Genre: MC, Bikers, Werewolves,
PNR, Bad Boys
Date of Publication: May 13, 2016
Word Count: 105,300
Cover Artist: Syneca Featherstone
Gonzo has not only had to come to terms with the loss of his entire family, but he also barely survived being shot in the chest multiple times while still a human, and was then later turned into a werewolf during a vicious attack while hiking as he tried to put his life back together.
Constance has had her own losses to deal with, and while nowhere near as bad as Gonzo’s, they’ve left a mark on her as well. She’s determined to live her life without a partner though, because her two sexual experiences in college convinced her she’s asexual.
Gonzo’s a biker people cross the road to avoid, while Constance has multiple doctorate degrees and works as a research scientist for a leading pharmaceutical firm. Gonzo doesn’t trust women, Constance has no use for men — and yet they’re going to find themselves working toward the same goals.
Can they form a team to do what needs to be done?
Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club Book Seven, can be read as a stand-alone
Chapter One Excerpt
Most everyone in the RTMC works in one of our businesses. I can bartend in a pinch, but most nights I work as a bouncer. Duke says I’m not good with people.
He’s right. People are fucked up. Some are more fucked than others, but there’s no way to know who might be just a cunt hair away from losing their shit.
I trust my brothers in the MC and a few of their ol’ladies, but that’s it. I have no intention of having a conversation with anyone else. I mean, I have to talk to people to order food or buy shit at the store, but that isn’t a conversation. I don’t do small talk. It’s pointless.
Funny, though — I get just as many tips as Dawg when I bartend. Everyone likes Dawg. He can look a woman in the eyes for ten seconds and make her fall in love with him. Brain says they tip me as much as Dawg because I scare the fuck out of them and they don’t want to piss me off.
Apparently, I look at people and give them nightmares. Maybe they know I’d just as soon bite their head off as talk to them?
On this particular Thursday night I was bouncing, and something was up with a woman sitting at the bar.
She’d had one margarita when she first arrived, but now she was nursing a soda, and she kept looking at me, but she’d look away when I turned towards her. She wasn’t doing anything bounce-able but she had my nerves on edge. My wolf’s, too.
A group of women were having a party at one of the tables, and two of them staggered off to the bathroom. On their way back two men stood in their way — it was apparent the women wanted to go back to their table and the men weren’t letting them. I tuned into the conversation and heard the men telling the women they wanted to take them back to their place to party. The women were shit-faced, but still obviously weren’t interested and only wanted to get back to their friends. I walked to the men, wrapped a hand around the back of their necks, and leaned in to say, “They told you they aren’t interested. I see you approach them again and you’re out of here.”
I moved the men out of the way, nodded to the women to go around, and looked back to the men as I squeezed hard enough to bring tears to their eyes. “Not cool. Don’t try to pull that shit again in our bar.”
As I returned to the wall, the woman at the bar downed the rest of her soda and went to the restroom. I put her out of my mind as I stepped towards two gentlemen who seemed to be arguing over a piece of ass — and not even an attractive piece of ass. One had apparently been dating her and only broke up earlier in the week, the other had her out on a date tonight and the wounded party felt like the new guy had broken the bro-code by taking her out so soon. All I had to do was stand five feet away, cross my arms and look at them, and they sat down and lowered their voices.
Looking scary can come in handy, sometimes.
I moved back to my favorite perch, leaned against the wall so I could see the bar and dance floor, and my stomach dropped as the woman I’d been watching earlier came out of the bathroom and made a beeline for me.
Our bar in Atlanta had been a biker bar, with pretty much only friends of the one percent feeling comfortable stepping in the door. However, somehow we’d attracted the ninety-nine percent here in Chattanooga. It was incredibly profitable, but a pain in the ass to deal with outsiders, sometimes.
It was hard to say this woman didn’t belong here, because so many other people were dressed just as prissy as this bitch, but I had a feeling she hadn’t stepped into any bar in years, and I wondered why she was here, alone. She might’ve been attractive if she’d been dressed different, or had her hair down — but all I could see was the prissy-assed bitch I’d first noticed paying way too much attention to me.
She stepped to me, held out her hand as if to shake mine, and said, “I’m Constance.”
I just looked at her, my arms crossed. Eventually, she dropped her hand and said, “Ummm, you’re working, right? Do you not talk when you’re working?”
I gave her my most intimidating look, but she planted her feet, squared her shoulders, and asked, “What time do you get off work? Do you think, if I stuck around, we could talk when you aren’t working?”
What the ever-loving fuck? “Are you one of those chicks who just drew up a bucket list, and you need to check off fuck a biker?”
“What? No!” she looked down a few seconds, and then met my gaze again. “I’ve never been good at this, but I appear to be doing even worse than usual. I’ve watched you, and I’m intrigued, and I’d like to get to know you.”
“You a reporter?”
She shook her head.
“I’m a research scientist.”
I moved one hand to my crotch and casually rubbed. “Behavioral research? You wantin’ to know what makes bikers tick?” Okay, so now I was just fucking with her, but at this point I needed to find out who she was and why she was interested in me.
“No. Pharmaceuticals. I help invent new drugs.”
I looked up and around, zeroed in on a few conversations, and looked back to the woman. What had she said her name was? Shit. Total blank. I hadn’t given a fuck when she’d told me. Still didn’t care, but I seemed to remember it was a prissy-assed name that’d pissed me off just by watching her mouth say it.
Despite my silence and hostility, she tried again. “I’d like to take you to Waffle House, or another restaurant if you’d rather, when you get off. My treat.”
Like I couldn’t afford fucking Waffle House. If I chose to eat with the bitch, I wouldn’t let her feed me. I crossed my arms again. “And if I wanna get off while I pound my cock in your ass?”
She took a step back as her face flamed hot, and I smelled true fear from her. She’d been wary and nervous before but I’d finally managed to scare the fuck out of her.
I shook my head, disgusted. “Not gonna do anything you don’t want. Plenty of willing ass I can have — don’t have to rape someone to get it.”
“Oh, you’re mad at me for being scared when YOU are the one who said it!? Shit, this was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
She turned to leave and I grabbed her arm as I touched my earpiece. “I’m gonna take a twenty minute break.”
“She don’t seem like your type,” Dozer said with a chuckle, but I didn’t respond.
I pulled the woman into the office and closed the door. She shook her head, “No, I don’t want to be alone with you. I wanted to talk to you in a public place.”
“You want to talk? This is your only option.”
She pulled a phone out of her purse, quickly engaged it, and turned it towards me as she asked, “Do you remember her?”
I recognized the face but couldn’t remember a name. “Yeah. Years since I saw her, though. Bud kicked her out when I caught her snorting a line in the bathroom. She isn’t welcome back on RTMC property.”
The woman stared at me, her face stricken. “Someone else kicked her out? Not you?”
“I told her she had to leave because we don’t allow that shit in our compound, but Bud’s the Prez in Atlanta so he made it permanent.” I paused a few seconds as I smelled true grief coming from her. I’d been about to ask if she was a private detective who’d lied about being a research scientist, but this was personal.
“Why, what happened to her, and how do you know her?” And even more, why had she come to me, specifically? The bitch she was asking about hadn’t been a club whore — she’d only fucked me, as far as I knew. It wasn’t a relationship, but when she was around I’d usually fuck her instead of someone else. The fact I couldn’t remember her name, and had never given her a nickname, should speak volumes to how little she’d meant to me. The bitch had known her place, though. She fucked me and then left. She didn’t want conversation, didn’t ask for meals. Just spread her legs and went on her way. She’d been a damned good lay for a human, too.
“She was my sister. She’s dead.”
“And why did you come to me?” My wife died of cancer and my kids were murdered. Everyone has dead loved ones — if this cunt wanted sympathy she’d come to the wrong place.
“Can we sit down?”
“Fuck, why not.”
About the Author:
Candace Blevins lives with her husband of 18 years and their two daughters. When not working or driving kids all over the place she can be found reading, writing, meditating, or swimming.
Candace writes Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Contemporary BDSM Romance, and is currently writing a kick-ass Motorcycle Club series.
Her urban fantasy series, Only Human, gives us a world where weredragons, werewolves, werelions, three different species of vampires, as well as a variety of other mythological beings exist.
Candace's two paranormal romance series, The Chattanooga Supernaturals and The Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club, are both sister series to the Only Human series, and give some secondary characters their happily ever after.
Her Safeword Series gives us characters who happen to have some extreme kinks. Relationships can be difficult enough without throwing power exchange into the mix, and her books show characters who care enough about each other to fight to make the relationship work. Each book in the Safeword series highlights a couple with a different BDSM issue to resolve.
You can visit Candace on the web at candaceblevins.com and feel free to friend her on Facebook at facebook.com/candacesblevins and Goodreads at goodreads.com/CandaceBlevins. You can also join facebook.com/groups/CandacesKinksters to get sneak peeks into what she's writing now, images that inspire her, and the occasional juicy blurb.
Stay up to date on Candace’s newest releases, and get exclusive excerpts by joining her mailing list!