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Swagger and Sass (Lost Kings MC #14.5)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Autumn Jones Lake

194395044X (ISBN13: 9781943950447)
Book Information:

From USA Today bestselling author, Autumn Jones Lake, sometimes white knights arrive on a motorcycle to rescue you from drowning in three feet of water…

Ladies love the c*ck.
No, seriously, my road name is Rooster, and women flock to me.
The feeling’s mutual, but life is too short to fall in love with anyone in particular.
I’ve just been promoted to Vice President of the Lost Kings MC. There’s no room in my life for distractions. Not even pretty ones.
I do who I want when I want, and always leave them smiling.
No one’s ever accused me of being a hero. Even so, I can’t resist rescuing a woman in peril.
Our paths never should have crossed.
I’m a filthy biker from New York.
Shelby’s a sassy waitress from Texas.
My club’s here on business. In a few days, we ride home.
Whatever secrets she’s hiding aren’t my problem.
If I don’t believe in love, why am I falling so hard?

Swagger and Sass is a Lost Kings MC novella.
No other books in the series need to be read in order to enjoy Swagger and Sass!

Books in Series:

Lost Kings MC Series by Autumn Jones Lake

Books by Author:

Autumn Jones Lake Books

Chapter One

Bikers party with the fire of nonconformity all the time. Rebellion. Mayhem. That’s kind of our thing. While I enjoy living outside the box of civilized society, as much as any biker, even I can’t see a damsel in distress and turn my back.

Both the upstate and downstate New York charters of the Lost Kings MC took the long ride down to San Antonio. We met up with two clubs we’re friendly with on the way and are all staying at a ranch outside the city.

The older brothers—ones tied down with old ladies and kids—including my club president, are somewhere behind us. Sparky, Jigsaw, and I pulled ahead of the happy family pack to explore. We’re charging down the narrow concrete path of the Riverwalk along the San Antonio River when I stop and hold out my arms, blocking my biker brothers, Jigsaw and Sparky, from taking another step. “What the fuck’s that guy doing?”

Straight ahead and to the right, one of the walkways over the river is empty, except for some douchewaffle with a digital camera and a girl.

Sparky may be high-as-fuck, but he zeroes in on the scene in front of us fast. “Damn. Girl’s dress is see-through.”

Okay, maybe he didn’t grasp the problem.

Yeah, Texas sun is no joke. Every inch of the girl’s curvy figure is visible under the thin white dress. That’s not what stopped me. Grade A tits and ass are pretty much available to me whenever I want ’em.

The jackass with the camera yells out, “Arch your back!”

“He has her move back another inch, she’s going in the water,” Jigsaw says, nailing the issue.

The girl hesitates and glances over her shoulder, giving me a glimpse of sun-touched cheeks and rose-red lips. “I can’t swim.” Nervous laughter follows her words.

Her companion rolls his eyes. “You’re fine.” He waves his hand in the air. “Besides, it’s like ten feet deep.”

“What an asshole,” I mutter.

“Actually,” Sparky says. “It’s probably only two to four feet deep in this location.”

As the last word leaves his mouth, the girl lets out a short yelp and tumbles backwards off the concrete bridge. Her brief scream is cut off by a loud splash.

“Shit.” I push past Jiggy and Sparky, moving closer to the water. My gaze snaps to the guy peering over the edge. Isn’t he going to go in after his girl?

“Brad!” she screams and flails her arms, gasping. “Help!”

“Come on, babe, it’s not even that deep. Just walk to the edge.” He points to the side we’re standing on and laughs.

What an asshole.

Up ahead, a pair of bicycle cops seem to have taken notice of the situation.

Either it’s deeper than the creep realizes, or the girl’s too scared to listen. She keeps flailing and yelling in the water.

“That water’s filthy. She’s gonna catch beaver fever,” Sparky says.

“I’m catching beaver fever right here. You can see her nipples through her wet dress,” Jigsaw says.

“You’re an asshole.” I shrug off my cut and slap it against his chest. “Hold that.” I smack Sparky’s arm. “Don’t let that douchebag get away. I want to have a word with him.”

“Rooster, you fuckin’ nuts?” Jigsaw says.

I’m already jumping into the river to go after the girl, so I ignore the question.

The water only comes up to my waist. Smells like shit and fuel oil. I reach the girl in a few quick strides. Poor thing’s still thrashing and sputtering. It’s cute, really.

“Calm down.” I slip my arms under her and lift her in the air. “I gotcha, darlin’.”

“What the? Oh!” She wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face against my chest, making it easier to carry her to the side, where my brothers are waiting and laughing their fool asses off.

“Help me, dick,” I snap at Jigsaw.

He gives me a what-the-fuck look and holds out a hand to the scared girl. She ignores him and tightens her hold on me. “Sweetheart, I gotta get us out of the water.” I don’t like the way the cops are eyeing me. I swear to fuck if one of ’em gives me a ticket, they’re gettin’ a throat-punch in return.

Hesitantly, she touches her toes to the sidewalk, and Jigsaw helps her stand. I haul myself out of the water, shaking hell only knows what kind of filth off me. My water-logged jeans and boots cling in an especially uncomfortable way in the humid summer air.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I ask.

“Shelby. Thank you,” she whispers in a sweet southern drawl that perks my dick right up. Don’t often hear twang like that in upstate New York.

Her scared eyes peek up at me and widen. Three six-foot-plus bikers crowding her would be too much for anyone. “Back off,” I mutter to Sparky and Jigsaw.

“Shelby! Are you okay?” the photographer yells.

The asshole already earned a beating from me for letting his girl fall in the water and doing nothing to help her. But when he pushes Jigsaw out of the way to reach for her, he’s risking death.

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