Screwed (Book 1): Lightning Bolts MC, #1
By Sophia Gray
4.5/5
()
About this ebook
This is book 1 of the Lightning Bolts MC series! Books 2 and 3 are available everywhere now!
She's screwed if she submits, and screwed if she doesn't.
DANE
I'm at this auction for revenge, not a woman.
But it's not any old auction: it's one where virgins are up for sale.
And the moment I see Michelle on that stage, I have to have her.
I bid, and I win.
Taking her home, I seduce her. She screams my name all night while I claim her as mine.
But I still have my revenge to seek, and with every passing day, I'm drawing closer.
Until Michelle gets caught up in the bloodshed.
The enemy has taken her.
And as I realize Michelle is the one thing I ever gave a damn about…
…I fear my quest for vengeance has already destroyed her.
MICHELLE
My mother is dying, and the money has dried up.
I need cash—and quick.
When I hear about a scandalous auction, I sign up.
I'm willing to give my virginity to the highest bidder. I don't care who he is.
But I don't expect a man like Eric to buy me.
He takes me home and strips me bare.
He kisses me and brands me as his, and I can't help but desire his touch for eternity.
I shouldn't give my heart to him. Only my body, like we'd agreed.
But now his enemies seek my blood.
And I know that Eric is the only man I can trust to keep me safe.
And the only man I will ever love.
***
Every girl needs a bad boy alpha male biker hero to protect her, and Michelle is no different. Eric may be a Motorcycle Club bad boy, but that won't stop him from buying the girl of his dreams and breaking her completely to make her his. This dark romance love story with sex is a thrilling romantic suspense novel that is 100% guaranteed to blow your mind and make you scream with delight. Get ready to get SCREWED by the biker!
Read more from Sophia Gray
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Titles in the series (3)
Screwed (Book 1): Lightning Bolts MC, #1 Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Screwed (Book 2): Lightning Bolts MC, #2 Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Screwed (Book 3): Lightning Bolts MC, #3 Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5
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Book preview
Screwed (Book 1) - Sophia Gray
Screwed: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Lightning Bolts MC Book 1)
By Sophia Gray
She’s screwed if she submits, and screwed if she doesn’t.
DANE
I’m at this auction for revenge, not a woman.
But it’s not any old auction: it’s one where virgins are up for sale.
And the moment I see Michelle on that stage, I have to have her.
I bid, and I win.
Taking her home, I seduce her. She screams my name all night while I claim her as mine.
But I still have my revenge to seek, and with every passing day, I’m drawing closer.
Until Michelle gets caught up in the bloodshed.
The enemy has taken her.
And as I realize Michelle is the one thing I ever gave a damn about...
...I fear my quest for vengeance has already destroyed her.
MICHELLE
My mother is dying, and the money has dried up.
I need cash—and quick.
When I hear about a scandalous auction, I sign up.
I’m willing to give my virginity to the highest bidder. I don’t care who he is.
But I don’t expect a man like Eric to buy me.
He takes me home and strips me bare.
He kisses me and brands me as his, and I can’t help but desire his touch for eternity.
I shouldn’t give my heart to him. Only my body, like we’d agreed.
But now his enemies seek my blood.
And I know that Eric is the only man I can trust to keep me safe.
And the only man I will ever love.
EVERY GIRL NEEDS A bad boy alpha male biker hero to protect her, and Michelle is no different. Eric may be a Motorcycle Club bad boy, but that won’t stop him from buying the girl of his dreams and breaking her completely to make her his. This dark romance love story with sex is a thrilling romantic suspense novel that is 100% guaranteed to blow your mind and make you scream with delight. Get ready to get SCREWED by the biker!
Chapter One
Michelle
M om, please. Eat a little bit more of the broth, okay?
My mother pushed away the bowl I held out, as well as the spoon I dangled near her lips. No. I’m not hungry.
Her voice was weak, tired. She was a shadow of the woman who raised me. That woman’s voice could scream the roof down when I did something to deserve her anger.
This woman, the one withering in the bed in the house I grew up in, was something else entirely. She was so frail, practically a skeleton. She had always been so plump and curvy when I was younger—not fat, but well-endowed. Her hair had been a thick, lustrous dark brown. The color of coffee. This new woman who I called mother had thin, almost wispy gray hair. She was tired of everything. The pain, the anxiety resulting from wondering how much longer this would all go on. I wondered that, too.
She needed a hospice. Anybody could see that. I took care of her pretty well in the beginning, before cancer robbed her of so much of who she was. It had gotten to the point where she could do almost nothing for herself—she couldn’t bathe or feed herself or even walk without assistance. I nearly carried her from place to place, although her feet were always on the floor and she always made an attempt to hold some of her dignity by shuffling them along.
I put down the bowl of beef broth with a heavy sigh. I knew better than to push the issue; she might have been weak, but when pushed too far she experienced brief flashes of strength. Only a few days earlier I’d ended up wearing a bowl of broth when her hand flashed out and overturned it onto me.
She shifted fretfully on the mattress. I brushed stray hair back from her forehead. Do you need another pill for the pain?
I didn’t like giving her too many of them, and she didn’t like taking them unless she absolutely had to. It wasn’t a great idea when she hadn’t eaten much of anything either. All either of us needed was for her to vomit after taking a painkiller on an empty stomach. It would be a waste of a pill, too, and they weren’t cheap.
To my surprise, she nodded. I’ll try to keep it down. I really need it.
That told me how much pain she was in. I went downstairs to fetch one for her.
On the way to the kitchen, where the counter looked like it belonged in a pharmacy, I passed a stack of bills. The pile was big and getting bigger by the day. At first, I’d managed to keep up with it, thanks in no small part to Dad’s life insurance policy. Mom had been smart with the money, setting it aside for a rainy day. There hadn’t been any rainier than the ones we were in after her diagnosis.
Now the money had dried up. Nothing like a Stage III lung cancer diagnosis to tap a person’s finances. Now she was in the end stages, and we were tapped out after so many doctor appointments, hospital visits, treatments, tests, medication. I stared at that pile of envelopes as I counted out a single pill, and to me, they represented every single cigarette I’d ever watched her smoke. When she grew up, people smoked constantly. She’d picked up the habit in her early teens and hadn’t been able to stop. At least when she had me, a late in life baby, she stopped during pregnancy and only smoked outside of the house after I was born. That was something, anyway. She had tried to help me, but she couldn’t help herself.
And I couldn’t help her. The light on the answering machine blinked, and I knew the tape was full with the voices of bill collectors. First call, second call, final notice. It was almost funny, the way they thought they were going to get blood from a stone. We were drowning.
A fist clenched my heart, squeezing tighter. There was a stinging behind my green eyes. I shook myself before the tears started to fall. Mom needed help with her pain. I couldn’t stand around daydreaming.
I rushed back upstairs full of apologies for taking so long. She was asleep when I got there. Naturally, I listened to her breathing to be sure it was only sleep and nothing something else. The sight of her thin chest rising and falling was a relief.
I sank into the chair by her bedside. I wasn’t equipped to be a caregiver, not