Heartbreak: Red Dragon Riders MC, #1

By Claire St. Rose

This is book 1 of the Red Dragon Riders MC series! Books 2 and 3 are available everywhere now!

The only one who can keep me safe is the one man I can't stand – a biker.

ANA

Mack Steel is exactly what I don't need. He's trouble through and through, and his motorcycle club is even worse.

He's got a violent past, a loud mouth, and big ambitions.

All I want to do is make art.

We're about as compatible as oil and water.

People warned me about him. I didn't listen. Because some hidden part of me wanted to feel his rough hands on my body, his filthy commands that made my heart hammer and my blood boil for hours.

He's ridden me harder than his bike, and I've gone along with every feverish moment. Now we're linked by something we never could have seen coming.

He says we'll come out on top. But I just want to stay on top of him.

MACK

I need a relationship like I need a hole in my head.

Especially with a fiery, stubborn minx like Ana. I live in the real world, and she thinks she can tell me how to run my business.

But I've had a hit of her and now I want more. She's become an addiction and a sickness all in one. She drives me crazy with that body, that mouth, that mind, and the way she looks at me when I tell her what to do.

One problem – her ex is a crazy b*stard and he's now the President of my club's biggest rival. He thinks he can get her back by taking me out.

Good luck with that. He'll never take what's mine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBook Publishing World
• Release date: Jul 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393214113

Book preview

Heartbreak: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Red Dragon Riders MC Book 1)

By Claire St. Rose

The only one who can keep me safe is the one man I can’t stand – a biker.

ANA

Mack Steel is exactly what I don’t need. He’s trouble through and through, and his motorcycle club is even worse.

He’s got a violent past, a loud mouth, and big ambitions.

All I want to do is make art.

We’re about as compatible as oil and water.

People warned me about him. I didn’t listen. Because some hidden part of me wanted to feel his rough hands on my body, his filthy commands that made my heart hammer and my blood boil for hours.

He’s ridden me harder than his bike, and I’ve gone along with every feverish moment. Now we’re linked by something we never could have seen coming.

He says we’ll come out on top. But I just want to stay on top of him.

MACK

I need a relationship like I need a hole in my head.

Especially with a fiery, stubborn minx like Ana. I live in the real world, and she thinks she can tell me how to run my business.

But I’ve had a hit of her and now I want more. She’s become an addiction and a sickness all in one. She drives me crazy with that body, that mouth, that mind, and the way she looks at me when I tell her what to do.

One problem – her ex is a crazy b*stard and he’s now the President of my club’s biggest rival. He thinks he can get her back by taking me out.

Good luck with that. He’ll never take what’s mine.

CHAPTER 1

H ey, Foxy! You’re sure taking your sweet ass time with that ink, don’t you think? You’re in hour three already, man. What’s the deal? Ian leans in over my shoulder so that I can feel his warm breath on my skin. I try to ignore those strange goosebumps darting up my spine and focus on the work at hand.

You can’t rush an artist, Moe! I exclaim as I give him a soft elbow to the stomach to push him away. Ian has always been my boss first, mentor second, and friend third. This is how we always played around. And I hate to admit how much it’s probably going to hurt me when he leaves this place for his retirement.

He must be reading my mind, because he replies in a soft, almost timid voice, I’m gonna be in Palm Springs with my old lady by the time you’re done topping off the color on that thing. He turns to the man in the chair, who’s flipping through a motorcycle magazine with his spare hand. You had to pick Foxy Anna, didn’t you Pedro? You could have gone with the master and gotten this tattoo done in minutes!

Pedro drops the magazine to his lap and smiles. Stop giving the girl a hard time. She’s the best in the business—in all of north Portland. I’m just glad she’s got time to get me in at all. I’m not the best at taking compliments, but I sure as hell will take this one. It’s been a rough few days... oh, who the hell am I kidding? It’s been a rough few months now, and I can use all the happy breaks I can get.

When was the last time you did a tattoo anyways? Pedro asks Ian, wincing in pain as I switch the needle for the color applicants.

Pedro and Ian fight back and forth about the business and the local politics of the town. Two old men bantering like they’re ruling the roost. Pedro’s been in my chair for almost every one of the tattoos snaking up and down his arm. Ian did his legs and chest. That was a million years ago, when this shop was still the king of the tattoo scene. We’re still up there, but we’ve been slowly surpassed by some of the private shops owned by the gangs.

You wish I still do tattoos, Pe! Some of my artwork belongs in a freakin’ museum! The Louvre wants my work!

The Louvre? What in the holy fuck is that? Pedro tosses his magazine directly at Ian’s head before realizing where he is and that one quick movement could cause me to really screw this tattoo up. He sinks back in the chair, places a hand on mine, and says quietly, Sorry chica. You know this crazy mofo gets me worked up when he wants to.

I’d prefer it if you’d just keep your ass still and not let that stupid son of a bitch get to you. I try to contain my smile as I focus on the edging of the work. I usually only work in black and white, but Pedro brought me in a design his daughter did, and I couldn’t say no to that. As I stand back and examine it, I have to admit it’s pretty damn spectacular. It’s a white and blue dahlia with wide open petals. Each petal has a skeleton shaped eye with flames as their pupils. I’ve just about finished with the flames. No mistakes, clean lines, good outlining. I am loving where this is going.

It takes me another twenty more minutes to perfect it and put my signature touch on it. Every tattoo artist has it. Ian’s thing is dark, thick lines that make his drawings seem like cartoons. Brian, who works day shifts and weekends, only does vintage work with comic book pops of red and blue. You could tell Brian’s masterpieces from a mile away. Me, I do shadowing and shading. It’s a tough skill to pick up. You’ve got to be patient and have a steady hand. And you’ve gotta have time.

Sometimes, like today, thoughts get muddled when all you can do is stare at the most intricate part of a man’s skin and plan for which way the needle will swing. Most of the time, I try to think of the person I’m tattooing. With Pedro, it’s easy. I know about his family, his grown girls, the dog I tattooed on his forearm last May. He’s a vet, which makes him skittish but stern. He speaks his mind about everything and anything. He earned that freedom in the middle east twenty years ago.

With others, I see their scars and imagine the accidents they’ve been in or the personal battles they’ve fought. Sometimes their skin will prickle and I’ll wonder why they’re sensitive. Newbies cry, especially when they pick hard places to tattoo. But most of them grit their teeth and push through the pain. Some of them even enjoy it, and Lord knows what stories I could imagine up for those kinds of people.

But today, I can’t focus on Pedro or his damn artistic daughter. Today, I’m thinking about my own self and getting the hell out of here. I look up at the clock. It’s past ten p.m. I’ve only got about two hours left of my shift, and unless someone walks through that door in about fifteen minutes, I’m free to go home. We don’t do last minute walk-ins unless they’ve booked in advance or are bringing in enough cash to bribe me to ignore city ordinances on business hours.

Plus, by ten o’clock, Riley gets off work at the oil fields. I know his routine. He’ll head to one of the bars down the block from here, probably Dark Star, and get