Steel Horses - Act 1 & 2 - Complete (MC Erotic Romance)

By Chelsea Chaynes

Jessie James was fresh out of the FBI academy at Quantico, Virginia and tasked with the unbelievable: taking down the Iron Assassins Motorcycle Club, headquartered in California City. It was a tough order for any new agent, especially one as green as Jessie.

One night while undercover at a dusty, wind torn bar she encounters Colt Winters, the head of the Iron Assassins Motorcycle Club. Her confidence is shattered when she realizes he isn't anything like she's been told. In fact he's quite charming. Torn between her duty to her country and the desires of her body she falls head over heels for him, and him for her.

With the FBI breathing down her neck she's forced to play both sides of the law, but the gambit can't last forever. Soon she'll have to choose a side. For country, or for love?

This 22K word novella contains mature content and is intended for mature audiences only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Supernova Erotica
• Release date: Feb 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311094223

Chelsea Chaynes

Hello everyone, I'm Chelsea Chaynes!What can I say? I have a dirty, wildly vivid imagination that keeps me busy. I strive to create the most imaginative, thought provoking erotica on the market while pushing forward new boundaries and ideas. Writing is my passion, something that you will understand every time you "buy it now."When I am not writing stories for you, my beloved readers, I am crunching numbers for the "proverbial" man. When I'm especially tired of debits and credits, I'll sneak in a word or two at work. Ssh... It's our secret.I love thinking about science, the concept of alien life and the myriad of mysteries the universe has stumped humankind with. I also enjoy psychology, the motivations of people, and the pitfalls of the modern, electronically connected society. These themes, among others are commonplace in my stories.Thank you for reading my stories. Without you, the reader, Chelsea Chaynes doesn't exist. I understand this and truly appreciate all your support.Have a great day!Follow me on Twitter @[e-mail] - questions, comments or criticism appreciated!Chelsea

Book preview

Steel Horses – Act 1 & 2

An Erotic Romance

By

Chelsea Chaynes

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Copyright 2015 by Chelsea Chaynes

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses or establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All characters depicted in this story are over the age of 21.

Dedication:

To outlaw men and the women who love them.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Steel Horses

Chapter 1

I was only a month out of the FBI Academy at Quantico, and let’s just say I didn’t think they would send me into the middle of the Mojave Desert my first time undercover. California City, what a dump. The Job wouldn’t be easy, that much was made clear to me. I was tasked to take down the Iron Assassins Motorcycle Club who ran heroin, methamphetamine and guns throughout the southwestern United States. They told me it was a career-maker, but I’d been here a week and I already wanted to leave.

The weather in California City was nasty. It was hotter than Hades in the afternoon and the temperature dipped at night, setting a deep chill into my bones. The wind was another matter entirely, whipping so hard on some days it threatened to pick me up off my feet into an alternate universe. I clicked my heels, but who was I kidding? This wasn’t a fantasy. The desert wasn’t a land for normal people, this was a land for outlaws and I was right, smack-dab in the middle of it.

The stories told of the Iron Assassins Motorcycle Club were the stuff urban legends were made of. They were the government, the law, the judge, the jury, and the executioner. Half the police force was in their pockets in one-way or another. The business community didn’t say anything about the IAMC’s dealings, because, well, who would? If you spoke up against the IAMC they used fear to intimidate you. Not an enviable position to be in.

It was a nice racket they had going, and profitable too. An FBI report estimated they were currently earning between seven and ten million dollars of cash annually, spread across their various business ventures, tax free. And I got to be the one to take them down, a tall order for any undercover agent, especially one as neon green as me.

I stared in my bathroom mirror, curling my luscious blonde hair, locking it down with a few sprays of aquanet. I put some blush on my face and stepped into my leather pumps, which led to leather pants, which hugged my ass in all the right places. If I wanted to catch an outlaw, I had to play the part of one; hard on the outside, soft on the inside.

I turned off the lights in my bathroom on the way out of my house, which was paid for by the FBI. It was one of the job’s perks, but this big old house wasn’t going to keep my bed warm at night. I opened up the door to my red Honda Civic, fired up the engine and headed toward the Dusty Piston, a grime covered bar at the end of town. It was here, I was told, that Colt Winters and his band roughnecks came to drink, party, and in all seriousness, snort methamphetamine off the bartenders’ asses. Who was going to stop them?

I tapped my finger on the gold crucifix hanging at the end of a gold chain between my B-cup breasts. Damian, can you hear me? Modern surveillance technology was incredible.

An imperceptible implant in my ear registered back. Loud and clear, Agent James. Good luck. I’m a block away from the bar in a cable installation van, awaiting your arrival.

With each turn of the wheel toward the Dusty Piston my mind began to race. Could I really do this? All my cockiness and arrogance was being deflated quickly. Having Damian in my ear and hanging around my neck added to my self-consciousness. I wanted to operate alone.

I pulled up to the Dusty Piston, parking on the street in front. The sun had just set, the temperature dropping twenty degrees in an instant. I couldn’t wait to get in the bar and order a drink.

I opened the door to the establishment and a blast of warm air hit me square in the face. I pulled up a hard, wooden barstool and sat on it, the bartender approached me promptly. What are you having, Sweetheart?

I looked her dead in the eyes. The name’s not Sweetheart, it’s Jessica James. You can call me Jessie. I’ll have a whiskey, neat. In reality my name was Marybeth James, a name I hoped no one in Cal City ever learned. And just to keep it straight I made the FBI call me Jessica, or Jessie, and they went as far as to get me a driver’s license, birth certificate and passport supporting the identity. For all intents and purposes, Marybeth was dead.

Damian fired back in my ear, almost laughing. Nice touch Agent James.

The bartender pulled a glass from the well. Coming right up Jessie. I like your style, by the way. Those pants are hot! You can call me Missy.

Her eyes were bloodshot; she’d probably been up all night snorting meth. I couldn’t blame her though; there wasn’t shit else to do in this town. Missy slid the drink across the bar and into my hands. I sipped it. As I put my glass of whiskey back on the bar, the roar of a pack of motorcycles reverberated through the walls. Everything shook, including me. Missy smiled. It’s gunna be a good night tonight. Hot diggity damn!

I took another sip of my whiskey and played it cool.

Two men burst through the door, clad in their leather vests, or cuts as they called them. They sat down at the bar next to me. I kept