Wicked Kind of Love Read online

  Wicked Kind of Love: Prairie Devils MC Romance

  By Nicole Snow

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Wicked Kind of Love: Prairie Devils MC Romance (Outlaw Love)

  I: Fractured (Emma)

  II: A Miserable Arrangement (Emma)

  III: All Kinds of Damaged (Tank)

  IV: Boomerang (Emma)

  V: Duty's Torture (Tank)

  VI: Drowning (Emma)

  VII: Gone to Hell (Tank)

  VIII: Torn Apart (Emma)

  IX: Ambush (Tank)

  X: Not Without My Hero (Emma)

  XI: Balance (Tank)

  XII: Eternal Flame (Emma)

  Thanks!

  Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America.

  First published in September, 2014.

  Disclaimer: The following ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.

  Description

  WICKED LOVE: UNDENIABLE, DEEP, AND RELENTLESS...

  Emma Galena thinks moonlighting as a medic for the Prairie Devils MC is tough, and then she meets Tank. No job is supposed to be this hard, this dangerous, this insane. Neither is her attraction to the tattooed giant who upends everything.

  John “Tank” Richmond has taken more beatings than anybody for his club. Bullets, knives, and brawls were never half as painful as the dagger Emma twists in his heart. Tank wants this chick bad, but he won't have her in his brutal world, knowing it's a one way ticket to suffering.

  If only he could forget about claiming the angel who won't leave his head. If only he could stop the crazy lust boiling his blood every time he imagines her wearing his brand and nothing else.

  PROPERTY OF TANK? Not so fast.

  Tank's right about how vicious the underworld can be. Soon, a broken heart is the least of Emma's worries when a Fed with a grudge ropes her into a scheme to bring down the Devils for good, testing her loyalty to the outlaws she's sworn to serve and the man she can't stop loving.

  Will chasing an impossible, wicked love cost Tank and Emma everything?

  Note: this is a dark and gritty MC romance with language, violence, and love scenes as wild as they come. Outlaw love is merciless!

  The Prairie Devils MC books are stand alone novels featuring unique lovers and happy endings. No cliffhangers allowed! This is Tank and Emma's story.

  I: Fractured (Emma)

  Did I have regrets?

  Not until I saw him behind the glass and heard the chains rustling on his huge arms. For a man his size, handcuffs weren't enough.

  The bastards put two hulking sets of medieval looking irons on his wrists, and it still looked like he'd break right through them if he flexed his arms. His legs were just as anchored, bound as his wrists, but not in any way that would really be able to contain this giant. If he'd wanted, one kick would've snapped the rusty links scraping the floor between his ankles.

  But what would've been the point?

  Tank was done running. He'd proven that in spades last week when he killed to protect me.

  The guilt stung, and I lowered my eyes, focusing on my hands before his eyes could focus on me.

  He'd reached the end of the line. Just like me.

  Lust made us lovers, and murder made us more, bound together in a pact of blood I thought was only meant for Tank and his brothers.

  Wrong? Hell yes. Regrets? No, no, fuck no.

  Nothing but one. I signed myself to him in blood and sin, and I'd do it all over again just for one more crushing taste of his lips.

  The sole thing I regretted was seeing those chains bulging around his rock hard muscle and the ratty orange jumpsuit one size too small for his skin.

  We'd reached the end of the line, but at least we were here together. Now, there was nothing left to do but face justice. For him, it was the dingy prison and the solemn faced judges. My justice was all him, a heavily tattooed god who'd broken my world and pieced it back together again as he damn well pleased, harder than anything I'd imagined but oh-so-worth-it.

  The thick glass between us felt like nothing. It was no match for the raging fire in his eyes. I looked up, trying not to see my own guilt inscribed on his gorgeous ink, the same massive arms he'd used to split a monster's skull open.

  I was the reason he killed, the reason he was in here now. And if things were really as fucked up as they seemed, I was the reason he'd be stuck here until he was old and gray, too withered to ride a Harley.

  How could I even begin to speak? It would've been better to rip out my heart out and sling it against the glass, savage beating proof that I owed him my life, my love, my soul?

  If only it were so easy to pull it out! My heart throbbed so tight in my chest I thought the surging blood flow up my head would cause me to black out in front of him.

  My words were obliterated, and they didn't start to return until he was fully seated. I swallowed hard. The bruises and scrapes on his face were still there, only halfway faded, brutal reminders of the damage he'd suffered, a sacrifice that said more than a thousand I love yous ever would.

  Of course, he'd never flinch at physical pain. Dents and scratches never fazed him, and I wasn't sure mortal wounds did either. Hell, he was so fearless and hard headed he probably didn't care about the real punishment that was only beginning, the imprisonment away from everything he loved.

  I wasn't so strong. The crappy orange jumpsuit wrapped around his muscles burned my heart a thousand times worse than my eyes, turned it to ashes when I wondered how much life he'd forfeit in a shoebox cell.

  Jesus. Why, Tank? Why?

  I shook my head. The answer came a second later, sparking in his eyes.

  Because murder doesn't come cheap, and neither does love.

  The cop near the door behind him stepped through it and continued to watch us through the little glass pane.

  Hell didn't do anything to dampen the way I got lost in his eyes. When he stared at me, I froze, instantly forgetting all the scripted sorrows I'd been practicing to myself in the waiting room.

  “Emma,” Tank said, breaking the tomb-like silence. “Why did you come?” He turned his wrist, showing off the eagle with the Devil's head in its talons inked on his forearm, two symbols that wrapped up his whole mad world.

  Just tell him the truth. Perfect words aren't worth a damn. Honest ones are.

  “I had to, Tank. I needed to thank you. He was unstable. He was going to hurt me if you hadn't –“

  “They're listening,” he warned. “Prisoners got no right to privacy, babe. Especially guys who're part of a club the Feds are trying to brand domestic terrorists.”

  The damned club! His whole life was folding, and still he stayed loyal, giving his brothers the same grim sacrifice he'd given me.

  My whole mouth tasted bitter when I thought about it. If it weren't for the Prairie Devils MC, neither of us would be suffering like this right now. We wouldn't be here with this shitty glass between us instead of in each other's arms.

  Then again, there was plenty of blame to go around. I couldn't pin it all on the club, however tempting.

  If I hadn't gotten myself into a cash grab I didn't understand patching up their wounds, I wouldn't have met him. If I hadn't met him, he wouldn't be here, and a man's blood wouldn't be on both our hands – and the selfish fucking psycho who deserved everything Tank gave him wouldn't be having the last laugh from beyond the grave by bringing down my man and his brothers.

  “That isn't going to happen. No one's going to take down the club.” I shook my head, desperate to shake the unpleasant thoughts. “The lawyers are working on it. They'll get your guys off the h
ook and get you home.”

  Tank snorted and flashed me a smile. It wasn't a smart ass gesture, though. More like an old man marveling at a child's innocence.

  “Blaze's lawyers have got some fancy tricks up their asses. Yeah, the club'll be fine, but nobody's gonna spring me free. Shit doesn't work like that, babe. I'm gonna be cooling my heels in this shithole a good long while. Thank fuck those tours in Afghanistan taught me all about patience.”

  I took a good long look at his face. Killing hadn't changed a damned thing. Why would it? It wasn't like my kill was his first.

  He was beautiful, through and through, a living, breathing contrast to the black heart within. My grandmother used to tell me I had big friends in high places when I was a kid, but her silly little saying never meant anything until I met Tank. And right now, it meant the whole world, my overly logical brain's attempt to justify this mess and prevent myself from breaking down into a weeping pile.

  My guardian angel was behind that glass, paying for my mistakes.

  “You didn't come to talk business, babe.” He leaned forward, close to the glass as he could get. “We both know why you're here. Listen, Emma, whatever may or may not have happened last week – don't ever feel a flap of guilt about it. Not for me, and certainly not for that motherfucker who tried to kill your sweet ass. What's done is done. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I did everything to keep you safe. Nobody but you and my brothers matters worth shit.”

  Damn! The tear sliding down my cheek burned like lava.

  It wasn't supposed to go like this. Maybe if he showed something besides the cool and collected intensity beaming out his eyes, it would've made this easier. I couldn't reconcile him accepting surrender with the fact that it looked like he could get up, break his twig-like chains, bust through the glass, and walk right out of here.

  Whatever, just as long as he didn't warn me again. I wouldn't be able to take it. Not after he'd warned me about this life, trying to nudge me away from it, and far away from him.

  Couldn't he see there was no going back? I was already tainted, in too deep. At this depth, a girl couldn't have those regrets, or else she'd drown.

  I wasn't going to walk away, dammit, no matter how much he aimed those perfect honey eyes in my direction. He was paying the ultimate price for me, but I'd suffered for him too!

  Pleasure made walking through pure hell a whole lot easier. I couldn't forget the months I'd spent heating up like a rocket in his presence, let alone the perfect nights when I traced those sexy tattoos with my fingers, my tongue, my everything.

  “No, Tank, you listen! It's my turn to talk.” I reached up and tapped the glass. So cold against my palm. “We were going to have something new and wonderful before all this crap hit. I still want that, and I don't care one bit how long I have to wait. If it takes you ten years to come home – even twenty! – I'll be waiting. There's nobody else but you, and there never will be. Just thinking about another guy makes me want to throw up. Nobody'll ever fill your giant damned shoes. They can't.”

  For a second, his eyes went bright, glowing with the same addictive fire I saw when we were alone together. Then it went out, and my heart dropped like a rock. He was determined to turn me away.

  “I fucked up, Emma, and I'm not talking about the reason I'm in here. I fucked myself when I decided to go after you. Trapped your heart when I should've set it free. Should've stuck to my guns. Should've kept you away. Should've had the Prez turn you right out of the fucking clubhouse and found a girl half as beautiful and smart to play doctor...”

  “Shut up!” I was shaking now, losing more tears in hot, painful streams. “You can't regret this! I have mine, but they're all about the time we've wasted. If we weren't too stupid, too slow, playing games on both sides, we would've had more to remember. But I don't care how much or how little there is. Everything I've had with you, I'm holding onto. I'm not going to let it go just because someone tells me to – even if it's you.”

  His smile was gone. He moved slow, never taking his eyes off me, never showing the tiniest crack in his rock hard armor. My hand was trembling, splayed out on the glass.

  It was hard enough to look at him like this, but I couldn't see a damned thing after he mirrored my little hand, eclipsing it in his huge palm behind the glass. The whole world went blurry, sprouting painful thorns.

  “We had our time, babe, but the motherfucking clock's run out. I'm gonna cherish every fucking second we had 'til the day I die.” He paused. “This shit cuts both ways, you know. I know it's gonna take some time to get your head and heart fixed. You'll tell me and my advice where to fuck off to, and that's your right. But I'm not gonna let you waste the rest of your life circling the skies for me, wasting your best fuckin' years. Gonna make you listen, and listen good, because it'll make sense someday when days have turned into weeks and weeks have become fucking months.”

  No, no, no...

  Why did my eyes have to fail me like this? Why couldn't it be my ears? Hot, painful tears jerked at my vision.

  “Walk away, Em. Pack your shit up and leave Missoula. You can land a nursing gig in Seattle or Portland or Eureka and start all over. Forget the Prairie Devils and my stupid ass too. What went down happened because I couldn't let you get hurt – same damned reason I'm saying this shit now. If you really care about me, you'll do exactly what I say, and do it as soon as you fucking can.” He inhaled slowly. “My life's fucked, babe. Yours isn't. Fuck, you were the victim here. Nobody disputes that. I can't drag you straight to Hades like a goddamned boulder strapped to your back. Look at me, Emma...”

  He waited. Slowly, I did as he asked, clearing my eyes. If he was really this determined, it might be the last time I'd see him, and I wanted this to count.

  “Please. There's got to be another way.” My words were faint, weak, defeated because I knew damned well there wasn't.

  “There's only one way, and I'm pointing to it.” His hand was gone from mine, and he stuck a finger out, pointing toward the exit sign down the hall. “Go. You got strength and beauty, babe. That's gonna make this whole fucking thing easier with time. You wanna talk about regrets? Only one I got is breaking your heart. But if that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'm game. One day, everything'll make sense, and I'll be nothing but a distant fucking memory. Get the hell out and go live enough for both of us.”

  I jerked up. I couldn't listen to anymore of this heart wrenching shit. He was right about one thing: the man had a knack for shattering my heart and piecing it back together so many times I'd lost count.

  He wanted to confess regrets? Then so did I.

  I regretted ever losing my head and falling for this stern, violent, beast of a man. I regretted re-wiring my head to the point where I knew I'd never love another man as much as Tank, and I'd keep loving him against all the terrible odds.

  I wasn't going to stop. I couldn't. If prison bars or his stupid high ideals stood between us, I didn't care. Not one tiny shred.

  He'd keep hammering my heart to pieces – that much was given. But as long as I still had a single beating ember left, I couldn't shut it off. If he blew my love to pieces, the tiny cinders would just keep beating for his dumb ass, and only for him.

  He owned it all – every fragile piece of me – and he'd keep it if we never laid eyes on each other or spoke again.

  II: A Miserable Arrangement (Emma)

  Months Earlier

  “Linda, what's wrong?” I hadn't seen my lead RN so pissed since a patient beaned her at Christmas with the cafeteria's nasty pea and red lentil soup.

  She burst into the break room, hands up in the air, heading straight for the coffee pot like it was filled with something a lot more potent to take the edge off.

  “You wouldn't believe the nerve of those bikers,” she hissed.

  “Bikers? You mean the big guys in the leather hanging around the ICU's waiting area?”

  “Yep. Those are the pricks,” she hissed, leaving me shocked and stupid at her rare c
urse. “Put a man on a Harley, and he'll walk around like his dick owns God's green earth plus everything on it. Stay away from them.”

  She shot me a severe look. I practically expected her to wag a finger at me, clucking like the grandma she was. I shook my head to suppress a smile.

  Okay, now the guys out in the waiting area really had my interest. The two big badasses caught my eye that morning when I walked through. Their muscles and tattoos would've sent the buff dudes who delivered supplies at the hospital's loading docks running. I honestly couldn't tell who was rougher. The pair looked like they could've been brothers.

  They definitely didn't look like any bikers I was used to seeing around here. I'd been a Montana girl all my life, and everybody with a brain in their head stayed the hell away from the greasy, vicious criminals who wore the Grizzlies MC patch.

  These guys, though...they were a clean kinda rugged. Not just clean, but ripped, big boys who'd built themselves up without letting drugs and booze whittle down their muscles. Either the Grizzlies had some hot new recruits, or something else was going on here.

  “Emma! Did you hear what I said?” Linda cocked her head, eyeing me suspiciously. “Don't get any funny ideas. These are men you don't want to mess around with. Even a simple hello can lead places you'd never imagine...”

  I shook my head, breaking the trance. “Sorry. I don't understand...what happened? What did they do to you?”

  “That freak named Maverick...” she gritted her teeth. “Not only did he try to slip me cash for supplies, he wanted to know if I wanted to work for his stupid club. Can you believe it? Me, working for a bunch of brutes like them? Ha!”

  She threw her hands up. “It's so ridiculous it isn't even funny.”

  I bit my tongue, suppressing another smile. Linda was so damned uptight, but she was a good boss just the same. Everybody said she'd been wilder in her younger days, and now she did overtime playing the perfect grandma to make up for it.

  “How much cash are we talking about, Linda?”

  “More than any of us will make this year with overtime. If crime didn't pay, there wouldn't be creeps like them.” She shook her head, dashing a little redness in her angry cheeks. “Bastard had a whole stack of hundreds ready. He called it 'good faith' money.”