The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC) by Daniella Tucci Read Free Book Online

abiding
citizens. I don’t get it. All I know is that the second I am able I am out of
here! Sure it’s nice and all that he took me in, but there has to be ulterior
motives here. He is a man after all.
    At some point I
do fall asleep because it’s nearing dark when I wake up again. I check my backup
phone and the fact that there are no missed calls is testament to how well my
two assistants are doing filling in for me. Had this happened three or four
years ago it would be a colossal mess. Kudos to Stacy and Jason!
    I look over to
the kitchen and out walks Mr. Grubby looking…no so grubby. He’s wearing a pair
of boxer shorts and not a thing else! Draped around his shoulders is a damp
towel. His long dark hair is wet and clings to his face and shoulders. He turns
away from me to look at something and I see the tattoo on his back for the
first time. It’s the same design that’s on the back of his jacket. The main
design is of a steely skeleton riding a chopper. Flames are shooting out the
bikes tail pipes and the contrast of the bright red flames against his bronzed
skin is abso- fucking- lutely mouthwatering! Above the rider and bike is the
word Iron and below in the same circular pattern is the word Disciples. I have
learned that the three part patch that his group sports also signifies that
they are the one percent outlaw bikers. The man has balls; great fucking big
ones! He not only flaunts it on his jacket and vest, but on his body in the
form of a permanent tattoo! Who the hell does he think he is anyway?
    He disappears
into the kitchen only to return carrying two glasses of clear liquid. As he
walks toward me I can’t help but drink him in. He’s gotta be six foot, maybe
six two or three. He has powerful broad shoulders, baby smooth chest and
muscular chest, and oh those abs! Holy crap I could grate cheese on them then
eat it off afterwards!
    My eyes drift
downwards to his crotch. From the nerve of this guy you’d expect his current
choice of underwear completely incapable of storing his family jewels. It’s
also painfully obvious that he is far above average in that all important size
matters category. The man is hung like a horse; a freaking iron horse! He hands
me a glass. I take a sniff before a drink. It’s water. He sets his own glass on
what’s left of his coffee table and sits down on the edge of the couch next to
my encased leg. What is he up to?
    “If you’re here
to make a peace offering,” I begin. “You should have brought something a little
stronger than water.”
    “It’s not my
wish to take advantage.”
    “Like you
could. I’d kick…okay maybe not, but what are you up to anyway?”
    “I think we got
off to a bad start.”
    “Sorry but I’m
not in the habit of associating with murderers. It leaves a bad taste in my
mouth.”
    “Honey you wish
I’d leave a taste of me in your mouth.”
    “You have got
to be kidding me. I’m an upstanding citizen. I have an MBA from Stanford with a
special focus on macro and microeconomics, I am the youngest vice president in
the 108 year history of Capital America, and I earn more in a month than
you’ll ever earn in your lifetime! I don’t consort with fucking criminals!”
    “Have you
always been so full of yourself? You’ve got more self-righteous wrath than God
himself! How do you even live with yourself? I bet you don’t have a single
friend in the whole world.”
    “You have no
right to judge me!”
    Then it
happens. I move to smack him across the face when he catches my arm and pulls
me to his bare chest. It doesn’t even matter that it hurts like hell on my leg
when he forces me to sit up. In fact it hurts so much a layer of sweat breaks
out across my brow. His body is damp and cool against the thin material of my
blouse. His masculine scent is otherworldly and altogether captivating. I don’t
want to want him but my nipples tell a different story. Still, a girl’s gotta
have her standards. I put my hands on his shoulders with