Mc Club Romance Novels Novels & Stories

I say, frowning a little. “01 Kind men are ugly. 02 Handsome men are not nice. 03 Handsome and kind men are married. 04 The handsome, kind, and single are poor. 05 Handsome, kind, single, and rich people are not interested in you. 06 The handsome, kind, single, rich, and interested people are interested in you only because of the hookup. 07 Those who are handsome, kind, single, rich, interested in you, and faithful, are homosexuals. 08 The handsome, kind, single, rich, interested in you, faithful, who do not lose interest if you are the ones who make the first step. Those men must have a problem!

~Love is patient; Love is kind. For two hearts lost in the world of danger and deceit, Love is A Game With No Rules.~ Hello, thank you for reaching this far on the story ;) I’d like to introduce my books before AGWNR if it’s your first time stumbling upon my work. 1|Devin ~ CEO/Billionaire Romance 2|Don’s Fiancée ~ Mafia Romance 3|Promise Me Jake ~ Teen Romance [A sad love story.] 4|Evan ~ CEO/Billionaire Romance [Devin’s spin-off, but it can be read as standalone]

-I BELONG TO YOU FOREVER - ENDLESSLY MINE - INFINITELY OURS -WHEN YOU LEAVE YOPUR HEART BEHIND .... so far there are still more to be uploaded. ***** POWER AND TEMPTATION MAFIA SERIES( romance/erotic/betrayal)************ - BOOK 1 ITALIAN MAFIA -ITALIAN MAFIA 2/ SHES'S STILL MINE ************INDIVIDUAL STORIES************* - FEARLESS LUNA (WEREWOLF SEXY ROMANCE STORY)

Mick walks out of the lobby with me clicking alongside him in my heels, acting like nothing’s up. I try very hard to mimic his cool exterior. “So,” I say as we walk back to the car. “Alissa and I will take room two-oh-eight and you and Colin can have two-ten.” Breathe. Breathe. You can do this. Just because he asked for two rooms it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He’s just being generous, probably. He doesn’t say anything, and I feel the need to fill up the silence. “So, did you get some good recon for us at the club?”

“Have a professional look at that, but it should keep your blood on the inside for the time being.” “Thanks, love,” Declan said, and rose to his feet. He was stiff, I could tell, but his muscles rolled and flexed under skin that had almost no fat on it whatsoever. Something about him was magnetic, and I wanted to stay close. Patrick, of course, had other ideas. “Come on, Claire,” Pat said, “I’ll take you home.” ~ * ~ Patrick held my bloodied sweatshirt as we headed back to the pick up truck. I couldn’t help but scoff. “So,” I said, climbing into the passenger’s seat, “my bar is connected to your underground fight club, or whatever.”

The kind of music that sinks into your ribs. We step into the underground club, and it's a different world. The air is cooler, the lights darker, and bodies swaying so closely like they’ve forgotten that they ought to be different bodies. Down here, the outside doesn’t exist. Rome turns back to me, smiling like the devil’s own flame. “You drink tequila?” he asks, already leading me to the bar.

Or will loving Damian Vercetti cost her the last piece of herself she has left? *************** AUTHOR'S NOTE Hey, reader. Let’s get one thing straight this is not your sweet, safe mafia romance. This story is dark. Twisted. Obsessive. There are moments that will make you pause, ache, maybe even rage. Damian Vercetti is not your redemption arc. He’s power without apology. Possession without permission. And Isabella? She’s not the damsel she’s the storm trying to survive the fire. If you’re here for roses and candlelight, this isn’t your book.

“Damien not glued to your side today? Odd. He tends to keep his… projects close.” Serena’s brows drew together. “What exactly are you implying?” “Oh, come now.” Camille stepped closer, her perfume cloying, her smile widening. “You don’t honestly think you’re the first, do you? Damien has a pattern. Swoops in, plays the saviour, dresses his women up like trophies, parades them around… and when he’s bored, he doesn’t just walk away. He breaks them. Quietly. Completely.” Serena’s jaw tightened, though her voice stayed steady. “Thanks for the unsolicited TED Talk on Damien Drake, but I’ll pass.”

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

❦ Rosalind ❦ I lay awake the next morning, staring up at the ceiling of my childhood room that was painted in a coquettish pink sky. Every time I pictured myself leaving the safety of the large bed and jumping headfirst into mafia boss mode, or thinking about the situation with Viktor Marino, my heart rate picked up, sweat coating my forehead, and my left hand twisting the prosthetic ring finger of my right. I heard a shuffle as the door opened and closed. The smell of artificial lilies hit me, but I kept still and watched Claudia who entered holding a bouquet.