100 Savage Roasts Novels & Stories

Raven Steele was her masterpiece—clean background, tragic story, exactly the kind of person who could infiltrate a motorcycle club seeking revenge. The bar's door swung open, spilling amber light and the stench of whiskey and cigarettes onto the wet pavement. A man filled the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the light. Even in shadow, there was no mistaking who he was: Jax Savage, president of the Savage Saints MC, the most feared motorcycle club in three states. Six-foot-four of muscle and menace, with hazel eyes that missed nothing and hands that had spilled more blood than most soldiers. "You lost, princess?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, each syllable carrying the we

His gaze following every single movement Jayson made, if I didn't hate him and kind of want him dead, then I probably would have appreciated his protection a little more. "Who says I took them down without any help?" I returned the question without hesitation. "There's not a man out there is stupid enough to help a rogue. They especially wouldn't dare help a rogue who was residing so close to the border of another territory," Jayson replied with confidence. "If that's the case then I guess I took them all down on my own. Me, a week she-wolf who has been living the life of a rogue for ten years, single handedly killed eighty of your best fighters. Men who had been trained from the age of twel

“You slept for so long that I began to worry you would never wake up.” “How long was it?” I rasp, my voice hoarse from a combination of disuse and lack of water. “Five days,” the man responds. “Who are you?” I interrupt before he can continue. “Ah. Of course. Where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself. I am Clay Denvo. The king of the rogues,” he says as he gestures widely with his arms. “I didn’t know that the rogues have a leader,” I respond coolly.

Every breath has your name because I found Unsavory Redemption in it. The End.

I could make a decent sandwich but my mom had made French toast, egg, bacon, hash browns, and other stuff that I couldn’t even identify. I walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “Eat,” she said as she cleaned the pans she’d used. “Don’t mind if I do,” I said as I grabbed a plate and heaped my plate with food. Nothing cures a hangover like a hearty meal and it didn’t get any heartier than this. My mom turned around and looked at me with that same look. This time though there seemed to be worry mixed in. “So,” I started as I stuffed my face, “where are we going?”

He takes another sip of his amber-coloured beer, the glass cool in his hand. Pax moves to the cupboard and pulls out three large ceramic plates, their surfaces gleaming under the kitchen lights. He arranges them on the granite countertop with precision. With practiced ease, he divides up a fresh salad, golden fries that look crispy and seasoned, and juicy steaks cooked to perfection. Each plate gets an equal share, the combination making our mouths water.

I mutter, hatred still flowing through my veins instead of blood. I wrap the garrotte wire tighter across my hands, getting into stance as my eyes follow a subtle movement from the bushes. The signal is a howl from Ryker. Ragnar has us all briefed. My hands are covered in a pair of knuckle dusters. I had my leather jacket over my gear, which was actually a crop top and slick black pants that allowed me to move around, a utility belt with a series of knives strapped to it, and military boots. A howl sounds some distance in the front, just at the same time a group of rogues leap out of the bushes.

I screamed, lunging forward. With a sharp crack, the sapphire crystal face shattered instantly, sending delicate parts flying everywhere. My heart shattered along with it. Even my livestream followers were stunned by her madness. The chat went completely silent at that moment. "See that? That's how much you mean to him. Worthless!" Cassidy laughed like a maniac while grinding the broken watch face beneath her sharp stiletto heel. "Why do you treasure this worthless piece of junk so much?" "I'll kill you!" I charged at her, tackled her to the ground, and rained down punches.

Was he in a war or something? She wasn't breathing. Her sole focus was on the art crafted on his skin. Both of his arms were inked exquisitely. One had a wolf while the other had tribal Viking-themed art. The patterns began on his hands and ended on his chest. The tatts alone gave him such a dominating look but the way his hair was open unlike that neat bun, made him look like a hot caveman or a brutal Viking. He looked seemingly ruthless with such a hot appearance. She was dumbstruck and if that wasn't enough, holding a piece of chocolate fudge cake in a plate did the deed for her.