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cousin’s debt in trade, but if I did what he told me I wouldn’t be hurt.”
    “Was the trade specified?”
    This sounds like something from a legal contract. Jesus, I hadn’t realized bikers were freaking lawyers or something. It makes sense though, criminals would be intimately familiar with the law. What do they call them on TV? Jailhouse lawyers. And the way they sit around staring at me, weighing my words, they’re also jury and judge.
    And executioners. I gulp. Just tell the truth. “Sex.”
    There’s muttering and nodding. Zig takes a long drag from his cigarette and crushes it in a plastic ashtray shaped like a skull. “How were you hurt?”
    Not just were you hurt but how . They’ve already discussed this. Determined I’d been hurt. I’m not here to tell my story, I’m here to corroborate or clarify. I’m here to protect Noah. Or damn him.
    Are these the type of men who go soft inside at the first trickle of a woman’s tears—or are they the kind who get angry? I have no way of knowing so I mimic the men at the table, the prospect beside me, and make my voice as flat as possible. Make my face stony. These are facts. Hard and true. Unemotional. “Dev made Noah beat me—torture me—to get information from my cousin. I’m certain if Noah had refused, he would’ve killed him. And me.”
    “Bullshit.” A weathered man with wild dark hair and full beard slams his fist on the table. “There were five other men in that room. Two of them full members. And not one of them spoke up? You’re a lying little whore.”
    Noah is up and out of his seat before I can blink, his palms flat on the table and his eyes flashing fire as he leans over, yelling. “You should apologize for that, Dale.”
    Dale sneers. “You brought her here to whore for a debt and you want me to apologize for calling her one?”
    “I want you to apologize for calling her a liar. Whore is a fucking compliment. The whores bring more money into this club than anything you do. Now can we get this over with because in case you bastards have forgotten, my sister is missing. So vote to kill me and Stone and go look for her. Or vote not to kill us so I can go look for her.”
    Terror rips the words from my throat. “Kill you?” It’s more of a shriek than a question. I hadn’t thought they’d kill him. Me, maybe. But I thought the ones who’d wanted him dead were already taken care of. That’s what he’d told me, they’d destroyed the cancer. God, what had I thought they were going to do? Give him detention? How could I still be so naïve—so stupid—given everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done, and everything I’ve had done to me?
    Nobody pays attention to my question.
    Keep reading. Grab your copy of DRIVE ME WILD now.

Devil’s Host MC Serial Playlist
    1.   Everybody Knows by Concrete Blonde
    2.   Slowly Freaking Out by Skylar Grey
    3.   Bones by MS MR
    4.   Send the Pain Below by Chevelle
    5.   Girls Like You by The Naked And Famous
    6.   Dead Inside by Muse
    7.   Not Your Fault by AWOLNATION
    8.   By The Throat by CHVRCHES
    9.   Take Me to Church by Hozier
    10.  Trust Fall by Incubus

About the Author
    Shari Slade is a snarky optimist. A would-be academic with big dreams and very little means. When she isn’t toiling away in the non-profit sector, she’s writing gritty stories about identity and people who make terrible choices in the name of love (or lust). Somehow, it all works out in the end. If she had a patronus it would be a platypus.
    Sign up for her newsletter to stay up-to-date on all the latest releases, happenings, and events.

Acknowledgements
    A huge thank you to my awesome editors, betas, eagle-eyed proofreaders, and cheerleaders: Lea Schafer, Maria Rose, Michele Harvey, Alexandra Haughton, Christina Gobin, Jennifer Hanson and Skye Warrren. Also, a giant thank you to all the badass bloggers who helped spread the word about Ride Me Hard. Y’all rock.

Copyright
    This is a