The Biker Alpha's Contract Mate: The Hidden Heiress

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nim cuff, eating bleached white spots into the fabric. My skin prickled with a sharp, fiery sting. It was diluted silver water. Silver is the only

neering as she lowered the brass sprayer. Behind me, the cross-country bus

masked my true scent-pine needles and snow-leaving me smelling like nothing at all. To every nose in this

brother Boone Gilliam, the founder of the Iron Claw MC. I had to hide my identity, wear a trial Property Patch-a leather tag stitched over the heart that marks a woman as claimed by the club's leader-and audit the club's bleeding Club Fund befo

t was Debbie Mcfarland, an Old Lady-the recognized wife of a deceased senior officer. Beside her l

e they cross our threshold." Debbie blew a stream of acrid

." I lowered my arm, holding up the stamped leath

wolf blood thinks she can wear the Prez's patch? Wait until Church-the full-moon cou

s curving into a nasty smile. "The servants' quarters downstairs are full. T

in a sharp breath and quickly

hed cedar and hot iron. Every territorial wolf marks his den with his scent, and only a purebred Alpha has the physical strength and Dominion to ride at t

n the wall. Exhausted from the ride, I sat on the edge of the leather bench in t

d into the courtyard below, followed by raw,

m. Darrell Sexton-road name Havoc-stumbled inside, his broad shoulders blocking the hall light. His black v

owled, lunging str

calloused fingers grazed my collar, his nostrils flared. He

massive frame collapsed forward, pinning me between the bench and the mattress. Iron

breaths. My heart skipped a beat; his furnace-like heat felt identical to the dying boy I had dragged out