Tuesday, 17 March 2015

EXCERPT REVEAL: Silver Bastard (Silver Valley, Book 1) by Joanna Wylde

Hope you enjoy the excerpt! I, for one, am excited for this!!! I lurv, lurv all of Joanna's biker heroes! *g*

I do feel I have to say that before you read the excerpt, please bear in mind that we are talking bikers here, people, so be prepared for some coarse language. Like they say on TV, reader discretion is advised. And yes, NSFW, nope, not necessarily.


Excerpt from Silver Bastard

By Joanna Wylde
www.joannawylde.com


EXCERPT 1

California
Five years ago

Puck

...
Freedom.
Fourteen months since the last time I’d had a decent drink—all but forgotten what it felt like, too. That sweet, harsh pain that comes from losing the surface layer of skin all the way down your throat? Gorgeous. Never felt better in my life, and that’s a fact. Helped that the queen of body shots had sucked me off right after we’d pulled up to the party.
Spent the last year trying to decide what I’d do first when I finally got out. Kept going back and forth between getting laid and getting drunk, but God apparently has a soft spot for a$$holes because we’d found one hell of a good compromise.
I’d been free nearly four hours now. Still felt like a dream. The California Department of Corrections took its own sweet time with everything, up to and including processing a man out. I’d spent half the wait wondering if the c*ckwads would change their minds or if the club lawyer had forgotten something. Figured they’d find some way to f*ck with my head.
FBI, state cops, even Homeland Security—they all wanted a piece of my club, the Silver Bastards MC, and not a week went by inside that they didn’t try to cut it out of my hide. Guess they figured a prospect made an easy target.
Not f*cking likely.
My old man died for the Bastards. If I turned, he’d haunt my a$$ the rest of my life because that sh!t does not stand in my family. I’d been born to wear a Bastard cut. And tonight? For the first time I finally had the right to show those colors off.
A hand slapped my shoulder, then a burly man caught me up in a hug so tight it hurt. My f*cking ribs creaked.
“That patch feel right on your back, brother?” asked Boonie. He was the president of the Silver Bastards in Callup, Idaho, and I’d heard him call me a hell of a lot of things—but never brother. Felt good. Damned good. Until an hour ago, I’d been a prospect and I’d never gotten any special treatment because of my old man.
That’s how I wanted it.
“Best night of my life,” I admitted. He pulled back, and his face grew serious.
“Proud of you,” he said. “You did what you had to. Protected the club, took care of business. Painter told us how things were inside, how you took his back. You earned this, earned it with your life and your blood. I know you won’t shame this patch, Puck.”
“I won’t,” I replied, his words almost too much. Boonie grinned suddenly, then grabbed my arm and turned me toward the bar again.
“Drink up,” he told me. “Then find yourself some pretty little thing to play with, because tomorrow we’re ridin’ home. Your bike’s in good shape—took care of it for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Another shot, baby?” the stripper asked. She rolled onto her side, reaching out to catch my neck with her hand, pulling me in for a kiss. That brought me a little too close to her face. She was sweaty, and her mascara had started running. Didn’t smell that great, either.

...

Ignoring the b!tch on the bar, I reached across and grabbed the bottle of tequila, chugging nearly a third of it down. Christ, there went the rest of my throat. Then I turned to look out across room. Four of my new Silver Bastard brothers had come down from Callup—Boonie, Miner, Deep, and Demon. Joining them were four Reapers and two Reaper prospects. They were here to welcome Painter, who’d gone down with me on a weapons charge. This sucked, but such is life. We’d been fighting for our clubs, so no regrets there. Through a combination of luck and well-placed payoffs, we’d managed to stick together for the duration of our time served. The clubs provided the funds and the attorneys—to protect them, we matched that investment with our silence.
Painter caught my eye from across the room, grinning. After so much time together I could almost read his thoughts. I gave him a nod, one of those chin jerks that speaks volumes.
Congrats to you, too, a$$hole.
“You havin’ fun?” a man asked. I looked down to find a painfully skinny, greasy little man missing half his teeth standing next to me. Tweaker called Teeny. His face was just a little too eager, his eyes a little too bright. Unfortunately, Teeny was our host for the night so I had to be nice to him. We were out in the middle of nowhere, tucked back in a canyon where this douche had somehow acquired a house. The Longnecks MC—one of our “allies,” although their loyalty was questionable—had a warehouse set up in a shop right next to this guy’s house.
This Teeny a$$hole wasn’t even part of the club . . . Apparently his brother Bax was patched in, though, so they used him as a pit stop. Something didn’t quite add up about the situation, but f*ck if I cared. In the morning I’d be riding for home. With luck my future association with the state of California in general and Teeny in particular would be extremely limited.
“See anything you like?” he asked. “That’s my old lady, there. “You want her? She’s real good, welcome you home right.”
I shrugged, glancing over toward his woman. She was probably in her midthirties, I decided. Pretty enough, but she had a hard, tired look around her eyes that didn’t appeal. Not only that, she was wiry and skinny as f*ck. Probably smoking meth to block out the fact that she had to live with this d*ckwad.
“No, she’s great but not my type,” I said, casually taking another drink of tequila. Wasn’t burning so much now, which in retrospect should’ve been a sign to slow down. Maybe things would’ve turned out different.
Sh!tty thing about time—only runs the one direction.
...

That’s when I saw her.
Now, I f*ckin’ hate clich├ęs, and sh!t like this only happens in movies . . . but I swear to f*ck, I think I fell for her in that instant. She was small, with long brown hair in one of those knot things on top of her head. Not dressed to show off her figure, either. I could still see she had a tiny waist, though, along with generous t!ts and the kind of round, healthy curves you just know will cradle your hips perfectly when you’re pounding her.
I had to have her.
Like, needed her. Now.
“Good call,” Teeny said. I ignored him, focusing on the angel I had every intention of owning just as soon as I talked her out of her pants. God, she was pretty. Kind of out of place, too. Not flirting with anyone, and not a ton of makeup. Just wandering around, picking up empties, and avoiding conversation. Fascinating.
“I’ll introduce you.”
Teeny walked across the room toward my Dream F*ck. I started after him, because I didn’t want the a$$hole speaking on my behalf. Then Boonie caught my arm.
“Heads‑up,” he said, his voice pitched low, difficult to hear through the noise of the party. “We think somethin’s going on with that guy. Don’t be afraid to talk him up, okay? Can always use good information.”
I nodded, wondering why the f*ck Teeny had to pick me to buddy up with. Tonight was for relaxing, enjoying myself. Just looking at him made me feel dirty, and considering some of the sh*t I’ve pulled in my life, that’s an accomplishment. Another hand slapped my back, then Painter caught me by the neck, squeezing me as he laughed.
“Never ends,” he said. “Boonie c*ck-blocking you?”
I punched him in the gut—not hard. Just enough to make him back off.
 “No, right now you have that honor,” I muttered, glaring at him. “Christ, we just spent a year together in a f*ckin’ cell. Think we’ve covered everything, so let me get laid? Please?”
He answered by punching me back, and I reeled . . . damn, hadn’t realized how drunk I’d gotten. Still, I wasn’t about to go down easy. I swayed, watching him as our brothers started crowding around us. The wild gleam in his eyes—a mixture of almost manic happiness and pent‑up energy—matched my own.
“Take it outside,” Boonie said. “I got fifty on Puck.”
“Hundred on Painter,” Picnic Hayes, the Reapers’ president, answered and then we were bundled outside for the fight.
I couldn’t wait.
We’d sparred before, of course. Nothing but time to kill in the pen, so I knew Painter’s moves like they were my own— and he knew mine, too. We were a good match, could go either way. Neither of us had much in the way of formal training but we’d both picked up a fair amount along the way. Hell, I’d gotten caught in my first bar fight when I was fourteen years old, seeing as my pop wasn’t exactly Father of the Year material. Still loved the old bastard, though.
The sun was fading as we stepped outside, painting the sky in pinks and oranges shot through with smudged clouds. I paused a moment, struck by the incredible beauty all around me, and smiled, breathing deep. So f*cking good to be outside again. Nobody knows what it’s like, trapped in a cell like an animal. Nobody but the guys who’ve heard the sound of those gates closing behind them.
Fortunately for me, I wasn’t exactly the first Silver Bastard to do time for the club, which meant my brothers got me. They knew what this was like.
“Okay, we got a circle here,” Pic was saying. I blinked, starting to process the fact that maybe boxing with Painter while I was drunk might not be such a hot idea. Of course, he was drunk, too, and the booze would numb the pain . . . “Fight goes until one of you is down or taps out. Time to make your bets, brothers.”
Boonie caught my arm, pulling me to the side and looking into my face.
“You ready?” he asked. I nodded sharply, because drunk or not, I wasn’t going to pu$$y out in front of my president on the same day I got my colors. I glanced across the dusty circle to see Painter, who gave me a friendly sneer. Laughing, I flipped him off, then shook my arms out, loosening up.
That’s when I saw her again. Off to the side, standing next to Teeny, who was talking rapidly and pointing to me. I frowned, because I really didn’t need or want that a$$hole on my side. Knowing my luck, the f*cker would send her running. I nudged my brother, Deep, who was standing next to me.
“See that girl?” I asked, jerking my chin toward her. “Make sure Teeny doesn’t scare her off, okay?”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Thanks.”
Painter and I stepped into the circle together, and I felt the thrill of adrenaline cut through the haze of alcohol. My blood started pumping, pounding through me until I could all but taste it. Christ, but I loved to fight. Always seemed to clear my head, and I’d gotten good enough over the years that I won more than I lost. Inside, those skills had saved our a$$es, and I’d picked up my fair share of pointers from the very man I found myself facing.
Painter moved first, coming in with an experimental jab toward my stomach. This wasn’t a real attack, just him testing my limits. I’d had a lot to drink, which would slow my reflexes. So had he. That changed the baseline, something we both needed to feel out.
“Can’t believe they gave you a top rocker,” he said, taunting me.
I grinned.
“Try harder, old man. I know you too well.”
Painter laughed, then came at me again, suddenly. He punched me square in the stomach and I doubled over. Shit. I fell back and almost stumbled out of the ring, catching myself at the last minute. I heard the shouts of my brothers urging me on.
Oh, hell no.
No f*cking way I’d lose a fight tonight. Painter could f*ck right off, because he’d had his colors for years. This was my night. I owned this b!tch and he’d just have to suck it up and deal.
Still staggering, I lurched forward toward him like I was out of control. Then I attacked, and this time I caught him. One hit, two. Three. Right in the gut. Painter gasped and I moved in for the kill.
Somehow he pulled himself together, catching me across the chin. My entire head rattled as I staggered to the side. I felt blood in my mouth, then found a loose tooth with my tongue.
A$$hole.
I thought of the pretty girl I’d just seen, which pissed me off. The anger was good. Cleared my head. Didn’t matter if I won or not, she wouldn’t want to suck face with someone bleeding like a stuck pig. This wasn’t a fight—it was a c*ck-block.
Time to end it.
Painter waited for me, swaying. I’d gotten him pretty good.
He was definitely favoring his left hand, which was great news because he was left-handed. Lucky me. I was ambidextrous.
I launched myself at him, turning that to my advantage.
He tried to block me but his arm was weak. I landed a blow to his gut followed by one that caught the side of his cheek. Pain seared through my hand, parting the fog of alcohol.
“D!ck,” he managed to gasp as I danced back, flexing my fingers. That last one had been bad—if I’d been any more off-center, I’d have a fist full of broken bones.
“You got him,” Boonie shouted. I stretched my hand again. Did I want to risk another head blow? I hadn’t even wrapped my knuckles. . .
F*ck it.
I caught his chin again and Painter went down, falling hard. Blood dribbled from his nose and for long seconds I wondered if I’d actually hurt him for real.
Then he managed to roll onto his stomach, tapping out and flipping me off, all in one gesture.
“Congrats on getting your colors, Puck,” he groaned. “I’ll give you this one. Enjoy it while you can because next time I’m killing you.”
I staggered back, grinning and raising my hands once I realized he wasn’t seriously hurt. It’d been a lucky shot and we both knew it—we were well matched, could’ve gone either way. As I heard my brothers shouting in victory I didn’t care. This was my night. I had my freedom and my patch.
Still needed that girl, though.
I looked around and spotted her standing next to Deep. Teeny stood on the other side of him, looking all sorry for himself. She was hugging herself with both arms, obviously nervous, and I felt my smile fade. Shit. I hadn’t wanted her scared. I shook my head, wishing things weren’t moving so fast. Waving off the men crowding around me, I headed toward her, half expecting her to run off.
She didn’t, though.
As I came to a stop in front of her, she gave me a wavering smile, then spoke. “Can I help you find another drink?”
“F*ck yeah.”
I took her arm and pulled her into my side, exchanging a satisfied look with Deep.
“Let me know if you need anything!” Teeny yelled after us, and
I felt the girl shudder.
“Christ, but he’s a nasty little sh!t, isn’t he?” I asked her conversationally, and she gave a startled snort of laughter. I liked the sound. Sweet and sort of innocent. Made my d!ck happy, that was for sure. Still, I didn’t want to f*ck things up and push her too hard, because the skittish vibes were intense.
“Yeah, he is,” she agreed quietly, and I leaned down to kiss the top of her head. She smelled good—fresh and clean, just like I’d been fantasizing all those months inside. Fresh and clean and perfect.
I wondered what she’d taste like.
“They’re lighting a fire out back,” she told me, her voice soft. “By the kegs. Maybe we should go over there?”
Hmmm . . . I could work with that.
“Okay.”
She tried to pull away from me then, but I caught her hand playfully, tugging her back toward me.
“I can’t get you a beer if you don’t let me go,” she pointed out.
F*ck. She was right. Still, I wasn’t about to let her get away that easy—knowing my luck, Painter’d swoop in and take her, just to f*ck with my head. If anyone could pull it off, he could. F*cker was pretty in his own weird way—even I could see it. I couldn’t compete, not with the nasty scar on my face.
I’d just have to keep a close eye on her, I decided. Protect what was mine.



* * *
EXCERPT 2

Fifteen minutes later, I watched as Horse, Becca, and her mom walked out of the house. At least thirty members of the Longnecks MC stood watching, talking quietly among themselves. I kept waiting for one of them to reach for a gun or challenge us, but they didn’t.
No sign of Teeny.
Becca had stopped crying, but her face was still covered in tear-smeared blood, and nasty bruises were popping up all over. Her breath sounded wheezy, too, and I hoped to hell she didn’t have broken ribs.
 “I don’t want to go,” she whispered, catching at her mom’s arm. “I want to stay with you.”
“You’re getting out,” the woman replied, her eyes hard and calculating. “Let him cool off, then we’ll talk. Figure something out.”
Becca shook her head, but when I caught her arm gently she let me pull her away.
“You want to ride in the truck or on my bike?”
Becca glanced at the truck, eyes widening at the sight of two Reaper prospects. “I’ll stay with you.”
I nodded and climbed on my bike, eyes alert as I monitored our audience. She climbed up behind me, and then her mother gave a satisfied nod. Becca wrapped her arms around me and I felt her t!ts press tight against my back. My c*ck stirred to life. What the f*cking hell was wrong with me?
“How old are you?” I asked, my voice low.
“Sixteen.”
Sh!t.
“Like, you’re almost seventeen?”
“No, I turned sixteen last week.”
Double sh!t.
Boonie kicked his bike to life, and we followed his lead, pulling away from the house in formation.

So that’s the story of how I committed statutory rape less than twenty-four hours out of prison—on my birthday, no less. In retrospect, I probably should’ve stayed inside, served out my full five-year term. Would’ve been less work for everyone.




Meet Puck & Becca on April 7th!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1L800mj

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1Jo5nlE

Barnes & Noble:  http://bit.ly/19pOdnS






Blurb
First in the new Silver Valley series from the New York Times bestselling author of the Reapers Motorcycle Club Novels.

Fourteen months. For fourteen months, Puck Redhouse sat in a cell and kept his mouth shut, protecting the Silver Bastards MC from their enemies. Then he was free and it was time for his reward--full membership in the club, along with a party to celebrate. That's when he saw Becca Jones for the first time and set everything in motion. Before the night ended he'd violated his parole and stolen her away from everything she knew.

Five years. It was five years ago that Puck destroyed Becca and saved her all in one night. She's been terrified of him ever since, but she's even more terrified of the monsters he still protects her from... But Becca refuses to let fear control her. She's living her life and moving forward, until she gets a phone call from the past she can't ignore. She has to go back, and there's only one man she can trust to go with her--the ex-con biker who rescued her once before.

Puck will help her again, but this time it'll be on his terms. No more lies, no more tears, and no more holding back what he really wants...



About the Author:

Joanna Wylde is a New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.

Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | TwitterGoodreads

  

THANK YOU!

~Leftie

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