Tango (Satan Worshippers MC #3) Read Online T.O. Smith

Categories Genre: M-M Romance Tags Authors: Series: Satan Worshippers MC Series by T.O. Smith

Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)


I’m tainted by darkness. There’s no color in my life—it’s all just shades of black and gray.

But the moment I lay my eyes on Gabriel, I know he’s different.

He’s scared of his own shadow. He needs someone to take care of him. And despite the fact that I was the one kneeling in front of him, threatening to end his life, he clung to me and the tiny shred of hope I somehow gave him.

And now that the Ghosts of Chaos are after him, wanting to bring him back home and end his life for being a traitor, I’ll do anything to protect him.

This boy is mine. I’m keeping him.

And anyone who dares to come for him better be prepared to die.



There’s no hope for a damaged boy like me. I’ve survived things that probably should have killed me.

I don’t know what real kindness looks like. So, when Tango is kneeling in front of me, threatening to end my life quickly if I give him what he wants, I take the option with both hands. Because to me? That’s what I think is kindness.

Instead, he takes me home with him. He’s promising to keep me safe and protected.

I don’t really think he’ll be able to do it, but I’ll take the little bit of light I have while it’s there.

But Tango’s a monster. He’s cruel and heartless. Darkness colors his soul. It’s snuffed out every bit of his light.

Yet, he looks at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.

And when my family comes after me, I’ll see firsthand what that darkness inside Tango is capable of.

**Trigger child abuse and neglect, sexual assault, rape

This is book three of a fourteen-book series. It is highly recommended to read Scorpion (Savage Crows MC Book 11) and books 1 and 2 of this series before reading this book.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



Gunshots echoed throughout the clubhouse, only slightly muffled by the walls. Tango and Elias were outside doing target practice, per Johnston’s, the mother charter president’s, orders. The club—both the mother charter and this charter—were in the middle of a war against the Ghosts of Chaos and the Russians, and Johnston wanted everyone prepared for any possible scenario.

The Ghosts of Chaos was my family—family I wanted no ties to. My father was the president and forced me to prospect, even though the mere idea of doing anything he did made me sick to my stomach. Patrick Wright was a sick, twisted individual, and the men who followed him were just as horrible.

They lacked morals. Every man in that club was bad through and through, and evil rotted their souls.

I would know. I bore the scars on my body to prove it. I dealt with the trauma they inflicted upon me on a daily basis. I couldn’t outrun what had been done to me, no matter how much I wanted to.

The only reason I was alive today was because of Tango, and it was only sheer luck that he hadn’t murdered me for what my club had done to Chase’s old lady, Sophia. Chase was the vice president of the Texas Charter, and he promised anyone involved with Sophia being beaten and raped would pay. While I hadn’t been directly involved, my family had been, which meant I was too by association.

I’d almost paid for something I hadn’t even truly done just because I’d been caught trying to break into one of the businesses Satan’s Worshippers ran security for. I was on an order from my father, and I’d learned quickly what happened when I disobeyed or refused. Vomit rose in my throat at the mere thought.

The last time I had disobeyed, tried fighting against what he wanted, I’d been trying to save Sophia. They beat me until I was barely conscious, Dad let his VP rape me, ripping me open and making me bleed, and then they locked me in a dog cage for days with no food or water. I’d been lethargic by the time they dragged me out. One of the girls—who was there against her will—had nursed me back to health since my father was content to just let fate play out.

Before Tango, I had wished she’d just let fate play out, too. I’d had no reason to want to continue living back then, but I’d been too much of a coward to end it all myself.

Sophia set a glass of chocolate milk in front of me. I glanced up from my book long enough to smile at her in thanks before focusing back on the page I’d been reading. It was a miracle that Sophia didn’t harbor any hard feelings for me after what my family had done to her. In fact, she was sweet and kind despite being raped, beaten, and left for dead behind the bakery counter of her bookstore.

She was a really good woman. Too damn good for the likes of an outlaw, but Chase adored the ground she walked on. Hell, he worshipped her.

I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t a bit envious.

I slid the chocolate milk closer to me and slipped the straw between my lips, my eyes devouring the words on the page in front of me. One of the main characters was facing off with a past abuser, and my heart was in my throat, waiting to see if the main character would finally get his revenge.

I lived through these characters, wishing I had the strength to do what they did. I wished I had the strength to face Patrick and all the other men of the Ghosts of Chaos MC and make them pay for every bit of suffering they’d put me through. But I didn’t. I was scared. Terrified, actually. Most times, the thought of them made me break out in a cold sweat.

My eyes ran over the words, my lips going slack around the straw.

His hand suddenly wrapped around my throat, slamming me against the wall behind me so hard, my head cracked off the brick, momentarily knocking me out. When I came to, it was to pain.

So. Much. Fucking. Pain.

My ass was burning, and a scream ripped from my throat⁠—

I dropped the book, my heart hammering against my chest. I’d searched everywhere for this book’s trigger warnings before using Tango’s credit card to order it. I’d done my homework, but the author hadn’t listed sexual assault or rape as a trigger.

Vomit crawled up my throat. My hands shook so badly, the tremors made my fingers knock against the glass, tipping it onto its side before it rolled to the edge of the table and crashed to the floor. The glass shattered, milk spilling everywhere. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs weren’t working. My chest was too tight.