The Ultimate Dark Mafia and Motorcycle Club Romance Bundle

Sample: The Umarova Crime Family Series

I go up to the door and rap my knuckles against the glass before entering. He waves with his hand for me to come in, so I push on the handle of his glass door and allow the door to shut behind me. I head over to his desk and take a seat in one of the chairs sitting on the other side. “Is everything all right?” I nervously ask Michael.

He inhales slowly through his nose and looks me up and down. “I don’t think you should be the one to ask the questions here, Emily. I must admit, I’m a bit taken aback by your sudden changes. I expected more from you, honestly.”

Every bit of air in my lungs is suddenly gone, and I’m struggling to understand what Michael’s trying to say. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Am I doing something wrong?”

“I’m simply wondering why your work ethic has changed since I hired you. Before, you were here when I came in every morning and were still here when I left to go home. Now I don’t see you here before me or after me. So I’m wondering what’s going on.”

“Um, I was interning here at that time. I was desperately trying to prove to the company that I was a valuable asset, so I often worked sixty or seventy-hour weeks to do that. Since I have my job now, I’m on a more consistent schedule. I personally prefer working three really long days. That way, I can get a lot more work done at one time. The clients seem to like me working in this way as well. So, I pull three twelve-hour days and then come in another day for four hours. I don’t take lunch breaks on my long days, either.”

“I find it interesting you were working long hours when you were interning.”

I nod. “Yes, because, again, I was trying to prove that I’m a valuable asset to the company. I’m done with that because I was hired.”

“I liked your work ethic better when you were an intern.” His comment blows my mind, but I guess I should’ve expected some sort of reaction to my schedule change. “What sort of things will you do to make me believe in you again, Emily?” Michael raises his brows and then scans his eyes over my entire body, stopping right on my breasts.

I know exactly what he’s insinuating, and it sickens me. Nausea slowly begins to roll through my stomach, and my skin begins to feel clammy. It’s fucking disgusting. I debate folding to his idea for a split second, but I know I’m worth more than my ass or boobs. I’m an intelligent woman with brains. I have intellect, and I’ve made this firm a lot of money in the time I’ve been working here.

I stand up from my seat and look right at Michael. “I was hired to be a commercial real estate agent, which means I’ve passed all the state’s licensure exams and certifications. If there’s something within my job description that I’m not doing correctly, you can let me know. But I’m walking out of your office. You can’t hold me in here otherwise.” I don’t wait for any sort of reply from Michael because I know he doesn’t have shit on me. So I walk out of his office and head over to where my desk.

“Everything okay?” Kim questions, and I’m sure my stress and frustration are written all over my face.

“I’m actually leaving for the day. I have this migraine that just came on when I was in Michael’s office. It’s probably best if I go home and lay down in a dark room.” What I’m telling Kim is total and utter bullshit, but he smirks at me.

“Michael is the migraine, no doubt.” He gives me a knowing look, and I try not to smirk back at him.

I grab my purse from the cubby in my desk, sling it over my shoulder, and head for the elevators at a determined pace. Within five minutes, I’m walking into the parking garage and heading over to my car. My phone begins ringing, so I fish it out of my purse and answer it even though the caller ID reads “Unknown”.

“Hello?” I say right as I answer it.

“This is a collect call from a Fulton County correctional institution. To accept this call, please press one and then the pound button,” a computerized voice tells me over the phone.

Who in the world could be calling me from jail? Then it hits me. There’s only one person that I know of that is in jail right now.

Sample: The Dark Pharaohs MC Series

The growl of motorcycles fill the air and I see the Warriors riding down the road toward us. The one in the lead is Tarantula, the club’s Road Captain. He’s a stocky man, about five-ten, with a tail of thick dark hair that falls to the middle of his back. He reminds me a lot of Danny Trejo.

His second is a guy named Bala. He’s tall and lean, with well-defined muscles through his shoulders and arms. Bala comes across as pretty casual, but he’s got a quiet intensity about him. Dude is like a loaded gun just waiting to go off. His head is shaved clean and he’s sporting some new tats that wrap around the sides of his head, adding to his aura.

He’s got an intimidating, slightly off kilter, dangerous vibe about him, and if you’re a Road Captain, it’s probably what you’d want in your second.

“What’s up?” Tarantula says, his English thickly accented.

He and Cosmo embrace briefly, thumping each other on the back, as Bala and I stand there staring at each other. I’m doing my best to project the same sort of menacing presence that seems natural to him, but given the smirk curling the corners of his mouth upward, I’m not sure I’m being too successful at it. Tarantula looks over and extends his hand and we shake firmly.

“Got a baby biker with you today?” he says with a grin.

“Gotta take the training wheels off sometime,” Cosmo quips.

“Si mon. About time you popped that cherry, holmes,” he says, then turns back to Cosmo. “We doin’ business today or what?”

“You show me yours, I show you mine,” Cosmo tells him.

Tarantula nods to Bala, who squats down and opens the bag. It’s filled with fat stacks of bundled cash. Cosmo nods to me, so I give Derek the sign to open up the side door on the can. He rolls it back, revealing the bundled and wrapped weed we’re carrying.

“Do I need to weigh that?”

Cosmo shoots him a smirk and points at the bag. “Do I need to count that?”

“Touché, holmes. Touché.”

He nods to Bala who calls for the guy in his van and they walk over and start to load their van with the weed. I reach down and pick up the bag with the cash in it and zip it up. We stand in silence, watching them load the weed into the Warriors’ van for a moment before Tarantula turns to Cosmo.

“Heard a rumor about you,” he starts.

Cosmo arches an eyebrow at him. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“That you got into some big shootout with the Zavala cartel.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d you hear that?”

Tarantula shrugs and spreads his arms out wide. “Around. Just word on the street and all that sheet.”

Cosmo chuffs. “You believe every rumor you hear, compadre?”

The burly Mexican offers him a smile. “Only the ones that have that ring of truth to ’em. You know what I mean, holmes?”

“And what makes you think this rumor you’re hearing has a ring of truth to it?”

Still grinning, Tarantula shakes his head. “Because I know bullchit when I smell it. And this rumor I heard? Not even a whiff.”

After the shootout, Prophet told us all to keep a lid on it. Sheriff Singer was doing us a solid by walking the tightrope that kept us out of the story. I’m not surprised the story got out anyway. People love to gossip. But all I can say is my degree of confidence that the story didn’t come from any of our guys is extremely high. Most all of us are veterans and know not to flock with mission security by running our mouths. And those few guys who aren’t vets have enough respect for Prophet and the club that they aren’t going to spill the story either.

“The way I hear it is you and your gringos here got into a gunfight with Zavala’s men. Almost took out the big guy, is what I was told,” Tarantula says.

“Interesting story,” Cosmo replies dryly.

“Si. It’s very interesting, cabron. But that’s not the most interesting part.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense. Tell me the most interesting part.”