Wolf.e (The Soldiers of Bedlam #1)

by Paisley Hope

To all my good girls who know falling in love with the king of an outlaw motorcycle club doesn’t mean your mission in life is to change him. Instead, it is to embrace the wicked inside you and become his bad ass queen.

I fire up the butane torch again, time to take a little more ink off Gator’s neck and left arm where he bears the Disciples of Sin insignia. Their club has been our club’s natural enemy for years, ever since my grandfather, Ira Wolfe, started our legacy, The Hounds of Hell in the sixties.

Every single hope she had about me, about my club, shatters around her and falls to the earth. I never lied about who I am. The hopes she had were her own. I don’t pretend. I am the villain she sees now, but that’s not all I am. She will learn to understand. She has no choice but to. I find her eyes again, mouthing to her the only escape I can give, then press my gun to the spot between my prisoner’s eyes and pull the fucking trigger.

When my friends craved the good guy in the movies we watched growing up, I secretly always wanted the villain with his hand around the main character's throat. I want a man to look at me like he can’t wait to touch me at any given time of the day.

Hopefully, my friend telling me I’ll be safe is true because unless I come up with a really good excuse, it looks like I’ll be spending next weekend with Harmony’s most notorious outlaws.

He’s tall, maybe six-foot-four or six-foot-five and he’s wide and solid. He’s a real Jason Momoa type—part Khal Drogo, part outlaw.

He looks like the kind of dark mystery I would drown in.

The last thing I need, for my safety and my heart rate, is to be on the radar of the Hounds of Hell president.

“But goddamn, he’s fucking hot. BDE for sure,” Amber snorts out. “BDE?” I ask, and the girls laugh harder. “You are innocent, aren’t you, new girl?” Maria chuckles. “Biker dick energy,” Chantel fills me in.

“If you aren’t careful, little hummingbird, I may have to use that mouth to set you straight.” He leans in closer, and my knees go weak as his lips hover over my ear. “But maybe that’s exactly what you want… maybe you’re sick of being good, yeah?”

The word fiction comes from the Old French word ficcion—meaning ruse. And that’s what love is, a fucking ruse. Romantic love, at least.

But this woman’s mere existence, for some reason, just fucking thunderstruck me. The moment I saw her, I had the uncontrollable urge to pull her into the alley, tie her wrists together with that shirt around her waist, and make her scream my name until she was begging me instead of snubbing me.

You can look away all you want, but you can’t run from me, little hummingbird.

“And here I thought you were ready to shed this perfectly practiced little exterior… but now, I see. The hummingbird just wants to fight…”

“And he looked at her the way all women want to be looked at by a man,”

“You think you should fight your desires. The world has been telling you your whole life you should fight, but you don’t want to. You want me to touch you like this.”

“You can fight me if you want to, little hummingbird.”

“Fight,” he commands in an even deeper baritone. “And I promise, it will only make your pleasure sweeter.”

“My heart beats faster because… I’m afraid of you,”

“I know,” he growls. “I fucking love it.”

“Did you know humans are the only species that relates permission to anything sexual? For every other species that roams this earth, it is simply taken.”

“Desire and primal need are the only rules that are followed,” he says.

“It’s quite simple. You just let your body take what it wants.”

“You don’t know… what I want…” I pant out.

“But I do…I already know you.”

“You want to know what it’s like to be properly handled by a man. A man who can satisfy every dark craving you’ve ever had but have never admitted.”

“I’ve had men that can do that,”

“No, little hummingbird, you haven’t, because you only just met me today.”

“It’s not wise to test that smart mouth with me. I’m already testing every bit of fucking patience I have with you in my space,”

“Pain doesn’t scare you…”

“You get off on it,” he growls, his brow knotted in frustration, “Why does that make you angry?” I ask breathlessly, silently begging for more. “Because I want to do bad things to you.Very bad things. And knowing you won’t try to stop me? It’s dangerous for you.”

“The fucking sounds you make, you might as well be asking me to eat you alive.”

“Please what, little hummingbird?” I toy with her as frustrated little whimpers leave her lips. “Tell me what you want from me. You want to use my fingers to come?” “Yes.” She gives, another jolt of electricity to my cock. “Then, ask, use that smart mouth.” “I want to use you. Can I please use you?” she whispers shyly. It sounds like begging. Fuck, this woman’s sweet submissiveness was made for me. “If I let you use me, you better do it right… make a fucking mess,” I command as I continue fucking her with my fingers.

“When I make you come, I am your god. The only name you cry out is mine. Remember that for next time,” I tell her.

Once I make a decision, I never waiver or ask myself why. What I know is, I want Brinley Rose Beaumont in a way I can’t comprehend, and I’m nowhere near done uncovering the darkness in her.

You have the pussy. You have the power,”

He’s definitely a bad decision, maybe the worst one I could make at this time in my life. But something about the way he looks at me has me wanting to make it. Over and over again.

The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m usually pushing women out the door, but the one I actually let stay in my room last night snuck out and hid from me in the backseat of her Uber this morning. Something I’ll be teaching her? She doesn’t leave until I tell her she can leave.

One rule we live by? Women and kids are off fucking limits. Break those rules, you die, no matter who you are.

For the first time since I laid eyes on him, I admit it openly to myself with no hesitation. Wolfe is so gorgeous it’s almost suffocating, and for some insane reason he’s sitting in my driveway waiting for me.

“Get on the fucking bike, Brinley.”

“You’ve never been on a bike, which was obvious before you told me,” he says curtly. “And no woman has been on mine—ever.”

“Don’t let go, little bird,” he says low over his shoulder.

“Breathtaking,” I mutter, absorbing it all. Before I see him, I feel him, smell him. “Mm-hmm,” Wolfe murmurs, coming up behind me. I look up and he’s looking down at me.

She’s probably not going to come willingly but, whether she likes it or not, Brinley Rose Beaumont is already mine. Something about this woman has me wanting to strip her down, defile her and put the pieces back together in a way that suits only me, as if there was her life before she came apart for me and her life after, and that takes more time than just one night.

I will openly admit, the depth at which I’m thinking about this woman is enough to make me question my own fucking sanity, if that was something I did. But I don’t. I simply want her and I don’t care why.

I lean in so only Brinley can hear me. “Come to think of it, you’re not really his type.” My lips hover over her earlobe “We know everything about everyone, remember? And to be his type, you’d have to be much older and be ready to spank him if he doesn’t follow your every order.”

“I want to find out who Brinley Rose Beaumont is when, for once, she chooses herself. I want to be there when she finally lets herself be as wicked as she craves.”

“Listen to me now. You have two choices, little hummingbird. You die in these woods, or you become mine in these woods.”

“The poetic justice is that we always crave what we’re not.”