Rampage (Book 1): Filthy Fools MC, #1

By Naomi West

This is book 1 of the Filthy Fools MC romance series! Books 2 and 3 are available everywhere now!

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: 9781393529064

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 1)

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 One

Marilee

W hat does a man have to do around here to get a goddamn drink? Greg’s voice is like a growling engine, tearing through the house and out onto the porch, where I sit seeking the only solace available to me right now: a menthol cigarette, cool and refreshing in my lungs. Of course, I know that darkness lurks in the sense of relief, but the darkness in the house is much worse. I take another drag as Greg goes on, stomping his feet: Shall I sing you a fucking song, Dana? Will that make you get off your fat ass and get me a goddamn drink?

I imagine Mom becoming strong and brave as she was once upon a time, before Dad was killed in some village overseas that nobody can quite remember the name of. I imagine her rising up and screaming at him, filling with fire and blowing some his way. I smile at the phantom. But phantoms and reality rarely match up. Mom mutters, just loud enough for me to hear: We’re out of beer, but there’s some whisky in the cupboard.

Whisky? Greg roars, as he would have roared no matter what Mom said. What am I, some drunk? It’s four in the afternoon!

The Texan late-autumn sun hangs low in the sky, as swollen and purple as the bruises both Mom and I sport. I take another long drag of the cigarette, drawing in as deeply as I can, as though drawing the smoke will block out my hearing.

Whisky . . . you really are a piece of work, Dana.

The door opens behind me and Travis walks out, wearing his Minecraft T-shirt and holding his cellphone. He’s ten but he has older eyes, the same light-blue-turned-gray as mine. Sometimes I have to remind myself that he’s my little brother; there’s too much adulthood in his face.

He sure is loud, he says quietly, and then looks down at his cellphone. You shouldn’t be smoking. His fingers tap-tap-tap away. He has the speakers turned down, but the alien zapping and ahhhhhh of his enemies is still audible. Smoking hurts your lungs.

That’s true, I agree, and then take a super-long drag just to annoy him.

He glances up and smiles, just a small smile. I can’t remember the last time he smiled widely like a carefree kid. Your hair looks funny.

I glance at myself in the reflection of the downstairs window, twisting around in the wicker chair. He’s right. My hair does look funny. It’s choppy from where I tried to cut it myself, and singed on one side from where Greg swung at me with a cigarette in his hand. My eyes are big, a bit too deer-like sometimes. And I’m skinny from five years of volleyball.

Thanks.

This game is hard.

Is it? I make to drag my cigarette and then realize that I’ve smoked it down to the stub. I reach into my pocket for another.

Are you chain-smoking now? Travis drops his phone into his pocket.

Tell me about school, I say.

You only graduated in the summer.

"I’m not asking you to tell me what school is, dumbass. Tell me how you’re doing at school."

You shouldn’t call me dumbass. He flashes me a toothy scowl, half sweet and half cunning. You might turn me into a bad person.

You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?

"School is fine. The counselor keeps asking me about Dad. When I see him in the hallways he comes up to me and asks me in that tone. I just look at him and tell him that Dad died when I was five and I don’t feel sad anymore, but he won’t leave me alone."

Maybe he senses that you might have other problems. I nod toward the house, where Greg has quieted now. But Greg is never truly quiet, because we’re always waiting for the next explosion.

Maybe. Travis shrugs. He still hasn’t hit me. Is that funny? That I feel like I’m waiting for him to hit me, I mean.

I don’t know if funny is the word.

I try to light my cigarette, but all I get for my trouble is a grazed thumb and a tiny spark which vanishes before I can bring it to my lips. Dammit.

Travis opens his mouth to speak,