Sinner’s Pet: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Book 1): The Immortal Devils MC, #1

By Heather West

This is book 1 of The Immortal Devils MC trilogy. Books 2 and 3 are available everywhere now!

He kept me caged and made me his little pet.

SIERRA

I can't say I don't deserve this.

After all, I crossed the line…

And the security system protecting a priceless jewel I'd come to steal.

But it was all a trap.

A setup.

And I'm the one who's going to pay the price.

He's not going to torture me – at least, not in the way you're thinking.

The MC president has way more wicked, sinful ideas in mind.

The kind that involve whips and chains and leather and moans.

The kind that keep me up all night long.

Like an animal, I'm at the biker's feet…

On my knees….

Begging for sweet release.

GUNNER

I've got the tattoos, the scars, and the leather kutte that all tell the same story:

Crossing me has consequences.

These hands have done damage to the men in my past who thought they could outwit an outlaw king like me.

Needless to say, they were dead wrong.

Emphasis on the "dead."

But I've never met a woman bold enough to test me before.

And the punishment for her crimes will be a little bit different.

She thought she could seduce me?

Use her body to lower my defenses?

What a stupid mistake.

I caught her, and she's mine now.

Mine to do with as I please.

My little pet is in for one hell of a night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sopris Page Press
• Release date: May 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393588030

Book preview

Sinner’s Pet: A Motorcycle Club Romance (The Immortal Devils MC) (Book 1)

By Heather West

He kept me caged and made me his little pet.

SIERRA

I can’t say I don’t deserve this.

After all, I crossed the line...

And the security system protecting a priceless jewel I’d come to steal.

But it was all a trap.

A setup.

And I’m the one who’s going to pay the price.

He’s not going to torture me – at least, not in the way you’re thinking.

The MC president has way more wicked, sinful ideas in mind.

The kind that involve whips and chains and leather and moans.

The kind that keep me up all night long.

Like an animal, I’m at the biker’s feet...

On my knees....

Begging for sweet release.

GUNNER

I’ve got the tattoos, the scars, and the leather kutte that all tell the same story:

Crossing me has consequences.

These hands have done damage to the men in my past who thought they could outwit an outlaw king like me.

Needless to say, they were dead wrong.

Emphasis on the dead.

But I’ve never met a woman bold enough to test me before.

And the punishment for her crimes will be a little bit different.

She thought she could seduce me?

Use her body to lower my defenses?

What a stupid mistake.

I caught her, and she’s mine now.

Mine to do with as I please.

My little pet is in for one hell of a night.

Prologue

Sierra

What drew me into the business of stealing jewelry was not a love of diamonds and pearls. It was not the lure of shiny trinkets. I never wore much jewelry growing up, and I cared very little for it even as I started to reach adulthood.

What drew me in initially was the opportunity to work people. I was attracted to the challenge of winning someone’s trust to the point that they didn’t even realize what I had done until it was too late. I used my looks to disarm powerful men and women alike, to get them to let their guards down so that I could walk out of their lives with whatever I wanted.

From an early age, I knew I was going to be taller than average. As a kid, everyone always thought I was at least year older than I really was because I was always a little taller than my peers. Since I was ahead physically, teachers and other adults always expected me to be ahead intellectually as well. I learned very early that my looks put me at an advantage over other people around me.

As a teen, my body quickly developed the kind of feminine curves men always looked for in sports cars. My body had all the smooth, catlike curves of a wild predator. And my fiery red hair made everyone weak in the knees. I learned that my body could get me anything I wanted from men, and even many women who either adored or desired me. While some girls were looking for love in the backseat, I realized I didn’t have to go all the way to get everything I wanted.

People seemed to be much more giving when they wanted something unattainable, so I became as unattainable as the valuable art and jewelry I would later be lifting from the homes of the wealthiest elite members of high society.

Luckily, there were people who wanted to own the valuable possessions of the rich as much as I wanted to simply lift them, and they were willing to pay a pretty penny for their prizes. The money kept me in the business of robbing rich fools blind. The more challenging the mark, the larger the payoff, and the more fulfilling my work became.

I was living the dream. I never had to settle down. I never had to deal with the clingy relationships people invented to trap themselves in place and rob themselves of happiness for another person. I was free, but my services weren’t.

Then I met Coyote, and I realized that I had been selling myself short to a bunch of hacks and wannabe collectors who were just turning my prizes around and making real money on the black market. Coyote promised to connect me with real buyers who wanted to pay what my stolen treasures were really worth. The dream I had been living before paled in comparison to the life I discovered when I started working for someone.

Unlike my marks, I didn’t keep many trinkets or other unnecessary possessions that didn’t actually have to do with my job. I had a few pieces of replaceable fine jewelry in case I needed to dress up for a job, a few nice evening gowns and shoes. I had all of my gear, from black tennis shoes with no treads on the soles to my black gloves, because there were times when a job required me just to go in and grab what I was after instead of romancing the owner.

Possessions seemed to trap so much energy and emotion. They weighed their owners down, and that was what made my job both possible and, arguably, necessary. I didn’t want to get caught in the same trap as the people from whom I had stolen countless articles of sentimentality.

There was another layer, though, that Coyote taught me about stealing valuable possessions. Coyote specialized in rare, ultra-valuable jewels, and part of what made some of those pieces so valuable was the story behind them. Who had worn it? Where had they worn it? What did that diamond ring or that pearl necklace see?

It was all sentimental mumbo jumbo of course, but I did find it intriguing that many of the most valuable pieces Coyote sought out were ones that had spent their entire lifetimes being hunted down and stolen from one owner or another. Those stories fascinated me because they meant that my hands were just the latest to aid the pieces on their journey through history.

So when my boss called me into her office late one night for an urgent meeting, I knew there must have been something pretty big on her radar. I was on my way back from a job I had just finished for her, and everything seemed to be alright.

I had allowed my mark’s security to search my body and my belongings. The jewels I had lifted were already on their way back to Coyote by the time anyone had noticed they were gone, so they didn’t find anything on me. And, of course, the violation of our trust gave me an easy excuse to throw a tantrum, pack my things, and storm out of the mansion before the authorities showed up and discovered that the name I had given my mark and his men was just an alias. Ariana DeVille, as far as I knew, wasn’t even a real person.

An unmarked black sedan showed up to get me from my luxurious rooftop downtown hotel suite. The windows were completely blacked out and there were no tags on the car. By simply looking official, we were usually able to escape scrutiny on the local level. The Shadow Collective, the ambiguous name of the organization I worked for, operated on a scale much larger than I wanted to know. I was, quite literally, just along for the ride.

The Shadow Collective’s hideout was more of a compound, and it wasn’t terribly hidden. It was on the outskirts of town, on enough land to build