Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6) Read Free Page A

stepped out in to the world again. He toweled off roughly, then stalked back in to the bedroom to get dressed.
    As usual, he put off donning the final article of clothing for as long as possible. As always, he shrugged it on in the end, since he had zero choice in the matter.
    He regarded his cut in the mirror with nothing but distaste. It was stunning, he supposed, with its expensive leather and red, white and blue background, and the red and black ‘1%’ patch on the shoulders. Even the club insignia – a skeleton with angel’s wings, stretched across its entire upper back, mirroring the tattoo it now hid – was arresting, eye-catching, breathtaking. Put all those elements together and you had a piece of art, and as much as he hated having the thing on his body, Warren could see the staggering beauty of the cut.
    He also knew what it represented to people who saw it coming at them. For most people, it was a clear sign to get the hell out of the way. Since he’d put it on, Warren had noticed people crossing streets to avoid him, leaving shops to get away from him, ushering their children far away from him, as fast as they could manage it. It made him a leper in many ways.
    It had gotten him faster service in bars, though, and had attracted some admiring looks from women keen to fuck a bad boy. Guys liked it as well, and that more than anything told him just how many people aspired to life in an MC, how many people wanted his life.
    And he’d let them have it, in a heartbeat.
    He threw back a cup of coffee – with milk and plenty of sugar, to hell with drinking it black when he was alone – and then headed out to the garage. He got on his motorcycle, already dreading the freezing air, the biting wind. He covered his ears more snugly with his knit hat, flexed his fingers in his thick gloves. Kicked his bike to start it up, and headed out to the clubhouse.
    That was the first moment when he allowed himself to wonder just what the hell Ace had waiting for him. Whatever it was, he hoped that it was easy, quick, and clean.
    He had no idea then that what was coming in to his life was going to be difficult, drawn-out, and fucking messy.
    He also had no idea that it was going to be the one – the only – thing that he’d be willing to live and die for. That it was going to be his sole reason for getting up in the morning and breathing; it was going to be the thing that gave him hope and bring light in to the dark, dismal hole that had become his entire existence on earth.
    It was the thing that was going to change everything. Forever.

Chapter Two
    Warren entered the clubhouse at ten to eight and followed the smell of coffee. He poured a huge mug of the stuff, ignored the milk and sugar. It was an unspoken rule that real men drank black coffee, and although he hated the bitter taste, he needed the caffeine. Badly.
    He leaned against the wall, sipping his coffee, and surveyed the large main room. It was a disaster area, naturally, as it always was first thing in the morning. Broken glass and cigarette butts covered the floor, empty bottles and articles of women’s clothing were strewn around all over the damn place, and the women themselves were naked and draped over the furniture, passed out cold.
    He averted his eyes from the miles of flesh on display, hoped hard that none of the girls had been forced the night before. Nobody had ever complained, but then again, this wasn’t the kind of place where a sexual assault claim would be taken all that seriously.
    “Derby.”
    Warren turned to the harsh voice behind him, nodded at Ace. The man looked rough, man, like he hadn’t slept, and was nursing a mammoth hangover to boot.
    “Ace,” he replied.
    Ace yawned, stretched, wandered over to the coffee machine. “Fuck,” he remarked. “Lisa wore me out last night.”
    “Yeah?” Warren asked, not caring whatsoever, but he had to make polite conversation.
    “Hell, yeah. That skank knows how to suck and fuck.”
    Warren