be hardcore, but so could she.
“Just how many others have you stolen from since you’ve been here?” He sneered. “You’re nothing but a fucking whore.”
She couldn’t deny his words. They were true. But it wasn’t the money she got from the M.C. that made her the whore. Well, not the money she stole at any rate. It seemed the big, bad bikers weren’t aware that their Pres paid her pimp good money every month to send a handful of girls to the clubhouse every day so there would always be willing pussy available. Sure, there were some women who showed up on their own from the small town of Ashton Grove, but Shelly and the other whores were a sure thing, a guaranteed release for the men in the Loup Garous M.C., Ashton Grove chapter.
Crimson let her go and she fell to her knees.
“Get the fuck out, and if I ever catch you stealing again, I’ll haul your ass before the Pres, and you won’t like what happens. I can guaran-fucking-tee it.”
She blinked back tears as she nodded, scrambled to her feet, and took off. Head down, she charged through the clubhouse, avoiding the other bikers as she pushed through the doors and out into the night air. Shelly had caught a ride with the other girls so she resigned herself to the fact she was walking home.
Her high heels clicked on the pavement as she walked down the street. The darkness swallowed her and a feeling of unease crept down her spine. As far as she knew, Ashton Grove was a perfectly safe place to live. But there was something about the stillness of the night that put her on edge. It was quiet. Too quiet. No crickets. No cicadas. Nothing.
The crunch of gravel behind her was enough to send her scurrying faster down the sidewalk. There was the scuff of a boot against the concrete and Shelly tried to swallow down her fear. It was pitch black, not a street light for blocks, and she realized that if someone was out here with her, someone intending her harm, she would die a horrible death before anyone was the wiser. Perhaps it was what she deserved, living the life she did, but she wasn’t ready to go lights out just yet. There were too many things she wanted to experience.
The roar of a motorcycle engine made her pause. She looked over her shoulder and saw a headlight coming closer. The only men she’d seen riding Harley’s around town were the M.C. and the alpha of the local pack. Shelly knew she’d be safe with either of them and stepped into the street, hoping it would be enough to make the rider stop. The bike pulled to a halt in front of her, the beam of the light too bright for her to see who was riding.
“What the hell are you doing walking home?”
Relief flooded her as she recognized Ghost’s voice. He was one of the few males who had never taken her to bed. She flirted shamelessly with guys, like Whisper and Crimson, but there was something about Ghost that was off-putting. He wasn’t flirtatious like Crimson, didn’t have an easy, open expression like Whisper. Hell, Axel, the Sergeant at Arms, was friendlier with everyone than Ghost was. And yet, she’d felt drawn to him from the beginning. Maybe she was a chicken shit, but she’d never made a move on him, and didn’t plan to start now.
“I asked you a question,” he said. “What the fuck are you doing walking home?”
“I-I rode with the girls, but they weren’t ready to leave.”
“And you couldn’t nurse a beer and wait on them?”
She dropped her gaze. “I needed to leave.”
She couldn’t very well tell him that Crimson had threatened her for trying to steal from him. She had no doubt that Ghost would haul her ass back to the clubhouse and take her before Preacher, the President of the club. And Shelly wasn’t sure she wanted to know what happened to women who stole from the brothers. Something told her they wouldn’t believe her if she blamed her pimp, and really, how healthy would that be? The moment Richard heard that she’d sold him out to the M.C., he’d be hunting for her, and when he found her, he’d kill her. Slowly.
“I just need to get home,” she said.
“You’re not walking, doll. Hop on.”