One bad biker. One gorgeous sheriff.
One intense biker romance.
REIGN IS NOW AVAILABLE
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As the president of the Sin City Outlaw
Motorcycle Club, l fuck as hard as I ride and rarely go to bed alone.
The women
are fast and the violence is intense.
I excel
in both.
People
either respect me or fear me. I'm not arrogant. It’s just the truth.
I was a
king, reigning over Vegas without complication, until one gorgeous sheriff made
everything fall apart.
When I
saw her, I became a Neanderthal, wanting nothing more than to be between those
legs.
I guess
that’s where I went wrong, because my reality was shot to hell real
fucking
fast.
One kiss
caused her to step over that blue line.
One night
in her bed made me a traitor.
And now… we’re both screwed.
“Really?
You got me donuts?” I arch a brow, dropping the lid.
He turns, a mischievous smile fitting his face.
“Don’t all cops like donuts?” he jeers. I roll my eyes, placing my hand on my hip.
“That’s so stereotypical,” I huff.
“Oh, really?” he replies, grabbing the box off the table, a smug smile still on his face.
“I’ll get rid of them then.”
“No, wait!” I nearly trip over my feet trying to grab the box of donuts. He holds them higher than me and smiles so big I think I see two dimples. Really, he’s pulling the notorious bully move holding them just above my reach? Why am I attracted to him again?
“I thought you didn’t like them,” he taunts.
“I do like them. A lot, actually.” I cross my arms, my cheeks flushing. My dad used to always take me to the local bakery to get donuts on the weekends. I would get whatever I wanted—usually anything with sprinkles—and we would drop the rest off at the department. What can I say, embrace your stereotypes.
“So, it’s true. Cops love donuts,” he states arrogantly, sitting the box back down.
He turns, a mischievous smile fitting his face.
“Don’t all cops like donuts?” he jeers. I roll my eyes, placing my hand on my hip.
“That’s so stereotypical,” I huff.
“Oh, really?” he replies, grabbing the box off the table, a smug smile still on his face.
“I’ll get rid of them then.”
“No, wait!” I nearly trip over my feet trying to grab the box of donuts. He holds them higher than me and smiles so big I think I see two dimples. Really, he’s pulling the notorious bully move holding them just above my reach? Why am I attracted to him again?
“I thought you didn’t like them,” he taunts.
“I do like them. A lot, actually.” I cross my arms, my cheeks flushing. My dad used to always take me to the local bakery to get donuts on the weekends. I would get whatever I wanted—usually anything with sprinkles—and we would drop the rest off at the department. What can I say, embrace your stereotypes.
“So, it’s true. Cops love donuts,” he states arrogantly, sitting the box back down.
M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where
she still lives with her family. She's a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer
by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously
until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started
writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn't live
with the "what if" anymore and finally took a chance on her
character's story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie
sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.
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