Hidden Heat
Brothers of Mayhem #1
By: Carla Swafford
Releasing
February 16, 2016
Loveswept
Loveswept
Bats, Bulk, Action, Steam, and Intrigue . . . There is much to find in this new adult steamy, hot venture in to the world of MC. Not just any MC. Cassidy Ryder and her younger brother should have a life that few in the world of MC's get to live. They are the children of the MC leader and fostered by the an MC VP. Where did it all go wrong. On this day Cassidy was looking for her brother and got much more than her feisty, sassy, confident little punch of dynamite could probably handle. To keep things in prospective in comes to the rescue Thorn Savalas. The club bartender but more was there than meets the eye.
There sizzling encounter may be just what Cassidy needed but was not looking for. She only wants to keep her brother safe and out of the hands of the MC's. Thorn wants more than just the job he is there to do.
Join me and other welcoming a new series to the reading world of MC Romance, Mystery & Suspense. Carla Swafford has made a valiant hit home. Take the night to get your feet wet with a different kind of bad boy and a spitfire of a hard girl.
**This ARC was
provided via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.**
Blurb
Sizzling
with passion and suspense, perfect for fans of Joanna Wylde and Julie Ann
Walker, the Brothers of Mayhem series revs up as a headstrong beauty faces off
against an outlaw motorcycle club—and falls for the bad boy she never saw
coming.
Cassidy
Ryder refuses to be intimidated by anyone, even the hell-raising, hard-drinking
Brothers of Mayhem. The daughter of their former president, she’s not above smashing
a few heads to keep her teenage brother safe. But when Cassidy’s big mouth gets
her in trouble, the only thing that saves her is some quick thinking from the
Brothers’ bartender. He’s commanding and strong, and as smooth as the whiskey
he pours: the ultimate temptation for a girl who swore she’d never be a biker’s
plaything.
But
Thorn Savalas is no ordinary biker. He’s a cop, and he’s worked too hard
earning the Brothers’ trust to blow his cover over a female—even one who rocks
a pair of jeans like Cassidy. The only way to protect her is by claiming she’s
his old lady. Trouble is, Thorn can’t just pretend. He wants Cassidy, and every
scorching touch tells him she feels the same. But acting on their hottest
fantasies could leave them both exposed . . . even if nothing else has ever
felt so real.
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Cassidy
Ryder swung the bat, testing the weight and reach, as she marched around the
line of motorcycles. Wrinkling her nose, she ignored the sharp, pungent smell
of marijuana drifting across her path.
Huddled
in the shade beneath the building’s eaves, men with greasy hair and beards
puffed on tightly rolled joints and eyed her with mild curiosity. As long as
she stayed away from their well-loved bikes, they’d let her move on without
interference.
Her
body trembled with suppressed fury. She almost wished they’d try to stop her.
Anything to give her a reason to release the pressure building inside. With a
snort of derision, she straightened her back and stalked into the Skull and
Bones Bar.
The
thumping beat of Kid Rock blasted from the speakers, competing with the rowdy
conversations shaking the large, smoky room. Though mostly rural, Sand County
had a law against smoking in any public establishment. In pure defiance, a
blue-gray haze hovered around the dim bulbs spotlighting the long shelves of
liquor and above two pool tables in the back.
She
hesitated. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she ignored the
tall, lanky bartender strolling along behind the counter and heading her way.
The rest of the crowd ignored her entrance. Did they often see people carrying
a bat into the place?
She
didn’t care. Time for someone to listen to her.
With
a swing of her whole body, she brought the bat down, sweeping several glasses
from the long bar. The loud pops and tinkling of broken glasses immediately
quieted the room just as Kid’s “American Bad Ass” faded out. Several of the
leather-and-denim clad men stood and stepped toward her.
She
lifted the bat for another swing.
“Damn
it to hell! Wait!” The bartender slid over the top of the counter to stand in
front of her. “What the hell are you doing?”
Speaking
of badass, with his broad shoulders and tats down both arms, he’d draw anyone’s
attention just by entering a room. But add in the dark hair cut tight on the
sides, long on top and brushed back to his nape, he especially caught the eye
of every woman in the place. She’d noticed too, but she had more important
things on her mind.
Her
arm muscles tensed as she pulled her weapon higher over her shoulder.
He
stopped a bat length away and raised his hands. “Cassidy . . .” He hesitated as
if he waited for her reaction to the name. Was she that forgettable? She’d been
there several times over the last month, to drag her brother back home. When
her eyes narrowed, he continued. “Whatever has you riled up, can we talk about
it?”
Emphasizing
each word, she pointed the bat as if it were a finger. “I came in here
yesterday and asked, real polite, if you or anyone here had seen my brother.
Each one of you looked me in the face and lied. This morning, I get a call,
telling me he was seen yesterday, hanging out back, talking with Stonewall.”
She glanced around, keeping the bartender in her peripheral view. “Where’s the
bastard? I want answers about my brother’s whereabouts.” Proud of how her voice
remained even and carried across the room, she jutted out her chin. What would
they lie about next?
The
Brothers of Mayhem Motorcycle Club never took kindly to threats. She didn’t
care. Violence was the only way they would respect her, and she was prepared to
do more, if that’s what it took to bring her little brother back home. Storm
had never stayed gone this long.
“Put
the bat down before you get hurt.” The bartender’s soft command sounded so
reasonable.
Screw
reasonable. She’d been fair and understanding for the last three days while she
searched for Storm. Her patience had disappeared with the only member of her
family worth a damn. No way would she fail him again.
“I
will when you—”
Brawny
arms wrapped around her chest and squeezed. She gasped for breath as someone
hauled her against his chest and off her feet. The bartender grabbed the bat
from her loosened grip and threw it to the side. It hit the floor with a loud
clanking.
“Little
girl, we don’t know where your brother’s at. We didn’t lie about that.” The
deep voice of the club’s VP, Mac McGee, came from above her head as he squeezed
again in warning. “Maybe I need to teach you some fucking manners.”
She
squeaked from the pain, her ribs near the breaking point. With little blood
circulation reaching below her waist, her kicks were no more than taps to the
mountain restraining her. She pushed at the tight arms as her head dug into his
sternum.
“Please,”
she pleaded with a hiss of precious air.
“Mac,
let her go. I’ll handle her.” The bartender rested his elbows on the countertop
behind him, crossed his long legs at the ankles, and waited.
The
big guy released her so quickly she barely caught herself before falling at
their feet. Asshole.
Taking cautious breaths in case of a cracked rib, she
regained a little of her composure.
Handle
her?
In his dreams. Shoulders thrust back and head held up, she asked, “Where’s my
brother?”
The
bartender sighed in frustration. “You’re the most hardheaded woman. Mac told
you yesterday, and today is no different. We have no idea where your brother
is.”
Then
it struck her what the big guy said a moment earlier. She turned and looked
into the angry bloodshot eyes of Mac. “What did you mean when you said ‘We
didn’t lie about that’? What did you lie about?”
With
a shake of his massive, shaggy head, the big guy reached for her, but the
bartender knocked her to the side and stepped between them, one arm out to keep
her back. “Go on. I’ll take it from here.”
“Never
could stand bossy old ladies,” Mac drawled with a sneer.
She
leaned over the bartender’s arm and shouted, “Who are you calling old lady? I’m
no one’s old lady! You old fart!” She knew what he meant, that it had nothing
to do with age, but with belonging to someone. At the age of twenty-one, she
refused to let anyone call her that. At sixty-one, she would damn well still
refuse.
“Who
would want you as their old lady, with that bitchy attitude,” Mac said, more as
fact than a question. “You need your ass beaten.” Then he walked away as he
raised one finger in her direction.
“Yeah,
but at least I look human and not like a grizzly bear, what with all that fur
on your face!” How lame.
She
really needed to shut up before they got tired of her mouth. As a kid she’d
grown up around surly men like Mac, but her father’s reputation had protected
her from worse. Besides, what about her promise to be a good girl? Her foster
mother tried her best to teach her self-control. Yet Cassidy often let her
temper get the better of her. Remembering how her hissy fit had caused her
brother to leave home in a huff the other night, a sharp pain roiled in her
stomach.
As
she opened her mouth to apologize, the bartender’s hand cupped the back of her
head, clutched a handful of hair, and twisted. At the same time, his other hand
covered her mouth.
“Shh,”
he said softly. Concern darkened his blue eyes as he shook his head.
Bending
her back, he caused her to lose balance but held her tight. Her feet remained on
the floor as he aligned his body with hers, almost touching his nose to hers.
“If
you don’t shut your trap, you’re going to get more than you asked for,” he
whispered. “Your brother isn’t here. He’s turning eighteen in a couple days,
right?” Without giving her a chance to answer, he added, “Then he’ll be an
adult. At least one who can vote and die for his country. So, I think it’s in
your best interest to go home. When he’s ready to talk, he’ll show up.”
She
wasn’t sure why it happened. The last few days had been stressful. She wasn’t
one of those girls who did it at the drop of a hat, but her eyes welled with
tears.
“Ah,
shit. Don’t do that,” he said between gritted teeth. He moved his hand from her
mouth, pressing her cheek to a broad shoulder as he lifted her upright.
Unable
to stop, she dug trembling fingers into his leather vest and sobbed.
Why is
he being so nice?
The
strong hand in her hair remained, but the other one rubbed and patted her back.
He acted as if he had all of the time in the world while she bawled like a
little kid.
“Shh.
Everything will be okay.”
She
glanced up and her heart skipped a beat. The guy had a gorgeous smile; there
was even a dimple beneath the stubble on his face.
A
gravelly voice nearby said, “Get me a beer, Thorn, before you fuck her.”
Her
body stiffened.
Stonewall
had arrived.
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Author
Info
Carla Swafford loves romance novels,
action/adventure movies, and men, and her books reflect that. She’s married to
her high school sweetheart and lives in Alabama.
Author Links:
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