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Book 1 of The Angels of Hellfire MC. Loathed by her peers and deemed Plain Jaine because of her less than perfect physical appearance, Jaine grew up in the MC life, losing her young heart to Ace the son of the President of the Angels of Hellfire. Rejected by Ace, unrequited love sees Jaine heartbroken, and she leaves her hometown of Rising, California vowing never to return. Fast forward ten years. Jaine has moved on with her life and is no longer the same awkward teenager. A ballsy, successful lawyer during the day and a deadly vigilante sniper after hours she boasts Razr the President of the Iron Scorpions MC in New York as her lover and Padraig the youngest son of the Irish Mob, The Hudson Dusters, as her personal confidant. A family bereavement sees Jaine having to return to Rising. What will happen when she's confronted by the ghost from her past? Ace. Now the President of the Angels of Hellfire. This story contains strong adult themes that some readers may find upsetting and/or triggering. It also contains high levels of smut. A meaty MC dark romance of around 122k words.

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Chapter 1


Ten Years Earlier (Aged Eighteen)

The Angels of Hellfire Clubhouse, Rising, California

I hear the guttural growls of the hogs before I see them.

He’s back.

Walking across to look from his bedroom window, I take in the large group approaching the compound entrance leaving a trail of dust hanging in the air in its wake. Each bike is loved and cherished by its rider, and the well-oiled machines gleam in the late afternoon sun.

“If only they looked after their old ladies as well,” I mutter to myself.

I watch as Jefferson, one of the new Prospects swings the large metal gates open to allow the brothers through before slamming them shut afterwards. He gives the heavy iron a thorough shake to be sure they’re secure, causing the rusty hinges to creak loudly in protest.

Not that he need bother. It’s an instant locking device, plus there’s CCTV everywhere with a coded entry system on the entrance door. The digits are changed every second day minimum. Still, I guess it pays to be vigilant, although who in their right mind would mess with a one percent club. Only fools with a death wish.

I inhale the long-familiar redolence of exhaust fumes being emitted from the straight metal pipes. It’s a smell that’s permeated the very walls of the clubhouse itself through the years to the extent where it’s now ingrained.

Well, it’s one of the ingrained things, at least.

The only real welcome one.

The other is DNA. Cum, to be precise.

Closing my eyes, I exhale loud and slow.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jaine?” I grumble to myself.

I can hear the blood pounding through my brain and in my ears.

Thump. Thump. Fucking. Thump.

I suddenly feel nauseous with nerves.

The sounds of rock music and men hollering makes up the background noise. The continual hum is only broken by their old ladies’ loud shrieks as they pretend to laugh at crap jokes and repeated stories. Shit, that wasn’t even funny the first time around. Walking across, I push closed the heavy bulletproof door, which clunks solidly behind me.

Silence ensues.

Leaning my back against its dark grey surface, I shiver as the coolness of the metal sends chills up my spine. I wander around his bedroom, my nervous fingertips trailing over the familiar stuff within easy each.

Nerves cause me to bite the inside of my lip so damn hard I can taste the copperiness of blood.

I glance around the room. At the blue painted walls and the unmade double bed. Its black covers are now grey, and the white fitted sheet is pulling away from the mattress edges, having shrunken in size. Their visual wear and tear is a constant reminder, not that I ever needed one, of the number of times they’ve been washed on account of the fucking he’s done in that bed ever since he’s been legally able to.

Shit. Who am I kidding? He’s been fucking club sluts since he got his first boner.

And also Emilia.

The bedding is clean. I hope.

The mattress? Well, it’s a bit like everything else in the clubhouse. Avoid blacklight usage at all goddamn costs unless you want to be blinded.

The US flag hangs on the wall above his bed, billowing gently as it’s caught by the warm early August breeze seeping through the partially open window.

The faint trickle of air does nothing to disguise or dispel the combined scent of aromatic cologne, sex and him, which lingers in the room.

Closing my eyes, I breathe in deeply.

I love his fucking smell.

But then I love everything about him.

My gaze drifts along the shelves that line the walls which hold porn magazines, condoms, bike parts and all the other essential stuff that any almost-nineteen-year-old male evidently needs.

I run my fingers across the surface, then grimace when I look at the tips. Oh, and dust. Lots of dead skin cells belonging to fuck knows which skanky bitches.

He has no time for cleaning. Not with all the women, he’s servicing these days.

How many times have I been in this room? Too many to mention.

I’m the only female allowed in here unattended and definitely the only one where the first thing on his mind isn’t fucking.

Today. Tonight. Well, that’s going to be different.

At least, I hope it is.

Pulling my green velvet scrunchie from my hair, I drag my sweaty hands through its long blonde length.

I lick my lips. My mouth feels dry.

My pop was born in this town. We moved back here from Nevada when I was seven. I remember the first time I saw him. A boy with eyes as blue as the bluest thing ever and with inky hair as black as midnight. His smile made me melt. We’ve been thick as thieves ever since. Best friends.

I’ve loved him from that first moment, and I fell in love with him as soon as I was old enough to understand what being in love felt like. What it truly meant. There hasn’t been a day gone by when I’ve not loved him in some shape or form. There likely never will.


Well, it’s my eighteenth birthday hence the get together at the clubhouse.

We did the cake and presents thing earlier with some of the retired brothers, their old ladies and their families.

I’ve not seen him today yet though.

I need to speak to him as the letter came. I’ve been dreading it, but then again, I haven’t. I’ve been accepted into Yale Law School. I’m following in my pop’s footsteps. I never told him I’d applied to colleges and definitely not that I’d applied to any out of state. He’s never once asked about my future or what I planned to do with my life. He’s selfish like that. Then again, all bikers are. Women are there to cook, clean and fuck. The end of their usefulness stops right there. He likely thought I’d graduate then hang around here forever. Become somebody’s, old lady. Maybe even his. But I need more from life than this Club. I need a qualification. To have career options if I ever want one or need one.

I’m not sure how he’ll react. Did he think I’d just stay in Rising forever? Most likely. Then again, maybe he won’t even care if I go.

I have to leave California in just a few short weeks and move to New York.

Why am I so nervous?

I want him to be my first.

Does he know that?


At least not yet.

He will, though.

When I throw myself at him tonight.

Beg him if I need to.

I rub my hands down my khaki cargo pants just as the bedroom door bursts open.

“What you doing in here, PJ?” His voice has deepened over the years, and it makes me feel all kinds of fuzzy inside. Lust? Desire? All I know is that a shiver runs through me just about every time he opens his mouth.

I spin around and look at him.

He takes up the entire doorway with his six-foot-four frame, which gets broader each day.

Icey blue eyes stare at me from a face that’s naturally tanned from the sun and with cheekbones any woman would kill for. He runs his hands through his thick black wavy hair, which hangs several inches below his shoulders.

I fucking love a man with a mane.

I grimace and then pout.

“Just got a bit of a headache, Ace, that’s all.” It’s a blatant lie.

I’m the only one who calls him that. Ace. When he first introduced me to the game of poker, he deliberately removed all the aces every time it was my turn so I could never win. I was too young to know any better. Or too stupid. Or too infatuated. I was too something, that’s for sure. I only realised when they fell down his sleeve as he leaned over when he almost kissed me one time. That’s another story. And, well? The name’s stuck ever since.

I walk across the room, kick off my white Converse, then flop on my back on the bed, pretending everything’s normal. That I’m not planning on seducing my best friend. Walking across, he lays on his side beside me. Same as we’ve done a million times before. I turn my head to look at him, and he grins at me. My eyes take in his bright white smile with its slightly too long canines, which give him the wolfish look that I love. They then drop to the dimple in his chin.

No wonder women want him. He’s so goddamn beautiful.

Not as much as I want him, though.

I smile back at him.

“Emilia’s been looking for you.” I grimace when I mention her name. I move my gaze to stare at the ceiling, my hands fidgeting with the hemline of my white vest.

“Where’s Jason?” I speak in a breathy tone trying to mimic her slutty voice and calling him by his real name like she does. She wouldn’t dare call him Ace.

He leans up on one elbow and smiles down at me. My gaze discreetly runs up the dark blue jeans that cling to his muscular thighs and slim hips, then to the black muscle tee that caresses his upper torso.

“Are you jealous, Plain?” he grins teasingly.

I hate that fucking name.

He’s called me that since our early teens. Well, only after I called myself it in fairness.

Plain Jaine.

Sometimes he abbreviates it to PJ. That’s if I’m lucky. I’m plain and forgettable, you see on account I have glasses and braces and am nothing much to look at. I’m five foot nine and skinny with zero shape. I can’t put on weight no matter how much I try. Maybe it’s because I practice MMA three times a week. I have an impressive six-pack, though, but teenage boys aren’t interested in that sort of thing, are they? At least not on girls? Maybe one day, I’ll grow the tits or ass they are interested in and drool over. Maybe even both. I’m not holding my breath, though.

“You wish, weirdo!” I snap. Why? Because I am totally and utterly jealous of her.

Standing up with his back to me, he stretches, and my eyes automatically drop to his butt. They then sweep over the black leather Prospect cut he’s been wearing since he turned eighteen. The name of the Club is emblazoned on the back. Angels of Hellfire. I know he’s excited about being fully patched in next week on his nineteenth birthday.

It’s his destiny to be Prez at the end of the day, you see. Like his old man is now.

I raise my gaze just before he turns around and catches me staring at his ass.

“Anyway, it’s time for me to give you my present, PJ, so let’s go, sweetheart.” He smirks and proceeds to make a come-hither motion with his finger, then holds out his hand for me to take. I raise mine reluctantly, rolling my eyes exaggeratedly. Grabbing it, he yanks me with ease to my feet.

I slip on my shoes then he locks our fingers as we walk through to the communal area.

“Gusto, you got the kit ready, man?” Ace shouts over the top of the metal music that’s now blaring in the background.

I shake my head and try to prise my hand from his.

“No fucking way, Ace. I’m not getting a tattoo,” I whisper to him. “Gusto put that kit away. It’s not needed,” I yell, shaking my head and dragging my heels.

Ace stops and turns to look at me. Raising his eyebrows, he moves his hand to grip my wrist determinedly. “We’re both getting one.”

I roll my eyes and sigh, staring at him. “What are we getting and where?” I ask, feeling worried.

“Well, I’m going to get ‘plain’ tattooed on my dick.” He replies with his wolfish grin.

I slap his arm with my free hand and try again to tug my other away.

Then I burst out laughing.

“Plain dick?” I chuckle even louder just to wind him up.

“Ain’t nothing plain about my dick, sweetheart.” He says huffily, yanking me beside him. His expression’s now impassive as he’s no doubt annoyed at my offending his well-used appendage.

“Well, you said it, Ace? I was just repeating.” I smirk, raising my eyebrows.

“Happy birthday, Chiquita. Now, what am I doing for you both?” Gusto interrupts our usual bickering as he unravels his kit.

I fucking hate needles.

I stare around the bar area. Most of the families have dispersed now, and the club sluts will be filling the place soon. The brothers that remain are drunk and laughing, sitting at the dark wood tables and chairs. The others are propping up the dark grey metal bulletproof bar with their heads together, discussing important shit. I’ve learned it’s best not to ask or know. It’s safer that way. Not that they’d tell a woman anything anyway.

Bikers are chauvinist pricks.

“We both want the letter J scrolled behind our left ear.” Ace replies, then looks at me for approval.

“You ok with that, Jaine?” Gusto raises an eyebrow at me, making sure, I’m one hundred percent in agreement.

Anyone with half a brain knows you should never get a name inked on your skin. But an initial? Well, it could stand for anything, I guess.

I swallow. Inside I feel all kinds of warmth, though. Ace is putting my initial on him.

I nod slowly. “Um, yeah, but could I have an A instead, please?”

Ace rolls his eyes, and I look up into his piercing blue gaze.

“You’ll always be Ace to me, though?” I say quietly. It’s true.

He searches my face, and it feels like his eyes are looking into my soul.

He smiles and nods.

“You go first, PJ.” He motions for me to sit down.

I take a seat and stare at the short and stocky, dark Gusto as he prepares the equipment. He runs his hand down his long beard before putting on a pair of white latex gloves which he snaps in place across his wrists.

“This will sting, baby girl.” He looks at me again before he starts. Guess if I want to back out, now’s the time.

I nod, then swallow hard as the gun buzzes into life.

“Here, hold onto me.” Ace offers me his hand for moral support and adds a reassuring smile. I clutch it as I sit and try not to move as I get my first ever tattoo. I grimace in discomfort and my mouth fills with the taste of blood as I bite the inside of my lip yet again.

Ace admires Gusto’s work once it’s done. “I’ve changed my mind.” He then announces.

I wrinkle my nose and slap his arm.

“I’m joking, PJ.” He snickers then ties his hair back, and I watch as Gusto inks a scrolled J behind his ear. He pulls a face, pretending to be in pain. I slap him on the arm again. It’s not his first tattoo. Nowhere near. He has loads. Each one inked perfectly onto his beautiful body. Still, I’ll bet mine is the only initial he has on him.

“Jaine, what’s going on?” A questioning voice asks from behind me.


“Pop….um… it’s my birthday present from Ace.” I spin around as I take in the tall slim balding man that’s my dad. He’s handsome but mars his features by constantly wearing a worried frown like the worlds about to abruptly come to an end. He’s stood beside Ace’s pop, Duke, the Club Prez.

My dad’s a friend of the Club and acts as their lawyer. He and Duke have known each other since high school days. Apparently, they were best friends even though they’re polar opposites.

My dad frowns even more if that’s fucking possible. Meanwhile, Duke laughs and pats Ace on the shoulder. “She’s a keeper this one, son.”

My dad glares at him. It’s his biggest fear. Me and Ace ever getting together.

I smirk as Ace’s cheeks go pink.

“Happy Birthday, Lil Jainie,” Duke says to me as he kisses me warmly on the cheek. He looks like an older version of Ace.

“Thanks, Duke,” I smile in response.

“You pussy-whipped, bro?” Ace’s friend Clay, another Prospect, walks across and butts in, like the dick that he is. Emilia has her arms wrapped around him. She’d no doubt have her legs wrapped around him, too, if there weren’t children present. He smirks at me. He’s not as tall as Ace, although he’s not far off. He’s handsome, all the same, with a blonde buzzcut and big brown eyes.

“Shut up, Clay or I’ll whoop your ass on the range.” I scowl at him threateningly.

“Bring it on, Plain.” He smirks again as he emphasises Ace’s nickname for me while wrapping his arm around Emilia’s waist. Jefferson walks over to join us with a matching smirk, tucking his long blonde hair behind his ear. Assholes. My eyes drift to him and then to Emilia.

I take in the voluptuous, dark-haired, dark-skinned girl. She’s in my year even though she’s Ace’s age as she was kept back due to poor attendance. We’re worlds apart. She never talks to me at school. Seldom speaks to me here truth be known unless it’s to say something bitchy about my looks. Then again, Jefferson’s in my year, too, but he never talks to me either. I’m not cool. Too forgettable. Not good enough looking to be seen with. Emilia’s wearing a tight black dress that barely covers her very generous assets. Tits hanging over the top, ass hanging out the bottom. She’s likely not wearing any panties either. She smiles at Clay, but her eyes constantly drift to Ace, and she gazes at him longingly.

He’s mine.

“All done,” Gusto announces as he wipes the blood from behind Ace’s ear.

I walk across to look, and warmth surges through me. Ace got a tattoo for me. I must mean something to him surely.

I smirk when Emilia frowns at the tattoo. “Right, let me show all you useless Prospects how to shoot straight.”

We go outside and do some target practice, and I whoop their asses as I do every time.

“What did your pop get you for your birthday then, Jaine?” Emilia asks as she drinks a beer while sitting on Clay’s lap.

I look at her, my gaze drifting down to where she’s almost rubbing herself back and forth across his dick. I turn around and continue to shoot.

“A Harley Softail Deluxe in all-black,” I mutter quietly, not wanting to sound like a show-off.

“Wow, shit, that’s impressive.” Clay looks surprised for a moment, and then I watch as he drops his hands to Emilia’s hips, encouraging her to grind against him even more.

I put my empty Glock down the back of my pants and yawn

My insides flip as I think about what I’m about to do. Or at least try to do.

Seduce, my best friend.

“I’m tired. You mind if I go lay on your bed for a little while, Ace?”

He’s still shooting. He’s always trying to beat me, but he never fucking will. Duke says I have natural talent.

“Sure thing, PJ,” he replies without looking at me.

My eyes scan over him as he shoots. I’ll never get tired of looking at him.

I can feel Emilia’s glare on me. If I’m on Ace’s bed, then at least he can’t fuck her on it.

Putting my hand on his shoulder, I whisper in his ear. “You’ll never shoot better than me, Ace, so you may as well give up trying.”

“Screw you, sweetheart.” He growls in annoyance and shrugs my hand off. I make the L shape with my finger and thumb on my forehead and laugh even louder.

“You wish, loser,” I yell back as I walk off, flipping him the bird.

“Well, you can now she’s legal, Jace,” Emilia announces with a smirk as she takes another sip from her beer.

She’s looking at me with her eyes narrowed. It’s like she knows exactly what I intend to do.

Making my way back through the clubhouse, I go into Ace’s room, close the door and collapse on the bed.

Shit, am I going to be able to go through with this? Will he want to fuck me? I mean, I’m not like Emilia? I’m not pretty or curvaceous. I wear glasses and braces, and I’m built like a boy.

I’m Plain fucking Jaine, after all.

I strip down to my vest and panties. Placing my glasses and scrunchie on the nightstand, I get under the covers and find myself drifting off. I’m awoken, I’m not sure how much later, when the mattress sinks beneath me.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says quietly.

I frown as I open my eyes, feeling completely disorientated for a moment, until I remember I’m in Ace’s bed.

He’s lying on his side, resting his head on his elbow and staring down at me with a small smile playing on his lips. The leathery smell of his cut is almost as intoxicating as his musky aromatic smell of his cologne.

“Hey, you,” I whisper as my eyes drink him in.

I close them and roll onto my back, stretching out with my hands above my head.

When I open them, Ace’s eyes are on my chest. I glance down, and my hardened nipples are pressed against my vest.

I look at him, and his blue eyes search my green ones.

“Ace?” I whisper so quietly it’s almost inaudible.

It’s now, or never so leaning forward, I press my lips softly against his. I quickly lay back down, conscious that I’ve no real experience when it comes to kissing either. Well, not proper kissing with tongues. I feel my cheeks go hot, and I bite my lip nervously. My fingers toy with the cover as I start to worry about how he’ll react.

What if he doesn’t want me?

He frowns and looks confused. “Do you want me to kiss you, PJ?”

I close my eyes in mortification.

I nod. “Yes,” I whisper.

My heart is beating so hard I can feel it pounding against my ribs, and I’m sure they’ll snap at any moment.

I’m not sure how long passes. Minutes? Hours? Eventually he leans over and gently presses his mouth to mine. His breath is warm and his touch soft. His teeth scrape against my bottom lip, and his tongue trails across the seam of my closed mouth, asking to be let in.

My best friend is kissing me. Ace is kissing me.

I part my lips, and his tongue slips boldly inside to tangle with my own. I groan softly as I welcome the taste of tequila, minty toothpaste, and everything Ace. Taking my reaction as a green light, he deepens the kiss, his mouth becoming more insistent and demanding. He quickly steals away my breath, my heart, and my soul. I run my fingers through his hair, relishing at how soft it is. Lifting my top, he cups my small breasts in his calloused rough hands. His fingers squeeze my nipples, causing them to pebble with the resultant jolt of desire travelling straight to my clit. I gasp, and my hips raise reactively.

“I want you, Ace,” I whisper hotly against his lips.

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