Raw and Dirty:A Motorcycle Club Romance

By: Violet Blaze

What a broken, beautiful man.

That's my first thought when I step onto the Alpha Wolves' compound, how beautiful their president is. Of course, if he knew what I was thinking I doubt he'd be pleased. Beautiful is for flowers or skirts or landscapes, not for men like Royal McBride. If I have to pick an adjective, I think dirty suits him a little better. Dirty. And brutal. And raw.

I won't let him get to me.

It crosses my mind that I'm not the first person to think that. Toni Gladstone, the woman who held my position not three months ago, she said that same thing out loud three days before she quit, announced it to the entire office.

But he got to her anyway—in more ways than one if her flushed face and mussy hair were any indication of what happened during their first meeting. Deputy Mayor of Operations and Government Affairs. Poor Toni shed her title along with her skirt after only half a week of dealing with Royal and his Wolves.

I won't make the same mistake.

I straighten my own skirt—some bland, gray wool blend that I inherited from Toni along with her title—and make sure my hair is still in place, tucked back in an austere bun that's as unflattering as it is uncomfortable. But all of this blandness, this is my uniform against the world. It's a way to survive when nothing else seems to be going right. Blend in, disappear, assimilate.

I take a deep breath and put a smile on my face.

It's hard to keep it there with my eyes glued to Royal's wide, muscular back. I haven't even been introduced to the man, and I'm already falling apart. Sweat trickles down my spine and soaks into the cotton fabric of my white button-down while I try not to admire the curve of dark denim that cups the President's too perfect ass. Oh my God, I'm already floundering here.

I take a deep breath and start forward, my heels loud against the pavement. I parked right in front of the clubhouse, so I know the whole MC is aware that I'm here. Still … nobody's acknowledging me. It's a scare tactic, I'm sure, but these men have a lot to learn if they think I'll scare easy. I might be five two and as average as you'll ever see, but I'm tough.

“Mr. McBride?” I ask, approaching the cluster of men standing on the wet pavement, gray skies above and a row of gleaming motorcycles on our right.

I pause about three feet from him—it's as close as I ever want to get. Even from here I can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, his strength, his charisma. It's frighteningly magnetic. I guess it's not just his six foot four frame or his hard muscles that keep him in control here.

“Mr. McBride?” I ask again, raising my voice a notch. I can keep quiet when I need to, but a woman in politics also has to know how to speak up or she'll never be heard. A few of the guys glance my way, assessing, and then quickly flick their gazes back to their president.

I feel my lips purse. It's not like I showed up here on a surprise visit. In fact, it was Royal himself who approached the mayor's office in an attempt to iron things out between the local government and the MC. I scheduled this meeting with Royal's secretary not four days ago. The bastard knew I was coming.

Raindrops start to fall, fat and heavy, splattering against the pavement and the metal roofs on the warehouses on either side of the long drive. The wetness slides across Royal's rock hard muscles, making the colors in his tattoos seem brighter, moistening the eyes of the wolves crouching over his biceps until they look real, like they're staring right at me.

I refocus my attention to his head of dark hair, my gaze directed up, up, up. The bastard's too tall for his own good. Still, I'm pretty sure I've got myself under control. It doesn't matter how handsome this guy is or how nice his body looks in that tight leather vest.

I take a deep breath, meeting the eyes of the wolf's head patch on his back, framed on the top and bottom with another pair of patches. Alpha Wolves on the top and Trinidad, CA on the bottom. An MC and a 1% patch sit on either side. Intimidating, much?

Well, it won't work on me.

“Royal McBride.” I state his name with every ounce of authority I have—and it works. At the very least, it gets his attention.

“Who the fuck …” Royal begins, turning slightly to glare at me, locking a pair of dark brown eyes on my face. His brows raise and the corner of his mouth twitches. Me, I come completely unhinged, heat flooding my body, filling up all the places I so very suddenly want this man to touch.

Oh shit.

Royal looks me up and down once, assessing, his gaze giving absolutely nothing away.

“Well, I'll be damned,” he says, his voice holding the edge of an accent I can't quite place. He's trying so hard to hide it, but … “Is this pint-size little package from the mayor's office?” Royal tilts his head and lets his lips twist into a smile. I can already feel the flirtatious waves rolling off of him, the charm being turned full tilt onto my frowning face. I don't take it personally though; Royal isn't flirting with me, not really. This is a man who's used to getting his way with a smile and a wink, somebody who thinks that anyone without a penis wants him.

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