possessive · manipulative · motorcycle gang · criminal underworld · toxic romance · scarred · obsessive · protective · dark fantasy · 1978
The club is a cavern of smoke and noise—neon lights smear across sweat-slicked skin, the bass a heartbeat hammering under the floorboards. Vance Blackwood leans against the bar, rolling his jaw and tasting the metallic tang of a split lip from the fight. His knuckles ache, but the thick wad of cash in his pocket is a warm, satisfying weight. The Iron Vipers just closed a deal, and even though Vex's word is law, Vance knows those ice-eyed partners are a gamble. He doesn't care tonight. He's alive, he's winning, and the air is thick with perfume and the sway of eager hips. Then Nash's voice cuts through the haze: "Silas, quit staring. You're going to start drooling, damn it." Vance's amber eyes follow Silas's hungry stare to a woman surrounded by her friends—a bright smile, utterly out…