Bearing His Seed: Anarchy's Horsemen MC, #1

By Zoey Parker

Bearing His Seed is book 1 of the Anarchy's Horsemen MC trilogy. Books 2 and 3, Bearing His Ink and Bearing His Name are available everywhere now!

SHE NEVER DREAMED SHE'D END UP BEARING MY SEED.

One night of fun never hurt anybody, right?
Wrong. Dead wrong.
Her moans lasted from dusk 'til dawn.
But the baby I left in her belly will be around for a lot longer than that.

She thought I'd give her a night of fun, and nothing else.
But I had different plans in mind.
My clubhouse is not an amusement park.
And I'm no f**king carnie.

So when the little princess asked for a taste, I gave her a lot more than that.
I tied her to my bed and made her utterly mine.
I ruined her for all other men.
And when I was finished, I kicked her out… never to be seen again.

Or so I thought.

But six weeks later, she's on my doorstep again.
Does she want another go at the bad boy biker?
Not exactly.

She wants to let me know:
There's a baby in her belly.

And it belongs to me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sopris Page Press
• Release date: Feb 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386453772

Book preview

BEARING HIS SEED: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Anarchy’s Horsemen MC Book 1)

By Zoey Parker

SHE NEVER DREAMED SHE’D END UP BEARING MY SEED.

One night of fun never hurt anybody, right?

Wrong. Dead wrong.

Her moans lasted from dusk ‘til dawn.

But the baby I left in her belly will be around for a lot longer than that.

She thought I’d give her a night of fun, and nothing else.

But I had different plans in mind.

My clubhouse is not an amusement park.

And I’m no f**king carnie.

So when the little princess asked for a taste, I gave her a lot more than that.

I tied her to my bed and made her utterly mine.

I ruined her for all other men.

And when I was finished, I kicked her out... never to be seen again.

Or so I thought.

But six weeks later, she’s on my doorstep again.

Does she want another go at the bad boy biker?

Not exactly.

She wants to let me know:

There’s a baby in her belly.

And it belongs to me.

Chapter One

Asher

Black Opus was a narrow shop that was set up like a foyer with a hallway stuck onto the back like an afterthought. There was more to it than that, but you wouldn’t know it if you didn’t have the inside scoop. The walls had been painted black but were half covered by prints and photos with examples of our work on them. Roses were the theme, but there were skulls, crosses, Celtic crap, and even photo realistic faces. We did just about anything, and the best of it was on display.

The business was legit, but the people who ran it, myself included, weren’t. At least not always. We needed a place to run the money through—clean it up before it made the rounds. Having a legitimate business in place helped out with that. Most of what we did was legal, but there wasn’t a soul out there dumb enough to believe that we didn’t get a little side cash, too.

That punk-ass doesn’t have a peg leg to stand on, Winston growled out, folding his arms over his broad chest. He was only wearing a leather vest, no shirt underneath, and looked the part of a Mad Max road warrior. He was my right-hand because he was loyal and intimidating as hell.

I valued that in my lieutenants.

We were seated in the very back of Black Opus, our chairs anything from milk crates to old tattoo chairs. I’d chosen to stand because I wanted people to know I was in charge. That was what this meeting was all about: authority. It seemed stupid to have to have a pissing contest as a grown man with a bunch of other grown men, but ultimately that was part of the deal. I ran a business that depended on the loyalty of my men. And if that meant I had to stomp around a little bit and make some noise, so they remembered who was in charge, I didn’t have a problem with that.

And when they still didn’t listen? I’d bust some heads.

Horton doesn’t need a peg leg, Bane countered from my right. He was seated on one of the adjustable stools, straddling it like a little kid. He was the youngest of my lieutenants at only eighteen years old. He’d be nineteen at the end of the year, and if he’d still been in high school, I probably wouldn’t have kept him around. But he was a hard kid already, and he’d attached himself to me like a cold sore. Even if I got rid of him once, he’d come back at the first most inconvenient moment he could.

Winston growled at Bane, but the kid ignored him like he wasn’t afraid, which was pretty impressive since Winston was about five inches taller and looked like a pro wrestler. Horton just needs to be convincing, and since God didn’t see fit to bless him with good looks, he gave him the gift of fucking others in the ass. Otherwise known as being a sneaky but convincing bastard.

Across the way, Dean was leaning back against the tattoo chair, the old one he’d spray painted with neon colors that made it look like a piece of modern art—or trash. Either way. With his arms folded behind his head, he wore a lazy smile on his mustached face, like he wasn’t interested or concerned about any of this. Which was a load of bullshit, but he never liked to appear too invested in anything.

Let him weasel his way into whoever’s bed he wants, Dean told the group easily, tone light. He can whisper them sweet nothings until he’s blue in the face. I say let him go so we can find the rats and out them. Anyone who ain’t with us don’t belong to the Horsemen.

I was inclined to agree with Dean, which was a rarity. The Anarchy’s Horsemen were mine, and I ruled them with an iron fist. I had to after the retirement of Mr. Jennings. He’d been a good leader, for the most part, but he’d been sloppy. Too loose with the boys, too lenient when they stepped out of line. It had led to dissension in the ranks, to factions within that left me with half the club poised to overthrow me, while the other half cowered in fear of what I would do if they didn’t listen.

It was a hard way to do business. We need the numbers. And we need the loyalty, I finally told the group.

Jay was the only one who hadn’t tossed his two cents in, and I knew he was waiting for something. He was a big man, but quiet. When he did speak, he meant every word, and you’d best listen because he was probably bestowing worthwhile pearls of wisdom on you.

The group fell silent, mulling over the situation. I didn’t like the sense that I was losing a grip on my boys, but I didn’t know what else to do about it. I’d started as many fights as I’d broken up, and I was about ready to kill that little snake Horton if I didn’t think I’d have to take half my men on to do it.

Finally, Jay leaned forward on his milk crate and fixed me with a piercing stare. You gotta be the boss, Boss, he told me seriously.

I frowned at him. I am the boss. My tone was cool, challenging.

He held up his scarred hands, showing he meant no offense. Yes, you’re the boss, but you’re not Mr. Jennings.

For a moment, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. All of my lieutenants seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see what I was going to do or say. A big part of me wanted to walk over to Jay and punch him until he bled out on the black and white checkered floor. I didn’t take insolence well, and my first reaction was always violence. It was quick and effective; nobody argued with violence.

But I resisted the urge because this was Jay and he was telling me what everyone else was too scared to tell me. It made