Down & Dirty: Slade(Dirty Angels MC)

The Dirty Angels MC Series, Book 6

Genre: Contemporary, Erotic Romance

Length: Novel

This book can be read as a standalone

Welcome to Shadow Valley where the Dirty Angels MC rules. Get ready to get Down & Dirty because this is Slade’s story…

 

He thought he liked easy. Until she showed him easy was boring.

 

Right out of the Marines, Slade’s first mistake was patching into a club that was headed down a destructive path. His second was rolling into Shadow Valley on a search for answers. He had no plans to patch into another club, even one like the DAMC, and he certainly wasn’t looking for an ol’ lady. Especially a ball-buster like Diamond, who could singe the hair off a brother’s nuts with just a look.

DAMC born and bred, Diamond was ready to give up on becoming an ol’ lady until the heavily tattooed biker rolled into town on his Harley. Problem is, months later Slade’s still a mystery. He never talks about himself or his past, and Diamond wants answers. But she's not quite ready for what’s uncovered: secrets that could very well implode the club. It doesn’t just bring Slade’s loyalty into question, but forces Diamond to make a choice she doesn’t want to make. A choice that affects not only Slade, but the whole MC.

Note: This book can be read as a standalone. It includes lots of steamy scenes, biker slang, cursing, some violence and, of course, an HEA. If you like alpha males who like to take charge, this book is for you.

Excerpt:

 

 

Chapter One

 

“C’mon, brother, wake the fuck up.”

Slade groaned as the annoying voice disturbed his peaceful rest.

“Slade. C’mon, brother. You gotta get the fuck outta here.”

For some reason, the disturbance sounded a lot like Dawg. Why the fuck would the strip-club manager be giving him an unwelcome wake-up call?

Slade popped one eye open.

Probably because he had passed out at Heaven’s Angels Gentlemen’s club. Again.

That wasn’t a pillow under his head. Nope. It was a stripper’s lap.

He tipped his eyes upward. Not surprised at all, she was passed out, too. Her head rested against the back of the red velour love seat, her neck bent cockeyed and her mouth wide open.

She didn’t look so hot right now.

But then, he probably didn’t look much better.

With a groan, he lifted his head off her fishnet-stockinged thighs. Hopefully, she didn’t mind the little bit of drool that had escaped his gaping mouth during his snooze-fest.

Fuck.

He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and groaned.

“Seriously, brother, you gotta get the fuck outta here. Wanna lock up. Take ‘er with ya, if you gotta. But just get gone.”

He blinked. His brain felt like a whole lot of cotton had been shoved between his ears.

He sucked in a deep breath, then grimaced.

Fuck. He wouldn’t be eating that snatch any time soon.

Fuck him. That was deadly.

He pushed himself upright faster than he should have, and his head wobbled. No, that wasn’t his head, that was his pickled brain.

“Want me to get one of the prospects to take you back to church?”

He blinked again, hoping his vision would clear. He turned his head to find Dawg standing about five feet away, hands planted on his hips, an unhappy expression on his bearded face. The six-foot-two biker had dark smudges under his eyes. He was probably ready to get some shuteye of his own after working all night.

Slade tried to shake his head, but that made things so much worse. “No,” he finally got out, his voice croaking like a sick frog.

“Either that or Diamond. Take your fuckin’ pick. If I were you, I’d take door number one. Number two might just shriek your head right off, an’ then slam your dick over an’ over in that door. ‘Specially since your usin’ one of my girls as a fuckin’ pillow.”

Door number one sounded like a good option. There was probably a prospect still in the club that could drag his ass home.

Slade forced out, “Where’s Moose?”

“In the back, restockin’. Gonna get him to haul this passed-out bitch home in a few an’ can get ‘im to drop you off, too.”

Slade started to nod but thought better of it.

His brain felt like soup; no point in sloshing it around more than necessary.

“Don’t get why you’re gettin’ fuckin’ plastered here every night instead of The Iron Horse. Drink free there, here you don’t.”

He drank here because most of the club members didn’t come out to the strip club. It wasn’t a typical hang-out for them. They preferred drinking in church or the public side of the bar, so they could just walk upstairs to their room to pass out.

If he had any sense he’d do the same, but after working a shift at The Iron Horse slinging drinks for Hawk, the club’s VP and bar manager, and helping contain any out-of-control customers, he didn’t feel like serving himself. He wanted to sit on the other side of the bar, enjoy himself, and not be bothered.

It also didn’t hurt that most of Dawg’s girls were easy on the eyes and came with big-ass tits.

Not to mention, soft laps to pass out on. And sometimes pussy that didn’t smell like death warmed over.

But that wasn’t the main reason he’d been ending up here. Fuck no, it wasn’t.

The main reason was to lay low. Get his drink on without that bitch harping at him.

A bitch he hadn’t even banged yet.

A bitch who had tried to get her claws in him. Take a permanent seat on the back of his sled.

He wasn’t ready to have an ol’ lady, for fuck’s sake.

And even if he was, it certainly wouldn’t be Diamond. While they had a bit of fun last summer during some of the club runs, that was all it was... fun. To an extent.

At least until she wanted to become his regular piece.

Worst part about her was the woman didn’t listen. No fucking way was he putting up with backtalk and attitude.

He didn’t mind claws as long as they only came out while fucking. Screw that everyday shit, though. That would give a brother a headache. Worse than the hangover he would have tomorrow.

Was the bitch hot? Fuck yeah, she was.

Long dark, dark, dark brown hair that was typical for the Dirty Angels MC women, and great for digging his fingers into. Bright blue eyes that could pierce him to his soul. Plump, red lips that would be perfect for wrapping around his cock and sucking him like a fucking Hoover vacuum. And the fucking tits on her... Damn, they’d been pressed to his back during the runs a couple times. He couldn’t forget those curvy hips of hers, either. Perfect to sink his fingers into, whether he was fucking her from behind or she was riding him like a bucking bronco.

All stuff he had planned on doing with her until he found out she was fucking crazy, too. She could flip the bitch switch in an instant.

FOLLOW ME

  • Facebook Social Icon
  • Twitter Social Icon
  • Blogger Social Icon
  • LinkedIn Social Icon
  • Instagram Social Icon
  • Pinterest Social Icon
  • Tumblr Social Icon
  • bookbub-5

© 2016-2019 by Jeanne St. James

- This site uses Affliliate links.

DIrty Angels MC, Blue Avengers MC and Blood Fury MC are trademarks owned by Double-J Romance, Inc.