Crude (Book 3): Wicked Wolves MC, #3

By Evelyn Glass

This is book 3 and the finale of the Wicked Wolves MC romance series!

He's crude, lewd, and in the mood.

I thought I put my demons behind me.

But I couldn't have been more wrong.

Because my past has finally caught up to me…

And his name is Topher Banley.

He's a player and a killer.

And worst of all… a biker.

But he knows things I can't let out.

Things like…

The name I thought I'd left behind.

A folder full of buried secrets.

So suddenly, I find myself facing the demands of a bad boy who wants to break me…

And I have no choice but to obey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBook Publishing World
• Release date: Dec 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393378464

Book preview

Crude: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Wicked Wolves MC Book 3)

By Evelyn Glass

He’s crude, lewd, and in the mood.

I THOUGHT I PUT MY demons behind me.

But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Because my past has finally caught up to me...

And his name is Topher Banley.

He’s a player and a killer.

And worst of all... a biker.

But he knows things I can’t let out.

Things like...

The name I thought I’d left behind.

A folder full of buried secrets.

So suddenly, I find myself facing the demands of a bad boy who wants to break me...

And I have no choice but to obey.

CHAPTER 1

It wasn’t an especially hot afternoon when Cassius met Luca Moncada at their usual rendezvous point out in the desert, but a scorching wind got up. It flung dust across the ranks of bikes arrayed behind the two presidents, endless dust and those tiny rocks that stung whenever they struck bare skin. Topher put his helmet back on and shielded his cheek with his hand, while he gripped the automatic weapon with his other hand. Most of the others, Wolves and Devils alike, did something similar.

The sky grew very pale, almost yellow as gray storm clouds gathered far off to the east. Topher glanced at each of his brothers, trying to decide which of them was most likely to be the rat. Cassius’s ruse hadn’t worked; not one of them had summoned the Devils to kill Colin Sayers. They’d all attended their respective rendezvous alone and unbothered. And Cassius had had to apologize to each of them for Sayers not showing up; wires had gotten crossed somewhere, and it was probably his—Cassius’s—fault.

Topher’s money was on either Bunny Carlisle or, and he couldn’t believe he was thinking this, Mal Washburne. The Wolves’ VP had been a dedicated club member since before Topher was born, but he hadn’t always lived in Hoyt Lake. For three or four years his seat at the table had been pretty much empty; he’d ridden in for special occasions, or for the major club votes, but the rest of the time he’d spent out in Exeter, where his wife was looking after her disabled mother after her father had died. Anything could have happened during that time. Moncada could have got to him any number of ways, at any time, and no one else would have known about it. It was always a dangerous thing for a brother to leave the location of his chapter for any length of time and still retain his old position. Cassius should have been more careful there, but he’d, perhaps, always trusted the colors a little too much.

Even without that hiatus, the fact that Mal was the only member who’d known about Sayers from the very beginning was starting to trouble Topher. Maybe the VP hadn’t given that name to Moncada before now because he was secretly playing both sides against each other. Maybe his goal was to supplant Cassius and become Club President himself, and rather than just being an out-and-out Devils snitch, he was strategically feeding Moncada bits and pieces to use against the Wolves, all for that end: to bring the club to the brink of disaster and then, when Cassius made a fatally wrong move, he—Mal Washburne—would take over by right of succession and be the leader he’d always wanted to be.

These were the sorts of crazy-but-all-too-plausible conspiracy theories Topher had been wrestling with for days now. And they’d forced him admit to himself that he never wanted to be a Club President, not even if he were the last Wolf standing. He hated the politics, the compromises, but most of all he now saw what a lonely job it was. Cassius was angling like crazy, not knowing who to trust, who to go after; and the slightest mistake could bring the whole organization down.

He didn’t order the hit on me, said Cassius on his return from the brief meeting. I’m pretty sure it was Bob Bova from the Arizona chapter.

Those were Arizona Devils I saw in Gallant, that same night, shortly before you showed up half-dead, replied Topher. Now I wish we’d done more than just knife their tires.

Cassius placed a reassuring hand on Topher’s shoulder. Don’t worry. Theirs is coming. But there’s something else you should know. It’s about Kat Dellison.

Topher tightened inside, thought about the rat in her company. How vulnerable that made her. "What’s happened?"

Nothing like that, kid. No one’s touched her. But the gig’s up.

Say what?

"Uh-huh. Word’s out on her outlaw past. Moncada’s given up trying to coerce her, so he’s making sure we don’t get anything either. He’s released everything he’s got on her to the cops. Bragged about it as he told me, as if he’s brought down Wall Street or something, the idiot. Anyhoo, she’s twisting in the wind as we speak, or so he says. He paused, muttered to himself as they watched the Devils ride away. Always was gonna end badly for her. But that asshole didn’t have to brag about it."

No, and Cassius didn’t have to talk about her like she was some throwaway pawn whose sacrifice was just part of a game the big boys played. He didn’t give a shit about her. None of them did. And that was the problem. It was all too easy to play for high stakes with other people’s lives, people you’d forget about the second they were no longer useful.

But Topher couldn’t forget. He wouldn’t. Despite what she’d written in that letter, he was not going to stay away. For Christ’s sake, he’d helped put her in that impossible situation. And he sure as shit hadn’t helped her get out of it. But he would do all he could now. There was no way he’d let her go through this alone.

THE EVENING HER INTERVIEW aired for the first time was like something out of a dream. A really strange one. Nothing seemed quite as it should be: from the light in her living room to the way Lynn and her husband were treating each other, all polite and respectful, like they were on a first date or something. It was sweet to see, but it was also freaking her out. She’d never seen them polite with each other, not once.

Can I get you guys anything else? A top-up, Frank?

No thanks, darlin. I’m good for now. He checked his watch. Wow, under an hour to go ‘til airtime. How are you feelin, Kat?

Weird.

I can imagine.

No he couldn’t, because it wasn’t nerves making everything seem off-kilter. It really was off-kilter. She felt spaced out, disconnected. But it wasn’t nerves. She didn’t get nervous about things like this, about being the center of attention.

But from what Lynn told me, you’re a natural, he added. As confident onscreen as you are off it. That was the way you put it, wasn’t it, babe?

Lynn replied, Something like that. And to Kat, "I don’t think I could’ve kept it together like that. I mean bam—as soon as the cameras started rolling, you were in the groove. No warm-up, no second takes. It was the smoothest thing I’ve ever seen."

Bizarre! Every word out of her friend’s mouth sounded like an echo of something she’d already said, as though they’d had this exact same conversation before, only Kat couldn’t remember when.

I think it was relief more than anything, said Kat. I finally got that stuff off my chest. Jesus, even her own responses felt rehearsed somehow, predetermined. This was really messing with her head.

The doorbell rang. She was expecting a courier delivery, but not so soon, not on interview night. When she opened the door and saw who it was, the evening’s strangeness suddenly spiked like a triple rum on an empty stomach. It left her head swimming and her heart swinging like crazy. All she could say was Where from Jew come? After untying her tongue, she translated: "Where did you come from?"

Straight from Hoyt. Can I come in? Chris had ditched all his biker gear and was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved cotton shirt. He’d even left his bike at home. His ride was an old sky