Title: Whistler
Series: Ruthless Hellhounds MC #2
Author: K.L. Savage
Genre: Dark Romantic Suspense/Organized Crime
Cover Design: Lori Jackson Designs
Photo: Wander Aguiar
Model: Andrew Biernat
Release Date: August 6, 2021
BLURB
There's a whistle in the wind.
And the sound doesn’t just belong to me.
I became my own version of The Greatest of the Great when an injury stole my dream.
I found a healthy alternative for my rage so I can still swing my bat.
If someone has the unfortunate curse of being on the other end of my swing, they’ll hear a whistle before they die.
And it’s how I’ll kill any men who dares raise a fist to a woman.
It’s the vow I made a long time ago, but when I meet Charlie, I learn a vow won’t ever be enough.
The second I speak to her, I know. When I shake her hand, I feel her screams in my bones.
The way she acts sets off every alarm inside me.
She’s horrified.
She flinches at every move and sound, every promise.
And her husband is to blame.
Physical, mental, and emotional abuse, yet she finds a way to love him.
That’s when I learn it isn’t about love for her, it’s about survival.
While she figures out a way to live, I figure out way to get her out of there.
And I’m nearly too late.
Loving her means defeating him.
She has no idea what kind of man he truly is. He’s got a secret.
And I’m going to set it free.
Charlie is stronger than she realizes, but the moment she does…
I hear a whistle in the wind.
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EXCERPT
Charlie has another mound of clothes in her arms, and I wonder if she’s testing me to see if I’ll get upset with everything she’s picked. I really don’t care. I want her to have everything. Half of her face is visible as she peeks up at me through those long lashes.
“Hey there, Cupcake. Finding everything you need?”
“Maybe. I need your opinion on some things. Will you wait outside the fitting room?” She fumbles with the clothes in her hands and half of them drop onto the floor.
“Yeah, Cupcake. I’d love to have my own private show. Thanks for asking.” I blow her a kiss and bend down to gather the dresses and swimsuits.
Oh.
Fuck.
Me.
I lift up the tiny shred of material. It’s a one-piece, I think. I’m not sure since there isn’t a lot of material to it. It has a deep V that cuts into the middle of the swimsuit and the back…
I growl when I see the skinny thong that will ease between her plump cheeks. I bet this is a test. She’s never been able to wear what she wants. Men can look all they want at what is mine, but if they touch her, well, all bets are off.
I’ll be swinging my bat until their heads come clean off.
My bats are special and not expensive. I also do something different with them than other people do.
I add nails through the body, and I’ll replace the bat when the nails eventually fall out, which happens after I swing it one too many times.
“Does this come in more colors?” The words are deep and husky. The sick part of me wants one for myself so I can wrap it around my cock and stroke myself while I think of her wearing it.
“You don’t like that color? It’s black. You like black, right?” she sounds so unsure as she holds the clothes to her chest.
“You got this for me?” the animalistic rumble in my throat has her eyes rounding to moons.
“Um, yes?” She toes the ground.
“I want this suit in every color. Where did you get it?”
She points to the rack behind me, and I snarl as I hurriedly finger through the rack, grabbing every color I see. Pink. Green. Yellow. Orange. Neon colors too.
And then there aren’t anymore.
Why am I so sad about this?
“Whistler, that’s so many swimsuits. I don’t even know if I’ll ever have the courage to wear something like that.”
“And when you do, I’m going to pull up a chair and watch you spin around for me because Cupcake, this is the kind of swimsuit that brings a man to his knees. You get that, right?”
She stays quiet for a minute, and I take the opportunity to walk her to the fitting room. I slide the curtain aside, drop all the swimsuits on the bench and stalk out, dragging a chair from the room next to us and plop it right in front of Charlie’s so I don’t miss one outfit.
“Will it bring you to your knees?”
“What, Cupcake?”
“The swimsuit. Will it bring you to your knees?”
Christ, this woman is going to be the death of me.
I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees as she pinches the red curtain between her fingers, staring at the frayed seam. “Charlie, I haven’t even seen you wearing it and I’m on my knees for you. Hell, I’m crawling for you, Charlie. Whether you get the swimsuits or not, I’m a fucking goner.” I might as well answer honestly, right?
I’d crawl over broken glass and burning coals just to have one glance at her.
“You’re so…”
Intense? Passionate? A bit obsessive?
I know.
“Amazing,” she finishes and slides the curtain shut.
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AUTHOR BIO
K.L. Savage decided they were tired of looking for the kind
of books they wanted to read. They had an itch that needed to be scratched, and
as every girl knows, nothing scratches better than an alpha.
They write about gritty, alpha males, sometimes their dark sides, and the women they love.
They write about gritty, alpha males, sometimes their dark sides, and the women they love.
If you have the same itch, their alpha males should fix that.
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