Masters of Menace: A Biker Erotic Romance Read Online Free
Author: Sophia Hampton
nodded once, shoulders drooping. Two huge realizations crashing down on me: I had gotten myself in way over my head, and Lawrence had saved my life.
The next week passed in a blurry haze of talking to insurance people, trying to salvage things from my house, and buying what essentials I needed. Fortunately my bedroom had escaped the fire mostly unscathed, so I was able to get my laptop and some clothes that didn’t smell entirely of smoke. The charred remains of my life—my happy years, my childhood, Dad —lay scattered through the yard and house. I found the flag I received at my father’s funeral, mostly burned through.
I clutched it to my chest and looked up at Michael Lawrence, who had been around for this whole process, shirking his responsibilities as the king of a motorcycle gang. In the space of two days I came to depend on him—somehow. I told myself it was because he was indirectly responsible for this whole mess and therefore he needed to shoulder the backlash. Or that he was there when I heard the news, so he was in some way tied to this whole mess. But in my quiet, rational moments, I knew it was because I didn’t want him to leave me.
To make matters even worse, I had been staying at his apartment. He didn’t really give me the option of where to stay, and I didn’t question the situation. He was completely honorable and respectable. He made up the couch to be slept on, but let me use his bed. As soon as I shut the bedroom door he didn’t open it until I did so myself in the morning.
If my father could see me now.
I felt nothing but shame for the situation until I looked into his eyes and I couldn’t think of anything that could be more right. Sometimes I felt like I was this desperate high school student all over again, hung up on some guy without him even noticing me. Then I could catch him looking at me, hurriedly turning away when I saw him.
I even had the completely unholy thought one night that I was happy my house burned down so that I could spend time with him. Somehow my world spun on a dime and instead of being obsessed with the villainous Michael Lawrence, I was obsessed with the romantic, heroic Michael Lawrence. He was… charming, to put it mildly.
He somehow knew what I needed during this time. He gave me all the space and closeness and support I could need as I tried to readjust my thinking and figure out where to live, how to live, what my life meant anymore.
I realized that everything I thought I knew about my life and how it would play out was completely wrong. I was so far from right that I was falling for the guy I believed, up until then, had killed my father.
The more I got to know Michael, the more I realized he couldn’t hurt a fly. Hell, I had seen him capture a fly in the house with a plastic cup and release it outside. He had a tank of fish he cared for like a mother with her newborn. He complained that his apartment wouldn’t let him have anything except house plants and fish because he really wanted to rescue a puppy. And his greatest desire in life was to have a little girl he could dote on. This whole “tough guy biker boss” was just a front. I asked him about this persona once as we drank wine from the bottle and watched crappy sitcoms from our teenage years.
“Because of an accident more than anything. When I was seventeen I started working on my bike. I had somehow managed to convince my mother I could have a bike if I bought one cheap and fixed it up.
"It is the same bike I still have. I invested basically everything I saved into that hunk of metal. It was beautiful—still is beautiful—and when I rode it, other people took notice. Specifically the CCA.
"Soon I was approached by them. They were an unruly mess of men who didn’t seem to have any motive or idea of what they were doing with their lives or why they even existed. They were basically Vikings, or maybe pirates, and it disgusted me.
"I
The next week passed in a blurry haze of talking to insurance people, trying to salvage things from my house, and buying what essentials I needed. Fortunately my bedroom had escaped the fire mostly unscathed, so I was able to get my laptop and some clothes that didn’t smell entirely of smoke. The charred remains of my life—my happy years, my childhood, Dad —lay scattered through the yard and house. I found the flag I received at my father’s funeral, mostly burned through.
I clutched it to my chest and looked up at Michael Lawrence, who had been around for this whole process, shirking his responsibilities as the king of a motorcycle gang. In the space of two days I came to depend on him—somehow. I told myself it was because he was indirectly responsible for this whole mess and therefore he needed to shoulder the backlash. Or that he was there when I heard the news, so he was in some way tied to this whole mess. But in my quiet, rational moments, I knew it was because I didn’t want him to leave me.
To make matters even worse, I had been staying at his apartment. He didn’t really give me the option of where to stay, and I didn’t question the situation. He was completely honorable and respectable. He made up the couch to be slept on, but let me use his bed. As soon as I shut the bedroom door he didn’t open it until I did so myself in the morning.
If my father could see me now.
I felt nothing but shame for the situation until I looked into his eyes and I couldn’t think of anything that could be more right. Sometimes I felt like I was this desperate high school student all over again, hung up on some guy without him even noticing me. Then I could catch him looking at me, hurriedly turning away when I saw him.
I even had the completely unholy thought one night that I was happy my house burned down so that I could spend time with him. Somehow my world spun on a dime and instead of being obsessed with the villainous Michael Lawrence, I was obsessed with the romantic, heroic Michael Lawrence. He was… charming, to put it mildly.
He somehow knew what I needed during this time. He gave me all the space and closeness and support I could need as I tried to readjust my thinking and figure out where to live, how to live, what my life meant anymore.
I realized that everything I thought I knew about my life and how it would play out was completely wrong. I was so far from right that I was falling for the guy I believed, up until then, had killed my father.
The more I got to know Michael, the more I realized he couldn’t hurt a fly. Hell, I had seen him capture a fly in the house with a plastic cup and release it outside. He had a tank of fish he cared for like a mother with her newborn. He complained that his apartment wouldn’t let him have anything except house plants and fish because he really wanted to rescue a puppy. And his greatest desire in life was to have a little girl he could dote on. This whole “tough guy biker boss” was just a front. I asked him about this persona once as we drank wine from the bottle and watched crappy sitcoms from our teenage years.
“Because of an accident more than anything. When I was seventeen I started working on my bike. I had somehow managed to convince my mother I could have a bike if I bought one cheap and fixed it up.
"It is the same bike I still have. I invested basically everything I saved into that hunk of metal. It was beautiful—still is beautiful—and when I rode it, other people took notice. Specifically the CCA.
"Soon I was approached by them. They were an unruly mess of men who didn’t seem to have any motive or idea of what they were doing with their lives or why they even existed. They were basically Vikings, or maybe pirates, and it disgusted me.
"I
Readers choose
P. J. Hoover
Mark McGuinness
Amy Espeseth
Viola Rivard
Barbara Taylor Sissel
Lois McMaster Bujold
Varian Johnson
Christopher Tyerman