Rider (Book 1): Seven Sinners MC, #1

By Nicole Fox

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

She's too innocent to keep my hands to myself.

ROCCO

I don't do weddings.

But Shotgun practically begged me to be his best man, so here I am, monkey suit and all.

I'm long past ready to get drunk and get out of here, but the maid of honor, Simone, might convince me to stick around.

She's innocent, untouched.

Yet, her body calls to me, and I can't help being intrigued by her.

I'm not the marrying type, but we could still have a little fun.

But I'll only let her a certain distance past my walls.

After losing my fiancé years ago, I vowed I'd never let anyone get too close again.

This girl is a toy for my savage pleasure – nothing more.

She's not cut out for this life, or for the war about to wreak havoc on my city and club.

But the harder I push her away, the more she begs to get closer.

Especially after we find out that our midnight romp had some unintended consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MBK Hanson Inc.
• Release date: Nov 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393227779

Nicole Fox

Nicole Fox writes smart, sexy mafia romance novels. She is a crazy cat lady in her late 30s with a coffee addiction, an overactive imagination, and a husband who somehow puts up with her impulsive need to keep buying new plants for their house. Sign up for her mailing list at http://bit.ly/NicoleFoxMailingList. 

Book preview

Rider: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Seven Sinners MC Book 1)

By Nicole Fox

SHE’S TOO INNOCENT to keep my hands to myself.

ROCCO

I don’t do weddings.

But Shotgun practically begged me to be his best man, so here I am, monkey suit and all.

I’m long past ready to get drunk and get out of here, but the maid of honor, Simone, might convince me to stick around.

She’s innocent, untouched.

Yet, her body calls to me, and I can’t help being intrigued by her.

I’m not the marrying type, but we could still have a little fun.

But I’ll only let her a certain distance past my walls.

After losing my fiancé years ago, I vowed I’d never let anyone get too close again.

This girl is a toy for my savage pleasure – nothing more.

She’s not cut out for this life, or for the war about to wreak havoc on my city and club.

But the harder I push her away, the more she begs to get closer.

Especially after we find out that our midnight romp had some unintended consequences.

Chapter One

Simone

As a twin, Cecilia’s voice has never sounded like my own, even when people tell me it does. There’s a slight crack in her voice when I listen carefully, especially when she raises it. My voice rarely cracks like that, but maybe that’s just because I’m never passionate enough to raise it.

You don’t tell me what to do or who to love! she screams, her voice cracking familiarly.

I linger at the door of my parents’ mansion, the house I grew up in on the outskirts of Las Vegas, the sort of house that should be on some farm instead of within driving distance of Sin City. It’s a massive thing, and very intimidating for people who haven’t lived here most of their lives. At least, that’s what my middle class college friends told me when they visited back before graduation. I let my fingers caress the lion’s head knocker, wondering if I should just turn around and walk away. Sometimes being the mediator can be too tiring to contemplate.

But then Mom raises her voice, and I know it’s serious. I’ll tell you any darn thing I want, young lady!

I use my key and open the door, and then walk down the wide corridor, past Dad’s expensive paintings and over Mom’s expensive rugs, round the corner which presents an expensive bust of an expensive-looking woman, and into the living room which is, I was told time and time again in college, decorated expensively. But to me it just looks like my living room, except that now Cecilia is standing on one side of it brandishing her handbag and Mom and Dad are on the other, brandishing their erect forefingers.

Andrew and Josephine Ericson are hard-faced people, with flat noses and cold eyes, but Dad’s mouth often twitches involuntarily into a smile. Even today, stuffed into a tight red dress ready for the theater, Mom looks slightly cruel. Dad smiles more easily, and is usually more forgiving, but right now he doesn’t look ready to forgive. Cecilia has the same fine features as me, but her hair is jagged and dyed bleached blonde, instead of our natural blonde, and a nose ring glints in the light of the chandelier. Her shorts are so tiny, I’m surprised Dad let her in the house.

She scoffs, waving her handbag frantically, sending makeup flying across the room. You won’t even say damn! Cecilia snaps, disbelief making her voice wobbly. You won’t even say that simple word, will you, my sweet mother? You’re so tight-assed you can’t even do me the courtesy of giving me a proper argument.

Don’t talk to your mother like that, young lady! Dad snaps.

Young lady! Cecilia turns our bright blue eyes to me, noticing my entrance. Twenty-five years old, Mona, and he still calls us young lady!

Cecilia is the only person who calls me Mona, another middle finger to Mom and Dad, who adore the name Simone. She started calling me Mona when we were five, proclaiming that Simone was too difficult to say. This made no sense but it didn’t stop her. Nothing much stops Cecilia.

What’s going on? I say, looking between them. I wonder if they’d really be at each other’s throats if it wasn’t for the white leather couch.

Mom turns to me, pouting. Oh, hello, sweetheart, she says. We were just discussing the idea of your sister—our daughter—an Ericson, mind you—marrying that horrible brute of a man, that forty-year-old disgusting animal. That biker, that . . . Oh, Andrew, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

He’s thirty-nine, actually! Cecilia hisses.

Why don’t we all just sit down? I say, gesturing at two separate couches. I don’t think sitting them on the same couch is a good idea.

What’s the point? Cecilia sighs, kneeling down and collecting her makeup. I came here to invite them to the wedding, Mona, and they treat me like I’m some sort of monster. Apparently, falling in love is a personal insult.

Falling in love, Dad echoes. That’s an interesting way to put it.

But I have fallen in love! she breaks out.