Title: SHATTERED SKULL
Series: Sons of Sinister #1
Author: Tabatha Vargo
Genre: New Adult MC Romance
Release Date: March 17, 2020
Cover Design: Graphics by Stacy
The first time I saw Aiken Cross aka Skull, he was standing atop a speeding motorcycle.
The second time, he was putting his fist through my brother’s face.
Now he’s everywhere I look.
He’s making my life hell with his vulgar remarks and seductive lure, but it’s not my fault my brother joined The Border Lords, his rival crew. I keep my nose out of their business and my head in the books, yet he’s always there provoking me. Dragging me into their conflict.
Everyone in town knows you don’t mess with the Sons of Sinister, but no one ever told me what to do when a Son of Sinister messes with me.
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THE FIRST MEETING …
I smoothed my hair down and blew it away from my face, but before I was able to see again, a hand wrap around the top of my arm in a bruising grip and I was suddenly being tugged back and tossed the ground.
A deep voice barked down at me, but I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my blood rushing through my ears.
My back ached, the gravel and rocks digging into my hands as I pushed myself into a sitting position and cleared my hair from my face once again. I would never leave my hair down again. I looked up and my eyes clashed with a pair of glowing green eyes with heavy dark brows and then nothing else, but a skull handkerchief covering his face from the nose down.
The skull with the neon green bike.
He was even more amazing up close.
He shook his head and sighed, obviously aggravated with me.
“You stepped onto the strip while a race was going on. I’m just trying to figure out why. Are you suicidal, murderous, or mental?”
“None of the above,” I said, pushing up from the ground until I was standing.
He didn’t move to help me.
Once I was on my feet, he was still looming over me and looking down at me as if I had tried to murder his favorite person.
“You don’t belong here,” he spat. “Stay on your side of town before you get someone killed.”
He turned away from me in aggravation and I found myself annoyed by his behavior. There I was, having a nice time, and he had to go and ruin it.
“This is my side of town,” I lied.
He stopped and spun around. His wide shoulders blocking my view of The Strip behind him.
“Liar,” he growled.
“I’m not lying.”
He moved toward me, his form growing wider and taller the closer he got. The chain hanging from his pocket jingled and his heavy boots crunched the gravel with each step he took. His eyes, while super bright green and almost glowing, somehow managed to be lifeless.
Dull and unfeeling.
Without a single drop of emotion.
“You are, and you wanna know how I know?”
I held my head high even though I was shivering. “How?”
He tugged the handkerchief down, exposing his thick lips. My eyes caught on the set of studs under his bottom lip on each side. He sucked his bottom lip in and released it with a pop. The side of his mouth lifted in a grin that was anything but happy.
“Because you’re fresh meat for the hunt with your loose Mom jeans and your shirt that’s two sizes too big. Look around you, Cherry Girl. You’re the only virgin in a five-mile radius who’s over seventeen. I can smell your innocence like a dead skunk on the side of a country road. You’re not from around here and everybody fucking knows it.”
Tears rushed to my eyes, but I blinked them away. I cried for no one. Especially not some biker asshole with a bad attitude.
“I swear if you fucking cry I’m going to lose my shit,” he snapped.
As if he hadn’t already.
“You’re an asshole,” I muttered, having never spoken to another human being like that in my life.
His brows lifted; his eyes wide with shock. “What did you just call me?”
“You heard me.” I swallowed, feeling as if I were seconds away from tossing up my lunch.
Panic clawed at my chest like the wild animal that she was, threatening to rush of my throat and choke me to death. My heart was crazy in my chest, pushing too much blood through my veins and making me feel dizzy.
I was shaking and I hoped he didn’t see that.
Again, he grinned down at me with no humor, but this time there was a hint of something in his green gaze.
“I’ll let that slide since you’re new around here and you don’t know the rules, but let me fill you in,” he said, pushing into my space until my face was brushing against his hard chest. He smelled like the engines around me. All gasoline and motor oil. He breathed down at me, his eyes darkening and his nostrils flaring with each pull of air. “Nobody talks to me that way. Not even some high and mighty daddy’s girl with too much money and not enough tits.”
His words burned because he was right. I was a daddy’s girl, except my dad was no more. I clenched my eyes closed and even though I tried to fight them, a single tear slipped down my cheek.
“Are you crying?” he asked, appalled. His eyes grew wide in disgust. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He snorted. “Poor little rich girl can’t handle the big bad truth.”
This time I shook with hurt and anger. He had brought my father into the conversation and I wasn’t okay with that. Say what you wanted about me, but never mention my father. I gritted my teeth and debated turning away from him, but before I could, words I had never said leaped from my lips.
“Fuck you,” I growled, anger like I hadn’t experienced in my life bubbling over.
He chuckled, obviously not affected by my hateful words. “I wouldn’t fuck you with a two-dollar dildo.”
Then he was gone, taking my next breath with him. My stomach ached with pain from being talked to so badly, and yet, the panic that had been simmering against my ribs was gone.
Tabatha is a New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author, best known for her sexy adult romance Little Black Book.
Tabatha writes in all genres, including adult and new adult, and isn’t afraid to venture into the dark side on occasion, as she proved with her dark, prison romance, Slammer.
She’s an avid reader of all things smutty and the writer of sexy stories featuring redeemable alpha bad boys and sweet, strong women.
Her other loves include her children, her loving, supportive husband, anything historical, and wind chimes.
When she isn’t writing, she’s texting book ideas to herself.
Tabatha is represented by Jane Dystel of Dystel & Goderich Literary Management.
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