Roman (Iron Tzars MC #2) Read Online Marteeka Karland

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Erotic, MC, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Iron Tzars MC Series by Marteeka Karland
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Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
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“That’s not what this is,” Deacon called after her as she stood to leave.

Winter moved to the other side of the room, where she stood by herself and continued to try to read the room. She was close to a group of club girls, and I knew there would be a confrontation soon. The only question was how many fireworks would be set off.

I kept my eye on her but moved to the bar where Deacon shook his head as he stared at her. “That woman’s a biker’s wet dream.” He was talking to himself more than me, but I felt the need to respond.

“She is. I’d suggest you treat her like you would Iris, though. Her man might get the idea you’re encroaching on his territory.”

Deacon didn’t take his eyes off Winter. “Oh? Who’s her man?” I doubt the pup even knew who he was talking to.

“Me, you dumb shit.”

He whipped his head around in surprise, his mouth open. “Roman? I’m sorry, man. Didn’t know you’d claimed her.”

“Ain’t yet. ‘Cause she just got here. You pass the word around. Anyone thinkin’a movin’ in on her, better be ready to tangle with me.”

“I’ll spread the word.” The other man nodded gravely, taking everything I said seriously. Because of that, I decided to not give him a beat down. For now.

I watched as a club whore approached Winter, looking her up and down. Jezlynn said something that made Winter’s face harden. She didn’t back down from the other woman but didn’t respond to her either. Just gave her a steady gaze. When Jezlynn continued, the other women laughed and spoke amongst themselves, obviously supporting Jezlynn in whatever mischief she was causing. I saw the exact moment when whatever they said to Winter hit their mark.

“Ah, hell…” Deacon saw it too.

“Yeah. I think you’re right.”

* * *

Winter

“Bet it hurts to look in the mirror, don’t it, honey? I know a good cosmetologist who could probably do something with your face.” The bitch didn’t sound like she cared one way or the other. I knew she was just trying to hurt me. She succeeded. I’d known this would happen. It was the only reason I was out there now instead of helping Serelda get settled. I wanted to get the women in the club used to seeing my scars so maybe when Serelda joined me away from our room they’d leave her alone for the most part. Instead of rising to the bait, I just looked at the woman and let her and her friends continue.

“That why you wear long sleeves and those hideous pants? You got ‘em all over you?” That came from one of the women behind the first one. A gaggle of club whores. Lovely.

“No competition there,’’ another of the women commented. “No biker around here’d want a used-up whore.”

“Yeah,” the first one continued. “Bet whoever put those scars on you got tired of your bitchin’ and whinin’. You know, if you’d learn how to suck cock and fuck a man properly, he won’t cut you.” They all laughed.

The image of the men who’d cut me flashed through my mind. Laughing at Serelda and me. Humiliating us. All the blood making them slide over me while they…

NO!

I was not that powerless girl any longer. I’d fought back. I’d killed my father for selling us as whores to those men and others before them the first chance I got. The only reason I hadn’t killed the men he’d sold us to was because I had no idea who they were or how to find them. But these bitches? Yeah. I could deal with them. I’d make them pay for their callous words and, hopefully, make them think twice about saying anything like that again. Especially where Serelda could hear.

Before I even realized I was going to do it, I smashed the bottle of beer I’d been nursing on the edge of the table, breaking it off into a jagged piece. I held it by the neck, the broken bottle now a deadly weapon. It wasn’t as good as the knife I’d had the day I’d killed my father, but it would be enough.

I lunged forward, swinging the bottle at the first woman. I caught her cheek with the glass edge and she screamed, slapping her hand over the cut. It wasn’t shallow. I’d laid her cheek open enough there was no way it wouldn’t leave a horrible scar. I should know. I’d had it done to me enough. The sight nearly made me vomit. It took so much effort to just remain standing I wasn’t sure how long I could manage to stay on my feet and keep from puking. But I couldn’t let it show. So I raised my chin and continued as I wanted my relationship with all the club whores here to proceed.



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