“Magenta,” Quake grated.
“You know her?” Malik questioned, reading his expression.
“Yes . . . no,” Quake muttered. “I thought I did once. She used to work at a club I know run by a Fae. Fuck. I don’t know how I’ve never seen this before where it’s so popular.”
It looked like her website and online store generated a lot of buzz. He might not be a geek surfing the internet all the time but something like this should have popped up at least once or twice on ads at the porn sites he trolled.
“We have an anti-Fae ward around the building,” Tobias told him. “It shuts down their magic. If someone is protected by fairy glamour, hiding them in plain sight, then the blinders come off inside the Citadel.”
Stone watched Malik pull up the homepage of Lady Chatterley’s Leathers. “I’ve seen that website before but it was a different model . . . . Fuck, that is Magenta.”
Quake was only half listening. His attention was on the image on the screen, taking in every detail of the female who had haunted his waking hours and his dreams. Now that he’d found her, the questions burning inside him would finally be answered.
“Can one of you get me her business address?” he asked Malik and Zac.
Without a word, the other men typed away. Malik easily found the Lady Chatterley headquarters address. It took a while longer, but Zac got him a home address, too. “Her legal name is Rory Lockheart and she lives with Sydney Tremaine. Sorry, dude.”
So Rory Lockheart and Sydney Tremaine were an item. They fucking shared the same address. Not that he cared.
Quake was about to come calling.
The time for Magenta’s reckoning was at hand.
Their story continues in Hell’s Fury MC: Rory
(Guarded Hearts Book 8), out May 1, 2021.
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About the Authors
CLAIRE MARTA
A native Brit, I live in Italy with my husband and daughter. When I am not writing and drinking copious amounts of tea, I enjoy taking photos of my adoptive country, trying to stay fit with running, reading amazing books, and being a stay-at-home mother.
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NIA FARRELL
Nia Farrell is a four-time Golden Flogger Finalist and a founding member of the Wicked Pens. Dubbed “The Queen of Steam”, she writes hot sex and happy endings
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Savage Beginnings
An introduction to the Twisted Kings MCApril Canavan
Reader Warning
When I talked to Elizabeth Knox about joining Twisted Steel, I thought she was absolutely batty. She’s such a great friend of mine, though, and listened to my crazy idea for the start of Deacon’s story. I hope you enjoy this teaser, and I can’t wait to see what you think.
Be warned. This is not a complete story.
xoxo
April
1 Deacon
Silence.
For the first time in days, I found myself alone. There weren’t any of my men standing around, waiting for an order that I wasn’t ready to give. I didn’t have to check on my son to make sure he was safe. Everything, all the chaos and destruction that made up every single day of my life, was gone for once.
There weren’t any problems to solve. There weren’t a million things on my list to get done before I could go home and fall asleep, only to do it all again the next morning. I stood in front of the sliding glass doors that overlooked the lake and took in a deep breath.
After taking the longest shower of my life, making sure to wash all the blood from under my nails and scrub it out of my hair, I expected to hear nothing but the screams that had filled my ears and mind for the last week.
But there was nothing.
Nothing but silence.
“Fuck this shit.”
I slipped into a pair of jeans and a shirt that my little sister slid into my laundry when she didn’t think I was looking. What the fuck did I care if my shirt declared ‘I have anger issues’ to the world? Maybe it would make them think twice before trying to talk to me at the bar.
I grabbed my cut off the hook and slipped into the familiar leather, savoring the way it clung to my back like an old friend. Maybe if I got out, I wouldn’t feel so alone. I wouldn’t get caught in the emptiness without an escape. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like drowning my sorrows in a bottle of tequila if I had something else to concentrate on.
All the confidence in my choice that I had only a moment before vanished in an instant when I saw the open door in the hall. Rett’s bedroom. Just like that, I didn’t want to go out. I wanted to pick up my son and bring him home. When I pushed open the door with my boot, the silence was deafening.
His bed was made, and his toys were put away, and I couldn’t fight the sharp sting of sadness at the reminder of his absence. Avery must have cleaned Rett’s room before taking him for the week, because there wasn’t a single thing out of place. At seven years old, there hadn’t yet been a room that Rett couldn’t trash in under a minute, so his bedroom shouldn’t be clean.
When I saw the single sheet of paper lying on his bed, I laughed.
Deacon,
We cleaned his room, big brother. And the rest of the house. Enjoy your week. And NO, you cannot have your kid back. Rett will be fine. He’s got Lucas to keep him company. Maybe get laid or something. Mom wants more grandbabies and we all know she isn’t getting them from me.
Your favorite little sister,
Avery
P.S. NO. Again, you can’t have Rett back. Go out. Get laid. Do something besides sit in your house like a lonely old maid.
Of course Avery would be the one to call me on
