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Motorcycle Master: Bad Boy Angel, Volume One

By: Maggie Carpenter
Published By: Dark Secrets Press
Copyright: Published by Dark Secrets Press
Thirty chapters / 69,331 Words
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Marco D’Angelo is living a lie. Tall, powerful, brooding, and intimidating, he’s the muscle for a nefarious motorcycle gang, but he has been working undercover for the D.E.A., chasing a shadowy drug lord.

For two long years Marco has been forced to remain a loner, his life in constant danger, but when Kat Baldwin joins the club, he suddenly finds himself in a quandary.

Rebellious, raven-haired and green-eyed, wearing leathers that cling to her voluptuous curves, she takes his breath away. Though his keen instinct tells him there’s more to Kat than meets the eye, and she’s trouble with a capital T, he can’t ignore the intense chemistry blazing between them.

Faster than his bike can race, Marco is under orders to spank her, but when the punishment is over, she shocks him. Chastised women drop their gaze, but not the emerald-eyed vixen. She stares up at him with unwavering scrutiny, and just minutes later she dares to challenge him.

Who is she? Why is she there? He has no doubt she'll be trouble, and trouble is the last thing he needs.

He aches to fist her hair and crush her lips. To consume her
To make her his.

Can he resist the ferocious desire? He must...


 Rolling his Harley-Davidson Roadster into his reserved spot, Marco D’Angelo turned off the engine and glanced around the parking lot. Friday night. It was jammed. He recognized most of the bikes, then his eyes fell on a Harley 1200 that made him blink. It was hot pink. Who the hell would own a hot pink bike? Pulling off his gloves and helmet, and shaking his long mop of dark hair, he climbed off and sauntered forward. His six-foot three-inch, wide-shouldered frame was intimidating, and those who knew him were aware his powerfully muscled body could be a ruthless fighting machine.

Walking through the door of the tavern he could feel the covert glances as he marched towards the swinging doors that led into the back hallway. There was only one room at the end of the narrow corridor; the office from which Kratos ruled. The leader of the infamous motorcycle gang had hijacked the name of the Greek God of might and power, and his followers knew he could live up to the moniker.

Marco shot his eyes at the tattooed biker leaning against the wall. He was on guard duty. His name was Travis Davis, but built like a middle linebacker he went by the nickname Tank. As Marco approached, Tank quickly looked away. Fear and respect. Marco had earned it. There wasn’t a member he couldn’t lay flat on the floor in under sixty-seconds. In the two years Marco had been part of the Kratos Kings each of them had tried, and each of them had failed. Because of his fighting skills and his keen instincts, Marco’s position in the gang had quickly risen. He was now third in line to the throne, and had become the club’s muscle.

As he strode down the hall, the second guard, Leo Young, one of the toughest in the gang, had a similar reaction. Leo was the last line of defense between Kratos and anyone wishing to see him. Reaching the door Marco pressed the button on the frame three times in quick succession. It was his particular code. Kratos would know it was him. Marco stood tapping his foot on the floor as he waited. Kratos always made it a point to have everyone linger for at least thirty-seconds.

“How’s it goin’?” Leo mumbled.

Marco’s only response was a nod of the head. He could feel Leo’s awkwardness. Familiarity breeds contempt. Marco believed the old cliche, and though he’d sit at the bar and down a few beers, and played pool in the back room when the spirit moved him, he never shared intimate secrets, and only rarely traded war stories. His nickname was Brooder. It fit, and he took no offense.

Kratos could have summoned him for any number of reasons. To scare someone into giving information, to discipline a member who had overstepped, or help map out a strategy for their next criminal enterprise, but the why didn’t matter. Marco would do whatever Kratos asked. His desire to obey the boss wasn’t due to any misplaced loyalty. Marco was part of the rough world of the villainous motorcycle gang because he was working undercover for the DEA. His mission? Learn the identity of a drug lord named HH so the agency could shut down the cartel the man commanded.

The initials were all they knew about the dealer who supplied the heroin and cocaine the Kratos Kings distributed. It was shockingly pure, and in spite of severals arrests, HH had proven to be as slippery as an eel. Pushers refused to speak regardless of the deals offered and the prison sentences faced, and though Marco was now part of the inner circle, he’d been kept out of the club’s drug operation.

The door clicked, and pushing it open he strode inside. He was used to surprises and could hide his reactions, but the black-haired beauty standing in the middle of the room made his pulse tick up. Her ridiculous body was covered in painted-on leather, heavy black mascara coated her lashes, and her thick lips shone with red gloss. Hoping she couldn’t see his instant attraction, he fixed her with his best steely eyed gaze, but she not only stared right back at him, she subtly lifted her chin. Her entire being oozed a screw-with-me-I-dare-you attitude. She was, absolutely, the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

“This is Kat,” Kratos said gruffly, “she’s outta New York. She rode with Spiros. Kat, this is Marco. Get outta line and this is the guy you’ll be dealin’ with.”

Marco stayed mute. Not only was his aloof silence part of his persona, she had quite literally taken his breath away and he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“Is being a bad girl the only way I’ll get to spend time with you?” she asked in a throaty voice that matched her dazzling looks. “You look like a dude who likes bad girls. Am I right? I can be so bad, almost as bad as you, and I’ll bet you’re about as bad as bad can be, like the big bad wolf.”

The blatant flirtation made him silently groan, not because it sent energy pulsing through his loins, but because Kratos laughed. Marco hated to hear him laugh. It was almost always a precursor to something unpleasant.

“Hah! I think you’d better show this sexy smart-ass what we do to bad girls in this club.”

There it was! Kratos was ordering him to take her down a notch. Marco didn’t understand why she had put herself in the crosshairs. Did she not realize flirting so brazenly with the club’s disciplinarian was a bad idea? Was she purposely testing the waters, or did she have another agenda? But such questions mattered not. She’d stepped across the line and Kratos wanted her to pay the toll. She was going to be spanked. It would be embarrassing, humiliating even, but it would send a clear message, and staring at the gorgeous black-haired siren he began moving slowly towards her.

“I should’ve mentioned, Marco doesn’t talk much,” Kratos sneered, “he has other ways of makin’ his point. You wanna be in the Kings, you gotta learn your place, and Marco here is gonna teach you what’ll happen when you get too big for your britches. You’re gonna get your butt spanked.”

Marco was walking at a snail’s pace not just to build anticipation; he was studying her. There was no fear in her unwavering gaze, and the slightest hint of a smile was curling the edges of her lips. His hard hand would deliver a hot sting even through her leather pants, and he had every intention of making the discipline count, not just because Kratos had ordered it, but for her own protection. If she pulled her crap on others in the club, they might do a whole lot worse than redden her backside.

He had a choice; bend her at the waist, or take her to the couch against the wall and throw her across his lap. She’d feel his strength if he held her against his body, but she’d suffer greater humiliation over his knee. Suspecting she’d need more punishment in the future, he decided to save the trip across his lap for another time.

Quickening his pace he strode behind her. Startled, she turned, and darting forward he wrapped his arm around her waist. Her yelp of surprise elicited a guffaw from Kratos, and though Marco was all business, as he studied her leather-clad curvaceous backside, he felt a surge of lust. Attempting to ignore it, he lifted his eyes to his boss and waited. If Kratos held up ten fingers it would mean he wanted Marco to blister her bottom, and Marcos suddenly found himself furious with the girl for pushing the envelope. He had no desire to hurt her. He had no desire to hurt anyone.

“You got a nice ass on you girlie. Maybe we should strip off those pants. On the other hand, your cheeks sure look good wrapped up in that leather,” Kratos declared, taunting her. “I’m gonna leave ‘em on this time. Mess up again though, and it’ll be your naked backside feelin’ the sting.”

Marco knew the man dropped his g’s for effect. Kratos wanted her to see him as street and tough. Usually he didn’t care. Sometimes he didn’t even watch when Marco exacted his discipline. Praying it didn’t mean his boss wanted a strict spanking, Marco said a silent thank you when Kratos lifted only one hand; the spanking was to be more a warning than a punishment. Considering the girl’s lack of respect it was lenient.

Opening his palm, Marco landed the first smack her right cheek, followed by a second, and a third. On the fourth she let out a squeal. He landed two more on the same spot for an even six. She squirmed, and he waited for her to settle before repeating his punishment on her left cheek, delivering the same number of slaps with equal force.

“Really?” she suddenly hissed. “I get it. You can stop now!”

Though surprised by her outburst, Marco didn’t respond. It was time to move his hand to the sensitive area where her thighs met her bottom. He tightened his hold. It was a signal for her to prepare, and he hoped she was smart enough to catch it. He heard a sharp intake of breath. She understood.

Lifting his flattened palm he let it fly, smacking without pause. There was no count, just the flurry of solid slaps, and when she let out a cry of protest, he added a few more to satisfy Kratos. He was done, but was his leader satisfied? He glanced across at Kratos for the answer.

“Bring her closer. Lemme see how red she is,” Kratos grunted, moving his hand under his desk.

Marco knew Kratos was unzipping his fly. He wanted to pleasure himself as he stared at Kat’s punished behind. The man ruled his gang with an iron fist, but he wouldn’t cheat on Nancy, his girl, though apparently masturbating was within the bounds of their relationship. This wasn’t the first time Marco had witnessed such a scene.

As Marco released her and she straightened up, her gaze did not fall to the ground. Every woman he’d ever chastised had dropped her eyes, either from embarrassment, or as an instinctive response, but though her face was flushed and her hands were holding her stinging bottom, Kat was staring up at him, her green eyes sparkling.

“Am I supposed to thank you now?”

It had been a wisecrack, not a sincere question, and Marco couldn’t believe it. What was she playing at? Purposefully ignoring her confounding response, he grabbed her elbow, hustled her across to the desk, and turned her around so her back was to Kratos.

“Get ‘em down,” Kratos gruffly ordered. “Looks like she didn’t get the message.”

Wondering why she was being so rebellious, Marco unzipped her tight-fitting leather jeans, and deftly yanked them to her knees. The lacy French-cut panties were a pleasant surprise, and he saw Kratos hungrily viewing her scarlet skin.

“Hold the chair,” Marco said sternly, “and this time when I finish, show some respect.”

Leaning forward she gripped the arms of the solid wooden chair, but as her fingers curled around them she lifted her eyes and locked his. It was unnerving, but all he could do was continue, and raising his hand he began slapping her bright red cheeks.

Moving his palm from side to side, he carried his smacks from the center of her backside down to her sit spot and back up again. Her utterances grew in pitch, and for a moment he wondered if they were sounds of pleasure, not pain, but a loud groan broke into his thoughts, and looking up he saw Kratos breathing heavily and wearing a satisfied smile.

“Pull up your pants,” Marco muttered, quickly moving behind the chair so she couldn’t spy the bulge in his jeans.

“You get the message?” Kratos growled. “Marco is in charge. The rules are simple; don’t mess with the men who are taken, don’t taunt anyone, and don’t girly gossip. If you’ve got a beef, take it to him. Questions?”


He narrowed his eyes.

“Start any trouble and you’re ass will be a roasted tomato before it’s kicked outta here, got it?”


“Take her into the bar, buy her a drink, let everyone know she’s okay, then come back here.”

Marco nodded, and grateful his erection was subsiding, he followed her as she headed to the door, but her hips were seductively swinging from side to side, and he couldn’t seem to rip his eyes from the salacious sight.

“Why do you talk so much?” she quipped as they made their way down the hallway towards the bar. “A girl can’t get a word in edgewise.”

“You want another visit from my hand?”

“Name the place, give me a time, and I’ll make sure I’m five minutes late,” she retorted, her husky voice making him want to shove her against the wall and crush her lips with his.

“Better be careful what you wish for.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Who said anything about fun?”

Why was she still being defiant? Had he been right? Had she enjoyed getting her butt smacked? He had stopped walking and was scowling down at her. Women in the club didn’t dare talk back to him, but she seemed to have no fear, and it was turning him on.

“Are you always such a grouch,” she asked with a wry grin, “or is my sparkling personality bringing out the best in you?”

“Keep it up and you’ll bring out the beast in me.”

“That’s clever,” she exclaimed, her eyes widening. “I like that. Can I steal it?”

Gripping her arm he hustled her across to the bar, and wrapping his large hands around her waist, he picked her up and plonked her on a barstool.

“Everyone,” he declared, turning to face the crowded tavern, “this is Kat,” then shifting his attention to the bartender he leaned across the counter. “Jim, one of whatever she wants.”

“Sure, Marco,” the bartender replied. “Nice to meet you, Kat. What’s it gonna be?”

Marco was already walking away when he heard her request.

“Marco, straight up, with a twist of lemon wrapped around his you-know-what.”

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