Rampage (Book 3): Filthy Fools MC, #3

By Naomi West

This is book 3 and the finale of the Filthy Fools MC romance series! 

He's the most dangerous man I've ever met… but I just can't say no.

All I ever wanted was to escape.

My alcoholic stepfather has made my life a living hell for as long as I can remember.

But running away would mean leaving behind my mother and brother.

I can't abandon them.

They need me too bad.

So I escape for one night… into the arms of a biker.

He's not gentle or nice.

In fact, our night together is a brutal, sweaty rampage.

But it was everything I ever dreamed of.

When it was over, I thought that would be the end of things.

Back to my regularly scheduled programming of shielding my family from a drunken beast.

But I was dead wrong.

Because the biker wasn't done with me yet.

And he isn't going anywhere…

As long as I'm pregnant with his baby.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MBK Hanson Inc.
• Release date: Nov 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393049869

Naomi West

Motorcycle club romance that will blow you away... Naomi West is a best-selling author of motorcycle romance novels that will get your heart pumping and your panties melting. Sign up for her mailing list to receive new release alerts, free giveaways, and much more! Follow this link to join:  http://bit.ly/NaomiWestMailingList

Book preview

Rampage: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Filthy Fools MC Book 3)

By Naomi West

He’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever met... but I just can’t say no.

ALL I EVER WANTED WAS to escape.

My alcoholic stepfather has made my life a living hell for as long as I can remember.

But running away would mean leaving behind my mother and brother.

I can’t abandon them.

They need me too bad.

So I escape for one night... into the arms of a biker.

He’s not gentle or nice.

In fact, our night together is a brutal, sweaty rampage.

But it was everything I ever dreamed of.

When it was over, I thought that would be the end of things.

Back to my regularly scheduled programming of shielding my family from a drunken beast.

But I was dead wrong.

Because the biker wasn’t done with me yet.

And he isn’t going anywhere...

As long as I’m pregnant with his baby.

Chapter 1

Dusty

Iride to the club with Marilee’s arms around me, her fingers interlocked on my belly, the presence of her is almost unbelievable after the weeks and weeks of loneliness. The funny thing is, I never knew I was lonely. I knew I was miserable, and I knew I couldn’t get out of my head, but I never would’ve said lonely. But now that she’s here, the weight is lifted and I feel like I can really ride. The roads feel slicker, lighter; the world moves for us, we don’t move for the world. Baby, father of her baby . . . I push the thought away and focus on the road. She’s wearing my leather and my helmet. The last thing I need right now is to be distracted.

I ride through the town, down the highway, and then off into a quiet street where my apartment building is. I park just out front and then wait for her to climb off the bike behind me. We meet eyes when I climb off, Marilee giggling and me not sure how to look. I know I’ve got a big, dumb smile on my face, though. I feel as though my cheeks are going to burst from the effort of trying to contain it. She takes off the helmet and hands it to me.

So, this is your place? She nods at the building, a four-story place with red brickwork and a clean, modern look.

This is my place, I confirm.

What an honor, she says.

I offer her my hand. Let me take you up, then, ma’am.

What a gentleman!

She takes my hand and I lead her up to the apartment. Her hand is small and warm, a hand I’ve been waiting to touch for weeks. It sends tension all up my arm into my body, stirring my animal desires. Even now, after everything that just happened, I want to take her right away. I want to ravage her. But first I need to see about this baby business. Was that just something she said to shock her parents, or was it the truth? People say all sorts of shit when they’re in the heat of violence. Most of the time they don’t have a clue what’s coming out of their mouths. I remember once when Clint was convinced we were going to a baseball game after a shootout; he kept going on and on about it all the ride home.

I open the apartment door and she paces around, inspecting it, not that there’s much to inspect: a series of bare, clean rooms. The pale green walls are bare; the surfaces are clean and empty. The only signs that anybody lives here are the clothes in the corner and the widescreen TV.

Wow, she says, turning to me with a sideways smile. You really know how to liven a place up.

I’m not much of a home decorator, I agree. I go into the kitchen. You want a drink? We have beer or water. Oh, shit.

Water.

Water. I nod.

I take the drinks into the living room and the two of us sit down opposite the TV, both of us gazing into the reflection in the set for a few minutes of silence. She stretches her legs out, kicks off her shoes, and points her toes. She looks like a ballerina when she