Starstruck: The Destroyers MC, #1

By Zoey Parker

Starstruck is book 1 of The Destroyers MC trilogy. Books 2 and 3, Starstruck Lust and Starstruck Love are available everywhere now!

She thinks she's an angel. But I'm gonna make her my horny little devil.

I'm from the gutter. She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth.
But when I decide I want something, no obstacle can stop me.
As Abby Woodard's new bodyguard, her body is literally my responsibility.
And I plan on being very… hands on.

It's like she's playing a game:
How far can I push him?

She should know better.
I'm not a man who likes being provoked.
But that isn't stopping her.
The back sass, the disobedience…
It's all becoming too much.

Time to do what I've wanted to do since the moment I ended up in this stupid job:
Bend the little princess over my knee and spank her until she learns her lesson.

What happens after that is… complicated.
Explosive.
Unexpected.

And it crosses every damn line in existence.
Maybe I shouldn't have f**ked her.
But now that I have, there's not a man on earth who will keep me away from what's mine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sopris Page Press
• Release date: Aug 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393750116

Book preview

STARSTRUCK: A Motorcycle Club Romance (The Destroyers MC Book 1)

By Zoey Parker

She thinks she’s an angel. But I’m gonna make her my horny little devil.

I’M FROM THE GUTTER. She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

But when I decide I want something, no obstacle can stop me.

As Abby Woodard’s new bodyguard, her body is literally my responsibility.

And I plan on being very... hands on.

It’s like she’s playing a game:

How far can I push him?

She should know better.

I’m not a man who likes being provoked.

But that isn’t stopping her.

The back sass, the disobedience...

It’s all becoming too much.

Time to do what I’ve wanted to do since the moment I ended up in this stupid job:

Bend the little princess over my knee and spank her until she learns her lesson.

What happens after that is... complicated.

Explosive.

Unexpected.

And it crosses every damn line in existence.

Maybe I shouldn’t have f**ked her.

But now that I have, there’s not a man on earth who will keep me away from what’s mine.

Chapter One

Abby

Ihated this part, but smiled anyway amidst the wild applause and the smattering of flashbulbs that told me dozens upon dozens of pictures were being taken. Tomorrow, I’d be awash in them, picking them apart as I scanned the headlines and the media blogs in search of the ones where I looked terrible. The ones where people would point out panty lines in my twelve-thousand-dollar dress and nitpick at my choice of black four-thousand-dollar heels. I’d cringe as they told me that I was too racy to be a real lady, or too modest to be progressive. And then I’d just throw up my hands as some cameraman managed to capture the only picture in which I was not smiling and proceed to post it on the front page of some tabloid with the headline: Abby Woodard, What a Bitch.

But that was all for tomorrow. Tonight, I had to be a superstar.

Smiling broadly to show my pearly white teeth, I did my best to look both confident and yet pleasantly surprised at being given such a prestigious award for my groundbreaking performance in The Blue.

The clapping and applause continued as I made my way up the polished marble stairs with the shimmering overhead lights that washed out my face and made me look even shinier amidst the silver sequins of my dress. It was floor length, though the split up the leg nearly went to my panties, so I gathered it up in my hands, mindful of my four-hundred-dollar manicure. I hurried up the steps, trying to be both eager and demure.

Not an easy task, but I worked hard at it.

As a twenty-something actress, I was quickly becoming vintage. Soon, I’d be too old really to play the heroine roles that I craved. They’d be reserved for eighteen- and nineteen- and twenty-year-olds while I slowly grew into the less coveted roles of mother. Maybe I’d be lucky and get to be a MILF, but short of that, I was well aware that I only had a few precious years as a lovely, desired starlet, and I intended to milk it for all that it was worth.

When I reached the stage, my heels clicking as I approached Bill Peck who was at the podium holding my abstract crystal award, I tried to keep my breathing and heartbeat even. Despite having performed thousands of times for the camera—and a few times for a couple of small theaters in Europe—I still got stage fright when I had to come up on stage like this and address a crowd. Silly, maybe, but no less terrifying.

I reached for my award as Bill gave it to me and then shook his proffered hand. He leaned forward and did those funky little air kisses that I hated so much, but I reciprocated anyway, even as I felt as though my smile might crack at any moment.

Keep it together, I reminded myself, thanking Bill profusely for the award he had absolutely nothing to do with.

He ushered me to the podium next and I hesitated for only a fraction of a second before putting my lips near the mic to give my speech. I’d of course prewritten one even though I couldn’t be sure that I would win anything. There were a lot of decent nominees for this one and despite the yes men in my life, I wasn’t dumb enough to think there was no competition.

Still, it was important to be prepared. But it was also important to not look prepared because that would mean you were somehow overconfident. As a woman, that was dangerous because it made you appear like a bitch to the public.

And in this world, public opinion was everything.

I’d like to thank my uncle Caleb for being the only man who ever managed to stand with me through it all...

ALMOST TWO HOURS LATER, I was finally leaving the awards ceremony. You would think that after actually receiving the award and then giving my little acceptance speech, things would progress rather quickly. But in show business, it was all about smiling for the camera. The more people took my picture, the more publicity I got. And the more publicity, the more work, the more money. It was a never ending cycle, and if I thought about it too much, it not only made my head hurt, but it left me with an awful sort of feeling. Like what was the point?

So I made a point of not thinking about it.

I waved one last time and let the paparazzi get a few last pictures in before sliding into the car, which was some fancy sleek black Audi that I didn’t know the first thing about except that it was expensive, but still very reliable and safe. I was all about reliable and safe, even if it was the new fad to live a little dangerously.

I’ve got enough danger in my life already, don’t I? I thought miserably, finally letting my smile fall as the car door slammed shut. I wasn’t in a limo or anything, not tonight, but I still had a driver.

We’re going to the after party on Rouge, I informed the driver, whose name I couldn’t recall. He was new and I didn’t know if he’d last yet. I wasn’t about to waste precious memory on someone who wasn’t going to last.

Yes, ma’am.

We drove off and I stared out the window. It had been a long night already and I wasn’t actually looking forward to the after party. It was being hosted by a fellow starlet—Riley Rankin, a bitch if ever there was one—and the only reason I was going was to keep her from saying all sorts of crap about me.

I could only imagine what TMZ would say tomorrow if I didn’t go.

We drove only ten or so minutes, and I spent most of it primping. I needed to make sure hair and makeup was in order before I showed up, otherwise Riley would have a field day. My blonde hair hung loosely about my shoulders in perfectly sculpted curls, not too flamboyant, not too thin, and my makeup was a light smoke that shimmered just enough to offset my silvery sequined dress.

I looked fabulous, as my agent liked to say, but sometimes—

My thought broke off, thankfully, as the car came to a stop. I gave it just a beat, letting my chauffer come around to get my door for me. A moment later he offered his hand and I accepted it, like some sort of princess instead of merely a twenty-three-year-old actress. It was strange to be treated like royalty after all it had taken to get here, but I’d learned to roll with it a long time ago.

I flashed a bright smile at my driver, then walked toward the large mansion that was designed with the flashy ostentatiousness that came with new money. I wasn’t too concerned with all of that, though I felt like I was walking up to a party at Jay Gatsby’s house.

My uncle lived not far from here, just up the road as a matter of fact, but you wouldn’t have expected it from a man like him. Hard as nails and not one to take crap from anyone.

He hadn’t always lived here. When I was just a kid and my parents had died the way of all good and decent folks, in a car accident that was in no way their fault, he took me in. At the time, he lived in a little shithole down south that was next to an alley that always smelled of piss and unwashed bodies. I shuddered at the memory of it and was grateful for the reminder of why I was doing all of this.

I would never go back to a place like that, and neither would my uncle.

As soon as I got to the door, I winked at the doorman and gave him my name. Abby Woodard. I’m on the list.

He glanced at it quickly, though it was just a formality. Then he waved me through.

As soon as I entered the house, my senses were assaulted. The music blared through hidden speakers and lights flashed from every which direction. They were multicolored and caught the sequins of my dress until I felt like I was a lit-up Christmas tree.

I hadn’t taken two steps in before someone shoved a drink in my hand. It was some guy—I didn’t know him, though he looked familiar enough that I could have come across him before. He babbled about movies and my latest, telling me I was wonderful and that I deserved to be in good stuff not this Hollywood crap. I did my best not to roll my eyes at him. That Hollywood crap paid my bills.

Biting my tongue, I forced a smile and let him prattle. I was really just here for appearances anyway.

It seemed like the guy was going to go on forever. ...think you’d really enjoy my latest pitch. All it needs is a sexy leading lady... But then I was saved by none other than the host herself.

Abby, darling! cried Riley as though we hadn’t just seen each other about twenty minutes ago. She gave me a huge hug and did the air kiss thing again. "I was worried you wouldn’t make