Down & Dirty: Diesel
Dirty Angels MC, Book 4
By Jeanne St. James
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Blurb:
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.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Shit.
He
rolled to the right and hit another soft, naked body. That one fell to the
floor with a yelp.
Fuck.
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.”
“D...”
“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.”
“Anytime.”
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.
Empty.
He
glanced at the floor.
Damn.
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.
Shit.
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.
Again.
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.
Fuck!
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.”
“Where?”
“I’m
at a... house.”
His
jaw got tight and a muscle ticked. “With who?”
“Nobody.”
Fuckin’
nobody. Bullshit. “This nobody drive
your ass there?”
“Forget
it, D... I’ll call my brother.”
“Address,”
he muttered.
“What?”
“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.”
“I—”
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.
Nothing.
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?”
“Yeah.”
“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.
Right.
“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.
Riiiiight.
“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!”
“No!”
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: BookHip.com/MTQQKK
To keep up with her busy release schedule check her website at www.jeannestjames.com or sign up for her newsletter: http://www.jeannestjames.com/newslettersignup
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