Broken Wings Read online Izzy Sweet, Sean Moriarty (Royal Bastards MC – Louisville KY #1)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC, Romance Tags Authors: , Series: Royal Bastards MC - Louisville KY Series by Izzy Sweet
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Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
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That fucking word.

Ma’am.

“Levi, stay here. I’ll be right back, I left my purse in the car,” I call over my shoulder as I stop pacing and head for the front door.

“Okay, Mommy,” I hear him say behind me, and I know he’ll do what I’ll say because he’s a good boy.

A good boy who doesn’t deserve any of this shit…

With a worried look on his face, Poster Boy tries to step in front of me before I can yank the door open. “Allie—”

Far beyond my breaking point, I snap at him, “If you suggest even for a second that I’d run and leave my son behind, I’ll fucking gut you!”

Eyes going wide, he can’t move out of my way fast enough as I yank the door open and stomp past him.

I feel all three of them following behind me as I walk up to the van.

“I left my purse in the car,” I mutter as I yank the driver’s side door open.

And I truly did. It’s right where I left it in the little space between the seats. I was so upset over the missing battery, I forgot to grab it when I got Levi.

Sliding behind the wheel, I reach down and pick it up.

Then I slam the door and push down the lock.

“Allie? Allie?!” Poster Boy shouts in alarm and tries to open the door. “Fuck!”

The van might not start because they fucked with it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t roll…

Pushing down on the brake, I grab the gear stick and shift into neutral.

Then I lean back, ease my foot off the brake, and let gravity take control.

There’s something deeply satisfying about hearing three grown men shout, curse, cry, and run around in panic as I roll backward.

There’s something even more satisfying about feeling the bump of impact and hearing the scraping of metal against asphalt.

Too bad it ends too soon.

Still, it feels good, the final hard bump up and down when one of their bikes ends up under the tires.

When I finally shift back into park and open my door, my only regret is that Coy’s driveway wasn’t steeper or longer…

“Oh god, what am I going to do? My bike, man… My bike…” Hammy cries.

Dropped down in a squat in the grass, he grabs at his head.

Steve is staring in horror at the minivan and looks like he might faint at any second.

Poster Boy looks at me like he doesn’t know who I am.

Laughter tries to bubble out of me, but I swallow it down and walk back up to the house.

When I reach the front door, I call out, “I’m sorry! I’d give you a lift, but my van is the only ride I’ve got!”

Then I slam the door shut and twist the deadbolt.

Fuck them.

Chapter Thirteen

Coy

Fuckin’ livin’ the life of a President… Yeah, it ain’t all glamour and easy choices. I’d have stayed home and let someone else deal with this if I thought I had the option, but shit starts at the top and rolls down.

I gotta figure out why the fuck Snowbird’s dead in the fucking trunk of some random car.

Fuck, it ain’t gonna look good to the club or anyone else when everyone finds out she’s dead. Not after I kicked her out of the fucking office like I did.

Shit’s gonna spread like wildfire. Girl gets yelled at, kicked out of the office, and then she ends up in a fucking trunk.

Yelling over the roaring of my bike, I try to vent out some steam. “Fucking goddammit!”

Grem, who’s following behind me, must have heard because I hear him throttle up his bike so he can move up to my side.

He gives me the hairy eyebrow wag, checking on me.

Shaking my head, I motion for him to fall back. I need my fucking space right now, too much mental shit is coming at me.

Nodding his head, he falls back behind me. Giving me the room to think and weave through the heavier traffic of the town.

I’ve got the fucking Bloody Scorpions crawling up my ass, guns coming from Alaska but no clue if they’ll get here in time, and a wife and kid at home who don’t know who the fuck I am.

The very last thing I need right now is a fucking dead sweetbutt inside of a trunk. A dead sweetbutt who has my DNA all over her fucking body.

I can barely contain the chuckle at the thought of me being a suspect because of my boot print…

Thankfully, she didn’t swallow or have any of my cum on her.

Slowly rolling up to the taped-off police scene, I wince when I notice there’s already a few looky-loos standing around. Pulling far enough away that I can still get a good view of the scene, I don’t like what I’m seeing one fucking bit.

“What the fuck was she doin’ at Lonnie’s Bar?” Gremlin asks once he’s shut his bike down beside me.



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