 by M.N. Forgy.jpg)
Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
From the author of best selling Devil’s Dust MC, M.N. Forgy and her mother give a whole new rush and spark in the bedroom.
I came to the Rush Riders Motorcycle Club to help a friend out, get them out of trouble, and before I knew it, I became a member. Fast women, drugs, whiskey, and fights were all things I expected and was ready for. A young woman walking into the club selling drugs wasn’t. C was everywhere I didn’t want her to be. Her naïve personality was resilient to my asshole attempts to run her off. The next thing I knew, I wanted more than to take her to my bed. We were like a match to gasoline, the combustion so powerful not even I could walk away. I wanted to dominate her, to make her mine, which would have been an amazing plan if our worlds hadn’t collided, leaving me with having to choose between my club and her.
Can the rules of the Rush Riders MC bend to my will, or will the brotherhood mean nothing?
If they want a war, I’ll give it to them.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
C
“I think you’re going to really like this place,” Mrs. Ruth, the agent from the real estate management company, says. Driving us to yet another place for me to look at. Mrs. Ruth is the stereotypical real estate agent. She has short brown hair, pale skin, and is always wearing a pantsuit. “It has three condos in the building and only one of them is occupied. The gentleman who lives on the third floor owns the first-floor condo too, but just uses it for storage and guests. He is some bigwig business guy, but truthfully, I don't know much about him,” she continues to explain.
“So, I’m looking at the second-floor condo?” I ask, confused.
“Yes,” she responds with a nod of her head.
“The rent is cheap because the elevator went out several years ago and the owners didn’t want to invest in replacing it, apparently it could not be fixed. They really were hoping to sell this unit and just be done with the building, but the last tenant just up and moved out unexpectedly, no notice or anything. Anyway, the real estate agent the building owner was dealing with went on vacation overseas and they could not reach him, and since they were leaving for Spain, they just decided to rent it out for now, instead of dealing with the hassle of selling it while in another country. So, if you don’t mind climbing a few stairs, this place is a steal, and you have an option to buy in a year after the lease is up and the owners are back,” she explains, more rambling than anything.
If that is all I have to deal with is stairs and one other tenant, then this place will be perfect. I have lived in apartment buildings that were crammed with tenants on each floor. When you get that many people living in one building, people become involved in everyone’s business, and you start to get a little testy.
“Well, stairs don’t bother me. I run every day and go to the gym three times a week, so I just see it as another way to get exercise,” I boast. “And, if I only have one neighbor to deal with, then so far this place sounds like it might be perfect,” I continue.
Turning onto Skylark, we drive for a half mile before coming to the building. I am happy to see it is the only building sitting at the end of a dead-end street. No traffic and no pesky neighbors. The building itself is made of red brick with white shuttered windows facing the street, with a few bushes out front surrounding the entryway. It definitely could use some landscaping, but I could fix that if I wanted to. There is a balcony coming off the third-floor unit out front, but that is the only one I see from this side of the building. Taking out a key from her suit jacket, Mrs. Ruth explains the building requires a key to get in or you have to be buzzed in by the intercom. She points to the direction of the intercom that is built into the wall to the right of the main door, located by three locking mailboxes also built into the wall. I like the added security that a key or intercom is needed to enter the building. Walking in the lobby, it’s plain but clean. It has commercial tile flooring with a doormat to wipe your shoes, and beige-colored walls. To the right is a door that reads, 1. This must be the condo the guy on the third floor owns and to the left is the elevator that does not work. It has yellow tape across it with a sign reading Out of Order. After scanning the lobby for a few seconds, I follow Mrs. Ruth up twenty steps to the second-floor landing, to the left of the landing is the broken elevator. To the right is the door reading 2, the condo I am here to see about renting.
Mrs. Ruth pulls another key from her pocket, sticking it into the lock of the condo door. The key seems to jam, and she has to wiggle it back and forth several times to get the locking mechanism to release before the door will open.
“I will have the maintenance guys come out and replace this lock soon,” she says apologetically.
Moving to the side, she motions for me to enter first; she follows behind me shutting the door. Entering the condo, the living room is large and cozy with light-colored carpet and floor-to-ceiling windows on the right that overlook the parking lot. Along the same wall is the entryway to the kitchen. I step into the kitchen and spot a set of French doors on the right side of the room that leads outside to a spacious balcony. Walking out onto the balcony, I surmise it could hold ten people comfortably with patio furniture included. Walking to the edge and looking over the wood rail I see there is a swimming pool surrounded by a concrete patio coming off the first-floor condo. “Swimming pool?” I question, I don’t remember her saying anything about a pool.