Free (Chaos Series #6) by Kristen Ashley
Through good times, bad times and times of war, Cole “Rush” Allen grew up in the Chaos Motorcycle Club. Along this journey, he watched his father, Tack, and his MC brothers fight, sweat, bleed and die to steer the Club to legitimacy.
And they’ve got one more battle on their hands.
A battle they have to win.
But when Rush meets the woman who put herself right in the thick of it, he knows he has to stop at nothing to get her out.
Rebel Stapleton has lost someone she loves to murder and she’s the kind of woman who’s going to do something about it. She puts her career on the line, and her life, to bring the man who did it to justice.
That is, she does this until Rush Allen intervenes.
Chaos is at war and they’re about to face the ultimate showdown. They’ll have to negotiate skeletons from the past, enemies becoming allies, and loved ones in the line of fire on their ride to be…
Excerpt Free (Chaos Series #6) by Kristen Ashley
“My name is Rush Allen,” the leader of the pack said.
“Well, you already know my name, so consider us introduced,” I returned.
He nodded once. “We need to talk about what you’re doing with Benito Valenzuela.”
“This is where we disagree, Mr. Allen.”
He leaned forward, his leather creaking, putting his elbows to his knees, and he tipped his dark head back.
This was a bad position. His legs were spread, his faded jeans tight on his knees, I could see their formation, and like everything about him, it was sexy. Especially them leading into thick thighs. More on the especially with his long-fingered, rough, veined hands. And adding to all that, with the arch of his neck, the column of his muscled throat was exposed above the collar of his cream thermal, and if his hair demanded your fingers buried in it, his throat demanded your lips trailing down it.
I wouldn’t allow myself to let my eyes roam to his package. If it was as good as the rest, shit might go south for me…fast.
Man, I was in trouble.
“I know about Diane,” he said softly.
My gaze shot from his throat to those crystal eyes, and my breath lodged in my chest because of his tone.
It was beautiful, full of warmth and sadness and understanding.
So much of all that, if he’d been there when Diane had died, and he’d cooed to me in that voice (perhaps while he held me in his arms and I smelled leather and tang), maybe things would have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t have let that fire ignite in my belly. Maybe I wouldn’t have fanned those flames until it was an inferno that had built out of even my control.
I straightened my spine.
“You need to pull back so you don’t become Diane, Rebel,” he advised.
“Benito Valenzuela didn’t kill my friend,” I informed him.
“You don’t know who did that,” he informed me.
“I do know. And it was not Benito Valenzuela.”
“You think it was Arthur Lannigan.”
I leaned toward him. “No. I know it was Arthur Lannigan.”
“Let Hank and Eddie prove that,” he urged.
He knew Hank and Eddie.
“They have.” (Uh, mostly.) “They just can’t find him.”
“And you think you can.”
“I know I can.”
“By playing Valenzuela and Harrietta Turnbull to get to him?”
“By doing whatever I have to do.”
“So you get dead, your neck snapped like Diane’s, what’s Diesel gonna do?”
I abruptly leaned back in my chair.
Damn Eddie Chavez.