Read Wanting It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 3) for Free Online Page A

Saxon knows why I’m asking this, and that it’s all about you. About making sure you’re all right.” His voice is grim. “And he doesn’t just want the clubhouse. He wants the package deal. But that’s up to you.”
    Up to me. A package deal. So what is it that Saxon wants from me—sex in exchange for protection?
    Now I know why he kissed me tonight, after all these years of never showing interest. He was sampling the goods.
    I feel sick. Hot tears clog my throat. “Daddy,” I whisper.
    “It’s up to you, Jenny,” he repeats and his strong hands enfold mine. “But you always look at him different than other men. You talk about him different. And I also know you wouldn’t have ever looked too long, no matter if you wanted to. Not at a Rider, and not knowing what trouble might come of it. So I thought it was worth putting in front of you. Whether or not you take it is your choice.”
    My choice. To have the man I’ve wanted for so long. To be safe.
    Except I won’t be safe. Not really. My body won’t be in as much danger, true.
    But my heart will be.

Chapter Four
    After a sleepless night, I’m up early. The tasting room is open today, so I forego my usual jeans and tee in favor of a short black skirt, a black T-shirt with ripped-off sleeves sporting a worn Led Zeppelin logo, and black shitkickers that lace up to my knees. A costume, basically, but one that fits the brewery’s theme—the Black Boots Brewery, serving up beer that kicks ass.
    It’s all a gimmick, but one that I put a ridiculous amount of research into. It sells particularly well with my target demographics: young urbanites who appreciate the humorous marketing angle—which could include almost everyone I went to college with—and the working class Joe who prefers a craft beer. Black Boots. Solid, dependable, and completely tongue-in-cheek.
    Just the thought of giving it up makes my chest feel tight.
    I’ve put so much work into this place, from renovating the barn to securing the loan for the stainless steel brewhouses to hanging up the T-shirts that I sell in the storefront. This brewery started as my baby, but I took it from crawling along to standing on its own feet, and now it’s running smoothly. Someone else could take over at this point. But it’s mine, and I’m so fucking proud of it all. I don’t want to see it in someone else’s hands.
    But if I stay, I’m risking more than my business. I’m risking my life. My heart, too.
    That heart feels as heavy as lead as I unlock the doors. I’ve still got a few hours before I open to visitors, but there’s more than enough work to fill the time. No two batches are ever quite the same, so monitoring the progress through brewing and fermentation is a critical part of the job.
    When I give tours, people always ask me what the most important part of the process is. Many of them simply like beer and are curious, but sometimes the question comes from home brewers. Some of them don’t like the real answer—that there’s no one factor that’s more important than any other. Even the smallest variable can create significant changes in taste and quality. So after I say that, I tell them that as long as they’re starting with good ingredients, then it’s down to two things: temperature and time. Too hot or too cold, let it sit too long or not long enough, and the batch goes off.
    I’m like a brew going bad today. By midmorning, I’m hot as hell, in a temper and wishing that Saxon would show up so that I could tell him exactly what I think of his package deal. Then I imagine all the things I’d do to him in my bed and that deal starts looking really good. After a while, I’m cold again, thinking of being traded like some piece of property—even pissed at my dad, because he said that was how the Eighty-Eight looked at women and I didn’t see any difference between that and what he and Saxon were proposing—but then feeling shitty and ungrateful, because he only wants to see me