Throttle MC: A Stepbrother Romance (18 page)

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Fugitives MC

Los Perdidos MC

Untamed Moon

Available on Amazon

and other major e-booksellers

I stared at my face in the mirror with a skeptical eye.  The eyeliner was good, I decided, but I definitely needed more mascara.  Taking the wand out, I brushed the black liquid on my lashes in thick, broad strokes.   I closed the tube absently, and then scrutinized my reflection.  It had to be right, I told myself fiercely.  I couldn’t risk any mistakes.

Standing up, I took a moment to straighten the tight, sequined pink tank top and short leather mini I had decided on.  Good God, I could barely breathe in this getup. I felt more like a sexy lollipop ready to be unwrapped and devoured than a human being.  But my physical comfort was the least of my worries.  There would only be one shot to get myself in and hired by the Fugitives MC, and I couldn’t afford to blow it. 

The hardest thing once I got there, I knew, would be to calm my nerves.  Ten years had passed since I was last in Crystal Spring, and in that time I had gone from a gangly, coke-bottle glasses-wearing pre-teen to a surprisingly voluptuous twenty-two year-old.  It would be almost impossible for one of the club members to recognize me as the little girl whose older brother had been a prospect once upon a time.  But I knew it was very possible, even likely, that I would recognize a few of them.  I had to prepare mentally for that -- to keep my cool, no matter what happened.  I could not let them see the hate in my eyes.  The urge to destroy.  To annihilate.  To shed blood.

Looking back at the mirror, I brushed out my long blond hair until it shone and gave myself an experimental smile. 
No
, I scolded myself. 
Too uncertain-looking
.  I tried again. 
Better
.  I practiced my slightly vacant, bimbo bombshell look.  I giggled, pouting my lips and thrusting my breasts toward the mirror for effect.  They were, along with my generous hips, my best potential source of distraction, I knew.  I needed to remember to use them.  Above all, I needed to remember to keep my real self – sarcastic remarks and all – wrapped up tight.  Even tighter than this freaking skirt that was threatening to cut off my circulation. 

Satisfied that my appearance was up to snuff, I slipped on a pair of high heeled black ankle boots and grabbed my purse.  It was show time, I told myself. Time to do this.

Game on
.

mnmn

First, a sincere thank you to all of my readers! Without your support, independent authors would be nothing, quite literally!

Thank you also to my wonderful, supportive husband. You have been amazing. Thank you for cooking me meals, listening to me plot out my stories, and cheering me on.

Finally, thank you to my community of independent authors. A better, more supportive bunch of writers could never be found.