Chains (Twisted Devils MC #15) Read Online Zahra Girard

Categories Genre: Biker, MC, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Twisted Devils MC Series by Zahra Girard

Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 112788 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)

Ruthless criminal.
Possessive a**hole.
My only hope.

I moved to Ironwood Falls with a dream to open a dog rescue.
Not to hook up with a scary biker.
Chains has a commanding attitude, chiseled abs,
More red flags than a matador convention,
And he wants me.

I try to chase him off.
He’s clearly wrong for me.
But Chains, a single dad, dotes on his five-year-old daughter,
And she loves my dogs.
There’s no keeping him away.

When a vicious dog-fighting ring targets me,
Only Chains can protect me.
But he has a price.
My body.

I shouldn’t give in.
But seeing that muscled monster risk his life to protect a puppy?
I surrender to the temptation.
He teaches me so much more
The taste of his lips.
The sound as he moans my name in bed.
And then that tatted criminal steals my heart.

But then things turn deadly
Our enemies close in.
Everyone around me is in danger
These monsters target everyone – including Chains’ daughter.
And we face a deadly question:
How far will we go for love?

Chains is book 15 in the Twisted Devils MC series. This dark MC romance has no cheating, no cliffhanger, and has a HEA. Can be read as a standalone.


Chapter One


“Let me get this straight: I’m offering you fifty grand, and you’re telling me to go fuck myself?” I heft the duffel bag in my hand, sniff the salty Seattle sea air, and cock my head at him. “Was there a lot of lead in the water where you grew up?”

“The fuck you talking about?” The head of the dockworker’s union, a man who is so bulky and hairy he looks like at least one of his grandparents may have fucked a Sasquatch, stomps toward me.

His footsteps sound extra loud on this quiet dock.

It’s late, that time of night where deeds that shouldn’t see the light of day are done, and in the distance a ship’s horn sounds its arrival.

“I’m saying you should take the money. You got kids?”

“That a threat?” He says, answering in that tone that only someone who has kids would use.

He steps closer.

“I’m saying you could use this money, send your kids to a better school. That way they won’t grow up to be as fucking dumb as their father.”

The union head stops right in front of me, leans down — because he’s as tall as a fucking telephone pole — and spits in my face.

“It ain’t about the money. I’m not working for that Raffaele anymore.”

Unfazed, I wipe the spit away. Look over my shoulder. Havoc and Mayhem both stand ready, fists clenched. It’s the three of us facing off against six of them, counting the buffalo man.

This was supposed to be an easy job.

Take the money, give it over, ensure the contract negotiations go the way Raffaele wants them to go.

Turns out that old man doesn’t know everything.

“You know who he is, right?”

The buffalo snorts. “Some geezer with one foot in the grave.”

“True. He’s so old he still uses a rotary dial phone. But he owns you. He owns this town. And he sent us to remind you of that. So, before we get down to what we all know is going to happen, tell me one thing: how are you going to break the news to your kids?”

“News? What news?”

My knuckles crack. My lips split in a smile. I love this part of my job. It makes me feel young again.

At least the first part.

The aftermath always makes me feel old — broken bones, nasty bruises — but I’ve got too much adrenaline pumping in my body to think about consequences; I’ve got a job to do and money to bring home to my daughter.

“The news that their daddy’s never going to walk again.”

Time stands still as I launch myself at that hairy behemoth of a man.

I go right for the throat.


* * * * *

I pull into my driveway, park, and let out an almost-sexual groan as I stand.

Three hours on a motorcycle while my body swells into one big bruise. What a way to cap off a great night.

Used to be I lived for nights like tonight; nights where the world was one big adrenaline rush, where any question could be answered with fists, a gun, or a round of shots.

Where the meager payday was just a side benefit to the rush.

Things were simple back then. Uncomplicated.

So much simpler than they are now.

Now, life’s big. Scary. Complicated.

I take out a cigarette, and hold it in my mouth, hesitant.

Can I?

I want to.

Smoking feels right — it’s what you do after a good brawl or good sex. Lord knows it’s been long enough since I’ve had either of those.

But should I?

I look at my house — a little rental in one of the alright suburbs of Ironwood Falls — and realize that I can’t. Because there’s a light shining from my living room window, which means Yolanda’s still awake. I can already picture the look she’ll give me if I come into my home smelling like fresh cigarette smoke. She’ll overlook my injuries. Hell, she’ll likely compliment them and go on to talk about how much they remind her of her bandido husband.