Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Anarchy reigns.
Smoke a little smoke, drink a little drink, and live life one ride to the next.
Freedom Falls, Alabama is either the safest place to live or the most dangerous, depending on one’s view of the Kings of Anarchy MC.
Damian “Chux” Masters never backs down. The club is his entire being. With Chux and the Kings focused on keeping control of the only deep water port in the Gulf, he doesn’t see her coming.
Alaina Vasiliev is as sweet as the pastries she makes in her bakery. Her life is simple and scheduled. Nothing about her ever steps outside of the lines of law.
When his world is dropped at her front door, she’s brought into a level of chaos she never imagined.
Loyalty is tested as a single box brings two opposites together with an undeniable attraction. He wants nothing more than to get down and dirty with the innocent woman. She wants nothing more than to run far and fast from all things Kings.
Fate forces her to lean on him opening her eyes to a passion she has never experienced before.
*This is not an exact depiction of life in a motorcycle club, but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain. Will contain strong language, violence, and adult situations. May contain dark themes
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
DAMIAN
The thick haze of cigar smoke curls around me, mixing with the neon glow and the scent of cheap perfume. Bass thumps through the air, vibrating the worn leather of the booth where I sit, my legs stretched out, my boots planted firm against the sticky floor. Mellow’s laughter cuts through the music as he leans back beside me, a fresh whiskey in one hand, the other tossing a few crumpled bills onto the stage in front of us.
"Shake that ass, pretty," he calls out, grinning at the brunette twisting her body around the pole like a cat who caught the canary. She obliges, arching her back and dragging one manicured hand over her barely covered tits, her eyes locked onto the dollars like they are the only thing that matter. In a place like this, maybe it is.
The Velvet Hall is a neon-lit hellhole of sin and excess, exactly how we like it. Dark red walls, black leather booths, and a stage lined with flashing LED lights that bathe the dancers in a glow that makes their skin shimmer. The scent of liquor, sweat, smoke and sex clings to everything—thick and potent, a signature smell of bad decisions. It’s anything but a classy joint. It doesn’t have to be. It is one of many Kings of Anarchy businesses, and for us, any business is simply another pawn in a game no outsider can understand.
I take a slow, deep drag from my cigar, the rich smoke puffing out one exhale at a time. The club is buzzing, Kings spread cover the expanse of the space, each getting their fill of liquor, lap dances, and loud talk. It's a good night, the kind where the business runs smooth, the club’s pockets get fatter, and I don’t have to think too damn hard about all the ways shit could go sideways.
This place, The Velvet Hall, isn’t just a strip club—it’s a piece of the empire we’ve built. A money filter, a playground, and a meeting ground for business deals that need dim lights and lesser morals. The cash we run through here keeps our bigger operations clean, washes out the dirt of our real work. Drugs, guns, protection—none of that touches this place directly. But the money? It moves through these walls like blood through veins. Cash enterprises help keep things undercover where they belong.
Konstantin Vasiliev owns the place on paper, but we run it. How we got into business with the coy Russian behind the front is complicated. We have a symbiotic relationship. It works because it has to. So long as he keeps his nose out of our real business, we don’t have a problem. We stay out of his way and he stays out of anything else Kings.
I watch the dancer drop to her knees, crawling toward me with a smirk on her red-painted lips. She's new—too fresh-faced for this life, but she's got the moves down. Her floss thong slides through her pussy lips making me think about what my tongue would be like between her legs.
"You look like a man who needs a little stress relief," she purrs, fingers tracing along my thigh.
I chuckle, taking another drag of my cigar before flicking ash into the tray on the table beside me. "You got a cure for that, sweetheart?"
Her lips curve, her body moving like silk as she shifts closer. "For the right price, I got a cure for everything."
Mellow laughs, tossing another wad of cash at her. "I like this one, Pres. She’s got some hustle."
I nod, but my mind’s not on the girl anymore. My eyes scan the club, taking in the scene. Gainz and Riot are at the bar, two girls draped over them, giggling as the brothers whisper the filthiest shit they can come up with into their ears. I know them and the way they talk to women, no doubt in my mind what that conversation is over there. Looney is in the corner, watching the crowd like he always does—quiet, calculating, the way I need him to be. Mellow is my VP and honestly the reason we have our own charter. Even though the vote came through for me as President, he came from Southern California, our founding charter. Needing to change from that California life, he went nomad before deciding working a shipyard in an unknown port in Alabama was going to give him the quiet life he always wanted, but didn’t have in California.
After getting rattled around by two too many IEDs overseas, I got out of the Marines and settled down in Freedom Falls, Alabama. Working at the largest ship yard in the south, I found the port life suits me. Twelve hour shifts covering a business of over ninety-eight billion dollars in imports and exports is where I found my place in this world. The structure of a ship yard fascinates me. In time, Mellow and I were working together in supervisor positions. His connections back in California to the Kings opened a whole new world to me. Riding as buddies on weekends, I didn’t think I would be a brother in a motorcycle club, much less a president one day. Yet here I am. Our little duo became a trio when my baby brother Riot came back from his time in the sand box and decided to join us in the Falls. In time, we had a group of ten riding together and working at the yard.