Death Lords Motorcycle Club: Annie, Michigan, and Easy (The Motorcycle Clubs Series) Read Online Free PDF

your girlfriend now? Because I watched this Discovery special about a woman who was in love with the Eiffel Tower.”
    “I didn’t realize you were such a smartass, Annie. I might have made a run at you.”
    “Good thing you didn’t. I don’t know how to compete with a granary.”
    He opens his mouth and then surprises me by barking out a laugh. “You’re okay. I was a little surprised to see you show up wearing a cuff because it didn’t seem like you’d be that kind of girl. But if you can give a little shit and take a little shit, it’s all good. Wait here.” He pats a bar stool.
    Behind the bar is a burly guy, about six feet tall and sporting a full beard. He leans back against the counter behind him and his muscles are so large I think his one arm might be bigger than my head. Both arms are decorated with colorful tattoos—a woman’s face, what looks like a snake or some other scaled creature, a dark tribal band.
    I slip onto the stool. “Hi,” I say weakly. All my earlier bravado is gone. It’s one thing to tease an old classmate who I knew from grade school when he threw paper clips at girls to get their attention and another to engage a guy who so clearly thought I didn’t belong. Not even his beard could hide the frown of disapproval.
    “Is it the clothes?” I say finally.
    “What about your clothes?” he says.
    “I just wondered if it was my jeans or top that you didn’t like.”
    “I don’t care about your clothes,” he grumbles.
    “Then it’s my hair? I need bigger hair? I’m not very good with the round brush.”
    “I got no idea what you’re chattering about, girl. Want a beer?”
    “Sure.” I don’t like beer but I’m not about to say no to Grizzly Adams.
    He reaches behind him, pulls out a bottle and pops off the cap without taking his eyes off me or turning around. The counter is really a cooler, I guess.
    “Your skill is impressive.”
    He grunts.
    “Annie, what are you doing here?”
    I spin around to find Michigan sporting the same cross-armed stance as the man behind the bar and a frown every bit as fierce.
    “I came for the party,” I say uncertainly. Had I completely misread Easy’s invitation? Because the look in Michigan’s eyes is definitely not one of welcome.
    “What party?”
    “The mash,” I say uncertainly.
    “No mash tonight,” interjects the bartender.
    “She’s got a cuff,” Dakota, I mean Rider, says with amusement from his position behind Michigan’s right shoulder.
    I raise my wrist again to display the leather wristband.
    Michigan grabs my wrist and twists, not hard, but I can tell he’s taken by surprise. My dread and embarrassment deepens.
    “Where’s Easy?” I ask. “He told me to…” I trail off because I can’t remember the exact words, only that he’d pressed his big thing into my stomach and told me to wear the cuff and show up here. I can’t really explain that and I can feel myself turning tomato-red just thinking about it.
    Michigan doesn't answer but stands in front of me wrestling with something internally. He comes to some unspoken decision and tugs me off the chair. Since he leads me up a set of stairs and not out the doors, I find my tongue and ask, “Where are we going?”
    “You’re wearing Easy’s wrist cuff. You want to know what it’s like to be with Easy, then come with me.”
    On the second floor, he guides me down a long hallway. As we get close to the end, I hear heavy guitar music, a few male shouts, and a sporadic clap. We enter a medium sized room—larger than a living room but not as big as the open space downstairs.
    At the far end there are two women dancing on a pole that appears bolted to the floor. The entire back wall is a mirror and in the reflection I can see everything—the women, the men watching them, and me, in the far back wearing a wide-eyed gaze. Behind me is the imposing figure of Michigan, arms folded with an unhappy expression on his face.
    I creep forward, down the side of the