Sentinel - Devil Riders MC Book 1 (MC Romance Novel with FREE Bonus Novel!) by Ashley Rhodes Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ashley Rhodes
suspicious of an A) and coast for the rest of the term?
He smiled happily. A simple addition, throwing just a little more money at the problem and he’d guarantee his grade and be free to focus on Chrissy only for his initial purpose—he wouldn’t need to pretend he wanted to learn any-fucking-thing.
His own brilliance amazed him. If he could’ve reached that far, he would’ve patted himself on the back.
With the need for screwing around pretending to write a paper out of the way, Justin had lots of time for things he wanted to do. And thinking about Chrissy, about making her crawl and beg, had gotten him worked up. He picked up his phone and called a number—another one he’d stolen from his father’s desk. This one was for an escort agency. He’d seen some of the women coming and going from the house when his father thought he was out and decided that if they could please the old man, they might be okay. The women might be less exciting, but a pro you hired didn’t give you any crap and they took credit cards. They’d manage to distract him, keep him busy until he had the information he needed to humble and humiliate Chrissy.
He rubbed his hands together with delight. As the receptionist at the escort service answered he let his imagination run wild. “I need a companion this evening.”
The voice was sweet, sexy. “Have you got an account with us?”
“Under the name Willbanks.”
She paused, probably calling it up on the computer. “Yes sir. Will an hour from now be all right?”
“Fine.” Then a thought struck him. “Can you send two?”
“Certainly. Do you have any preferences for race or color?”
He smiled. “One white, one black.”
“Absolutely, Mister Willbanks.”
He hung up and nodded to himself, glad he had thought to order two. Genius like his deserved a special night.
CHAPTER THREE
CHRISSY
The next evening Chrissy found herself standing nervously in front of a fairly nondescript building, about a half-hour’s drive from her apartment. It had small, darkened windows, and in one a neon sign that had seen better days feebly declared that this was “Devil’s Hideout.”
Rafe had said six and it was six now, straight up. She knew she could go in, but she was trying to build up the courage to walk in through the door. She clutched the card that Rafe had given her in one hand, crumpled and damp from where she’d turned it over in her hands so many times. Chrissy didn’t know the first thing about bikers or biker clubs, and while they had seemed pretty friendly at the diner, this was their turf, their domain. This was where they went to cut loose.
“Fuck it,” she whispered to herself. “Either go home and cry or get your ass in there and do it.”
Two things kept her from turning tail: the memory of the look Rafe had given her, which still made her tingle, and her need for a job—her desperate need to work. She couldn’t go home. She had run away from her home and Benny, and needed to keep moving forward, further away.
Chrissy walked up to the door, ran her fingers self-consciously through her bright red hair one last time, and pushed it open. It was still light enough outside that as she went inside she blinked, getting her eyes to adjust to the relative gloom of the bar’s dim light.
The bar was nothing special. It had a high ceiling and crap Masonite tables and chairs arranged on a well-scuffed wooden floor. Against one wall were some couches. Across from the entrance was the bar, fronted with shabby retro stools. Various bottles of hard liquor lined the dusty shelf behind it. She could hear an ancient pop song playing from an old-fashioned Wurlitzer juke box that sat against the side wall. She walked over to it. The damn thing played vinyl 45s. She saw a red display that read “A17”. A little chart said the song was “I Only Want to be With You,” by Dusty Springfield. She’d never heard of
He smiled happily. A simple addition, throwing just a little more money at the problem and he’d guarantee his grade and be free to focus on Chrissy only for his initial purpose—he wouldn’t need to pretend he wanted to learn any-fucking-thing.
His own brilliance amazed him. If he could’ve reached that far, he would’ve patted himself on the back.
With the need for screwing around pretending to write a paper out of the way, Justin had lots of time for things he wanted to do. And thinking about Chrissy, about making her crawl and beg, had gotten him worked up. He picked up his phone and called a number—another one he’d stolen from his father’s desk. This one was for an escort agency. He’d seen some of the women coming and going from the house when his father thought he was out and decided that if they could please the old man, they might be okay. The women might be less exciting, but a pro you hired didn’t give you any crap and they took credit cards. They’d manage to distract him, keep him busy until he had the information he needed to humble and humiliate Chrissy.
He rubbed his hands together with delight. As the receptionist at the escort service answered he let his imagination run wild. “I need a companion this evening.”
The voice was sweet, sexy. “Have you got an account with us?”
“Under the name Willbanks.”
She paused, probably calling it up on the computer. “Yes sir. Will an hour from now be all right?”
“Fine.” Then a thought struck him. “Can you send two?”
“Certainly. Do you have any preferences for race or color?”
He smiled. “One white, one black.”
“Absolutely, Mister Willbanks.”
He hung up and nodded to himself, glad he had thought to order two. Genius like his deserved a special night.
CHAPTER THREE
CHRISSY
The next evening Chrissy found herself standing nervously in front of a fairly nondescript building, about a half-hour’s drive from her apartment. It had small, darkened windows, and in one a neon sign that had seen better days feebly declared that this was “Devil’s Hideout.”
Rafe had said six and it was six now, straight up. She knew she could go in, but she was trying to build up the courage to walk in through the door. She clutched the card that Rafe had given her in one hand, crumpled and damp from where she’d turned it over in her hands so many times. Chrissy didn’t know the first thing about bikers or biker clubs, and while they had seemed pretty friendly at the diner, this was their turf, their domain. This was where they went to cut loose.
“Fuck it,” she whispered to herself. “Either go home and cry or get your ass in there and do it.”
Two things kept her from turning tail: the memory of the look Rafe had given her, which still made her tingle, and her need for a job—her desperate need to work. She couldn’t go home. She had run away from her home and Benny, and needed to keep moving forward, further away.
Chrissy walked up to the door, ran her fingers self-consciously through her bright red hair one last time, and pushed it open. It was still light enough outside that as she went inside she blinked, getting her eyes to adjust to the relative gloom of the bar’s dim light.
The bar was nothing special. It had a high ceiling and crap Masonite tables and chairs arranged on a well-scuffed wooden floor. Against one wall were some couches. Across from the entrance was the bar, fronted with shabby retro stools. Various bottles of hard liquor lined the dusty shelf behind it. She could hear an ancient pop song playing from an old-fashioned Wurlitzer juke box that sat against the side wall. She walked over to it. The damn thing played vinyl 45s. She saw a red display that read “A17”. A little chart said the song was “I Only Want to be With You,” by Dusty Springfield. She’d never heard of
Similar Books
Tainted Ground
Margaret Duffy
The Secret in Their Eyes
Eduardo Sacheri
The Bridesmaid's Baby Bump
Kandy Shepherd
Sheikh's Command
Sophia Lynn
Ophelia
Lisa Klein
The Remorseful Day
Colin Dexter
Bring Your Own Poison
Jimmie Ruth Evans
Cat in Glass
Nancy Etchemendy
All Due Respect
Vicki Hinze