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       Drifter (MC Sinners Next Generation #2), p.1

           Bella Jewel
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Drifter (MC Sinners Next Generation #2)


  MC Sinners Next Generation

  Bella Jewel

  Published by Bella Jewel, 2016.


  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.


  Copyright © 2016 Bella Jewel

  DRIFTER is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page



































  As always, my heartfelt thanks to every single blogger, reader and author that has supported my journey. From reading my books, to sharing them, to raving about them, to being there for me. Thank you. My career would be nothing without any of you.

  A huge thanks to Kylie from Give Me Books for organizing my reveals and blitzes. You do such an amazing job. No matter how many times I use you, I am always blown away by how efficient you are. Nothing is ever a drama. Thank you for giving me so much support.

  A massive thanks to Louisa from LM Creations for this STUNNING cover. I love how effortlessly we work together, and somehow always come up with something this incredible.

  To Lauren, my epic editor. You are the best thing since sliced bread, no lie. You seriously are the best person EVER to work with. You are quick and your notes always make me laugh. No one else could ever keep up with my writing pace, but you always nail it.

  A big, heartfelt thanks to Rose from Read By Rose for this amazing proofread. You came in at the last moment and helped me in incredible ways, you’re truly epic and I can’t wait to work with you again.

  And of course, to my admin, MJ, for ALWAYS keeping my page running beautifully. I couldn’t do it without you, girly. I love your teasers and your passion, thank you for taking the time out of your life to help this poor girl keep everything running.

  And, last but certainly not least, to my loyal readers. To each and every one of you that picks up my books and give me a chance. To the reviews you write, good or bad. To the time you take to make me a better person. You make this real for me; never stop giving such love and passion. You make our journey so amazing.


  Twisting my body to the side, I shuffle through the crowd that’s far bigger tonight than it has been in the last few times I’ve been into this bar. We got VIP tickets on a lucky break to come and see a local band, Wrath. I’d heard of them and, in desperate need of a night out, decided to enter a competition for the chance to win. Two tickets later, Pru—my best friend—and I made our way down to Eskimos, a local hotspot, to watch them play.

  Finding a space amongst the crowd so I can see the stage, I press my back against the wall and wait, Pru bouncing anxiously by my side. We head off to college in Denver in just a few days, so this is the last chance we’ll have to get out and about before life in the real world starts. I turned twenty-one recently, and let’s just say I’ve been enjoying my newfound freedom. Being the daughter of an over protective biker can be slightly daunting at times.

  That’s a lie.

  It’s daunting all the time.

  “Can you see them yet?” Pru cries into my ear, happily hopping from one foot to the other.

  I grin at my best friend, who is no bigger than five foot. She boasts serious curves, and often says she’s on the chunky side, but most people we come across think she’s perfect. At least, most men do, anyway. They’re forever staring at her luscious curves and long, dark, exotic hair. Not to mention her eyes. She’s stunning and even more so tonight, in her clingy red dress that leaves little to the imagination. My dad would never let me leave the house in that—hell, he’d never even let something like that enter my closet.

  “No,” I yell back. “But they’re due to start.”

  “I’ve heard they’re hot!”

  I roll my eyes. “You think anything with a penis is hot.”

  She gapes at me. “No!”

  I giggle and focus back on the crowd, then I reach down and adjust my black dress. It isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough on my skin that I feel slightly uncomfortable. The top of the dress is ruffled and dips low enough to show slight cleavage at the top. My dad wasn’t home when I left, and it’s the only reason I got away with it. Pru loaned it to me. The rest of the dress is semi-clingy, right down to my knees. It’s pretty. I left my blond hair down to cover some of the skin showing on my back.

  “There they are!” she squeals.

  I shift, trying to see the stage clearly as people start bobbing around trying to see. Three guys come on; one is holding a guitar and walks to the front of the stage, and the other two separate, one going to a keyboard and the other to a set of drums. The lights dip low, and I push up as high as I can on my heels to see better but it’s just about impossible. I focus on the singer holding the guitar and gasp as he steps into the light, curling his big hand around the microphone.

  Holy hell.

  He’s hot.

  I notice immediately that he’s of Native American descent. He has these stunning almond-shaped eyes. I’d just bet they’re either really dark brown or maybe even black. His hair is long enough to touch the collar of his shirt, curling slightly at the ends. It looks thick. Really, really thick. His jaw is chiseled and his lips full. He looks like he purposefully hasn’t shaved for a few days, letting the hair on his cheeks get scratchy and heck, it’s masculine enough to make me blush.

  My eyes move down over his body, just as I’m sure every other woman’s in this room does. He’s wearing a tight black tee that clings to his clearly defined chest and abs. He’s lean, but well built. Tall. Dark. Amazing. His jeans are faded, his boots undone, with laces trailing across the stage floor. He shifts, and my eyes shoot back up to his face to see him lean down to the microphone. “Hey,” he says, his voice thick and strong. Holy huskiness. “I’m Diesel and this is my band, Wrath.”

  The girls squeal happily, and I stand in a daze as he opens his mouth and sings.
  I swear the entire room stops, all the sound being sucked out except the low melody of his voice. He has a dark voice, husky and deep, with an edge of danger. He sings with his eyes closed, his fingers curled around the microphone as his body sways slightly from side to side. Holy. Hell.

  “Oh my god!” Pru screams, throwing her hands in the air. “I just fell in love.”

  Me too.

  Holy shit, me too.


  “The band is right through here.”

  Pru grips my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh as a bouncer leads us to a door. We’re finally getting our VIP privileges - meeting the band. I can’t wait. I’m practically buzzing to be up close to Diesel. I want to see his face, the color of his eyes, to put him in my memory with the voice I’ve now lodged into it.

  We move into a room that’s small, definitely not for a famous person. The door is opened and we step in, immediately seeing the two other band members sitting on stools beside a pool table, beers in hand, laughing. They stop when we enter and the room goes still. I squirm, uncomfortable. Aside from the horrible first kiss of my life, I’ve had very little interaction with men outside the club.

  I don’t know what to do.

  “Hi!” Pru cries, throwing a hand up in an enthusiastic wave that makes her boobs bounce.

  Two sets of male eyes drop to those boobs.


  “Hey,” the guy who was playing the piano says.

  “’Sup.” The drum player nods.

  The guy who led us in looks to the band members and mutters, “These two got the VIP pass. Be nice.”

  Then he leaves.

  Pru wastes no time skipping forward. “Hi, I’m Pru. I know, awful name, but I swear you’ll forget about it soon.”

  I roll my eyes and walk in, studying the two men. They’re both hot—not in the mysterious way Diesel is, but in a bad boy, rugged kind of way. The drum player has messy blond hair that falls over his forehead. He has blue eyes and a massive grin, the all-American, boy-next-door kind. The piano player has dark hair that’s cropped short in a buzz-cut. His eyes are the lightest olive, and he’s most certainly got a darker edge than his friend beside him.

  “Name’s Bates,” the piano player says.

  “And I’m Spencer.”

  Pru waves and turns, jerking me closer. “This is my friend Mercedes.”

  Both Bates and Spencer look to me, eyes lowering down over my body and taking me in. I squirm and then blurt, “So, where’s the other member?”

  Bates nods to a door, where a soft sound is coming from. I never noticed until now, assuming it was background music, but the harder I listen, the more I realize it isn’t.

  “Go on through. I’m sure he’d love company.” Spencer grins, but it looks mischievous.

  “Right. I just want to tell him I enjoyed his songs. I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll stay right here,” Pru says, sliding her bottom onto the pool table.

  I sigh and turn, walking towards the sound.

  This should be interesting.


  Diesel’s back is to me. I take in his tall, strong frame, the way his head is dipped as he strums his guitar. Taking a step closer, I rub my arms nervously. I don’t want to interrupt, but at the same time, I really want to see his face and talk to him. I’m giddy for it, and that’s unusual. I clear my throat softly and he stops playing, his back straightening.

  He turns to me and I stop breathing.

  Yes, those eyes are the darkest kind of brown and framed in the thickest lashes I’ve ever seen. Paired with his slightly high cheekbones and stunning Native American features, he’s possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I rub my arms harder as he takes me in, his gaze dropping to my mouth before travelling over the rest of my body. Then he turns back around in his chair.


  “Uh,” I say carefully. “Sorry to interrupt but I won backstage passes and wanted to tell you that I really—”

  “I’m not interested,” he clips, starting the soft strumming again.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Not. Interested.” A grunt, barely even classed as words.

  “Interested in what?”

  He stops playing with an angry huff and turns, glaring at me. “I’m not into this business for”—he looks me up and down—“ass. I’m in it because I love to sing. So, whatever you think you’re getting off me, I’m not interested.”

  My temper, which I inherited from my very broody, very angry father, flares to life. I throw my hands in the air and storm towards him. He jerks back, possibly in shock, but I don’t give him a chance to speak. “Who the hell do you think you are? I won a couple of passes, needed a night out and was excited about meeting a band that I’d just heard for the first time. I came in here to tell you that I loved your music, that I felt it—that it was the best kind I’ve heard in a while.”

  He stares at me, no expression on his face. It makes me angrier.

  “Then I meet you. A cocky, overbearing asshole who thinks I’m in here to get some. Don’t flatter yourself. Whatever makes you think you’re that super fucking hot that I’d just want to drop my panties and climb aboard, rethink it. What you are is a chauvinistic pig. I hope you trip on stage and—”

  I don’t get to finish my sentence because he launches out of his chair and before I can protest, he’s got me in his arms and his lips are crushed against mine. My entire body goes stiff and I hang there limply in his arms as the softest, fullest lips move over mine. He smells so good, like beer and cologne, and I can’t stop my response. I part my lips and kiss him back. His tongue finds mine and he makes a soft sound in his throat, taking my mouth deep and hard, and then he flings me off.

  Before I can even catch my breath.

  He’s gone.


  “Daddy, seriously,” I groan, throwing myself onto my sofa and watching my father storm through my apartment.

  “This shit is unsafe. Serious as fuck, I could pick this lock in my sleep.”

  I roll my eyes and cross my arms, watching him go from windows to doors, checking the locks and security. My father is a biker and he’s a very, very passionate man. To the point where he can be overbearing, and so full on you want to throttle him. I honestly don’t know how my mom puts up with him, but she does, and she loves it.

  “I’m lucky to even get a room in this apartment. It was the last one left.”

  “Maybe you shoulda stayed on campus,” he grunts, spinning towards me and pinning me with the same brown eyes I see when I look in the mirror.

  My father has a reputation. He’s big. He’s grumpy, and he’s scary. His nickname at the club is Spike, and while I’ve heard the stories of how he got that name, I never, ever want to think of them again. My old man holds his age well, probably because he has sandy blond hair and the greys are less visible. At least, that’s what he tells my mom. He’s handsome in the scary kind of way, a way that seems to attract a good deal of women. Yes, I see them looking at him when we walk down the street.

  No one could compare to my mom, though. She’s the only woman he sees. She told me once he was married to her sister, but a tragic accident took her and the two of them, having had history, fell in love, and that’s the way I’ve always known it. They fight as hard as they love, but there is never a lack of respect. My dad would lay his life down for Mom.

  My brother, Danny, is pretty much a junior replica of my dad. The only difference is he has my mom’s incredible yellow eyes and her soft heart. He’s broody, and he likes to think nobody sees past that, but we all do. Danny is a good guy, and as biker-like as he can be, he’d give anyone the shirt off his back. He has big plans for taking over the club one day, and I have no doubt he will.

  “Dad,” I say, focusing back on the here and now. “I’m not living on campus. It’s too . . . ugh. This is part of the college; it’s rented only to students who go to the same school. It’s safe.”
br />   “Ugh isn’t an explanation,” he grunts, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Not comfortable with you being in a place that’s going to be full of parties, drugs and boys . . .”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

  “Dad, seriously. Practically everyone that goes to the college lives here. Yes, there are parties, but I have my own place, my own space, I can lock the door . . .”

  “On campus you’d be protected. Any fucker can pick these locks.”

  “Then change them if it bothers you so much, but I’m not moving.”

  He glowers at me, but I hold it and raise my brows, daring him to argue. We’re both as hot-headed as the other, and I’ll fight him tooth and nail if I have to.

  “Fuck me,” he grunts. “I’m goin’ to get some locks.”

  I grin.

  He walks over and leans down, looking me in the eye. “Wipe the grin, precious.”

  I grin bigger.

  He gives in and grins, too.


  “Fuck it’s boring here without you.”

  I smile and lean back on the sofa, my phone pressed to my ear. I’m talking to my best friend, Max. He stayed back with the club to work when he finished school, and was devastated when I made the choice to move to Denver for college. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and I will admit it was a hard choice choosing to step away from him. Aside from Pru, I don’t know anyone outside of the club, and moving to a new place was always going to be a challenge.

  “You can come visit. It’s really not that far.”

  He snorts.

  “Okay, so it kind of is, but you can still visit me, Max.”

  He sighs. “I’m goin’ to, believe me. I am goin’ out of my mind with boredom here.”

  “Hang with Danny.”

  “I do, but he’s so far into the club business he’s always busy.”

  “So get into the club business.”

  Another sigh. “Not the career I planned for myself, Mouse.”

  I smile at the nickname my mom started for me when I was a baby. It stuck and practically everyone uses it.

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