A man without scars never had to fight for something he believed in.
A new relationship takes time and effort. A new relationship with Orlando de la Pena takes a whole lot more. As a Dom, Rogue knows what he wants, but Orlando refuses to fit neatly into the box labeled ‘submissive’. He’s feisty, demanding and far too pretty for his own good.
Orlando loves Rogue and he’s learning to love The Wyverns, but he hates being stuck out in the desert. Finding a niche in the world of bikes and fierce warriors is difficult, and Orlando’s impatience gets the better of him. He walks out into the desert and runs in to an antisocial diamondback.
Rogue has more than one problem to deal with. The Longhorns MC issues a challenge for territory. The Bellazi cartel is out for Wyvern blood. The Wyverns are under siege, and Rogue has to work out how to save not just Orlando, but all of them.
Reader Advisory: This books contains scenes of mild BDSM.
General Release Date: 14th July 2015
“Rogue! Get your ass into the kitchen. Now!”
Hatchet’s dulcet tones ripped through Rogue’s relaxed state of mind and put him on edge in an instant. He took a few deep breaths and removed his booted feet from the low table they were propped on. He returned his attention to the computer balanced on his lap, immediately getting drawn back in to the article he’d been reading.
What the fuck… There truly is no peace for the wicked. Rogue chuckled. But there’s no denying that I am wicked, so maybe I deserve it.
He snapped the lid of his computer shut and levered himself up from the battered but soporifically comfortable sofa and glanced toward the kitchen door.
No smoke, flames or explosions…it can’t be that bad.
He rolled his shoulders then stretched, easing a few kinks from his lower back. Desert riding could be a bitch and the suspension on his Harley was not the most forgiving piece of motorcycle design. Not that he would trade the bike for another model. Not in this existence. Maybe in the afterlife bikes would have cushion-soft suspension as standard. He mused on that idea as he strolled toward the kitchen. Of course, as he was likely heading for the down escalator to somewhere steamy rather than up to a fluffy cloud, he’d probably end up spending eternity on a flaming saddle or something equally uncomfortable.
The kitchen door was similar to one that might be found in a diner. It swung both ways on its hinges to allow easy passage with plates and trays, an absolute necessity for hungry, impatient men carrying food and beer. Rogue gave it a careful push and there was no resistance.
That’s a good sign. No dead bodies blocking the doorway.
He drew a deep breath and stepped through into the room where The Wyverns ate most of their meals. A scrubbed wooden table surrounded by eight chairs occupied the center of the room and appeared intact. No debris littered the tiled floor.
“Thank fuck. What took you so long?” Hatchet emerged from the narrow gap to the side of the massive refrigerator and glared at him.
Rogue quirked an eyebrow and gave his bald, tattooed friend a quizzical look.
“What’s the big emergency? You only came in here to make coffee. I was beginning to think you’d headed to South America to get fresh beans, you were taking so long.”
“Sarcastic fucker.” Hatchet ran a hand over his smooth skull. “The problem is that hell-spawn you call a sub…boyfriend…whatever the fuck he is. He won’t let me into the storeroom to get new filters or coffee.”
“He won’t let you…” Rogue shook his head. “Hatch, he’s half your size. You can intimidate gun runners, drug smugglers and ninety percent of local law enforcement, but you can’t get past Orlando?” He sighed. “Where is the brat?”
“Where do you think?”
Hatchet gestured in the direction of the storeroom door on the opposite side of the kitchen. The door was open, but Rogue couldn’t see Orlando. He edged to the far side of the table and was met with the sight of a perfect ass, snugly wrapped in leather, sticking into the air. Orlando was on his knees, scrubbing the storeroom floor more vigorously than Rogue thought necessary, though the action did make the young man’s rear jiggle in quite an entertaining way. Orlando was also singing. Badly. Wires trailed from beneath tousled black hair.
Letting him use my iPod was a big mistake—even I don’t massacre Green Day that much.
Rogue glanced around the kitchen. He grinned then grabbed a spatula from the draining board. He got into a good position and planted a firm smack across Orlando’s butt. The spatula made a great snapping sound as plastic hit leather.
“What the hell! I warned you, Hatchet.” Orlando swiveled on his knees. In one hand he held a scrubbing brush, in the other a meat cleaver. “One more muddy, ape-sized boot print on my clean floor from you, you corn dog with eyebrows, and I’ll…”
The scrubbing brush flew through the air. Rogue didn’t manage to duck quickly enough and the missile caught his shoulder.
“Throw that cleaver and I’ll tie you to a chair and let Hatchet do whatever the hell he wants with you,” Rogue growled as he rubbed the sore spot.
Word Count: 19,549
Book Length: NOVELLA
Genres: BONDAGE AND BDSM
Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.
She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.
Reviewed by TracyGee
Deathtrap follows on from Mantrap. Orlando and Rogue are still together although there are a few teeth problems on the way. Orlando is a true bratty sub more so when he is bored, It makes reading this...
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Reviewed by Crystal's Many Reviewers
Somerton wrote a great addition to these guys and I just couldn’t get enough of it.
It was amazing to see how Orlando and Rogue work together, and to see the battle that they each faced w...
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