The air of the Bottle Cap Saloon was thick with the smell of booze and men. Layla sat at the corner table, her legs crossed as she surveyed everything around her with an imperious air. After all that she had been through, she couldn’t help but smile. Everything had come together in ways that she had never expected—after getting kidnapped and dragged across the border to act as some asshole’s personal sex slave, she’d never have thought she’d have the kind of power she did at that very moment.

Months had passed since the shootout at La Hacienda and her imprisonment at the villa of the late Pablo Nuñez. In that time, word had spread like wildfire about the Marauders’ mad assault on the home of one of the region’s most notorious crime bosses, and the Mexican authorities were reportedly still searching for whoever was responsible.

After the fight the six of them, including young Marisol, had laid low in a tiny village just west of the villa. A man there was skilled enough in patching up the local wannabe gangbangers that he was able to stabilize Gareth, provided he promised to stay off his feet for at least four days. Gareth, for once, proved to be a man of his word, and it wasn’t long after that they made it back across the border and into Arizona once more.

After tales of their heroics had spread, the Marauders became the stuff of legends. With men and women flocking from the surrounding states to join up, the Marauders knew that before long they knew that they’d have to find a way to bring their growing family into the “big leagues.” But after their dealings with the cartel, none of them were willing to even consider running meth or any other kind of drugs across the state.

It was Bear who finally brought them the direction they needed, shoving Camel’s jacket into Jesse’s hands. Bear told the boys that the best thing to do—for themselves and for the memory of their fallen friend—was to take up Camel’s mission and protect the poor men, women, and children who were preyed on by men like Nuñez while trying to secure a better life.

With the help of Gordo’s family back in Mexico, the Marauders set themselves up as some of the most well-known coyotes on the border. In the few months since they’d begun, their gang had made the crossing into Arizona one of the safest routes in the entire country, and soon no mules would even dare cross into Marauder turf, if they knew what was good for them.

The connections they forged through Marisol’s expertise were the same ones that allowed the Marauders to find her family. They were just outside of Tucson in a shitty little apartment, and Marisol took her share of what she’d brought into the MC and left to help them. There’d been heartfelt goodbyes, of course, but mostly, everyone was happy with her decision. The last time Layla squeezed her hand, she could feel Marisol letting go of all the things she’d done, all the things she’d seen, while held prisoner in Pablo Nuñez’s villa. And that was exactly what she wanted for her.

Layla had never thought they’d get this far, from their humble little chop-shop to the veritable kings of southern Arizona—and she sat right beside the throne.

As the lover of the club President, Layla was given the unofficial title of “The Voice of Reason,” ruling over the day-to-day workings of the club and turning it into a well-oiled machine. To say that she was proud of her work would have been the biggest understatement of the century. The club had become like a child to her, and all of its members her family, and none of them dared to defy her.

“Layla,” came the low, cool voice that could only belong to Hollywood. Her heart fluttered, as his return from his latest run to the border could only mean one thing.

“Jesse’s back?” she asked, her hopeful expression turning into a warm, excited smile.

“He’s waiting for you outside, and said he had a surprise.”

“I love surprises,” Layla said, standing up from her seat. A few of the hardest looking women in the bar stood with her, flanking either side of Layla as she made her way to the door. Being the power behind the throne meant that she had a security detail on her at all times, prepared to defend Layla with their lives.

As they walked through the bar, the bikers parted like the Red Sea, nodding to her and her two bodyguards as they went by. Nothing made Layla feel more alive than the way her new position brought the utmost respect out of each and every irreverent biker that knew her name.

Outside of the Bottle Cap, Jesse stood with the evening sun lighting up his dark locks, his leather jacket flecked with the dust of the road and a smile on his face. Even after everything that had happened since they’d met, he could still flash that carefree grin that had first made her heart skip a beat.

Layla beamed and ran over to him, flinging her arms around his neck as he pulled her up into a slow, passionate kiss. She felt her entire body relax in his arms, her fingers sliding up through that thick mane of hair and grabbing a handful between her fingers.

“Miss me?” he asked between their slow and tender kisses.

“Always.”

“Everything hold up while I was gone?”

“Everything runs like clockwork,” she said, finally releasing him from her tight embrace. “What about your ‘business trip?’ Did our friends arrive safely?”

Friends meant immigrants. Speaking in code was kind of lame, but it was better safe than sorry.

“Everyone’s safe and sound, beauty queen. Which just leaves one more thing I have to take care of.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, sinking her teeth into her lip.

“Come with me and you’ll find out.”

Layla followed closely behind Jesse, waving her two bodyguards off with a flick of her wrist as they headed toward the motel that sat just beside the Bottle Cap itself. With their influence as powerful as it was, the motel offered them a room for any Marauder that needed it free of charge, in exchange for protection. Layla and Jesse often took advantage whenever the two of them wanted to get away for some time alone. She felt as though her heart was about to beat out of her chest, a fire rising in her belly as Jesse pushed open the door.

To her surprise Gareth sat on the bed, his shirt off as he aimed that bad boy smirk of his in Layla’s direction. His gunshot wound was mostly healed, save for a nasty, but sexy, scar on his abs, one that made him seem even more dangerous and animal-like than he had before.

She blinked at Jesse. “What is—”

“I think you already know,” Gareth said, letting out a low, rolling laugh as he stood.

“We know you haven’t been able to choose between,” Jesse said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Traditionally, the club’s men get to pick which bitches… uh… women are theirs, but…”

“But you don’t give two shits about tradition,” Gareth continued, stalking around behind Layla to nuzzle at the back of her neck. She gasped, closing her eyes as he breathed hot and heavy against her ear. “And honestly, where you’re concerned? Neither do I.”

Layla sucked her lip into her mouth. Trying to concentrate with Gareth kissing her shoulder and Jesse letting his fingers play across her hips was the hardest damn thing she’d ever done—even harder than calling her parents a couple weeks ago to let them know that she’d be back home to visit soon while concocting a lie about accepting some “life-changing missionary work” across the border. She squirmed and looked up into Jesse’s eyes.

“Where are you going with this?” she asked him.

“Gareth and I both want you,” Jesse said, his voice low and husky, dripping with lust. “We tried to fight about it. Tried the whole macho bullshit thing you hate so much. And after a lot of posturing and fists in faces, we came to realize that ain’t neither of us stand a chance at winnin’ you over actin’ like idiots.”

“Also, you got plenty of holes to go around,” Gareth added with a lecherous grin.

Layla rolled her eyes and turned to face him, secretly loving the way his beard abraded her cheek. “Is that the Gareth way of saying that you don’t mind sharing me?”

“Mmhm,” he answered, pressing his forehead to hers while his hands worked at her jeans.

“You could try not being such a dick about it,” she advised him, then gasped as Jesse slid up against her from behind, his hard cock pressing into her ass as he helped Gareth slip her pants off her waist.

“Baby steps, beauty queen,” Jesse said, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back so she had to look up at him. His green eyes glimmered and his soft, wet lips looked divine. “Baby steps.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Nor could she argue with Gareth pulling aside her panties and thrusting his tongue between her legs. Layla sighed and her toes curled.

“It’s good to be queen,” she murmured. And she was—the queen of the Marauders motorcycle club. Finally, Layla Long was exactly where she belonged.

You’re not done yet. Turn the page because I have a few special surprises in store!