Authors: Harley McRide
Bed of Roses
Devil Savages MC 
Warning: For Mature Adult Audiences. Contains language and actions some may deem offensive. Contains extreme violence. Ménage – MFM.
In book one of the Devil Savages MC: Rose Reynolds is a hardworking young woman with no time to play games. She can't afford to, being the supporter of family for her siblings, filling in for their less than desirable mother. When bills come due, she is left with only one option—more work. Rose goes to the men who own half the city—and carry the worst reputation. Men who have filled her fantasies for years and are not only the owners of both places she currently works, but the founding members of the Devil Savages MC. A Native American club notorious for their rough reputation, and their wild
Tony "Tonto" Walkingstick and Blake "Sandman" Tenkiller hope they haven't made a mistake when they hire Rose to work at the Devil Savages private holdings. Instead, they get a glance at how strong the little waitress is, and reevaluate their initial impressions of the delicate little rose. They've had their eye on her for awhile, but never thought she’d be open to their rough preferences and colorful sexual exploitations.
The Devil Savages realize there is a traitor amongst them, giving the Diablos information on their clubs activities and helping the Latino gang bring drugs onto the Savages' turf. When all roads lead back to Rose, she leaves unable to put up with the accusations against her.
Tonto and Sandman want answers, but what are they willing to sacrifice to receive them—a life of someone they love?
Can a broken relationship with a rival gang be patched to combat against a common problem, the Diablos? And will two harden men who never apologize for how they live their lives be able to hold on to the Rose as the thorns cut deep?
Bed of Roses
Devil Savages MC
by Harley McRide
© Copyright June 2014 JK Publishing, Inc.
ISBN # 9781310795237
All cover art and logo © Copyright June 2014 by JK Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Edited by Caroline Kirby
Artwork by Jess Buffett
Published by JK Publishing, Inc.
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Family isn’t defined by genetics or bloodline. Family is the people that are there for you through the good times and the bad, the happy and the sad. I want to dedicate this to my family, (you know who you are) who has brightened my life and filled the missing pieces we have missed for so long. Thank you, and I love you. You’ve given me the best gift of all.
Table of Contents
Rose Reynolds set the plates on the table in front of the gnarly bikers who came in for breakfast every morning. The five officers clad in black leather vests were regulars, and ordered the exact same thing day after day. Noticing their pattern, she had put in their order at the normal time of six forty-five a.m., having it hot and ready the moment they sat down at seven fifteen. They were always on time, and seemed to appreciate her gesture. Over the past few days, they had shown it with a more than sizeable tip; it amounted to more than she made in an entire shift.
The Devil Savages were the most notorious motorcycle gang around, claiming the small town of Pinessee, Arizona and the surrounding areas. Technically, that included most of Arizona and parts of other adjoining states. There were whispers about their reputation, but despite their bad rep, they were always nice to her. She had grown up around MCs, having her mom bring home a different flavor every other month. After her dad had up and left with his secretary, things had been rough. Her mom used whatever means necessary to provide for her and her four siblings, lowering herself to be one of the skanks who made the rounds with the members in return for a few bills thrown her way from time to time. She argued that she had feelings for each of them and would be bumped up to the status as an ol’ lady soon, then their troubles would be over. Week after week went by, and it became apparent she was nothing more than a cunt to fuck. Somehow during all of it, her mother remained clueless, living in false hopes and promises.
A few weeks back, Rose had been stuck on the closing shift. With the casino right across the street, the diner was the local go-to spot for the inebriated douchebags to hit for a stack of gooey pancakes before staggering home. A guy had wobbled in, totally shitfaced, yelling and stumbling. She had wondered how the fool had even made it across the street without face planting in the middle of it. He yelled out his order not even waiting for her to ask what she could get him. When she delivered his order, he threw it at her, claiming his strawberry pancakes weren’t supposed to have strawberries. She tried to explain the obvious as politely as she could while still avoiding confrontation with the staggering asshat, but he had other things in mind. He launched out of his chair and charged her, swinging sloppily. She moved out of his way easily enough but hadn’t expected him to pull the pistol from his waistband. It was then that one of the Prospects rushed in and disarmed him, ‘politely’ ushering him out the back into the alley. A few of the patches walked around the side of the building and beat him close enough to death he more than likely prayed for a shallow grave, but enough alive he would suffer for weeks to come.
Blake Tenkiller, or Sandman as he was called, was a force of nature no one would reckon with. He had been voted in as the club’s SGT of Arms overseeing security for the club, their businesses, and their families. He kept Prospects stationed at each of their businesses for lookout, along with patched members as the bulldogs for each business. On a normal day, there were only usually two Prospects at the diner. Her ill-fated attacker had picked a bad night to do a stupid thing. She had heard mumbled rumors of how Blake had gotten his name—murdering his victims while they slumbered. He was one beast you never wanted to piss off. He was about as bad as they came. Besides the club President, he was as sexy as they made ‘em. All the members had Cherokee Indian in their lineage, giving most the to-die-for tan skin and dark hair. Sandman’s short military style was more of a dark chocolate, accenting his abnormally blue eyes. The man was built like a brick wall with tats covering every inch of skin that peeked out of his normal black tee. He was the walking, talking definition of badass.
The head honcho of the Devil Savages was Tony Walkingstick—the Prez, he was half Cherokee Indian and went by the name Tonto. One he had earned not only for having the most Indian blood, but for his unique way of dealing with ‘problems’. Rumor had it that when people needed dealt with, the President of the Devil Savages scalped them before they were buried—alive in most cases. Tonto, much like Sandman, was built abnormally huge, with muscles on top of muscles neatly decorated with similar tats. What set him above and apart from any man Rose had ever seen was the large, slate grey almond eyes and shoulder length jet black hair always held back with the blue signature bandana folded low on his forehead. Apart, they were enough to make a girl ache, but together they were what fantasies were made of—and totally off limits. She wasn’t stupid enough to get involved with any biker, much less this forbidden duo. But dangerous or not, she couldn’t help storing them in her naughty file to use in the privacy of her own bedroom. Night after night, she fantasized about the rough pair, delving into delight she would never know.
Rose walked away long enough to get the coffee and top off their cups, feeling more nervous than she ever had in her life. Things were getting harder at home, and unless she found a second, maybe even third job, they would be out on the streets. The Devil Savages owned the diner, but also the Indian casino, a florist shop, a pawnshop, and an MMA club. There were other ‘businesses’ they ran, but no one other than the brothers knew exactly what that entailed. Maybe her waitressing skills would earn some points and convince them to hire her at one of their other locations. There wasn’t a whole lot of other options with her lack of education.