Wring: Road Kill MC #5 Read Online Free

cock, bitch. All your fucking stuck-up
white-girl bitch bullshit. Hiding that hot body underneath your
library clothes.”
    He crowds my neck,
scenting me like a stud dog.
    I mewl. My rage
evaporating to fear so acute, I clench my legs together so I don't
urinate four hundred feet from my front door.
    “I bet your pussy matches
the hair.”
    A vehicle rumbles past the
alley, and Vincent swings his head up in surprise, shoving me up
against the building. I slap my palms against the rough
brick.
    “What the fuck?” he asks
in a hoarse voice of interrupted arousal. His hand slides from my
hair to my wrist. He pulls me behind him, and I trip, bumping into
the back of him. I cry out when my nose rams his shoulder
blade.
    “Come on,
puppy. ” He gives a harsh tug, and I stumble forward, yelping from the abuse of my
wrist.
    Gliding toward us is a
man, approaching slowly on a really beautiful red motorcycle. The
color is like a juicy sparkling apple.
    He's as fair as I am.
Crisp white-blond hair is shaved close to his head, and a really
flat crop of it stands about a half inch on top of his
head.
    Icy-blue eyes flash at the
sight of us standing in the border of the alley, where shadows hide
Vincent's violence.
    I know the only person
that's seen us will roll on by. Just a girl and guy making out in
the gloom, he’ll assume.
    Tears roll down my face,
and my wrist is throbbing.
    The motorcycle slows. My hope
flares. Please help me , my eyes beg, despite my heart pulsing sickly in my
throat.
    Vincent's grip tightens,
and new tears follow the old. A hurt gasp escapes between my
lips.
    “Shut up, snatch,” Vincent
growls over his shoulder.
    Even sitting down on his
bike, the man is huge, bigger than the gang creep with his hand on
me. His eyes meet mine.
    Vincent postures, and he's
dangerous. In my mind's eye, he's like a rooster strutting around
in the chicken coop.
    This man filling my vision
doesn't posture. He oozes danger.
    His gaze flicks to
Vincent.
    “Fucking Road Kill mofo,”
Vincent seethes from between his teeth and spits in the direction
of the man. His snotty loogy hits the sidewalk in a gross stream,
and I shudder.
    The stranger frowns, his
bike slowing to a crawl.
    Road Kill? I have time to wonder, then he's rolling the great bike to a
stop and flipping the kickstand out with the heel of his black
boot. The metal tip hits the cement with a final-sounding
click.
    The bike settles, and the
rider sweeps his leg over the seat before hopping to the curb with
a grace that has my mouth hanging open.
    Up close, his coloring is
even more fair than mine. He's like a cool, smooth walking glacier
of muscle and menace.
    Maybe I shouldn't have
begged silently for help. Maybe this is a prime example of jumping
from the frying pan into the fire.
    His eyes move over me in
two seconds, lingering on my face a heartbeat longer, then he turns
his attention to Vincent.
    Vincent's free hand flexes
into a fist. “You got a problem, Road Kill maggot?”
    The stranger smiles at
Vincent. The expression is so frightening, I take a step
back.
    I watch Vincent frown at
my retreat. Without ever looking at me, he crushes my wrist. I yell
helplessly, dropping to my knees.
    “Oh God, please.” My hand
struggles over his to release me.
    “Let the girl
go.”
    That voice. It's deep. Articulate. Resonant. The tone strikes
me like a wake-up chime, and I ignore the extreme pain, daring to
look up.
    His crystalline eyes are
for Vincent—he never looks at me or acts like I'm even
there.
    I pant through the
grinding white-hot agony of my wrist.
    “No, man, she's a whore
bitch. Just getting some facts straight between us. Not Road Kill
MC biz. You feel?”
    Disgust and resignation flash
across the stranger's features. Finally, he turns to me, and the
full weight of his gaze seizes me, gripping me in a cosmic thrall.
I gulp. Holy hell.
    Who is he?
    His eyes slim on me with
clear disbelief. “This true? You this gang prick's
whore?”
    Instead of