Series: Sinner's Tribe Motocycle Club #2
Publication Date: June 2, 2015
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Genre: MC Romance
“I’m meeting a friend who’s seeing the deputy sheriff. Dawn . . .” Christ. He didn’t even know her last name. Par for the course. He usually didn’t care about a woman’s last name when he was buried deep inside her. Or her first name, for that matter. But Dawn wasn’t like the others and he silently berated himself for not making the effort.
“Dawn. No last name.” The receptionist lifted a manicured eyebrow in censure, and Cade scowled.
“Just make the call.”
Five minutes later, accompanied by two suspicious police officers, he walked into the intake area of the sheriff’s office. An assortment of drunks, vagrants, and a few high school girls in cuffs were seated in the waiting area. All the desks were in use, and the air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, old cigarettes, and pastrami.
The lead member of his entourage gestured to a desk in the corner where Dawn sat across from a cop with brown hair and the chiselled good looks of those losers on the front of men’s magazines. Cade snorted at the frickin’ gigantic shiny badge on the dude’s blue shirt, but his derision faded when the deputy met Cade’s gaze and then reached over the desk to clasp Dawn’s hand.
A growl escaped Cade’s lips. So that was the game. Bastard thought he could put his hands all over Cade’s girl.
Okay. Technically, she wasn’t his girl. But he’d slept with her, wanted to sleep with her again, and he’d had a good time with her and her kids on Sunday afternoon. Hell, he’d even missed joining Gunner and Sparky at a little pool party with Delilah and the girls from Peelers Strip Club. Now, that was something he would never live down.
His gaze still on Cade, the deputy stroked Dawn’s hand.
How fucking pathetic. Was that his idea of a challenge? Seated at his fucking desk in a collared shirt, patting Dawn’s hand? He’d give anything right now to get the deputy outside in the alley. Pansy ass would go down with one punch. Guaranteed. And the guy was an idiot if he thought he’d rile Cade up enough to risk assaulting a police officer. Not that Cade was afraid of doing time, but he had business to take care of first, and item number one was to get the deputy’s paws off his woman.
“Thought you were done with bikers,” the deputy said, loud enough for Cade to hear. Cade snorted and put more effort into thudding his boots across the tiles and rattling the chain hanging from his belt.
Let the fucking games begin.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Sarah Castille, writes contemporary erotic romance and romantic suspense featuring blazingly hot alpha males and the women who tame them. A recovering lawyer and caffeine addict, she worked and travelled abroad before trading in her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home in shadow of the Rocky Mountains.
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