Wreck & Ruin (Tarnished Angels Motorcycle Club, #1)

by Emma Slate

“I don’t like grumpy men,” I huffed. “Maybe not. But you like me.” “I do not.” Colt’s gaze dipped down my body and lingered on my breasts. “Then your nipples are liars.” “You’re crass. And an asshole.” His smile was slow, heated. “Yeah. And you definitely like it.”

I cried silently, wishing Grammie was still alive. Not because misery loved company, but I just wished there was someone on this earth who’d once loved me unconditionally.

“Each day we’re one step closer to the end. Don’t want to die and wish I’d really lived.”

“I’m a proponent for happiness. For following your own path. For choosing someone who may not have been the person you thought you were going to wind up with.” I paused and then chugged the rest of my drink. “What you’re saying makes a lot of sense. I blame tequila for that.”

“Okay, maybe I’m slightly toasted. But I can still walk a straight line. Want me to prove it?” “Please, don’t,” Colt said. “The last thing I need is for you to trip over your own two feet and hurt yourself. You’re a walking liability, you know that, right?” I wrinkled my nose and stuck out my tongue.

“I want you in my bed. My bed at my house. I wanna walk to the kitchen naked. I wanna shower with you and take you against the wall. I don’t need my brothers hearing me screaming your name.”

“We’ve all got scars, Colt. It’s just…some of them aren’t visible.”

“every relationship is a failure except the one that works. You and I work.”

“My name is James,” he said, his tone raspy. “James Stewart Weston, and when I marry you, you’ll be a Weston. And when we have kids—because damn it, there needs to be tiny yous running around in this world, they’ll be Westons too. There needs to be more light in this shit-as-fuck world. And the only way I know how to leave it a better place is to give it a piece of you. Because you’re all fucking heart and I know that. I know it in my soul, Mia. I swore I’d protect you and keep you safe. That goes for our family too. I’ll protect you,” he repeated. “All of you.”

Knight didn’t look at Boxer—instead he stared at me. “Your mother…her name was Scarlett O’Banion.” My eyes widened. “How did you—” “Because,” Knight’s eyes were grim. “I’m your father.”