His Unwanted Peace Offering: Claiming Eleanor

nor

gly, twitching scowl. He stepped off his bike,

smell stale energy drinks and unwashed denim. His gaze crawled over me, slow and greasy

tiful, delicate look. "I'm so scared!" Then my voice suddenly turned cold, mocking. "Yo

pping into the Prospect's space like a brick wall. "

f between them. Glancing at the knives and shotguns on their belts, I

d, our small convoy moving like a chain gang down

the legendary Jax Tucker. The same roma

n on a shattered leg, using a fallen branch as a crutch, leaving a crimson trail in the mud. When the s

as merciless: permanent nerve death. He would walk with a

edside, tears streaming down her bruised face, begging to

her with eyes turn

his voice echoing off the corrugated iron walls. "I'm a cripple! An Enforcer who can't mount a bike w

as the toxic, arrogant nobility of outlaw men-they'd

end of her life. I was different from Clara. I came to their Prez with a pla

d my thoughts as our bikes rolled t

was pure chaos. Engines revving on dyno stands, half-naked Sweetbutts laughing over bottles of cheap bourbon on the

y were busy guessing who I was, I was already mapping the terr

ne. The silence that f

d, jerking his chin toward the heavy steel fire door of th

y arm, his jaw t

rembling hand. "Wait by the bikes," I commanded, keeping m

gh the heavy door. The smell of stale beer, gun oil, and industrial disinfectant washed o

ry predatory gaze burning into my skin. At the foot of the dark wooden staircase lea

man who had demanded me as the price of peace. I had come here

boot on th