Flame’s Touch (Desert Outlaws MC #1) Read Online Bailee James

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Desert Outlaws MC Series by Bailee James
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Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 128147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
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Bunny’s on the run from something, following a strict set of rules to save up enough money for art school as she stays hidden from the past. She stumbles across a small town and takes the first job she finds in a place she never imagined herself working– the strip club owned by the local motorcycle club. What happens when the shy new girl meets the tattoo artist?
Flame’s always been a love ‘em and leave ‘em type of guy. But as soon as he lays eyes on the new girl in town, he offers her a ride home on the back of his bike. What makes this girl so special that he keeps letting his defenses down, one by one? Bunny is full of surprises, and when he finds out she’s also an artist, all bets are off as he takes her under his wing to teach her the ways of tattooing.
Can Flame survive working alongside Bunny every day, or will he stop at nothing to get her beneath him?
Does Bunny take off for the hills at the first sign of trouble, or can Flame be the one who helps her set down roots in a place that finally feels like home?

FULL BOOK START HERE:

Chapter One

BUNNY

The lone, neon sign illuminates brightly against the dark stone, and the shadowed building looks out of place sitting in the middle of the bright lights of downtown.

I’m not here for anything the other buildings have to offer. No, I’m here for the mysterious-looking building in front of me. Bright purple blinds my eyes as I focus to read the words on the neon sign hanging above the enormous black door. The Castle.

Taking a deep breath, I step out of my old beat-up Camry and hit the lock button as I slam the rattling door behind me. Once I reach the doorman, I glance at the angry looking bald man's name tag: Skull.

Hmm. That’s a weird name.

“ID?” His deep voice startles me.

Fumbling through my purse, I pull out the not-so-fake ID that Paul made me a year ago and place it in the man’s large palm.

He shines a small black light over it, studying it closely before handing it back to me. Lifting the purple velvet rope barrier I had never noticed before, the giant waves me inside.

“Welcome to The Castle.” His sinister voice sends a chill down my spine.

As soon as I step through the door into a dark hallway, I can feel the bass sending vibrations to my very core. The hallway is lit only by a single black light centered in the ceiling. My white tank top shines brightly, and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the strobe lights flashing through the arched doorway ahead of me.

Making my way down the hall, I step into a large room. The theme of this club must be dark. Nothing but black bars, tables, chairs, and couches stretching to every corner of the room. Even the stages are black. The only lights on in the room are the black lights, purple neon signs, and strobe lights piercing my vision. There is more neon signage along the walls. Some have phrases while others are objects or pictures. My cheeks flush when my eyes settle on one specific sign. It’s made to look like a woman’s open legs, bent at the knees, with hands covering her core. The shape of a large tongue points down towards her center, and the entire image makes me a little uncomfortable.

Bars surround the club in a mammoth circle, with small stages in the corners and one large stage in the middle of the club. The bars are cut in half on both sides by huge archways that look like dark hallways from where I’m standing.

I approach the largest bar against the back wall. There aren’t many customers, but that’s probably because it’s only seven o’clock on a Tuesday.

Sitting down on one of the many open stools, I watch as an attractive man with brown, tousled hair shakes a cocktail shaker. His bulging muscles are outlined by the tight black shirt stretched across his shoulders. After straining pink liquid into a clear glass, he turns my way, winks, then collects the cash from the bar in front of him. I’ve never worked in this kind of club before, but it’s a new city, so what the hell? Why not try something new?

The bartender makes his way over to me, wiping down the counter along the way. “What can I get ya, pretty girl?”

My cheeks begin to flush. .

An awkward laugh bubbles up my throat as I force the words out. “A job?”

“You dance?” His perfectly manicured eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in surprise.

A warm fire creeps up my cheeks as embarrassment takes over. Me? Dance? Ha!

“No, no, no. I—I umm,” I fumble nervously. Taking a deep breath and shaking off my awkwardness, I attempt to regain my composure and try again. “No, I don’t dance. But I bartend, waitress, hostess, you name it. But no, I've never danced. Not like that, at least.” I nod my head over my shoulder at the beautiful woman strutting across the stage, barely dressed in skyscraper heels.


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