Beyond Revenge/Rattler

Book 10: Serpents MC Las Vegas

by Barbara Nolan

Genres: Motorcycle Club Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

Sexy Hollywood star on the run
Playboy outlaw looking for fun
An epic bike rally is just the beginning of their wild ride from passion to revenge...

Hold on tight for a wild and wicked ride with Rattler and Serafina

Sandy Morris, America's girl-next-door and award-winning sitcom star, desperately needs an escape. Playing a teenager at twenty-six just doesn't cut it anymore. A juicy role in an edgy cable series about badass bikers is on her horizon, but she needs to research outlaw life and do some role playing to better understand her new character. With nothing more than a clever disguise and her real name -- Serafina -- to protect her anonymity, she sets out for the biggest bike rally of the year.

Rattler's on a mission to make the most of his next bike rally with the Serpents MC, but in addition to booze, sex and rock and roll, he also needs to make a deal with the San Diego Diablos. There's just one problem: he wasn't expecting to get blindsided by the smokin' hot biker chick who won the wet t-shirt contest and stood up to the president of the Diablos. Guts like that wrapped up in a drop-dead gorgeous body is every biker's dream, even if something doesn't quite add up.

When things spin out of control with the Diablos, Rattler must choose between his president's orders and Serafina's security. Though he's reluctant to mix club business with pleasure, taking Serafina to the Serpents' safe house on the California coast is the only option.

The chaos of revenge forces secrets to be revealed, and Rattler and Serafina must accept the dangerous realities of outlaw life. With tragedy just a heartbeat away, will Rattler be forced to sacrifice the woman who could hold his heart forever for the club that already has his loyalty?

Beyond Revenge is a steamy, standalone bad boy biker romance. Although it is book ten in the Serpents MC Las Vegas Series, enjoy it in whatever order you like with lots of heat and a guaranteed HEA!

 

Read more

Release date: June 27, 2022

Content advisory: strong language, violence

Sample

Nothing beat the penthouse view from the Bellagio Hotel or the soft manicured hands of Elizabeth Harding. Yep, that Elizabeth Harding—the one with political ties in DC, skyscrapers in Manhattan, villas in Italy and the Caribbean, a sugarcane farm in South America, and this luxurious Vegas penthouse. She’d spend a couple of months a year here, indulging in her favorite pastimes: gambling and fucking. Two things got Ms. Elizabeth Harding off—roulette and Rattler’s cock—not particularly in that order.

“What are you doing in there?” Elizabeth’s cultured but impatient voice filtered through the thick four-inch door.

Rattler glanced out the bathroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows. The room’s dim recessed lighting and the window’s angle displayed a panoramic view of the Strip lit up in all its glory. 

Un-fucking-believable. 

Preparing himself for round two, he splashed cold water on his face, shut off the gold faucets, and wiped his hands on the thick, plushy towels Elizabeth had flown in from Turkey. She claimed they cost three hundred bucks apiece. Rattler doubted all the towels combined in the fuckin’ clubhouse cost three hundred dollars, but he sure was enjoying them.

“Hurry up, I’m getting lonely out here,” she purred.

Elizabeth was demanding, beautiful, and accustomed to getting her way. It was the only life she ever knew and one that Rattler never imagined.

He reentered the massive bedroom in the equally spacious suite and sauntered over to the bed where Elizabeth lay draped in sheets she’d had delivered from who-the-fuck knew where and insisted the maids change every day. 

Nothing compared to screwing wealthy young women. They felt great, smelled phenomenal, and loved taking a walk on the wild side, especially this woman, who liked it hot, rough, and dirty—Rattler’s three favorite words. 

Over the last two months, he’d enjoyed room service, in-room massages, a steady flow of premium booze in the casino, and Elizabeth’s private cabana by the exclusive pool for penthouse-only guests. Rattler was starting to believe he could definitely live the good life. 

He left a few days a week for club business and to visit the Palomino Club, where his on-again, off-again, crazy-as-fuck girlfriend, Yvette, worked as a stripper. Keeping the two women separated with his usual line of bullshit came easy to Rattler, but it might’ve been time to take a breather from penthouse life. Lately, Elizabeth was getting clingy, asking him where he was going, when he’d be back, who he was talking to, and texting on his phone. Rattler had a severe allergy to questions, and popping a Claritin wouldn’t ease this itch.

Elizabeth’s sultry, hooded eyes ran over his naked body, and yeah, he was ready to go again. Her perfectly pouty lips curved into a smirk as she pulled his phone out from under the sheet, then waved it in front of him. “Some very interesting reading on here.”

Rattler’s heart did an extra thump, but he kept his game face firmly in place.

“Who’s Yvette?” Her bright blue eyes bore into him like lasers.

“Who the fuck knows, babe? I got random chicks texting me all the time.”

“And are these ‘random chicks’ also in the habit of texting you tits and pussy pics?” She flipped the phone in his direction to fully view Yvette’s enormous, round boobs. Liz squared her shoulders, making her flawlessly enhanced breasts sway.

“I can’t help what they send, babe.” Fuckin’ Yvette, probably getting back at him for ignoring her calls earlier. He’d texted her before and said he’d come by the Palomino Club later, but of course that wasn’t enough for Yvette. Unlike Elizabeth, she grew up rough and wasn’t above playing dirty, but he’d been in tougher spots and come out on top. Literally.

Rattler eased onto the bed, slid over the softer-than-butter sheets, and circled his arm around Elizabeth's bare waist. “Now, where were we?” 

He ran his palm down her arm and over her hand, attempting to capture his phone, but Elizabeth leaned away from him, still focused on the screen. “Is it too much to ask that you keep your cock in your pants for the two months I’m here?”

Seeing only one chick for two months straight? Even with room service and massages, that was a lot to ask.

“Why don’t you give me that so we don’t have any more interruptions.” He reached for the damn cell, but she evaded him again.

“It says here she’ll be seeing you later.”

“Nah, that chick’s crazy. I don’t even know her.” He grabbed for the phone again, but she easily swiveled off the bed. He’d forgotten Elizabeth was a ranking tennis player.

“The timestamps indicate you’ve been texting her all night, as in three minutes before we’d just had sex.”

Get yourself outta this one, asshole.

“C’mon, Liz—”

“You know, you’re the only one I allow to call me Liz.” 

“Which proves my point. Are you gonna believe some stupid cell phone or what you see right in front of you?” That sentence didn’t make any fuckin’ sense, but when he flipped back the sheet he thanked the higher powers for a cock that could perform on demand.

Her eyes softened, and her little pink tongue licked at her bottom lip.

Rattler held out his hand. “Give me that damn phone and get back in here so I can make you feel good.” He cocked an eyebrow and raked his teeth over his lower lip like she was the sweetest chocolate cake in the bakery.

She slid her nicely rounded ass over the sheets, swung her toned legs onto the bed, and was just about to hand him the phone when it buzzed with another message. Elizabeth’s face sobered, her eyes narrowed, and her lips twisted into a rich-girl pout.

“This looks like someone who knows you very well.” She rested the phone on his thigh, and they both stared at his dick—the real one between his legs and the one in living color on his phone, complete with the Prince Albert barbells.

“Still going to tell me you don’t know who this is?” She snatched the phone off his thigh, and Rattler had an overwhelming urge to cup his balls for protection.

“C’mon, babe, that could be anybody.” Weak, but sometimes going with the obvious worked.

“Are you kidding me?” She spun off the bed, turned, and pitched the phone onto the mattress, inches away from his dick.

“Why are you getting all crazy?” Rattler scooped it up, then scurried off the bed to locate his clothes in case things went sideways. “She don’t mean anything to me.”

“Well, you either sent her that dick pic, or she took it while in bed with you. Whichever way, you know her, and you know her well.”

Rattler did a quick memory test. How the hell did Yvette get a pic of his cock? His seconds of introspection gave Elizabeth enough time to wrap a sheet around her outstanding body and storm around the bed.

“Bad enough, you’re texting this bimbo, but did you have to do it while in bed with me?”

He wanted a way out, and this could work in his favor.

“Technically, you weren’t in bed yet. You were still in the bathroom doin’ whatever the hell you do in there.”

When her eyes bugged out of their sockets and widened to the size of softballs, Rattler scavenged around for his clothes.

“You son of a bitch.” She stalked around the room, eyes wild, fists clutching the sheet, in full fight mode. 

He hopped one-legged into his jeans, then nabbed his t-shirt and cut off the end of the bed, narrowly missing the water bottle she hurled at his head. He jammed his feet into his boots while dodging the ice pelting him from the silver bucket on the bureau. “Fuck, quit throwing shit at me.”

“You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing. How dare you text another woman while you’re in bed with me.” She threw another water bottle his way. “Do you know who I am?”

Rattler zipped up and fastened his belt. “A spoiled rich bitch, that’s who you are.” He flipped her a two-finger salute and bolted out the door, just as something heavy banged off the wall, followed by a high-pitched wailing scream.

A guy passing the door gave him the side-eye, and Rattler shrugged. “I like to leave them wanting more.”

Rattler jumped on the elevator and hit Yvette’s number. It rang four times until she picked up. “What do you want?”

“You, babe, always you.” He checked himself out in the mirrored elevator, then rubbed his palm over the scruff outlining his jaw. Maybe he should grow out his beard. 

“I know you were with that rich bitch over at the Bellagio.” 

“You’re crazy. I’m sitting here at the Gold Mine having a beer with Cobra.”

“You’re a fuckin’ lying bastard,” she screamed through the phone. “The concierge saw you walk in with her.”

Geez, what was it with these women? Like fuckin’ secret agents.

“You’re spying on me, now? Babe, that ain’t nice.”

Yvette had a wild streak, which made her unpredictable, but usually benefitted him and his dick until she lost it and went crazy. As a headliner at the Palomino Club, she demanded attention and usually got it. She also didn’t like sharing, which made for some very lively conversations.

“Neither is you sticking your cock in that bitch who breezes into town once a year. You know, she’s only with you ’cause of that big dick of yours.”

“I know that, she knows that, and now you know that, so what’s the big fuckin’ deal?” The elevator door opened into the parking garage. “Now, am I gonna see you later or what?”

The pounding music from the Palomino filtered through the phone along with another screeching female voice. “Tell him to fuck off. He’s nothing but a biker bum.”

“See, even my girls know you’re a no-good liar,” Yvette screamed into the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, so am I gonna see you tonight or not?”

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!” Then he heard the silence of a dead phone.

It was the second time tonight a woman said that to him.

“Sh-iit. Women,” Rattler grumbled as he exited the elevator and walked into the garage.

“Agreed.” The attendant gave him a knowing smirk, threw him his keys, then nodded toward Rattler’s bike. “Will you be back tonight?”

He and Sam, the parking attendant, cultivated a fast friendship consisting of Rattler sharing the Serpents’ premium weed for an exclusive parking space for his beloved Harley.

“Nah, not tonight, but definitely tomorrow.” Rattler believed in being optimistic. He didn’t have faith in many things except women. He’d learned at an early age to simply tell them what they wanted to hear, and the rest came easy.

Rattler threw his leg over the saddle, hit the throttle, and wheeled out. Might as well head to the Gold Mine. Cobra had a strict rule about not fooling around with the girls at Ecstasy, which was the number one reason he scoped out the other strip clubs in town.

Ten minutes later, he pulled into the rear lot of the Gold Mine and strolled in the back door. He passed Mamba in the hallway, putting his moves on a club girl. Poor guy was fresh out of the joint and probably trying to make up for lost time.

Saturday night at two a.m., the place was vibrating with thumping rock music, clinking glasses, and the heavy scent of weed and cigarettes. 

Home Sweet Home. 

Rattler found his place with the Serpents almost eight years ago. At the time, he managed a beat-to-shit strip club downtown when Cobra and Python swaggered in and bought the dump. It was hard to believe they turned it into Ecstasy, one of the top-grossing strip joints in Vegas. This information came from Boa, their six-foot-five cyber genius with an accounting degree and a right hook equaling a prizefighter.

Rattler learned the hard way not to take anything too serious, but one thing he never joked about was his position as the Serpents’ road captain. He planned every run with an attention to detail and made sure every member and their bikes were fit to ride the distance. 

He scoped out Cobra and Python sitting at the main bar, then elbowed his way across the room. He could already feel a shot of Jack’s smoky bite sliding down his throat.

“Hey, baby.” A blonde, almost as tall as Rattler, stepped in his path. “Remember me?”

Her eyes widened with anticipation, but his mind blanked on her name. Squeaky, high voice, huge fake tits, too much makeup—yeah, that could be half the women he’d been with in the last month.

“Yeah, sure, how’re you doin’?” A generic greeting might fool her.

“You remember my name, right?” She ran her ridiculously long pink fingernails down the front of his t-shirt, resting on his belt buckle.

“That’s a dumb question … Of course.” He had two choices. Either kiss her stupid and drag her to his room or rattle his brain until he remembered her name. Neither of which he felt like doing. 

“I gotta talk to Cobra.” He shot a look over his shoulder. “Club business.” That would usually shut up the most persistent female.

“First, tell me my name.”

But not this one.

“Why, you forgot it?” He flashed the trademark grin and prayed to the almighty this chick didn’t go batshit crazy too.

“You don’t know my name, do you?” She stepped back, slapped her hands on her outstanding, curvy hips, and arched her back until her nipples almost popped over her tube top. 

“Not exactly, but—” He backed away, hoping he could make it to the bar before she lost it completely.

“Asshole!” Her shrieking squawk competed with the music and even turned a few heads.

Rattler retreated to the bar and slid in next to Python.

“Well, look who’s back.” Cobra smirked.

Rattler cocked an eyebrow and prepared himself for his prez’s ribbing.

“What was that about?” Python asked through a laugh as he nodded to the nameless blonde shooting him the evil eye from across the bar.

“Just another woman going crazy.” He knocked his knuckles on the scarred oak top for the prospect. Three seconds later, a much-needed shot and a bottle of Jack stared him in the face. “Is there a full moon or some shit tonight? ’Cause I think the female race is losing it.”

“Maybe they're catching on to your game,” Cobra chimed in.

“I don’t have a game,” Rattler defended, then shot the whiskey.

“That’s true. If you had game, you wouldn’t have a random chick screaming her head off in the middle of the clubhouse.”

“Blow me.” Rattler flipped them both off.

“Maybe you should’ve said to her, brother.” Python nodded to the blonde, still scowling at Rattler.

“Very fuckin’ funny.”

“You had to know it would catch up with you sooner or later.”

“I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.” Rattler poured himself another shot.

“You better be careful. All that allure is gonna get your dick broke.” Python shoulder-butted him.

“And how come you two aren’t home with your old ladies instead of busting my balls?”

His prez and sergeant-at-arms sobered. Cobra mashed his lips together while Python drew in a deep breath.

Cobra shot the whiskey in front of him, then cleared his throat. “We’re trying to sort out some shit.”

Rattler shifted his gaze between the two men. Something was up if these two weren’t tucked up nice and tight with their women.

“I set up a meet with the Diablos in Hollister,” Cobra added. “Neutral territory. After what happened last month, we can’t be too careful.”

Thanks to Python’s long-lost father, Ghost, who set them up in San Diego, the Serpents now received all their artillery from them. The deals went smooth for months until one of their prospects, trying to make his bones, stirred up some shit at a meet. Things went sideways, Diablos ended up in the hospital, and trust was broken.

“Gotta smooth shit out before it festers. Figured the rally would be a place to start. Everybody relaxed, everybody ready to get on the same page.”

Cobra’s logic made sense, but the Diablos acted first and thought second from what Rattler saw. Not good for negotiations.

“The hardware they were selling us was solid, and since it’s one of our main moneymakers, I hate to let it slip because they were too stupid to vet their prospects or keep them in line.”

Cobra’s logic couldn’t be matched. He had a common-sense way of looking at life, and Rattler often thought had he not been an outlaw, he could’ve efficiently run some big company or traded stocks on Wall Street.

“Joker was in contact with their VP, and we got a meet set for ten o’clock Friday night at Johnny’s.” Cobra smirked. “Get business out of the way, and then we got the rest of the weekend to kick back and let loose.”

“Sounds good, boss. I’m on it.”

“There’s one other thing.” Cobra rubbed at his stubbled jaw. “After the rally, I want you to stay up there.”

“In Hollister?” There wasn’t too much there that could interest the Serpents or Cobra when the rally was over.

“Nah, I need you to hang out at the safe house in Oceanside. If the meet goes the way I want, then we’re back in business, and you being at the stop-off point ensures a smooth delivery.”

On the California coast, Oceanside was close enough to the border to keep an eye on the Diablos but not too close where they felt cramped. Rattler grew up in Cali, so he usually handled the business at the Serpents’ safe house in the surfing town. It allowed the MC to lay low and, in this case, make sure the shipment of guns was intact and ready to move north.

“With all your women problems”—Python elbowed him—“it might be the perfect time to get outta town for a while.”

Rattler couldn’t argue that point, plus he could catch some waves, kick back in the sun and sand, and maybe even get a tan.