Burn: Outlaw Romance (Hotter Than Hell Book 3) by Holly S. Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

and travel about a mile. The pavement ends and I’m on dirt. I bounce around over potholes but don’t consider slowing. My focus is on reaching the clubhouse.
    I only slow to make the turn between double wood poles that signal I’ve found what I’m hunting for. Men are working in the yard dragging junk into a pile. The area is mostly clear and the stack of debris is huge. I stop the car and slide my gun from beneath the seat. Several of the men stop working and check me out. Keeping the gun in my lap, I remove it from the holster and slip it beneath the waistband of my jeans. I swing the car door open and step out into the boiling heat of the afternoon sun.
    The mostly bald-headed men stand watching me—some with wife-beater T-shirts and some shirtless. They’re scum. My father’s scum. He owned these men, pulled them around by proverbial rings in their noses. “I’m here to see Dagger,” I say loudly while stepping over a pile of motorcycle parts. I walk a few feet forward.
    A man working more to the side of the building drops a shovel and strolls my way. And, it is a stroll. He’s confident and deadly; you can tell by the way he holds himself. A red and black bandana wraps around his brow without hiding his shaved head. Even this far away, I notice his eyes. They’re shards of blue that stand out from the sweat and grime on his face. His chest is bare with defined muscles that slide beneath the skin as he strides a few steps closer. Dirty sweat trails down his chest in rivulets. The tattoos stand out on his tanned skin. Prison tats from the color. I lift my eyes to his without dissecting the artwork. I’ve seen few men as stunning as he is. A tingle glides across my nipples and lower to settle between my thighs.
    This is what Lorene was talking about and I know who I’m staring at.
    My rage from the last hour turns to a low simmer. It’s difficult to disregard the sexual signals thrumming through my body. He’s tall and younger than most of the other men out here. God decided to play a joke on every red-blooded, dark-skinned woman when he gave this man breath. He should be modeling and not associating with trash. Who am I kidding? He’s trash and just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean he has a brain.
    He isn’t smiling, but it doesn’t take away from his gorgeous face. He has high cheekbones and a square jaw with a few days’ stubble. I want to hold his gaze, but I can’t stop myself from taking another swipe of his body. I need a bottle of wine and an hour to run my tongue over the crazy ridges on the sides of his abs that lead straight down into mega-man territory.
    Am I drooling? I’ve seen men look at me in a similar fashion. Most I ignore. Every so often, I take one for a ride and fuck his brains out. Nope, won’t happen this time; this one belonged to my father. He’s a killer just like Frank was. I’ll be joining that club soon enough, and, for the craziest reason… I smile.
    He smiles back having no clue that I want him to die. The smile is full and sensuous with a dimple on one side of his mouth. My pulse quickens with the need to bite his lower lip and sink my fingernails into his flesh.
    Fuck, stop , I implore myself silently.
    He knows the effect he’s having on me because his smile widens. “I’m Dagger. May I help you?” His name on his lips brings me out of the spell he’s wrapped around me.
    The world goes still. My entire life spirals to this moment—my mother, foster parents, social workers who never cared, and the tears of a scared child with no one to fight for her. Frank…Fox, whatever the fucking name he goes by, my father—is the man who destroyed my mother and killed her unborn children.
    The gun is in my hand without a thought. Darkness invades my vision. It all happens so quickly. I aim dead center for his chest. Someone yells, “Gun,” beside me. Pull the trigger, I tell myself. Fucking pull. The barrel moves higher—over his head and the gun goes off at