Renegade Souls MC

Veiled Amor – Exclusive First Chapter

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Kismet. Fate. Serendipity. An act of God.

Whatever you called it, it came knocking on Lucia Mercado’s door that night, and she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in its eye. Eh, mouth. Whatever the saying was.

There was an excitable tremble to her chest she hadn’t felt in a long time.

But when one was escaping, there was no time for reminiscing about a time in her life where she committed a crime that only one other person knew about. And he wasn’t inclined to talk to her about it either.

Clothes flew everywhere as she dragged them out of the tall, white dresser.

Be quiet.

She had to be quiet.

Though, she knew no one would hear.

The house she lived in was the size of two football fields with overlap. Her bedroom was on the east wing, and only the staff came across, but never this late.

It was hard to stay silent as she shoved dresses, panties, bras, and flip-flops into a roller case, because she wanted to bubble with laughter.

Lucia wanted to throw herself on the bed she’d slept in since she was a child, and howl with giddy joy.

Wait. She’d need more than flip-flops. She added sneakers and two pairs of ankle booties along with jeans and sweaters.

The dream played on a loop for some weeks.

Trampling through her subconscious, waking her with sweaty needs humming through her bloodstream. 

It usually drove her crazy and put her in a dreadful mood for the rest of the day.

Not today.

Thank God her subconscious was a filthy bitch.

If not for the dream, she never would have stomped out of her bedroom to fetch a glass of water. And if not for the need for a cooling down, she wouldn’t have overheard a conversation her father was having in the echoing entrance hall.

A conversation about her.

Nicholas Cole, renowned Kingpin, cold-hearted criminal, and the wolf of Miami, was planning to use her as a bargaining chip again in one of his business deals.

It was all Lucia heard before she sprinted back to her room on silent feet and began packing.

So much for fatherly love.

But that had always been in short supply ever since her mom died when she was four-years-old. She tried to tell herself she couldn’t miss what she’d never had. But it still stung to hear him talking about her like she was a thing.

Nicholas Cole’s love always came with a price, and for a long time she’d fought for it.

Her image, obedience and lack of opinion were top of his list.

Vanity meant a lot to Nicholas.

She couldn’t get fat, God forbid. Who would buy her then?

Someone always micromanaged Lucia for every morsel she put inside her mouth or the clothes on her back.

My daughter will make you a great wife; let’s get it arranged as soon as possible.

Not this time, dad.

She’d been there, got the t-shirt and the bad fucking memories.

Being her father, she stupidly loved him. But didn’t like him all that much. Funnily, she discovered she was cut from the same cloth because why else was she trying to escape in the middle of the night if she didn’t have some of her father’s fighting instincts? She wouldn’t lie down and take his dictating anymore.

Lucia would take a running guess that her second arranged marriage wouldn’t be quite the same as her first. That slimy goat downstairs would insist on her giving him children.

Double ick.

Once she was packed, she tossed her PJ’s on the bed before she dressed in patterned yoga leggings, a tank top, and a white hoodie. Next, she slid her feet into a pair of Michael Kors tennis shoes.

Her father might lack giving affection and genuine love for his child. But his one good grace, as you might call it, was he’d never been skimpy on anything she wanted. She had an unlimited credit card, only because he refused her to work.

It was degrading to know she was twenty-six and had no say in her own life.

She felt sick admitting she was a trophy. A thing. Not treated as a person.

The plan to spend a lot of his money, until he insisted she earn her own, backfired because he’d smirked over the dinner table and told her. “You had a good month, Lucia.”

Ugh, like he was proud of her frivolous ways.

But of course, a man like Nicholas Cole would equate fun with spending thousands.

She was stifled in a privileged life many would kill to have.

If only they knew.

She lived in a gilded cage, did Lucia.

Her leash was only so long.

Couldn’t date.

Couldn’t travel without her father.

Not permitted to work or have an apartment. Even during her brief marriage, she lived in an estate villa with guards always close by.

In part, it was because of her father and the danger his lifestyle brought.

But why should the daughter pay for the father’s sins?

She refused to be his chess piece again.

Santiago was dead.

Her then nineteen-year-old husband was dead because of her father.

The entire Mercado family was dead.

All except for one man.

The one who might have saved her life again tonight.

She missed Giancarlo like it was a gaping sore.

At times, she fooled herself into pretending that night didn’t happen so she could breathe without it hurting.

That haunting, unforgettable night burned into her memories, staining her soul, flaying her sexual organs.

The night she buried her husband and slept with his brother.

There was a lot that people didn’t know.

A lot that Giancarlo didn’t know either.

If he did, then maybe he wouldn’t hate himself. Or keep distance between them.

But some things weren’t her secrets to share.

God. God. Stop thinking about him, Lucia. She chastised, zipping her case closed.


Or Capone, as he was known now.

Biker. As dangerous as her father.

But yet not to her.

To her, he was her haven and had held her heart since she was eighteen.

Not that he wanted it. Ouch. Unrequited love, what a fucking bitch.

Some might say Lucia was a typical, ditzy blonde and dependent on daddy. Only suitable for pushing out babies and doing as she was told.

She lived in the modern world yet governed by olden-day fashions where women had no rights and opinions of their own.

To him, business was business, and there was no room for emotion with money.

She remembered the night she was brought back to her father’s house, after Santiago was killed. She’d known it was his doing, of course. But there was no show of affection. Go unpack, Lucia. We won’t speak of this again.

And that had been that. As if she’d returned from a trip and not from the police station.

Lucia knew the one remaining man from that whole devastating saga wanted to be as far away from her as possible. If anything, Giancarlo felt obligated to her because of guilt. However, she’d absolved him of any wrong-doing long ago.

Slinging a messenger bag around her back, Lucia picked up the roller case and padded soundlessly to the door while her heart thudded.

She’d always had a nervous laugh when in situations where laughter wasn’t the right thing to do. It couldn’t be helped. The nervous tick tried to work its way up her throat, and Lucia pushed it down. She was on the other side of the house, but it would be her bad luck if someone heard.

It was fast work down the winding staircase, creeping through the corridors, hearing the house staff in the kitchen. Holding her breath, Lucia tiptoed into the garage. She didn’t bother flipping on the lights for fear they triggered a warning in the staff quarters. Luckily, Lucia knew the two rows of eight cars and quickly grabbed the BMW keys from the lockbox.

So sure she’d be caught as she started the electric engine, the reason for the choice when it didn’t make a sound.

It was only when she depressed the gate control Lucia let out a breath, also freeing a bubble of laughter from her chest.

She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it was the closest to freedom she’d ever felt, and she was euphoric as she increased her speed, taking her further away from the compound.

Life was about choices.

Or so the saying went.

Not for Lucia.

Never for Lucia.

Follow orders, obey the rules, and never ask for anything not already offered.

Until now.

Refusing to be a pawn any longer.

“Screw that,” she declared aloud. “I’m my own woman with my own choices. And I choose my life, my way.”

Unknown to what that life was yet.

She drove.

And she laughed while the distance between her old life grew bigger.

It wouldn’t be long before her father realized she wasn’t in the house.

Oh, boy. He’d be fit enough to piss fury.

She’d seen his temper taken out on others and had no desire to face it head-on.

Hoping to be far enough away he couldn’t ever find her.

Lucia was free.

And once a caged bird was free, there was no putting it back.

She’d rather be dead.

Yeah, she was dramatic.

She’d earned it.

She was fucking free at last.

Switching on the radio, she sang along loudly, and went into the unknown.


Copyright© V. Theia 2021.

Renegade Souls MC

Prince Charming – Exclusive First Chapter

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It felt good to sweat.

Even better when Marianna Yahnotov knew it was because she had exerted herself in the kickboxing class. She ached in muscles she didn’t know she had as she swiped wetness out of her eyes and reached down to grab the sports bag.

Though she waved to a few of the girls in her class, that was as social as she got.

 She glanced at them in an animated huddle and felt a ping of envy.

She once had girlfriends to hang out with, do silly things with like coffee dates, but not anymore.

How crazy she’d forgotten how to make friends.

With her shoulder length black hair knotted in a messy bun, she pushed her arms into a white, faux fur hooded coat, leaving the women only class as unnoticeable as she arrived.

The chilly air of the early November day hit her full in the face.

In Russia, where temperatures regularly plummeted to below 20 degrees, the cooler Colorado days were virtually summer on her face.

It snowed on and off in September. Now it was bitterly cold, and Marianna smiled as she crossed the street to the diner.

Each store front along Main Street was recognizable, now she’d been in Armado Springs as a free woman almost a year.

Free, yet not free because she had no actual legal papers.

And no solution in sight.

Marianna lived under the radar, fearful of everyone’s motives.

It was a town like thousands of others. She could have gone anywhere, but she felt safe here. And that was why she stayed.

Not the only reason.

After picking up a small bag of homemade cheese crackers from the diner, and a flat white coffee, she turned right on the corner, heading for her apartment. A police cruiser car parked outside of the hardware store had her feet stopping quick.

Marianna felt nausea going through her body. The police officer behind the wheel wasn’t even looking at her, he was reading a newspaper and drinking from a to-go cup, and yet she felt the flee instinct take hold.

Turning around, she took the long walk around the block instead.

Only when she was out of sight of the police car did her heart return to a normal pattern.

Marianna didn’t cause waves.

She didn’t get into needless arguments with people in the grocery store over the last pumpkin spice cronut. Nor did she jaywalk or do any other number of infractions that may attract attention. She flew under the radar and was not risking her identity and lack of legal papers to trip her up now.

Sending a wave to the sweet old lady inside the flower shop, before she took the stairs at the side of the building to her apartment. The scent of fresh lemon greeted her as she snicked the three locks behind her and slid the security chain into place.

The four rooms were not all that big, but she loved this apartment, it came fully furnished, which had helped her penniless state at the time. It boasted high ceilings with white panel walls, hardwood floors and offered Marianna security enough that she felt safe each night when she went to bed.

It was thanks to her boss she had both a job and a roof over her head, not questioning why at the time when he offered his help. A despairing woman will take the hand of anyone when she’s drowning.

Marianna waited ever since for him to call in his favor all these months later.

Men expected a woman to pay for their generosity.

That’s how it’s always been in her life.

Nothing came for free.

Pushing that specific man out of her mind, she slid out of her coat, hanging it on a peg by the door, then tossed the bag of crackers on the two-person table in the kitchen.

Lana Del Rey sang when Marianna pressed play on the second-hand stereo, turning it up loud before she headed for a much-needed shower.

Afterward, she finished the coffee and crackers, then she blitzed her already clean apartment because she hated being idle. Having nothing to do meant she focused too much on her unhappiness.

No, that was not altogether right.

She was no longer miserable as she once was.

Despair made a person do reckless things in pursuit of better.

One poor decision after another meant she now lived with the consequences.

It was easy to channel her emotions when she was scrubbing the kitchen tiles.

While her hands plunged in hot soapy water, it was easy to forget the life forced upon her and to dream of the life she wanted.

She was a mother, and no one here knew that.

Her heart ached for the day she would hug and kiss her children again. Until that impossible day came, she worked hard.

She hoped she got decent sleep tonight.

Insomnia and heartbreak made for a very good team.

They were long-term friends to Marianna.

Ah, damn, she’d invited herself to another pity-party. The fourth one this week.

Marianna was not unhappy.

She was just not happy either.

Existing in a place between here and there.

There was a gaping wound in her chest and one she would not make the focus of her day. Not only because she hated being tearful, but it was also the day she got to talk to her babies.

It motivated her to keep working as diligently as she could.

As Lana Del Rey, Marianna’s favorite singer, continued, she dusted the brown coffee table in front of a cream couch, then fixed a small salad to take with her for lunch later. And then she dressed in warm leggings, an oversized blue knitted sweater and comfortable white tennis shoes.

Funny how things change so drastically in a decade.

Marianna was now thirty-one years old.

In her twenties, she’d lived for fashion and the frivolous things she deemed so important. Living her twenties being inseparable with her friends.

Partying, laughing, doing incredibly irresponsible things.

There was very little money, and what she had, she wasted. If only she’d been a little more money savvy, she wouldn’t be in this mess now.

One by one, her friends left their wild lifestyle behind. They got married, had children.

Her village of only five thousand people didn’t offer much career wise.

The hair salon she’d worked at for five years earned her very little.

While she did not get as far as a marriage license, her two babies have always been Marianna’s pure light. 

She would never regret her children.

Even if it meant reliving those appalling four months she was dating their father. 

Marianna didn’t have hang-ups about her looks or her weight.

She’d always been pretty okay with both.

She wasn’t what you’d call academic. Though, she’d strived to better herself in whatever she was doing. Her goal from the age of sixteen was to learn English, the language of the free world. Lack of funds meant she had to teach herself in whatever way she could. Finding solace and education from books.

No, her flaws were not about vanity or her education.

If only they were. 

Seeking adventure and fulfilment was perhaps the biggest mistake of her life.

It would sit inside her dark places forever.

One bad mistake snowballed, and now she was in a country illegally because she was brought by men who promised her a lucrative life.


Lies upon lies.

Promises broken.

Used as a commodity, she’d forged on as best as she could.

No woman ever thinks she’ll be that one who gets her life stolen.

Marianna was one of many the Bratva used. She had it marginally better in comparison with some of the other girls who were repeatedly drugged and sold.

Treated like a pet in a cage.

She hated herself for being taken in by lies and assurances.

Unexpected rescue came from a group of bikers. Only when she became lucid from whatever drugs they had forced her to take, she stole clothes from the hospital and sneaked out before the authorities could speak with her.

She’d never looked back.

Within a few short hours, snow dusted the sidewalk as she bundled into her coat and took the short walk five blocks away to Charming Souls gym.

There was a spike to her pulse when she entered the sprawling building. She nodded to the receptionist, Molly, but didn’t stop to chat. Afraid to get close to anyone in fear of what she might tell them. She was there to work hard, not make lifelong connections.

Office management was her job description. But she did a little of everything, including cleaning down the machines when lazy members wouldn’t do it. She restocked vending machines and refilled coffee and juice stations. She made sure the dirty towels were put out for the laundry service to collect at the end of each day.

Keeping busy made sense.

“Yo, Marianna?” She heard, and the fine hairs at the back of her nape stood on end.

The voice was baritone deep. It was a growl, the voice you expect to see belonging to a madman.

But it was her boss when she turned around.

An unsmiling boss.

“Yes, Sir?”

Wearing blue denim and scuffed biker boots on the bottom half. The top half of Tag was covered by a long-sleeved undershirt, and his Renegade Souls leather vest with the Grim Reaper trademark sewn into the back. She’d looked at that vest many times when avoiding the oceanic blue eyes. She knew it said Colorado Chapter on the front and below that patches read: Sergeant at Arms, and One percenter.

Usually he flashed her a smile.

They were not friends, but not-not friends either.

He’d helped her, provided her with a job and a place to live.

She’d visited him many times in the hospital when he was badly injured and temporarily blinded during one of his cage fights.

Sometimes he bought her lunch for no reason. Or dropped off groceries with little explanation. It’s only food, Marianna.

It was not only food to her. Nothing came for free.

But her aversion to growing closer to anyone put them in a weird place of boss-employee. Friend-not friend.

She approached, and he jutted his chin for her to follow him into the office.

Her tummy muscles clenched together, whining out a protest to turn around and leave.

She was used to the fight or flee instincts, you could say it kept her alive many times.

Was she in trouble?

Did he discover her secret?

He’d given her no reason to fear him.

The opposite, in fact. He wanted her to trust him.

Tag was the man who carried her from her nightmare.

If she allowed herself to trust anyone here, it would be him.

A year ago she’d been tricked into boarding a boat to the States. And forced into a sex ring. She was no longer that woman.

Pain healed.

Secrets remained.

There was only one way to find out why he looked so sullen.

With her shoulders back, Marianna let Tag usher her into his square office ahead of him.

The bluest eyes she’d ever seen, watching her every step.
Copyright© V. Theia 2020.

|Friends to Lovers | Burning slow |

From Manhattan

Manhattan Muse – Exclusive First Chapter

Only two rock star sleeps to go!

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It’s the rustling of the white hotel sheets that wakes me.

Turning my head on the pillow, there’s no roiling gut or slice of pain through my skull.

In my messier drunk days, being stoned would have been a good excuse for waking up in bed with a woman.

There’s only one reason I’m here. And it has nothing to do with narcotics and everything to do with the sweet-smelling woman beside me.

Cutting a gaze to the nightstand, I see it’s after 10 a.m.

Every second from the past seventeen hours comes back in a rush.

I’m hoping for an explosive pint-sized reaction when she realizes what’s happened.

I smirk, scrubbing a hand over my shorn dark hair.

Watching her sleeping form, I feel so many things.

With a hand tucked beneath her chin, she looks like cotton candy wouldn’t melt in her angelic mouth. Whereas I know she’s the devil’s apprentice, expelled out of Hell to torture mortal men under her heel.

Hell will be raised when she wakes, that much I know. I might even want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted. To see her react.

She’ll paint me as the bad guy in this situation. Huh, maybe I am. Did I try to stop what we did? Not even once. I went full steam ahead with hardly any provocation.

I used to be foolishly reckless, trying to live up to a rock star reputation and hide who I am at the same time.

My name, my family legacy and fame.

You don’t get to be where I am—I don’t mean in bed with a blonde demoness—without a lot of irresponsible decisions. Helped by Johnnie Walker and Jameson. I’ve made so many, you can stack them up on top of each other and they’d reach into the clouds.

Looking across at who I’m in bed with … some would say it’s reckless. but I know it’s the best decision of all.

I don’t feel stuck in my life anymore.

That’s progress as ma would say.

I’m almost twenty-eight but feel one hundred most days. It takes the right incentive to learn how to slow the fuck down.

I don’t touch her. Nor do I reach out and move the strands of hair from her cheek, though the need is there. I watch for a couple of minutes. She shifts under the sheet, baring a tanned leg like a seductress sent to drag every man to purgatory. Me especially.

She’s going to be so mad, with her verbal violence aimed my way.

I can’t wait to handle her and calm her down. I’m enamored in her bursts of spontaneous temper.

Miss Professional, with her endless rules and bossy ways, didn’t plan for this but it was entirely her idea. I’m twistedly looking forward to seeing how she responds.

A little dark chuckle escapes. Checking she’s still fast asleep, I slip out of bed.

Something catches my eye and I glance down at my left hand. A day ago, I wore a hand of silver rings I’ve collected over the years.

Now only a black band sits on my finger.

I glance her way, feeling a new pull in my shoulder blades.

With her around, I’ve felt a lot of pulls, some stronger than others.

Possessiveness seems to be the forerunner.

But there’s no denying she’s been my biggest inspiration for a long time.

I’m the son of a crime boss. Anything can disappear. This is an accepted fact, not that I’ve utilized that privilege. My father would be overjoyed if I did. But when it comes to her, I’ve learned that logic means nothing, and she wins every time.

She stirs, and the sheet falls lower. My abdomen tightens to a fist as my eyes follow the shape of her exposed leg and now bare stomach.

She’s wearing underwear. I’m not a complete pervert, though I know every inch of her body already.

My eyes betray what I feel by roaming over her like I own her.

I’m sitting at the round table when she finally surfaces. A zombie groan mutters from her and I hide my smile in a coffee mug.

“Oh, god.” She groans.

Poor hungover baby.

She’s going to explode in seconds. Eyes I know as well as my own search around the room. She scoots herself up against the headboard, clutching the cotton sheet to her chest. Pity, she has beautiful tits. They feel perfect in my mouth.

I’ve had those killer hangovers before. I know the pain her skull is in, from too much champagne. What kind of gentleman would I have been if I didn’t indulge her last night when she wanted to celebrate?

She knows better than most I am not a gentleman. Far from it. I’m a hungry bastard with an appetite for one.

A left-handed diamond glints on her finger. It’s a chore to hold in a genuine grin, but I can’t distract myself with humor, not if I want to witness her awakening.

“What… the…. ugh.” She croaks, finally seeing me.

Her face is a wash of feelings. She never hides it.

Oh, though she’s tried to these past few days, by attempting to put distance in the way.

“Tommy? You know you shouldn’t be here… are…are you in your underwear? What are you doing in my room in only your underwear?”

I place the cup on the table, half turning toward her blazing eyes.

Ah, it hasn’t sunken in yet.


I was hoping she’d fly across the room and put her mouth on me.

All in good time.

I’m patient as the next asshole with numerous Grammy’s and accolades to my name.

“This is my room,” I tell her. And for good teasing measure, I add. “And you’re in my bed.” This is all true. She hasn’t been in my bed in days. Such long days, punishing us both.

Her eyes widen. I see she’s trying to find answers.

I have them all here for her.

So, I start with the most important one of all.

“Good morning, my wife.”

I’m positive the hotel guests from five floors away hear the loudness of her stare when she arrows it in my direction.

I grin my fucking delight.

This woman. My woman.

She’s not so in control now, is she?

I’m ready for what comes next, especially if it includes Raene and her biting little claws.

From Manhattan, Uncategorized

Manhattan Tormentor – Exclusive first Chapter

Only two FIERRO sleeps to go!!


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The crazy shit is happening again.

That thing where my blood boils beneath my skin and my heart pounds as though it’s going to burst out of my chest.

Not a heart attack. I might prefer that to knowing what it really is.

My reaction to him.

I see his face in angles and lines.

The sharp chin and floppy light blond hair falling into his brightest blue eyes.

I hate how I notice the lengthy frame of his body and the way his hands hold those notebooks he’s always carrying.

He’s a nerd and dresses as one. Jeans with slashes in both knees, a comic book t-shirt under a dark hoodie and a pair of Timberland boots on his feet. The kid needs to drag himself back from the 90s. The oldie decade is dead. I’d roll my eyes if they weren’t squinting aversion.


He’s always so unaware in his own surroundings.

It’s reckless in this jungle, where the weak get eaten alive.

I want to know what’s on the nerd’s mind all the time.

What makes his brain so interesting that he can act as though no one else is around him?

He strides the hallways and rarely glances at anyone.

Plenty look at him, and he only looks up from his shitty book when they call out to him.

It’s an oxymoron how he’s a popular nerd.

Everyone loves him, and that means I hate him.

I hate how my belly clenches every time I catch a whiff of apples because that asshat always smells like the fruit.

Does he eat them by the tree load?

Who cares?

I don’t.

I care that he annoys me.

Impossible to work him out. He’s a puzzle I can’t make sense of.

This annoyance started not so long ago.

And the more I see him, the worse it gets.

Resting a shoulder against my locker, my crew bound up to me, and I hardly give any notice to their conversations.

Bates, Sofia, Paris and Preston.

They crave my attention, but I tune them out. Bates will brag about who he banged last weekend. And Sofia will have her ninth, rich bitch third world, problem of the day.

Girls walk by, vying for our interest. I bet they’re wet when Bates throws them a pity wink, but nothing registers in this moment. It’s as if the hallway has cleared of everyone.

My eyes are on him.

With masculine grace, he moves along the hallway.

He chews his pen and I feel it in my chest.

A gnaw.

That is when my anger builds until it burns.

It rages inside me, screaming for an outlet.

How dare this jackass make me wonder and feel.

I’m a star football player, I don’t have deep emotions.

And I don’t give any thought to guys like him, that’s for damn sure.

Not any guy.

His expression is always unguarded.

It’s raw and open, as if I can touch it if I tried to.

Why is that?

Why doesn’t he care what people think about him?

It’s unnatural.

That same tickle I get when he’s near hits my throat again. And I swallow around it as one of my boys throws a ball and I lift my hand in the air to catch it on reflex.

The girls cheer and coo, trying to get closer to my athlete status.

It’s white noise. My eyes focus over their heads as he hits a left, disappearing into the science department.

Little fucking nerd probably going to suck a teacher’s dick for extra credit.

The thought of it sends a shard of…something through me.

Something I ignore.

I always ignore it.

A tick moves my jaw.

Crazy feelings stir inside of my chest and I try not to react.

Instead, I drag my gaze away and let Sofia’s arm curl around my waist. The blonde cheerleader is perky and up for anything, as always.

I need to expunge that little shit Sage Fierro from my mind.

I need to destroy him.

One accidental run in with the kid months ago and he’s ruining my fucking head.

I still feel his hands on my chest so he didn’t meet the floor with his face. I feel mine on his arms, saving him from the fall.

The same growl I had back then gurgles up my throat.

Those deep blue eyes and fucking mouth.

He’d looked up at me, so damn shocked.

I want to destroy him from the ground up.

Make it so he doesn’t exist, so I can stop this…whatever is pounding through my gut.

My father says find an enemy’s weakness and use it against them.

The nerd isn’t so innocent.

He doesn’t know he’s made a nemesis of me.

But he will soon.

The Fierro’s will discover they don’t own everything.

I’ll break him.

And I won’t have to think of those eyes or the burn in my chest ever again.

Copyright© V. Theia 2020.


|Gay for you | Bully-Lite | Horny hair tugging |


Renegade Souls MC

Exclusive First Chapter -Savage Outlaw

There’s only 1 sleep until we go SAVAGE!
Are you ready for The Butcher and his Roux?


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Chapter One

“Woman, you better stop and listen to me. You’re gonna be mine.”

The callused hand wrapped around Roux Tucker’s wrist. Almost sending her apoplectic as she wrenched herself free and pushed her hands into Reno’s chest.

Fury and irritation hardened her husky voice box.

Her new gel nails meant she couldn’t put her fist into his face as she wanted to.

“Don’t ever put your hand on me again, asshole, or I’ll cut it off and shove it up your ass.”

Maybe he had a brain in that baboon sized head of his because he didn’t touch her again. But he blocked her path with his mammoth body.

She tipped her head back, scowling up at one of her dad’s idiot men.

Dressed in denim and leather and the most prized possession of any biker, his Diablo Disciples cut. Reno was a tall man, with midnight black hair in a short shaggy cut and a clipped beard. Quite intimidating to anyone else. But she could give a fuck that he was scowling at her. She’d been avoiding his calls for days.

Roux was what they called a MC princess. Her father was the president of the DDMC, therefore untouchable by any man that came through the club doors. Until recently that is, and she didn’t know why.

For years, her dad told anyone that was new that if they even so much as blinked in Roux’s direction, they’d have their cock and balls cut off and displayed on the wire fence outside. It was a fast and hard rule, and no one dared to cross Axel Tucker. She was an untouchable woman, growing up in a lifestyle that was far too rough and dangerous for a female, yet she loved it.

Those club men were her family.

Idiots and drunks and lazy bastards for the most part. But her family nonetheless, and she was always protected by them. Too much at times.

But for the past four months, Reno, one of her father’s patched men, had made strides to let her know they were going to be a thing.

Like this was the twilight zone.

He’d never shown interest in her before, not even mild flirting.

Like hell they were.

He must have lost his damn mind.

What weirded her out the most was her dad, the president of the club, and her fiercest protector, didn’t so much as blink when Reno made a move in front of everyone. He didn’t take out his gun and shoot Reno’s kneecaps off. Didn’t threaten to hang him over the roof by his feet.


“Give him a chance,” is what her dad actually said to her.

She’d had a few choice words for her dad that day, but she couldn’t think about it. Not when she was trying to shake her fucking shadow.

“You know I like it when you’re feisty, Roux.” He smirked and licked his lower lip like he thought it was the sexiest move on the planet. Maybe it was. Maybe his whores fell for it, but she didn’t.

She didn’t feel any type of way for Reno.

Not a tickle.

Not a flicker of attraction.

He was one of her dad’s newer guys, not one she’d grown up with. That would even creep her out if one of those guys started hitting on her. They’d bought her first period pads and gathered as a group to exact revenge when her prom date was a complete douche canoe.

“Go away, Reno. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

The sigh exited her lungs when she felt him following her through the clubhouse. She was starving and Chains, her dad’s VP, was always cooking something. She hoped it was grilled cheese. She needed grease to get over her hangover.

“What you in a mood for, princess? Can’t be work, didn’t you get fired again?”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, entering the kitchen to the heavenly scents of cheese.

He wasn’t wrong. She did get fired. Again.

The seventh job in two years but who’s counting?

It’s not her fault everyone she’s worked for is a degenerate asshole pervert.

She wasn’t suited for an office.

They looked down at the way she dressed.

She knew they first saw her tight clothes and the full sleeve of tattoos. She wore her ink black hair in a high ponytail with half of her head shaved around the side. And then her many piercings adorning her ears and nose. Roux didn’t give the impression of someone hire worthy.

Fuck them, she thought.

Her attire or how she looked shouldn’t even matter.

She’d swallow her boredom and go back to working in the office here. Diving through the shit storm of invoices her dad ignored for months on end. No wonder the club was running in the red.

It wasn’t ideal, she hated it actually, because it meant her dad kept a closer eye on her. He didn’t treat her as a twenty-one year old woman. To Axel, she was the baby girl he raised alone because her mom, a former biker chaser, couldn’t cope with a screaming kid and took off before Roux was out of diapers.

Yeah, she wasn’t forgiving that mom of the year any time soon. The bitch could rot for all she cared. Anyway, moving on.

Tucker’s didn’t forgive easily, and they held a grudge for eternity.

It was one of life’s lessons she’d received from her bossy dad.

She was young, not bratty. Sure, she might be a bit of a handful at times, but what woman wasn’t? She’d grown up around the MC, it meant she matured a long time ago, around men who drank, cavorted, and caused holy hell.

She didn’t aspire to a nine-to-five job. There was something she was good at, but no one approved of her gambling.

“You gonna hold up and talk to me or what? I wanna take you out tonight.”

“No, fuck off,” she said sweet as can be as she took a seat at the long table, already occupied by three men who were feeding their faces. They snickered as Reno sighed, turned on his boots and left.

“Go easy on him,” Chains said, putting a grilled cheese in front of her. He knew her tastes so well. He should, he helped raise her. An odd man, but she loved him anyway. She smiled and said, “nope. Where’s dad?”

“Out,” he answered vaguely.

The club life was a hard one. Violent, turbulent, often dangerous.

She didn’t live at the clubhouse, but she did have a room. The only woman who did.

The only other women through the doors were biker chasers and they came to party. It was nothing new to Roux. Like watching boring TV seeing those chicks sashay in every weekend hoping to fall on a dick and get his property cut.

She’d rather cut off her crown and glory than be that woman.

Not for Reno.

Not for anyone.

And not the biker she did want.

But the less thought about him the better.

She munched her way through double helpings of a grilled cheese slathered in jalapeño jam, while Chains did his own eating sitting opposite her.

“What’s with everyone around here lately?”

He looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone’s acting nuts. Secretive. Dad’s stressed.” Not to mention this new courtship that was out of left field and Reno’s allowed to live. It didn’t make any sense. “Is the club in trouble?”

Something crossed through Chains’ eyes for a second. A look of guilt? Concern? Then it was gone, but she’d caught it and it put rocks into her stomach.

Their club had never been what you’d call popular.

It warred a lot over the years with the Raging Rebels until that club got firebombed out of existence. Things had been better for the last two years until some of the boys started getting arrested for stupid things. At the last count, six of them were doing long stretches inside. Roux knew it put strain on the club to stay afloat.

Then not so long ago, her now friend, Penelope was used as a bargaining chip for her dad to earn some easy cash. Roux had known then that the club was going through some shit but trying to get anything out of Axel was next to impossible.

“You know I can’t talk about club business, Roux.”

Yeah, yeah. So, fucking outdated. She could easily be a patched member. She knew the club life inside and out, but chest beating men didn’t take in women other than to fuck and party with them. Like they thought they’d sit around the church table talking about periods and menopause. Fucking cavemen.

Fortunately, she loved her mismatched family and didn’t have an urge to become a biker bitch, not in that way anyway.

“Why is that always the go to answer? Just tell me to mind my own business if you don’t want me to know something.”

She was more than a little pissy and it showed when she moved the plate aside.

Chains chuckled. “That temper, girlie, it never changes. You were the same when you were six years old and kept falling off your bike. We thought you were gonna kick shit out of it.”

She smiled remembering. But focused in on the topic at hand, this wasn’t time for memory lane.

“Is Dad in trouble?”

“Axel is fine.” Was all he said as he pushed up from the table, dumped his dishes for a prospect to clean later and he exited the kitchen as she knew he would.

Something hinky was up but she didn’t know what.

Licking butter from her thumb, she shrugged to herself. No point worrying, she’d know soon enough, she supposed.

To get in her father’s good graces, seeing as how he was going to be pissed that she was jobless again, she headed to his office to dig through the mess he had in there. When she saw the man himself talking to Reno.

The pair looked intense and it sent cold to her now full stomach. She stopped in the doorway and watched them.

Reno gestured with a hand, shaking his head at whatever her dad said to him.

Axel Tucker wasn’t old. Almost thirty-eight, shoulder length brown hair with a takes no shit attitude. She knew what people said about him, that he wasn’t liked much. She didn’t care. They didn’t know him, what he’d had to do at seventeen to raise her alone. No wonder she preferred to hang out with guys, all her old girl friends wanted to fuck Axel and that was just gross as hell. Sure, he wasn’t ugly, but it was gross to think of anyone she knew hooking up with him.

She must have made a noise because both men’s heads swerved her way.

Reno smirked as he always did. Dick. She ignored him and smiled at her dad.

“I was just gonna dig into some office stuff.” She told him.

“Hold off on that right now, get over here, Roux.”

Hardening her eyes between the two men, she took herself over. Her suspicious mind relaxed a little when he wrapped a big arm around her and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

She noted Reno was staring at her like a simpering little idiot. She ignored him and the secret look in his eyes.

“Listen, baby.” Her dad started in a voice so serious that she lifted her face, getting that hinky feeling in her gut again. “You need to start taking Reno seriously, okay?”

Concrete landed in her stomach.

This was the shit that made things so freaking weird around here lately.

Her dad didn’t encourage her to date. At all. Anyone.

If it were up to him, she’d be a practicing nun.

The small number of failed dates she’d had always came to an untimely end because no one could stand up to the intimidation radiating out of Axel Tucker.

But never—not ever in a million years—has he ever encouraged her to date from within the clubhouse. She’d see flying pigs first.

About to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth, to ask what mind altering drugs he was taking, he went on, with a tick making his jaw tighter. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re engaged to be his old lady, so get used to it and stop fucking throwing a tantrum.”

Judgement delivered. Axel strode off like he hadn’t just brought a hammer down on her life and left her with a smirking guy.




Blood rushed through her ears as she finally took a breath.

Reno’s old lady?

Staring daggers at him, she spun around and headed for the door.

Fuck working.

Fuck this whole fucking club.

“And fuck you too.” She aimed over her shoulder at her so-called fiancé.