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Marek (Knights Corruption MC #1)
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With the weight of the club on his shoulders, Cole Marek, president of the Knights Corruption MC, had only one choice:
Turn their livelihood legit.
Everything was falling into place until one unexpected, fateful night. With an attack on his fellow brothers, Marek had no choice but to retaliate against their sworn enemy.
The Savage Reapers.
Swarming their compound, he comes face-to-face with the infamous daughter of his rival club, making an astonishing decision which would change his life forever.
She was the enemy.
She was the prize.
She was a game changer.
Sully Brooks led a desolate life, her entire existence dictated first by her father, then by the man who’d claimed her when she was only fourteen. Years of abuse shaped her into the woman she became, but she longed for something more. Craving an existence where she was free to live a life of simplicity, she wanted release from the harsh realities she’d known since childhood.
Will her prayers be answered when the enemy strikes?
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Too many voices shouted demands, hands shoving me roughly forward until I was no longer standing on my own two feet. “Get on the ground!” was the one I heard the most. My knees hit hard off the gravel, my stomach kissing earth while my hands were jerked behind my back before I could utter a single word of protest. People in uniforms clambering to throw me and all my brothers down like we’d done something wrong. Don’t make any mistake, we certainly weren’t boy scouts, but the sudden invasion was most definitely unwarranted.
The DEA agent towering over me was none other than Sam Koritz, the most crooked motherfucker I knew, and that was saying a lot since I was the furthest from a straight arrow myself. He was forever trying to nail my club, even though it was because of us that his pockets were fattened to not only look the other way, but to forget we even existed.
Running my club, the Knights Corruption, was profitable but extremely dangerous. We were accountable for two-thirds of the cocaine supply smuggled into central California. The ports we utilized were run by us and people we paid handsomely to keep the profit high and the risk low. But every now and then, someone became greedy—hence Koritz busting in like he owned the joint.
Fuck him if he thought he was gonna get away with this shit. I’d put one of my boys on him just as soon as we were able to. Maybe pay a visit to his house, have a little chat, remind him who paid for his kid’s private school.
While I sucked the dirt into my lungs, my arms aching from the tightly coiled position, I dreamed up ways of paying back exactly who I knew was responsible—besides Koritz, of course.
The Savage fucking Reapers.
Koritz was most likely in bed with them as well, and whoever paid more won out every time. I had no doubt Henry ‘Psych’ Brooks, the president of the Savage Reapers, had put the DEA agent up to it. And why not? Killing two birds with one stone. If they found what they were looking for—drugs, guns and money—they’d profit. And if not, they’d been able to send a message by allowing us to witness Koritz’s betrayal.
The continual war between our two clubs was coming to a head very soon. We’d already had casualties, and it would be over my dead body if any more of us were gonna meet the Devil any time soon.
“Where the hell is it, Marek?” Koritz shouted, stomping his boot down on top of my neck. I’m gonna kill this sonofabitch as soon as I get the chance.
Trying my best not to give him the reaction he wanted, I spit the soil from my mouth and laughed. As soon as the sound burst forth, he kicked me in the ribs before I could change positions to protect myself. I should have known it was coming, but I was too preoccupied with pissing the bastard off.
A rush of air flew from my lips, a low groan escaping before I could stop it. “Touch my prez one more fuckin’ time, and you’ll be meetin’ your maker real soon,” my VP, Stone, yelled. We faced each other on the ground, and as soon as his eyes met mine, I shot him a warning look for him to shut his mouth and lock it up. His reddened face told me he was seconds away from exploding.
Luckily, he did as I’d silently cautioned.
Plain and simple.
His mouth and hot-ass temper were gonna land us in more trouble if he kept going. While I appreciated his undying allegiance to me and to the club, we needed to let this all play out.
Koritz didn’t even pay Stone’s threat any attention, keeping his focus on me the entire time instead. I saw his foot leave the ground, cock back then swing forward. I braced myself that time, but it didn’t do any good—the fucker came wearing shit-kickers, and my ribs certainly felt the brunt of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d broken a couple in his attempt to make me talk. But that’s okay, because when the opportunity presented itself to pay him back, I’d make sure to return the favor.
“I’m not gonna ask you again, Prez,” he gritted, pacing back and forth, waiting for me to divulge the location of what they’d come here looking for—the product. But if he thought he would find it on our own goddamn compound, he was even stupider than I thought. We never kept that shit on site. The worst thing they would come across would be a few illegal handguns. That’s it.
Lifting my head off the ground, I craned my neck to look up at him. Words fell from my lips, but he couldn’t hear them. Which was done half on purpose, because I wanted him to squat down to my level. The other part was because I was having a hard time breathing. Finally, he did exactly what I wanted him to, leaning down so he could hear me.