Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Heartless: A Bad Boy Baby Motorcycle Club Romance: Iron Reapers MC, #1
    Heartless: A Bad Boy Baby Motorcycle Club Romance: Iron Reapers MC, #1
    Heartless: A Bad Boy Baby Motorcycle Club Romance: Iron Reapers MC, #1
    Ebook111 pages1 hour

    Heartless: A Bad Boy Baby Motorcycle Club Romance: Iron Reapers MC, #1

    By Claire St. Rose

    3.5/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Heartless is Book 1 in the Iron Reapers MC trilogy. Books 2 and 3, Merciless and Ruthless, are available everywhere now!

    She’s a good girl who’s too innocent and pure to know what it means to be around someone like me.


    But this isn’t about what she wants. 
    It’s about what I want.
    And what I want is to wreck the good girl in every way I can.
    Claim her. Use her. Make her mine.

    New Orleans might be the Big Easy, but this girl is anything but.
    I was here on business for my club—the Iron Reapers MC—when Sasha came into my life.

    She’s a good girl surrounded by a city of sin and debauchery.
    She’s so innocent that from the first whiff of her, I couldn’t keep myself away.
    She’s too good of a girl to be wrecked by a monster like me.

    I want to see how far I can push her. How much she can take.
    I want to hear the soft moans from her lips when I pull her close. 

    But I don’t just want to make her moan.
    I want to make her scream.

    Scream to be taken.
    Scream to be used
    Scream to be mine.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublishereBook Publishing World
    Release dateJan 15, 2018
    ISBN9781386614272
    Heartless: A Bad Boy Baby Motorcycle Club Romance: Iron Reapers MC, #1

    Read more from Claire St. Rose

    Related authors

    Related to Heartless

    Titles in the series (3)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Contemporary Romance For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Two Poems

      Nov 1, 2021

      I have an endless appetite for starfruit,for biting my teeth into the universe and spitting outthe space junk, for licking the rings of my favorite planetsand never slicing my tongue. There’s a story I shareabout my birth where angels circle my dead

      2 min read

    • Article

      Pass Notes Ashley Reeve

      Jun 16, 2020

      Pass Notes Ashley Reeve
      3 min read

    • Article

      The Man I Should Have Married

      Dec 29, 2019

      The Man I Should Have Married
      11 min read

    • Article

      Three Poems

      Nov 1, 2023

      for Brenda Shaughnessy The news isn’t good, and neither of us feelslike pretending, though the list of what we hope forgrows longer by the day. More news, goodor otherwise, everything witnessed by the lightof fires, and something we cherished alwaysb

      2 min read

    • Article

      Adeel Akhtar

      Mar 25, 2024

      Adeel Akhtar
      5 min read

    • Article

      Heave’s Whisky

      Feb 27, 2024

      Heave’s Whisky
      7 min read

    • Article

      Billie Joe Armstrong

      Nov 30, 2023

      Billie Joe Armstrong
      3 min read

    • Article

      Everywhere Around Us

      Sep 23, 2023

      Everywhere Around Us
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Duplex

      Jun 9, 2020

      I moved to Los Angeles to sing. When was this? August? June? I was twenty-nine, and those were shapeless months, when the days blended together and I refused to pull them apart. My landlord was unusually close to her adult son. His name was Jeffrey,

      21 min read

    • Article

      Brigette Romanek

      Jan 20, 2023

      Brigette Romanek
      4 min read

    • Article

      Nina Sosanya

      Sep 4, 2023

      Nina Sosanya
      5 min read

    • Article

      Chelsea Wolfe

      Feb 4, 2020

      Chelsea Wolfe
      5 min read

    • Article

      Thought Leader

      Nov 7, 2022

      Thought Leader
      8 min read

    • Article

      Introducing... BROOKE

      May 20, 2020

      Introducing... BROOKE
      5 min read

    • Article

      Going Global

      Oct 26, 2022

      Going Global
      3 min read

    • Article

      Five Poems

      Sep 1, 2018

      Maybe California’s just plain easier,with the commonnessof outbuildings. Raw-looking cedar or sheetmetal walls and a runnelof sun getting in through the roof seams.Position the heavy bag, tighten the eyebolt,twenty-five right hooks. Or pull upa chair

      3 min read

    • Article

      This Is Not Stuff, It’s Who I Am

      May 19, 2020

      Yes, I like to keep things. Not just anything – I’m not a hoarder type who lines up empty yoghurt pots by the dozen, or buys a pair of shoes every week to feel validated, but I do think that decluttering is overrated. Simplifying your surroundings so

      3 min read

    • Article

      Lost And Found

      Dec 5, 2021

      Lost And Found
      9 min read

    • Article

      Give Me a Sign

      Sep 20, 2022

      Capricorn It’s time to open up, frens. You get called cold, dismissive, heartless, soulless (this is not a read, I swear). But you’re all some caring muthafuckers. You sometimes see vulnerability as a weakness, but there is strength in being open and

      6 min read

    • Article

      ‘Lady in the Lake’: Featured Fiction from Laura Lippman

      Jul 23, 2019

      An excerpt from Lippman's latest, a sophisticated crime novel that captures the 1960s zeitgeist while painting a striking portrait of female ambition. The post ‘Lady in the Lake’: Featured Fiction from Laura Lippman appeared first on The Millions.

      5 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems

      Nov 1, 2022

      Day after Thanksgiving. I give thanks for Eveto beat the rush of appreciating hernext year and let her sleep inuntil three hundred o’clock.Thank you light on the mountainfor being my star on cloudy nights.Thank you all the guns I’ve never ownedand ki

      6 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Heartless

    3.5/5

    8 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Heartless - Claire St. Rose

      HEARTLESS: Iron Reapers MC (Book 1)

      By Claire St. Rose

      C:\Users\Brett\AppData\Local\Microsoft\Windows\INetCache\Content.Word\Claire St Rose_Heartless_resized.jpg

      SHE’S A GOOD GIRL WHO’S too innocent and pure to know what it means to be around someone like me.

      But this isn’t about what she wants.

      It’s about what I want.

      And what I want is to wreck the good girl in every way I can.

      Claim her. Use her. Make her mine.

      New Orleans might be the Big Easy, but this girl is anything but.

      I was here on business for my club—the Iron Reapers MC—when Sasha came into my life.

      She’s a good girl surrounded by a city of sin and debauchery.

      She’s so innocent that from the first whiff of her, I couldn’t keep myself away.

      She’s too good of a girl to be wrecked by a monster like me.

      I want to see how far I can push her. How much she can take.

      I want to hear the soft moans from her lips when I pull her close.

      But I don’t just want to make her moan.

      I want to make her scream.

      Scream to be taken.

      Scream to be used

      Scream to be mine.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Sasha

      The screeching of trumpets coming in with the first warm breeze of spring through the open door, made me jump from foot to foot with the urge to dance. I was giddy—positively gleeful. I’d arranged the whole shop just the way I liked it, and now it was time for experimentation.

      David never cared much about what I did. The shop was practically mine; had been for years. There wasn’t a person on earth who knew Fancy Florals like I did. That wasn’t saying much since there wasn’t a helluva lot of competition, but it made me pleased nonetheless.

      The walls were painted a pale lilac, and the sparse white shelving popped out like rice paddies. It was a small shop, but with few adornments, it felt quite roomy. The black and white checkered tile floor was like something out of a bad eighties movie, but I loved it. When I was cleaning, I had a habit of skipping over the black tiles, only allowing my feet to touch the white like I was playing some sort of schoolyard game. That was only when I didn’t have any customers, of course. And I occasionally had customers. When a parade was floating by, however, I got to stand and enjoy it. And, despite living in New Orleans for years, I still do enjoy it.

      The sounds of cheering and brass instruments were home to me now. It used to be the hissing of the waves against the shore, but since being transplanted here, I haven’t missed the sea. The rocky coast of Maine had nothing on the beating heart of Louisiana. Nowhere else in America had anything on my state, in my opinion. A treasure trove of bayous and swamps, with mangrove trees slouched against each other like old souls, Louisiana had stolen my heart from day one. And it had continued earning it ever since.

      My mom didn’t quite see the appeal. She was only here for her work and wasn’t as fond of exploring the place as I was. She saw New Orleans as a crowded enclave of partiers. Although Mom and I were close, it would have been nice to have another soul around, in case I wanted to go dance behind the cavalcades of brass performers.

      I got pretty lonely being the only person in the shop. Harriet came in a few times a week, but David knew I could handle things on my own. I wished he would bring in more help, but I’d never be able to say it. How could I tell him I was lonely and just needed someone to talk to?

      Pushing that from my mind, I leaped into the cooler like a gazelle and grabbed a few peonies to add to my bunch. Some baby’s breath, one of the exotic flowers that I could never remember the name of, and a little ribbon weaved around the outside of the vase and—voila! My best creation yet. Simple. Elegant. And totally unsellable.

      I frowned. Nobody was going to buy an arrangement just because I thought it was beautiful. They never did. People just wanted roses or one of the arrangements on the website. Most had a firm image in their minds of what they were looking for when they came in. Gerbera daisies. Roses. Lilies. Not something weird the shop assistant put together.

      I still displayed them anyway. Sometimes they sold. Statistically, though, I had my doubts.

      But I liked making them, and I thought they prettied the place up a bit. And anyway, David let me do whatever I wanted. He knew that without me, he’d have to step in a whole lot more. He knew that I took on way more than my job description, and we were both fine with that. I enjoyed the work, and he enjoyed the freedom. Everybody was happy.

      I brushed my hands against my apron and reached under the counter, fumbling to grab hold of the thicker textbook I had stashed under there. David also let me work on school while I was at work. As long as I didn’t have other stuff to do, of course. But being tucked away in a little side alley in the French Quarter, we would’ve had way more customers if we started selling love spells on the side. I’d pitched it to David a million times—not necessarily love spells, but something a little witchy or cool—and been shot down a million times.

      The tome in front of me practically gleamed in the light. Brand new. The start of a new semester. The beginnings of my adult life practically within my grasp. Just a little bit of work here, a little bit of dissertation there, and I’d have a Master’s degree in anthropology and psychology. I knew most assumed, based on my love of flowers, that I studied botany. But, truth be told, I loved people more than I liked flowers. They were much more interesting to look at. A flower’s purpose in life was simple—to pollinate, make more flowers, and maybe grow fruit. With one look at a flower, you could see how it was achieving that purpose—bright colors, pretty smells, big stigmas.

      But people weren’t so simple. First of all, everyone had a different purpose. In the grand scheme of things, everyone’s purpose should have been as simple as a flower’s. That was how nature had intended it, anyway. It was all about making more humans and growing as a species. But humans had taken that and flipped it around. We made our own purpose in life, and therefore we each created our own code that was necessary to crack in order to read us at a glance.

      I’d gotten pretty good at it. People didn’t naturally assume, in conversation, that the person at the other end of it was trying to figure out where their priorities in life lay. Some kept their cards closer to their chests; others practically broadcast it for everyone to hear.

      Once you figured what was driving the person, the rest was easy. Just by looking at a person’s clothes, hair, expressions, and mannerisms, I could generally tell where they were in their pursuit of their purpose, how they interpreted the world around them, and sometimes even what they would do next. Broadly, mind you. I wasn’t a psychic. But it was easy for me to see how the psychics that operated in shops in the alleys of the French Quarter got business. Maybe some of them did really have the gift, but as far as I could tell it was easy to see on a person’s face whether they were getting ready for a change or not.

      Tip: Unless you’re ready for love, love ain’t gonna find you. That was something the psychics figured out a long time ago. Saying that somebody was

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1