Raw: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Minutemen MC)
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Raw: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Minutemen MC) copyright @ 2017 by Evelyn Glass and E-Book Publishing World Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
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Contents
Raw: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Minutemen MC)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Books by Evelyn Glass
Crude: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Wicked Wolves MC)
Rough: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Wilderkind MC)
Kade: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Santanas Cuervo MC) (Devil’s Blaze Book 3)
Leo: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Seven Devils MC) (Devil’s Blaze Book 2)
Maddox: A Motorcycle Club Romance (The Misery MC) (Devil’s Blaze Book 1)
Edge of His Mercy: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Immortal Souls MC) (Sins of the 1% Book 3)
Edge of the Law: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Dirty Riders MC) (Sins of the 1% Book 2)
Edge of the Road: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Rubber Tramps MC) (Sins of the 1% Book 1)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raw: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Minutemen MC)
By Evelyn Glass
There’s only one way I’ll do it: raw.
DIRK
She picked the wrong day to f**k with me.
I have a war to fight.
That means I don’t have time for civilians wandering around my territory.
But I decide to make an exception for li’l miss Camila.
It’s been too damn long since I’ve had a woman like her.
So I’m gonna throw that tight little body on the back of my bike.
Take her deep into my clubhouse.
And do it the only way I know how:
Raw.
CAMILA
He doesn’t just undress me with his eyes – he f**ks me with them.
Like I’m already naked and dying for his touch.
The truth is, he’s not wrong.
I’ve been aching to know what Dirk feels like since the second he first threw me on the back of his bike.
But I’ll never tell that to this sexy bastard’s face.
Because he’s not my hero or my rescuer.
He’s the one who got me in this whole mess in the first place…
When he kidnapped me and dragged me into a dirty, disgusting warehouse.
I don’t know who he is or what he’s after.
Well, except for one thing.
He wants to own me…
Completely raw.
Chapter 1
The thing about the California desert is that it smells and feels like a no-man’s land. Smack in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in-between California, Arizona, and Nevada, the Mojave Desert is the driest of California’s deserts. The wildest. The most dangerous. The dangers that lurk beneath the lines of Joshua trees that make up the natural boundaries of the area have little to do with the wildlife or the unforgiving nature of the land. It all comes down to human presence.
Camilla Hernandez was getting to learn that the hard way. She should have known, really. She was no rookie, and she should have made sure Kurt had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked his information before she accepted an assignment to cover the escalating violence of the cartels on the border between the U.S. and Mexico.
“You know these people,” Kurt had said. “You’re the perfect choice for the job.”
Ordinarily, Camilla would have taken offense. But not in this case. It was indeed true that she knew these people. They weren’t her people, like most obnoxious Republican assholes seemed to believe whenever they learned about her Latina and Mexican origins, but still she knew them. She had worked on stories on them before, mostly with the help of repentant convicted gang members.
As it turned out, however, she didn’t know them well enough. She had not seen it coming, Tobias’ betrayal. He served her up to his ex-MC—the Tar Mongols, the most dangerous proxy club for the Mexican cartel operating within California— like a piece of cake. He had lied about that, too. He had told Kurt he was an ex-member of a much less dangerous club. The delivery of the nosy TIME reporter to the Tar Mongols was supposed to be his ticket back into the club’s good graces. And it had worked. It had worked all too well.
And so it was that Camilla now found herself on the back of a roaring motorcycle with her wrists tied together in front of her, a gag in her mouth, and a heavy hood over her head. It was ridiculous that they thought she could ever remember the roads they were taking—the Mojave Desert all looked the same to her, especially considering the fact that she was not supposed to cross it. She was supposed to be in Mexico, where it was more dangerous but at least it was more familiar and she would have had a chance.
Instead, here she was, miles away from the Mexican border, heading towards God-knew-what. Except that while God may have had a few doubts regarding what was going to happen to her, Camilla had quite a few ideas—and not one of them painted a pretty picture. Even without her experience as an investigative reporter specializing on the drug dealers on the southern border, it wasn’t hard to figure it out; everyone knew what the cartel did with people who stuck their noses where they didn’t belong.
She wanted to ask so many questions to the man riding in front of her, who smelled like leather and sweat and whiskey, but the gag prevented her. She wanted to ask Tobias what had possessed him to do this. She wanted to remind him that she had been very respectful of him and of his past while she conducted her interview with him. She wondered whether any of what he had told her was true. Probably not—and was this really the way he was going to repay her? She wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter how many investigative reporters he brought back to his club’s president; he was probably dead anyway, just for pretending he would make a deal with a journalist.
But Camilla could hardly breathe through the gag and the hood, let alone speak a word. She would have to sit in the back of this motorcycle and wait for the president of the Tar Mongols to kill Tobias and then rape her and kill her, too.
She shivered. Camilla Hernandez was not a religious person, but here in the middle of the Mojave Desert, she squeezed her eyes
shut underneath the heavy hood someone else had stuck over her head, and she prayed.
***
As impossible as it was to believe, given her current situation, Camilla must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she was aware of were gunshots and screams. There was a blood-curdling shout, followed by an equally chilling gurgle that let her know that Tobias’ accomplice and fellow MC member, the one they had met after landing in Mexico City the previous day, was dead.
She heard Tobias swear in Spanish under his breath, and then she was being dragged from the motorcycle and roughly shoved down to the dirty ground. She didn’t dare make a sound, even when the desert’s rocks scraped at her bare arms. She bit her lip almost bloody to stifle a surprised yelp when a booted foot shoved her further down until her cheek touched the dirt.
“Let me pass! This has nothing to do with you!” Tobias shouted, presumably at their assailants.
“You’re crossing our territory, Alvarez. It’s got everything to do with us.” The voice that replied belonged to a man, and it was confident and derisive, laced with an undercurrent of mirth that for some reason sent a shiver down the length of Camilla’s spine.
She swallowed hard as her mind, trained to work under pressure, quickly processed what was happening. The man knew Tobias, which meant that he knew the Tar Mongols. And she knew of only one club that had been carrying on an open war with the Tar Mongols for years.
Camilla felt the hair at the base of her neck stand up as realization hit. Was this really the Minutemen’s territory? Could Tobias and his now-dead friend really have been that stupid as to cross into it with no backup? If that was true, and if she really was within Minutemen borders, she was as good as dead. Still, an odd sense of relief washed over her; at the very least, her virtue would remain intact. Stephan Walker, the Minutemen’s president, was known for punishing rape by cutting off the man’s scrotum before executing him.
Nonetheless, she thought her situation hadn’t improved by much.
“Let me pass!” Tobias shouted again. “Or I’ll shoot the woman dead.”
This time, Camilla couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden pressure of metal against the back of her head.
“We don’t know her,” another voice called out. “Why do you think it’d make a difference to us?”
Camilla gritted her teeth past the gag in her mouth. Fucking cowards! she thought furiously, bristling with more than just the desert heat.
There was a moment of silence that to her felt like an eternity. And then Tobias said, “I know for a fact your boss doesn’t like it when you get women killed.”
Hope surged through Camilla’s defeated heart. Could that really be true? Could Stephan Walker be against violence on women in general? Could his unexpected magnanimity be her salvation?
“Well, Stephan’s not here, is he?” the first voice said. “Besides, our sniper’s got his sights on you, Tobias. You so much as try to pull that trigger, you’ll get your brains blown out.”
More hesitation.
“You’re bluffing,” Tobias said.
Camilla rolled her eyes underneath the black hood. She wished she could see something—even just shadows would do—but it appeared she would have to rely on her hearing alone.
“Go on, then,” the voice said. “Shoot her. See if we’re bluffing.”
Camilla could feel the barrel of Tobias’ gun against the back of her head start to shake. She held her breath, because that could mean that he was either going to drop the gun or go berserk and pull the trigger.
She didn’t know how much time passed—if seconds or minutes—but finally Tobias moved the gun away from her. And then a shot rang out.
Camilla jumped and screamed despite herself, the sound muffled by the gag and the hood. She heard the scrambling of heavy boots on the desert soil, and then she was hauled unceremoniously upward.
“Are you okay?” a voice asked, and she recognized it as the voice of the first man who had spoken. “Answer me!” He shook her roughly. “Are you okay? Nod yes or shake no.”
Camilla swallowed past her very dry throat. She nodded shakily.
“Good. Let’s go.” He pulled her forward, and Camilla dug the heels of her hiking boots into the desert dirt and held up her bound wrists.
The man laughed at her. “I don’t think so, princess. Not until we can figure out who you are and just what the hell you were doing with our mortal enemies. Something tells me you’re not just an innocent bystander in all of this.”
Camilla really wanted to aim a fierce kick at his balls, but she couldn’t even see where his head was, let alone his crotch.
“Come on,” the man said, and he roughly manhandled her up a brief but steep rise.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we don’t hurt women,” the second man who had spoken said once she had reached the top. “Well, not usually,” he added as an afterthought. “It really depends on who you are.”
Camilla bit down hard on the bandana that was gagging her. She couldn’t wait until she would be able to talk again. She was manhandled onto the back of yet another motorcycle, and as they sped away into the desert, she tried to think of what she would say to their president once she was face-to-face with him. She had the feeling Stephan Walker and his Minutemen wouldn’t be very thrilled to discover that the Tar Mongols had brought an investigative reporter amongst their midst, no matter the reason.
Camilla closed her eyes underneath the hood and tried to think. Stephan Walker was known for his ability to smell lies from a mile’s distance, and she wasn’t sure that even all of her experience would be enough to concoct a story that would convince him not to shoot her on the spot.
Chapter 2
It felt like hours before the motorbike finally stopped. Camilla’s butt felt numb, her lower back ached, and her wrists were begging to be freed. Nonetheless, she sat as straight as she could and tried to muster up as much dignity as she could, given her current circumstances.
“Well, well, well,” a strange voice said. “What do we have here?”
“Get Dirk,” the man sitting in front of her on the bike said, terse and quick.
“Who is she?”
“No idea. She was riding with Tobias Alvarez,” the other man who had met her and Tobias in the middle of the desert said.
“Alvarez is back?”
“Was,” a third voice corrected. It sounded calm and cool and smooth—the kind of smoothness that gave Camilla the creeps. “I shot him.”
There was a pause in the conversation.
“Dirk won’t be too happy about that,” the stranger said. “Stephan, either.”
“He was going to shoot the woman,” the second man said. “What were we supposed to do, just let him blow her brains out?”
In spite of her determination to keep her cool, Camilla shivered. It had been a horribly-close call, and something told her it wasn’t over yet.
“Was he alone?” the stranger asked.
“He had Paco Herrera with him,” the first man said.
“Killed him, too?”
“Yep.”
“Dirk is going to be pissed.”
“Just get him, will you?” the voice belonging to the second man she had come in contact with finally snapped.
“Fine!”
Camilla waited. She had no idea who “Dirk” was, but she had the feeling he wasn’t good news.
The men were talking quietly amongst themselves, in excited whispers, cocky murmurs, and annoyed growls, but all of a sudden they went quiet, and Camilla knew that Dirk had arrived. She strained her ears to hear the voice of this newcomer who appeared to hold so much authority, but he did not speak. Out of the blue, the black hood was taken off of her with such a force that it seemed like the man might have been trying to tear her head off, and she jumped.
Camilla blinked furiously, as the glare of the late afternoon sun pierced her eyes. She waited for the black spots to fade, and when her vision was finally clear, she focused on the man standing in
front of her. She knew she should be afraid, but for a few moments her mind and heart and stomach went blank, and she could do nothing but stare.
Standing before her was a man who was striking in every sense of the word. He towered over pretty much everyone else, even though most of the men who had gathered around weren’t so small themselves. Camilla gauged that he must be at least six-foot five, and yet, his height wasn’t the most impressive thing about him. It was his features. His cheekbones were high and his jaw was chiseled. He had skin made golden by the desert sun, and deep blue eyes that Camilla felt certain could pierce a hole through someone with the same ease as the gun resting in the holster hanging from his left hip.
The sight of the weapon prompted Camilla to lower her gaze and then raise it up slowly, taking in the rest of his appearance. He wore black jeans, biker boots, and a gray tank top that clung to his muscular torso in all the right places. He was muscular, but there was a lithe agility to him that reminded Camilla of a cougar’s grace and power.