The Biker's Bride: Bloody Saints MC, #1

By APRIL LUST

The Biker's Bride is book 1 of the Bloody Saints MC trilogy. Books 2 and 3, The Biker's Girl and The Biker's Sins are available everywhere now!

THE RING ON HER FINGER MEANS SHE'S MINE – AND NO ONE ELSE CAN TOUCH HER.

Messing with her is messing with me.
And no man survives a mistake like that.
Lay a finger on her and I'll break it in half.
That's a motherf**king promise.

She tried to put me in my place.
So I put her in hers:
Bent over my bed with her dress hiked up and her hair pinned back.

I make her say the truth out loud:
She belongs to me now.

And by the time I'm done, she knows it, too.

But hearing it isn't enough.
Only seeing is truly believing.
So by the time all this is over, I'm gonna claim her in the purest way I know how:
With my ring on her finger.

The thing is, that depends on keeping us both alive.
I've got enemies, and they'll do whatever they can to hurt me.
Even if it's by hurting her.

She'll have to get used to living on the edge.
That's what comes with being a biker's bride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sopris Page Press
• Release date: Sep 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386504832

Book preview

THE BIKER’S BRIDE: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Bloody Saints MC Book 1)

By April Lust

THE RING ON HER FINGER MEANS SHE’S MINE – AND NO ONE ELSE CAN TOUCH HER.

MESSING WITH HER IS messing with me.

And no man survives a mistake like that.

Lay a finger on her and I’ll break it in half.

That’s a motherf**king promise.

She tried to put me in my place.

So I put her in hers:

Bent over my bed with her dress hiked up and her hair pinned back.

I make her say the truth out loud:

She belongs to me now.

And by the time I’m done, she knows it, too.

But hearing it isn’t enough.

Only seeing is truly believing.

So by the time all this is over, I’m gonna claim her in the purest way I know how:

With my ring on her finger.

The thing is, that depends on keeping us both alive.

I’ve got enemies, and they’ll do whatever they can to hurt me.

Even if it’s by hurting her.

She’ll have to get used to living on the edge.

That’s what comes with being a biker’s bride.

Chapter One

Victoria

Victoria Parker stretched her arms over her head, the motion sending her slightly-too-tight shirt a few inches up over her stomach. It exposed the tan skin there in a way someone might describe as sexy, not that that had happened in a while. She didn’t do boyfriends. Especially now that she bounced from bar to bar. Bartending had been her thing since freshman year of high school when she was just 15 – God knows how she’d managed to get employed at all, much less in one of these dumps – and the appeal decreased as the years went by...

Not that there had ever been much appeal to start with.

She looked around her. It was just past 5 in the evening now, so the nightlife scene wouldn’t be coming to life at all for a few hours. At least, it wouldn’t if this was any other city. But it wasn’t, and patrons were already trickling in, and, to be honest, she was sick of all of it. But more than anything, she was sick of working at some shoddy bar a few blocks off Main called Lanterns.

This bar didn’t even have much of what its name advertised. It was a dark, gloomy place on a dark, gloomy street, and not many people even knew it existed. There were no social media sites up for it, none at all; not even some crappy review site where people basically extort businesses. Lanterns sat down a pot-holed street that could be described as dim in the best conditions, and the street posts leading to it had worn down paint. It was hard to get here, after all. Most people wouldn’t even know this bar existed unless they wanted to go looking for it.

But why would they want to go looking for it? Victoria shook her head, pulling her dark brown hair out of her loose ponytail and wrapping it around again for the eighth time this hour. It had only just turned 5 in the evening – some people might even still call it the afternoon, but those weren’t the sort of people who frequented this place – and the bar was already starting to get crowded.

Of course it was. The only people who occupied this joint belonged to the Bloody Saints. Sometimes a fresh person would walk in. That didn’t happen often. The newbie would inevitably recognize what had happened – by the sad or angry or sad-angry looks on everyone’s faces, the excessive leather, the bad tattoos, and the overly-shined motorcycles taking up the entirety of the street out front – and leave immediately.

Aye, she whispered to herself. She hated working here. There was only so much she could do to avoid throwing herself into her job every day, and the hours she worked there added up to a number that ended up being too much in her head instead of any kind of numeral. Whatever.

She wouldn’t have to stay here forever. There were other bars to go to.

She could bounce whenever she needed to.

It wasn’t the bar that bothered her so much as it was the people who went there, and the lifestyles they led. She had no interest in it; honestly, the obsession with money, power, and fucking as many bitches as they could – to quote a phrase she had often heard working behind the bar – disgusted her.

Ignoring the regulars (read: the only effing people who walked into this trash dump), the bar wasn’t actually that bad. Sure, it was sad and decrepit, and everything in here needed to be thrown out. And sure, the bar needed a boss that actually gave a flying F about who went there, and how many times fists collided with flesh, and about the actual reputation of the place.

But then again, who would care? The only people who knew about Lanterns were the exact type of people who enjoyed going there. It was a freaking conundrum.

Victoria’s eyes went to the couch at the far left of the bar, pushed up against the wall. It was a light brown made much darker by years of use. The boss didn’t bother changing out furniture anymore; as he said, it just gets ruined anyway. Fair point. But...she gritted her teeth. Did no one around here even pretend to put in any effort?

Nope. The TV hung up a few feet above the far left of the bar didn’t even get reception to any channel anymore. But when had it? Not any time since she’d been here. Yet it still had people dutifully staring at it. They – three dudes in maybe their 40s who looked like they had similar enough crises that they all ended up decked out in leather, colorful variants of the same star tattoo, and sitting in a dive bar at 5 something on a Tuesday – had that glazed over, asshole look on their face that said that anyone who talked to them would be met by a stream of curses and turning the volume on the TV up (if there had been any show to watch in the first place).

Victoria sighed for as many times as she had in... just forever. Her eyes went to the far right of the bar. There were seats and