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Devils: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance: Cutthroat 99 MC, #1
Devils: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance: Cutthroat 99 MC, #1
Devils: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance: Cutthroat 99 MC, #1
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Devils: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance: Cutthroat 99 MC, #1

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DEVILS is book 1 of the Cutthroat 99 MC trilogy. Books 2 and 3, DEVILS IN MY BED and DEVIL AT THE ALTAR are available everywhere now!

I’ll give her what she craves and take what I want.

The devils left her shattered and broken.

She needed a savior, but what she got was a monster.

A monster who wants to hear her plead.

A monster who will make her scream.

They stripped everything from her and took what little she had left.

She was left broken and hollow—with no-one else to turn to.

When I found out what the bastards did to her.

When I saw how the way they left her.

Something inside of me snapped.

She knew her share of monsters.

She knew men like me.

But I’ll be goddamned if I let her go.

Not before I tame her.

Not before I own her.

Not before I take what I want.

Again and again.

Until she’s mine.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 19, 2018
ISBN9781386052968
Devils: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance: Cutthroat 99 MC, #1

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Devils - Evelyn Glass

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DEVILS: Cutthroat 99 MC (Book 1)

By Evelyn Glass

I’ll give her what she craves and take what I want.

THE DEVILS LEFT HER shattered and broken.

She needed a savior, but what she got was a monster.

A monster who wants to hear her plead.

A monster who will make her scream.

They stripped everything from her and took what little she had left.

She was left broken and hollow—with no-one else to turn to.

When I found out what the bastards did to her.

When I saw how the way they left her.

Something inside of me snapped.

She knew her share of monsters.

She knew men like me.

But I’ll be goddamned if I let her go.

Not before I tame her.

Not before I own her.

Not before I take what I want.

Again and again.

Until she’s mine.

CHAPTER ONE

B oot, Kevin’s voice came over the radio.

You’re going to have to honk it, Murphy, Dixon said into his headset as he glanced at the stopwatch on the clipboard and wrote the number down. You’re almost a full second behind.

Kevin and Dixon’s communications were terse and business like, Dixon only speaking if spoken to. Kevin would call out markers as he traveled around the Green Hell, the seventeen mile loop in the Siuslaw National Forest that the Cutthroat ‘99’s had marked out years before, and Dixon would write down the times. Kevin had lost a lot of time at Kink, a nasty, tight, right-hander that would spit you into the weeds without a second thought if you got in the marbles.

Dixon listened to Kevin grunt, the Yamaha YZF-R1M barking and growling as Kevin banged the bike down through the gears, followed by the rise and fall of the banshee-like wail as the big bike clawed for speed on the exit.

Cut me some slack, Montague, Kevin complained. This bitch is a handful.

Dixon chuckled. Kevin had traded up from his trusty 2007 Honda CBR1000RR to the Yamaha and he was trying to master the bike. He’d lost twice last year, the aging Honda no longer able to compete against the newer bikes. This was his second trip around the Hell at speed on the new bike, and he’d knocked six seconds off his first pass and was now within a second of his best time, the track record in the over seven-fifty class.

When he got back to the start they would talk about the bike and Dixon would tinker, adjusting preload, damping, rebound rates and tire pressure, trying to squeeze every bit of speed possible out of it.

Finger, Kevin said, and once again Dixon could hear the bike banging down the gears then wail back up to speed. "Goddamn does this thing have brakes. I can’t get used to how deep into the corner you can go, and holy fuck, since the exhaust and ECU flash, does this bitch pull."

Hooray for ABS and traction control, Dixon chuckled as he wrote the number down. I have you right on. Using a stopwatch, he couldn’t really tell if Kevin was faster or slower. That would have to wait for the sophisticated timing equipment at the race, but there was no doubt that once they got the bike dialed in and Kevin adjusted to the feel of the machine, he’d be faster than on his Honda. A lot faster.

They would probably make one more run then call it a night. It was mentally exhausting out on the Hell, and after two or three runs the mistakes started. That’s when the speeds went down and somebody got hurt.

Dixon was waiting for the call at Wiggles, the final timing marker, when he heard the crash. Kevin! he screamed while his headset roared and banged as Kevin slid and tumbled along the road. Kevin! he cried again, his heart in his throat. He could hear Kevin breathing in the silence, but nothing else. Kevin, speak to me, pal! Kevin! Fuck!

He dashed the two-dozen steps to the support truck, slamming the Dodge into gear the minute the engine raced. He floored the truck, the rear tires howling as he pulled onto the road, racing to where his friend had gone down. The lights of the truck speared into the darkness as he drove recklessly fast, slowing way down when he reached Wiggles. He knew Kevin had gone down between Wiggles and Finger and didn’t want to run over the man if he were still in the road, and to give him time to see him if he weren’t.

Fuck! he snarled, banging his hand on the wheel when he reached Finger. He pulled over to the side, stabbed the throttle and spun the truck around in the road, before driving back the way he came, moving even more slowly this time as he strained to peer into the darkness to the side of the road. There were no houses, no streetlights, and no people this far out in the forest. It made it perfect for illegal street racing, but he’d give anything right now to have more light.

He slammed on the brakes, the truck lurching to a halt, when he saw the scrapes and gouges in the pavement. Grabbing his light, he bailed out of the truck and ran to the side of the road. He swept the light, hoping he wouldn’t see Kevin while simultaneously hoping he would. The brilliant beam glinted off something a vibrant blue. He snapped the beam back.

Oh...no, he breathed as he hurried down the slight embankment. Kevin was lying in a heap next to a tree, his body twisted into a position no man could replicate. Dixon knew not to move him, but he knelt beside the broken man and carefully reached under his helmet and pressed two fingers to his neck.

Dixon stood, his teeth clinched tight, Kevin already beyond the help of mortal men. The light resting on his friend, seeing Kevin twisted and bent, Dix could feel his control slipping, so he flicked the light to the bike so he didn’t have to think about his dead friend a moment. The new Yamaha was an unrecognizable twisted lump of silver and blue among the trees.

He stood for many long moments then swallowed hard as he walked slowly back to the truck. He didn’t want to leave but there was no cell service this far out. He sat in the truck for a long time, staring into the darkness as he gathered himself. This was a shitty detail, but had to be done, and he was going to need help. Putting the truck in gear he reset the trip odometer, so he could find the crash site again, and drove out of the forest and back to civilization.

When he was close enough to highway 126 to get a signal, he pulled the truck to a stop. Steeling himself, he dialed the phone.

Cale, the voice on the phone said.

There was no easy way to break this. Kevin’s dead, Dix said, gritting his teeth hard to stop the tears.

What? Cale cried. How?

Twenty minutes or so ago on the Hell. I need help.

Oh my God!

Yeah.

The two men were quiet a moment. It’s always tough when you lose a brother. I need an hour to get shit together, Cale said softly. Where?

Between Wiggles and Finger.

Okay. You doing okay?

Yeah, Dix said, anything but. Kevin was one of his two closest friends.

Hang tough, brother, Cale said, trying to give him strength, though Dix could hear the pain in the man’s voice. We’re coming.

NINETY MINUTES LATER, Dix could see lights approaching on the road. It was probably the club, but he didn’t want any witnesses to what had happened here this night, and had parked the truck a hundred yards away from the crash site.

The Cutthroat van eased to a stop beside the truck. Where? Cale Johnson, President of

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