There’s no escaping the pull of desire in this novel in #1 When Czar shut down Lazar “Keys” Alexeev’s undercover mission, that should have been the end of the story. Instead,;Keys is back in the middle of a nowhere town where a petite redhead with a pouty mouth and a ready smile drives him to distraction. He’s not sure why he’s breaking all of Torpedo Ink’s rules to spend more time around a woman who’s not even his type. He can’t get her out of his head--and now he’s facing the consequences. Lyric Johansen doesn’t like to look anyone in the eyes, but Keys’s gaze is the one thing keeping her from a full-on panic attack. Her instinct to charge into the fray and help the biker fend off a group of vicious thugs has led to the most insane situation she’s ever been in: trapped in a coffin with a man she barely knows, minutes away from a painful death.;; Survival means staying focused. But when Keys kisses Lyric to snap her out of losing it, he’s the one who ends up falling apart. He’ll need to unleash hell to get them out alive. If only to get another taste….

Autorentext

Christine Feehan is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Carpathian series, the GhostWalker series, the Leopard series, the Shadow Riders series, and the Sea Haven novels, including the Drake Sisters series and the Sisters of the Heart series. She also writes stand-alone contemporary romantic suspense set in the California backcountry.

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**AN INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

There’s no escaping the pull of desire in this novel in #1 New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan’s Torpedo Ink motorcycle club series.**

When Czar shut down Lazar “Keys” Alexeev’s undercover mission, that should have been the end of the story. Instead, Keys is back in the middle of a nowhere town where a petite redhead with a pouty mouth and a ready smile drives him to distraction. He’s not sure why he’s breaking all of Torpedo Ink’s rules to spend more time around a woman who’s not even his type. He can’t get her out of his head—and now he’s facing the consequences.

Lyric Johansen doesn’t like to look anyone in the eyes, but Keys’s gaze is the one thing keeping her from a full-on panic attack. Her instinct to charge into the fray and help the biker fend off a group of vicious thugs has led to the most insane situation she’s ever been in: trapped in a coffin with a man she barely knows, minutes away from a painful death.

Survival means staying focused. But when Keys kisses Lyric to snap her out of losing it, he’s the one who ends up falling apart. He’ll need to unleash hell to get them out alive.

If only to get another taste….

Leseprobe
One

It was rather ironic that Lazar "Keys" Alexeev had been undercover for three solid months and not one incident had occurred. There had been no leads to find. No criminal activity that he could sniff out, and he was excellent at that. After three months of absolutely nothing, Czar, the president of Torpedo Ink, his motorcycle club, had shut down the mission.

It sure as fuck should have ended there, but like an idiot he'd returned to that little nothing town in the middle of nowhere on the pretense of getting his hair cut. Then he spent time there he shouldn't have because he was breaking every rule Torpedo Ink had. Now he was facing the consequences.

There was nothing like waking up with a blinding headache in a coffin-sized box with holes drilled in it so you knew there was torture coming. Hands behind his back with idiotic cuffs he was out of in about two point three seconds. But the best-or worst-was he was lying on top of another body.

Female for damned sure. He'd know a female body if he were half-dead. His head was pounding like a mother, so it was possible he was close. He'd been close many, many times, and he was still alive. Mistake on their part. Bashing him in the head and throwing him in a box with the intention of torturing him later was just about the fuckup of all fuckups.

He took a breath and let it out slowly, almost afraid of checking out the woman lying beneath him. She was very slight, and that told him who she was. He'd known her for that first three months and had been coming back for an additional two-so five months. She wasn't his type at all. He preferred women with tits and ass and lots of experience. He didn't give a damn if they were married or not. They had taken marriage vows they were willing to break, so what difference did it make to him? Pussy was pussy.

But there was Lyric Johansen. She made no sense to him. None. Zero. Nothing about her made sense. It wasn't that she didn't have a figure-she did, mostly because she had that little tucked-in waist. The rest of her was tiny. Dinky. She wore clothes that completely covered any assets that she had. She was incredibly strong. She climbed boulders and did all kinds of backpacking. Alone. He'd seen her a few times in clothes she wore to boulder and hike, and they showed her shapely legs and toned body. Mostly, she hid from the world in baggy sweaters and far-too-big jeans.

She wore a cap or scarf over her hair. That didn't make sense either. He'd only seen her hair once. Just once. He'd gone to her shop early and had seen her through the window. She had the thickest, reddest hair he'd ever seen. Sheets and sheets of long, straight, glossy red. Not orange. Not blond red but a real, almost ruby red. He doubted anyone, even a brilliant hairstylist like she was, could get that color. It had to be natural. From the first time he saw all that red, he'd wanted to drag down her panties and look to see what she was hiding. But she was everything he didn't want or need.

Now she was lying so still, he couldn't detect the rise and fall of her chest beneath him. He knew that if she was dead, he was going to go on a killing spree to end all killing sprees. He swore under his breath and maneuvered his body in the tight space so his hips were cradled in hers and he could press his ear to her chest.

"You'd better be alive, Wildfire. If you're not, this dumbfuck town is going to be razed to the ground. Wake the hell up."

To his relief, he felt the slight lift of her chest beneath his ear. The relief was ridiculous, completely out of proportion for a man like him. He didn't care about much other than his club and fellow club members. Even then, he was more of a lone wolf than anyone realized, even men he considered brothers and his closest friends.

Women came too easily to him, and his body was always demanding he indulge. And he did. Sometimes several women in a day. He didn't care about them, and they didn't care about him. He was good at what he did, and there was mutual satisfaction-most of the time. Truth he never wanted to admit to himself nagged at him-sometimes he was bored out of his mind. Maybe lately it was more often than he was satisfied.

He didn't understand why he'd come back alone to spend time in the town. Spend time getting a haircut. Going to the country bar that made him grit his teeth at the amateurish music that was often more enthusiastic than on key. But he did know this particular woman was a pain in the ass, and he spent far too much time thinking about her.

"Wake up, baby." He moved again so his face could be directly over hers. It was hot as hell in that box. He didn't like that she'd been out so long.

He could feel the movement of the truck and knew they were on an unpaved road. It was extremely bumpy, throwing the damn wooden coffin all over the back of the truck. That hurt his head and likely would hurt Lyric's if she ever woke the hell up. He was a man known for being calm in all situations. He could explode into ac…