Biker Outlaw's Princess: An MC Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Biker Outlaw’s Princess

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ANOTHER STORY YOU MIGHT LIKE

  Stolen by the Mob Boss

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Biker Outlaw’s Princess:

  An MC Romance

  By Bella Rose

  All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2017 Bella Rose.

  CLICK HERE

  to subscribe to my newsletter & get EXCLUSIVE updates on all offers, secret previews, and new releases!

  Chapter One

  Anya

  I grasped the tree branch and tried not to look down. My stomach had tied itself into tiny little knots, and my brain kept telling me that this was by far my stupidest idea in a good many years. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I was a grown woman with a job and a car payment. I should not have been sneaking out of my house in what amounted to the middle of the night. But sometimes, extreme circumstances call for extreme behavior. And this situation absolutely qualified as one of those times.

  My hand began to slip. I sucked in a quick breath and tried to readjust my grip. Tightening my belly muscles, I swung my legs until I managed to just barely hook my boot over the branch. Now I was hanging roughly twenty feet in the air over what only looked like soft grass. I wasn’t stupid. If I fell from this height, that grass was going to feel like the blacktop of a basketball court on the school playground.

  “I will not fall. I will not fall,” I chanted.

  I’m a big believer in the power of positive thinking and all that. But this was getting out of hand. I managed to get my other foot hooked over the branch, but I wasn’t ever sure what I was doing after that. I’d climbed out my window and jumped into the tree thinking that I would just scale my way down the branches to the ground. Unfortunately, the branches were way farther apart than they seemed.

  Okay. This was ridiculous. I braced my legs around the branch and readjusted the grip of my hands. The bark was scratchy on my skin, and I knew I was going to have scraped palms in the morning. I needed to let go with my legs and hang. Then I had to try and drop to the next branch down.

  I let my legs down slowly. I didn’t want to gather momentum like some insane tree gymnast. I just needed to let go. Yep. I needed to let go with my hands. So I squeezed my eyes shut and just did it. I felt my feet touch the branch, and for the span of maybe six seconds I balanced precariously a little more than ten feet off the ground.

  Then I heard a cracking noise. My eyes flew open, and I wrenched my neck around trying to see the end of the branch near the thick trunk of the old tree. Was it cracking off? If that was the case, I was toast!

  Another shattering noise and then the creaking of wood splitting rent the air. One second my feet rested on something solid, the next I was falling. I tried my best to curl up as I hit the ground but still wound up flat on my back gasping for breath. I’d had the wind knocked out of me. But I was still alive. That was what mattered, right? I was alive and now I was free. Just as soon as I could breathe of course.

  Just when I could hear something other than the thundering of the blood pumping through my veins, I caught sight of a dark shadow standing about ten feet away. The shadow peeled away from the trees and brush and walked toward me. It was laughing. Of course it was. When did Antonin ever not laugh at my expense?

  “Hello, Anastasia,” he said in a voice full of mockery. “Now that you’ve taken the liberty of leaving your room, perhaps you’d like to meet with your father in his study?”

  “Not really,” I blustered. “I think I’d rather just go about my business actually.”

  “As if that is an option at this point,” Antonin said darkly. “You have nobody but yourself to blame for this, you know?”

  I didn’t respond. There was no point in responding to the arrogant ass. So I got up and dusted myself off instead. If I was getting dragged onto the carpet in front of my father, I’d do it with as much dignity as I could muster.

  Antonin poked me in the back. It was too dark to see the details of his expression, but I knew he must be smirking. I could see the white flash of his teeth in the bare light of the house’s outdoor flood lamps.

  Through the yard, into the house, past Antonin’s lackeys standing guard in the hallway, and up the stairs to my father’s study we went. Antonin was behind me every step of the way, and I resented him probably more than I did my overbearing father.

  “I found her,” Antonin said simply as we walked into my father’s office.

  My father—Boris Romanov—the Pekhan or boss of our city’s Russian mafiya. It wasn’t my proudest association. I would have rather had a normal family with some kind of normal origin story. I didn’t want to think about Imperial Russia, Tsars, Bolsheviks, and the post-World War II upheaval that had landed my family here in the United States. I was a middle school history teacher. I got it. Most of it anyway. What I couldn’t understand was why my father was determined to be the godfather of the Russian mafiya.

  “You cannot keep me here like some prisoner,” I told my father. “And having this moron following me about isn’t an option either.” I cast a dark look over my shoulder at Antonin. The ass was lounging against a cabinet in my father’s study as if he owned the place.

  My father sighed and sank into his office chair. “My dear girl, I am only trying to keep you safe. Surely you realize that things are rather tense here in the city. We are at war with the Orlovs. They would stop at nothing to get the upper hand in our negotiations. Taking you prisoner or hurting you in some way would immediately guarantee my cooperation. Surely you don’t want to put me in such a position?”

  “Put you in such a position?” I crowed angrily. “Are you kidding me? This is my life, and I have to live it in your stupid ivory tower just because you’re a criminal who surrounds himself with other criminals!”

  “Fine.” Boris waved his hand. “Then go. Go back to your tiny house downtown that could not protect you from the evil men who stand on every street corner.”

  “Pekhan,” Antonin protested. “Surely you should assign her a protector. I’ll do it. It would be an honor.”

  “I’d rather die,” I spat the words at Antonin. “And I’m not even sure you wouldn’t kill me yourself just for the fun of it.”

  My father chuckled. The sound only made me angrier. How could he see humor in what was happening right now? Then he sighed. “No, Antonin. Anya is right. She is a grown woman capable of making her own choices.”

  I turned slowly, almost certain that he would change his mind. B
ut he didn’t. I got all the way outside and into my car before I allowed myself to feel the overwhelming elation of freedom.

  Vasily

  It was too late, and I was too tired to deal with this shit. But when the Pekhan of the city’s rossiyskaya mafiya requests an audience, the only appropriate answer is yes. After all, I value my hide above most anything else. And old Boris had been like a father to me when I was just getting started.

  The wind was cold in my face. It tugged at my hair and froze my fingers to the handlebars of my bike. I didn’t care. It was a minor thing compared to the rest. Perhaps I even saw little pieces of discomfort as proof that I was still alive and the other guy was dead.

  I steered my bike up the long winding driveway. The house was lit like Christmas. Vory v Zakone littered the place like toy soldiers left out after the child has gone to bed. Nobody ever said old Boris didn’t take his security seriously.

  I hid a smile as I stopped my bike and used the heel of my boot to put the kickstand in place. As if any of these men could stop me if I wanted Boris dead. A quick glance around showed me at least two points of entry. I imagined skulking up behind a guard and wrapping my arm around his neck. I’d hold him still and slice his throat to keep him quiet. Then I’d enter the house and finish off whatever target had been assigned to me. That was what I did. It had been my function within the Bratva since I’d been made Vor.

  I sat and waited. It didn’t take long for Antonin to arrive at the top of the steps. He swung his arms wide in greeting. “Vasily! What kept you?”

  “Business,” I replied. That was plenty explanation where my work was concerned.

  “Ah!” Antonin’s tone grew speculative. “I see you look plenty healthy. That is good.”

  We were speaking in Russian as we almost always did. English was good to communicate with anyone not of the Bratva. It was useless within the organization. Half the low-ranking Shestyorkas did not even speak English. They were usually young and fresh from Russia. The ones who did had been raised here in the US as the offspring of current mafiya members.

  I swung my leg over my bike, stood, and stretched. Then I pointed at Antonin. “That will teach you to bet against Vasily, eh?”

  He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and we tousled like children. It had always been this way between us. Shoving and tripping our way up the steps and into the house, we garnered looks of amusement from the other guards. Most remained quiet. These were Boris’s personal guards. Being assigned to the Pekhan was no small matter. I nodded to them and they nodded back. Perhaps we were equal. Perhaps not. In a dark alley I had no doubt that I would emerge the better man. It was what I did.

  “What does Boris want with me?” I asked Antonin once we were inside. “He wouldn’t say over the phone.”

  Antonin’s expression changed, but I couldn’t put my finger on the emotion I was seeing. Was he angry? Questioning the Pekhan was forbidden. I’d never known my friend to find fault with Boris. The man had been like a father to us since we had arrived in this country from Moscow as young boys.

  “Is that my Vasily I hear?” Boris’s blustering voice rumbled from the second floor of the expansive house. “Get your backside up here before I beat it black and blue like I did when you were a snot-nosed youngster!”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Boris had never beat us. We’d been too damn scared of him to give him any reason to. I strode into Boris’s office with Antonin at my shoulder and felt a sense of pride. I could remember being a boy and sitting in the corner of the office to watch Boris talk to the Vory about their tasks. I’d never wanted anything else. Now I was the one coming for my orders. Surely this was the meaning of success.

  “Pekhan,” I murmured as I accepted his bear hug. “What is it you wished of me?”

  “Sit, sit,” he urged as he waved at a chair.

  It felt a little strange to sit while Antonin stood at the door behind me. We had been equals in my mind, and yet we were not. Not really. I was a blooded assassin within the organization. I was sent all over the world to take care of whatever Boris determined to be a “problem.” Antonin’s place was here at home as one of Boris’s trusted Avtoritet. As a captain, he commanded his own soldiers to enforce Boris’s will all over the city.

  Boris sat back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. He looked almost pensive. “You know my daughter, yes?”

  “I know of her, yes.” I hadn’t seen Anya since she was quite young. Boris kept her away from the men.

  “She is a headstrong woman.” Boris sounded annoyed, and I had to hide a smile. But he wasn’t done venting his frustration with his offspring. “If only she would have been born a boy, this independent streak would have been a good thing! As it stands, in a woman such things are annoying as hell.”

  “Send her away to school, then,” I suggested with a dismissive shrug. I failed to see how Anya’s behavior was my problem.

  “I could,” he agreed. The cadence of his speech was the first thing to tip me off.

  I shook my head, feeling more than a little emphatic. “I’m not a babysitter!”

  “She’s not a baby,” he argued. “She’s a grown woman who just needs someone to look after her. There have been threats, and she’s too stubborn to stay home and do something feminine like sew.”

  “Sew.” I couldn’t quite keep the incredulity out of my voice. “Did you actually suggest that to her?”

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “It seemed reasonable.”

  I was laughing now. “I suppose she flew into a tantrum?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Women these days don’t like to be told they can’t take care of themselves,” I tried to explain. “Perhaps you could have phrased it differently to protect her pride?”

  “That’s your problem now,” Boris said with obvious glee. “You’re her protector.”

  I cursed in a low voice, applying every Russian epithet I could imagine to the situation. Boris was only laughing. And now behind me I could also hear Antonin chuckling as well.

  “But,” Boris continued, “you cannot let her know that I’ve assigned you to be her personal guard. You must find a way to do your job without compromising my involvement.”

  I felt my mouth drop open. “This is insane.”

  “Perhaps.” Boris shrugged. “But you will find a way.”

  Chapter Two

  Anya

  I love the library. I love the smell, the sounds, and the way it is possible to lose myself in a book until nothing of the real world is left at all. Sometimes I think that’s why I bought my little house. It’s only three blocks from my front door to the city library.

  Usually it is research that brings me to the old stone building with the beautiful old-world facade. Tonight I finished my research for this week’s history lesson very quickly. I was on my way out when I happened upon a display at the front of the library. The label read NEW FICTION, but it was the cover that got me.

  The instant sensation was dark but also delicious. I could not resist picking up the book. The jagged font of the title complemented the shadowy image of a man on the front. The title was In Command. In command of what? I could not help but wonder. A quick perusal of the dust jacket told me that it was an erotic thriller.

  I glanced around, wondering who had seen me looking at this naughty piece of fiction. There was nobody else in the library. I could not resist. I took the book to a tiny reading area not far from the library’s entrance and settled into an old leather chair. I opened the book somewhere in the middle and began reading. Within minutes I felt an achy wetness settle between my legs. I looked up from my reading and glanced around again, wondering who was bearing witness to my guilty pleasure.

  He ordered her to disrobe. She obeyed instantly, knowing that he would give her exactly what she needed. She held out her hands, and he wrapped the silken rope securely about her wrists. As he lifted her bound arms and fully exposed her body, she quivered in anticipation…

&nbs
p; Ordering. Obeying. It wasn’t like I was totally naive. I knew there were men out there who took the alpha thing to a whole new level. I’d just never met any that weren’t complete assholes. I had enough guys ordering me around in my life; I didn’t need another one trying to do it in the bedroom.

  Except…

  I read a few more paragraphs and found myself almost gasping for air as I tried to stifle my whimpering. I obviously needed to get laid. There was no doubt in my mind about that. It had been a while. In fact, I couldn’t really remember the last time I’d had sex. That could have been because it wasn’t that memorable, though, not necessarily because it had been years or anything.

  The guys I dated were all fellow middle school teachers or friends of friends. They were nice men. They were just—I’ll call them lukewarm. I’d certainly never met a man like the guy between the pages of the book in my lap. He was hot and alpha, and he never took no for an answer. It was almost like he took complete possession of a woman. She wasn’t just an accessory. She was the sole focus of his thoughts and actions. It was sort of titillating to imagine. What would it be like to be willingly powerless in the arms of a man who wanted nothing more than to bring you the most unimaginable pleasure?

  My nipples were hard. Sitting there in the library, my breasts were positively aching with the need for pressure or something. I squirmed in my seat. My pussy was swollen and wet with juices that soaked the insides of my thighs. It was so tempting to slide my hand up under my long skirt and fondle myself. I could come that way. In fact, I had a feeling that I would come quickly. I was so turned-on right now that only the barest touch of my fingertips across the hood of my clitoris would have me gasping with an orgasm.

  I practically jumped out of my seat. I needed to go home. Right now. I would go home and I would close my bedroom door and turn out the lights. Then I would think about what I had read and touch myself until I didn’t feel so hot and achy anymore.

  I put the book back on the shelf. I didn’t want to read it. Not now. I had already decided what the solution to my problem was. There was nothing else needed. I slung my bag over my shoulder and pushed my way out of the library as though I were running from a burning building. I was in such a hurry to get home that I barely registered anything about my surroundings. In fact, I did not notice that there was someone following me until I turned the corner less than a block from my little house.