Friday, March 30, 2018

#FirstChapterFriday: DOWN & DIRTY: DIESEL by Jeanne St. James #MCRomance #Excerpt #KU

Down & Dirty: Diesel
Dirty Angels MC, Book 4

By Jeanne St. James

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

She calls him “The Beast.”

Diesel, the MC’s Sergeant at Arms and enforcer, is tasked with not only keeping the club’s property and its members safe, but also taking care of “business” when needed. His motto, “live free, die free,” means he sees most women as nags and clingers and he wants none of that. The last thing he needs is to have one sitting on the back of his bike and trying to dictate his life.
Unlike the other DAMC women, Jewel wants to be an ol’ lady. Being born and raised within the club, her goal is to earn her place on back of a brother’s bike. But not just anyone’s. No, she had to pick the biggest, most pig-headed and quick-tempered of the bunch. The one she nicknamed “The Beast,” because that’s how he acts both in and out of bed. She’s wanted Diesel for so long she’s not about to give up the fight to become his. She’s bound and determined to win this battle one way or another.
Diesel fights his desire for Jewel until a rival MC threatens what he realizes is his, and no one gets away with that. No one.

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.

Chapter One

He rolled to the right and hit another soft, naked body. That one fell to the floor with a yelp.
He kept rolling and knocked the third one out of his bed, too.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
His bed at church was way too small for four people. What the fuck had he been thinking?
Fuck him, he hadn’t.
A rustle of bodies in the dark, groans, grumblings and typical female bitching rose up.
“One of you bitches hit the light.”
The room stilled and got quiet.
“Now!” he barked.
He heard scrambling, cursing and squeals from stubbed toes. Then the bare bulb in the broken light fixture over his bed blinded him.
A few seconds later, he sat up in the middle of his mattress while his gaze bounced from one of Dawg’s new girls to the next. Three in total stood at the end of his bed blinking back at him like a bunch of brainless twats.
“Don’t fuckin’ just stand there, get dressed an’ get gone.”
“No lip. Go.”
The women quickly sorted through the piles of clothes and shoes on the floor, picking up pieces and handing them to their rightful owner. Occasionally they would sneak a peek at him and he’d growl back at them.
“Faster,” he urged in a tone that encouraged no back talk.
Finally, when they were at least partially dressed, he pushed himself out of bed with a grunt, went to the door, opened it, and yelled, “Out!”
One by one they filed past him, still zipping, pulling and wiggling parts into place.
“Call me.”
“It was fun.”
Fuck that. He slammed the door shut.
He fucked up royally by bringing them up to his room. He rarely did that. And he never fell asleep with anyone in his bed, either. Ever.
They got ideas if you did.
They were always looking for a way to dig their claws into you and drag your ass down. He’d never let that happen.
“Live free. Die free,” was his motto right behind the club’s “Down & Dirty ‘til Dead.”
He lumbered into his bathroom, scratching his balls. He took a piss, which luckily didn’t burn, then checked for crabs.
He was the first one of the brothers to fuck those bitches, that’s why he picked them. He wouldn’t touch them again. Too risky.
He left the small bathroom and stepped over his own clothes, which were strewn all over the floor, to grab his cell phone from the nightstand. He pushed the power button to see the time.
4:33 AM.
Fuck, no wonder church sounded as quiet as a real church. The party was over. Everyone was passed out, asleep, had died or just simply left.
He picked up the box of condoms off the top of the scarred nightstand and peered inside.
He glanced at the floor.
He needed to get one of the sweet butts up there to pick up all the used condoms and discarded wrappers. She could do his laundry while she was at it. Because he’d let that go a little too long. He had more dirty clothes on the floor than he did clean shit in his dresser.
He was proud of himself, though. At almost thirty-three years old, he could still bang three women and last for hours. His endurance was legendary.
Yeah, in his own mind. He grunted.
Even so, he still had it. But he was getting too old for this shit.
These nameless, faceless fucks weren’t satisfying him anymore. Yeah, they scratched an itch. But that was it. He saw what Z had with Sophie, Jag with Ivy, and now his brother, Hawk, with Kiki.
Hell, even what his father, Ace, had with his mother. Thirty-five years of marriage and they were still going strong. And they hadn’t tried to kill each other yet, either.
What the fuck was he thinking? Was he getting soft like them?
Hell no.
Live free. Die free.
Fuck, it was supposed to be “Live free, ride free.” What-fucking-ever.
He glanced at his phone again and realized he had a message.
He hit the voicemail icon and put the phone to his ear. His blood ran cold when Jewel’s voice came through the speaker.
“D... Fuck! Why aren’t you answering? Damn it! This is the fifth time I’m calling. I need you to come get me. Please.”
Her voice didn’t sound normal. That was not Jewel’s typical smartass self. No, she sounded like she was in some sort of trouble.
And here she was calling the club’s Sergeant at Arms, the enforcer, who was so busy fucking three cunts that he missed her calls.
Nothing had better have happened to her or he’d never forgive himself. He needed to find her and needed to do it now.
He hit the Send button on his phone and pressed it to his ear. She answered on the first ring.
“D.” Her voice was breathless and low.
A prickle ran up his spine. “Where the fuck you at?”
“In the ‘burgh. Come get me?” She was whispering.
“Why the fuck you whisperin’? What’s goin’ on?”
“I just need out of here.”
“I’m at a... house.”
His jaw got tight and a muscle ticked. “With who?”
Fuckin’ nobody. Bullshit. “This nobody drive your ass there?”
“Forget it, D... I’ll call my brother.”
“Address,” he muttered.
“Fuckin’ address,” he barked louder.
She gave it to him.
As he listened, he felt his blood start to boil. She was not in a good section of the city. And she was alone.
“Gonna beat your ass.”
He hit End. After finding his jeans, he yanked them up, threw on the nearest T-shirt, shrugged on his cut and tucked his phone into his back pocket. He sat on the edge of the bed after finding a half-decent clean pair of socks that didn’t have any holes in them, tugged them on, then shoved his feet into his boots and zipped them up.
As he pushed to his feet and scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin, he realized he hadn’t had a chance to wash the pussy off him.
Too fucking bad. If it bothered her, she could find another way home.
With a curse, he locked up his room and headed out.
Jewel paced the dark sidewalk back and forth, pausing to listen carefully every few minutes.
It would soon be dawn and she should’ve been out of here a long time ago. In truth, she shouldn’t have come here at all.
But she had been bored. She didn’t want to go to the party at church last night and Kelsea convinced her the party she was headed to would be fun.
Little did she know, her club sister had a motive for coming to this party in the city. She’d been hanging with some questionable people lately. And she’d hooked up with a guy that was a DAMC hang-around. Plus, she said with the two of them there, they could keep an ear open for any activity of the Shadow Warriors. Maybe hear where that asshole former prospect Squirrel and his buddy Black Jack were hiding out.
As Jewel had mingled with a much younger crowd than her, her first clue she shouldn’t have agreed to come was that she suddenly found herself deserted there alone. And most of the party attendees ended up either drunk, high on drugs, or both.
Not her scene. She gave up that kind of partying years ago. Not that she was old. At twenty-eight she still liked to party. But being at a house in a questionable part of the city with no vehicle, and surrounded by a bunch of wasted twenty-one and -two-year-olds had her really rethinking her choices.
So, here she was outside a rowhome waiting for Diesel to come “save” her.
He would be pissed but that was nothing new for the club enforcer. Still, as the club’s Sergeant at Arms, it was his duty to protect and take care of her.
Or that’s what she wanted to believe. She wasn’t so sure Diesel would agree. Maybe on the protect part. But that’s where he’d insist it ended.
He was too busy being a walking, talking—no, that wasn’t right—grunting testosterone-filled beast, to worry about taking care of anyone but himself. And by “taking care of” she meant sticking his dick in every conscious vagina he could find.
Every vagina but hers.
“Hey, baby.”
Jewel jumped as a male voice she didn’t recognize drifted her direction. She looked around but couldn’t see anybody or even any movement. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.
D, hurry up.
“You out here by yourself? You need a friend?”
The voice came closer and Jewel’s heart began to race. She squinted, trying to get a bead on who the voice belonged to.
“No. I’m good. My man’s coming to pick me up.”
“He stood you up, baby. I’m here for you, though.”
She patted at her jeans’ pockets hoping a knife or some sort of weapon would magically appear.
She was going to kill Kelsea.
“Just so you know, he’s really jealous. He’ll kick your ass for just talking to me.”
A shadow moved between two of the cars that were parked along the curb.
“Is that right?”
“Then we should go somewhere he can’t find us.”
Holy fucking shit!
Why didn’t she ever take a self-defense course? The only thing she knew how to do was kick a guy in the gonads, scratch his eyes out... or call Diesel.
Fuck my life.
She looked down at her fashionable high-heeled boots. She couldn’t run in those things. She could hardly even walk in them. They were strictly for looking good and making her legs look hellishly long.
Which they did. But that wasn’t going to help her out right now.
The shadow moved again and Jewel bit back a scream. She couldn’t act afraid, she had to act fearless.
“Whoever you are, get gone!” she yelled, bracing her feet wide apart.
“Really, baby, you don’t want me to do that. We can have some fun.”
“Not looking for fun,” she said firmly, hoping she sounded like the tough biker bitch she was.
“I am.”
“My man’s a mean biker, he’ll kick your ass.” Silence. Which made the skin on the back of her neck prickle. “He’s huge, too. Killed a man.”
Oh, Jesus. If someone told her that, she’d be the one rolling her eyes.
Jewel let out a yelp when the male voice came way too close to her ear and a hand wrapped around her bicep. “Well, we won’t tell him.”
“The fuck I won’t!” she yelled desperately. The guy wore a baseball hat and it was too dark to see his features. She yanked at her arm, but he wouldn’t let go.
No shit.
“Got a place we can go.”
“I’m fine where I’m at,” she assured him, trying to keep her voice steady since she was starting to unravel. This shit was getting serious. She yanked at her arm again. “Let me go!”
Suddenly, she was yanked so hard that she found herself off balance and tumbled backwards, landing on her ass. All the oxygen escaped her lungs in a whoosh.
“Get up, bitch.” The guy pulled at her.
She pulled back. “Fuck you.”
He pulled her harder. “Get the fuck up!”
She needed to get a good kick in with her high-heeled boots right in his dick. Then he’d leave her alone. Once he was down, she’d sink one of those heels right into his eye socket.
That’d teach him to fuck with her.
She yelped again as he grabbed her hair and began to drag her over the ground.
Her arms started flying as she tried to whack any part of his body she could make contact with. Which wasn’t much.
Jesus. She really needed to learn self-defense.
Then she heard the roar of the straight exhaust pipes and relief flowed through her. When the single headlight came at them at a high rate of speed, the relief quickly fled. She was going to get run over.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the sled came to a sliding stop inches from them, the man was off the motorcycle and the guy who was trying to drag her away was no longer moving.
Face meet fist.
He was now flat out on his back, groaning. Even in the dark, Jewel knew Diesel was furious. She could feel the waves of controlled rage rolling off him. Good thing it wasn’t directed at her.
“What the fuck you doin’?” D bellowed, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her to her feet.
“Me?” she squeaked.
“Yeah, fuckin’ you!” In the glow of the headlight, she didn’t miss him checking her out head to toe. “What the fuck you wearin’? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”
Jewel yanked her short skirt down, since in the tussle it had ridden up to her crotch. Good thing she had thrown on some panties before she left her apartment.
“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Your fuckin’ ass in a bad section of town, wearing that fuckin’ bullshit?”
Jesus. She had thought she’d looked nice. Hot, even.
Diesel stalked back over to the man on the ground, who was still groaning, holding onto his face, but trying to get to his knees.
D pointed his finger her direction but was talking to the guy. Well, not actually talking, more like bellowing in a scary fashion. “You see this bitch again, run the other direction, got me? Not walk. Run. Otherwise, huntin’ your ass down. Got me?”
The man put up his hand in surrender, then pushed shakily to his feet.
“Now, get gone!” D yelled so loudly even Jewel winced.
The man quickly stumbled away and once he was out of sight, D’s head swung in her direction.
Uh oh.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. How many times do I gotta bail your ass out of a jam, woman? How many?” He stalked over to her, grabbed her upper arm firmly and steered her toward his bike.
She yanked at her arm. “I should’ve called Jag.”
He didn’t release her until they stood next to his Harley. “Yeah, right. Do that next time. Sick of this shit.”
Grumble. Grumble. Grumble. Jewel frowned. The man was nothing but a Debbie Downer.
“How long you been out here?
She shrugged. “A while.”
“Ever think of callin’ a taxi?”
“My wallet was in...Shit.
He eyeballed her. “In?”
“The car,” she finished reluctantly.
“Whose car?”
Her mouth twisted.
With a curse, he mounted his bike. “Get on my sled. Discussin’ this somewhere other than here.”
“D, I don’t think I can straddle the bike in my skirt.”
“Take it off.”
Her eyes bugged out. “What?”
“Take. It. Off.”
“I’m only wearing a thong,” she whispered.
He dropped his head and stared at his boot for a second, then two, then for more than thirty seconds.
Finally, with a tight jaw, he shrugged his cut off his shoulders, ripped his T-shirt over his head and without even looking at her, held it out. “Put it on. Take that shit off, then burn it. Don’t want to see you in that again.”
There was no way she was burning her skirt. It was cute and she looked good in it. She just wouldn’t wear it to church. Or the garage. Or in front of Diesel.
With a sigh, she plucked the oversized tee from his fingers, yanked it over her head and then, after unzipping it, she shimmied out of her skirt. His T-shirt was so big she felt like she was wearing a muu-muu. It covered her practically to her knees.
She wrinkled her nose. And it smelled funky. She couldn’t quite place it.
“You done?”
“Yeah,” she answered.
“Then why we still sittin’ here?”
After a slight hesitation, she climbed on behind him, grabbing onto his thick waist over his leather vest, which he had shrugged back on over his bare torso.
Well, his anger would have to keep him warm on the ride back, she thought. At least she had his shirt covering her formerly bare legs since the nights were starting to cool down as they approached the end of summer.
“Gotta hold tighter than that, woman. Otherwise, your ass is gonna be on the pavement.”
With a sigh, Jewel wrapped her arms as much as she could around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back. She jerked her head back. She finally recognized the smell. “You and your shirt smell like pussy.”
“Yep. Shit you get when you call me in the middle of the night.”
“It’s morning.”
“Like I said, middle of the fuckin’ night.” He kicked his starter and the bike roared to life, his straight pipes rumbling through the city streets, echoing off the rowhomes.

About the Author:

JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today bestselling erotic romance author who loves an alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing. Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here:

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