Title: Hot as Hades
Couple: Cowboy and Daisy
Series: Book Two of the Four Horsemen MC Series
Release Date: 9/5/14
Pages: 300 or 70,000 words, Full length novel
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22405019-hot-as-hades
Cowboy is a former rodeo star and a member of the Four Horsemen MC. He spots Daisy Weston stripping in a club owned by the club’s rivals, the Raptors. They have taken her younger sister, Rose, and Daisy is determined to free her at any cost. With Cowboy acting as her bodyguard and guide to the outlaw world, she is getting closer to discovering Rose’s whereabouts, one lap dance at a time. Despite his better judgment, Cowboy finds himself falling for the pretty ex-marine and putting her in harm's way every night is becoming more and more difficult. Can they rescue Rose, before the Raptors discover they are really working for the Four Horsemen?
~Catch some wind with the bad boys of the Four Horsemen MC~Cynthia Rayne, AuthorGoodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/CynthiaRayne Website: http://www.cynthiarayne.com/
I want her.
Cowboy tried to shake the mental hold the stripper had on his dick.
Something about the blonde tempted him and it should have been hard to keep
his interest. After all, he had just bellied up to a busty bar of options.
Far as his cock was concerned, she was the only woman in the club.
He tried to focus on his surroundings, instead of the woman dancing on
stage. Not much to report. Although his twenty-something self would have
loved the Pussycat Palace’s brothel vibe, Cowboy had outgrown that stupid shit
for the most part.
The place left a lot to be desired. Cheetah fabric covered the booths, with
cheap black acrylic tables. Fake gold stripper poles lined the stage and the long
catwalk. The Palace waitresses walked around in tight white tank tops which
featured a nearly naked woman in a cat costume, along with black Daisy
Dukes that showed a generous amount of ass.
Well, the outfits weren’t that bad.
The music sucked though. Cowboy pressed a hand to his forehead, trying
to fight off a headache as the DJ started up George Michael ’s I Want Your Sex.
He’d never really cared for 80s artists because all of the music sounded the
same to him. He loved old school country, Johnny Cash in particular.
Cowboy needed to get some info and he’d hoped the dancers or the
waitresses would be a bit more chatty on such a slow night. But they’d been
skittish, dodging his questions and giving him a wide berth. Other than the
club owner, the bouncers, and himself? No bikers. Just a passel of drunken,
horny military dudes crowded around the main stage hooting and hollering at
That and a man in a very expensive suit.
He kept to himself in the corner, scribbling away in some leather bound
notebook. Somethin’ about Suit Guy bugged the shit out of him. All buttoned
up and squared shoulders, he didn’t react to the dancers. What man comes to
a strip club and ignores the main attraction? And while Cowboy glanced in his
direction, the dude actually yawned. Yawned?!
Cowboy shrugged. Weird as it was, it didn’t happen to be his business and
he had much more pressing concerns. Like sneaking a glance at the stripper
Great rack. He could get lost between those big tits. Damn. She had just
been fucked hair, a blond tumble of curls surrounded her pretty face, like she’d
left some lucky bastard’s bed moments ago and he’d been running his hands
through it all night. Her tight ass cheeks peeked from beneath a tiny skirt.
She’d topped off the outfit with red, fuck me heels, and black thigh highs
trimmed with crimson bows.
He loved the tat on her shoulder. A lioness growling, with teeth bared, and
claws out. It extended down the line of her back, and then disappeared beneath
a red corset. Made him wonder if she was a wild cat in bed or a sweet purring
When he tore his attention away from her, he noted the rest of her co-
workers were in a daze. Sure, strippers usually regarded horny guys with bored
expressions as they danced. But these girls? Lifeless. Nothing but a row of
pretty painted zombies shuffling around the catwalk as George crooned about
gettin’ some. He supposed they could be junkies. Cowboy recognized the signs.
They had red-rimmed, spaced out eyes, dull hair and skin, slowed reaction
time. Not to mention they were skinny as understuffed scarecrows.
His girl didn’t look bored though.
She eyed the crowd, evaluating them, and then marched down the catwalk
like a drill sergeant traipsing by the new recruits. All obey my commands and
kiss my boots attitude. He had no clue why she had come to the Palace, but
he’d bet his blue Harley Fat Boy, it wasn’t to strip.
When she reached the edge of the stage, she launched herself at the poll
and spun on it like a wild thing. Women usually seduced the pole, treated it
like a lover to be gently rubbed against. Not his girl. She attacked it and then
forced it into submission, upending her body on the rod, and then clenching it
with her strong thighs. Squeezing.
Holy fuckin’ shit.
Cowboy had a boner the size of Texas in his Levis. He’d love nothing more
than to explore every single inch of her long, powerful legs. He couldn’t help
but think of them wrapped around his waist as he fucked her.
Oh hell yes. He could back her up against a wall, drive into her while she
clawed up his back, coming for him again and again.
He drained the rest of his lukewarm beer and tried to pull his shit together.
He had a job to do. He’d come to question the girls since the Raptors were out
on a run and he shouldn’t be sitting here getting his motor revved.
The Four Horsemen, his MC, had gotten wind that the Raptors had been
trafficking in women, using them for profit. From what he’d pieced together
from the night of the living dead strippers on stage, there had to be some truth
to the stories. That sort of shit didn’t sit well with the Four Horsemen. He’d
bring the info back to his club and they’d sort this out, preferably the hard
The Horsemen were something of an anomaly in the MC world. They had
many ways to earn, but none of them involved using women. By far their
favorite business, a very lucrative one at that, involved karmic facilitation, a
Horsemen term for meting out some richly deserved vigilante justice. Usually
for profit and hell, sometimes just for fun. In other words? What goes around
comes around to bite you on the ass.
The club motto wasn’t Think on Your Sins for nothing.
Unfortunately, he was in a holding pattern until he conferred with his
brothers. Cowboy felt naked without his Four Horsemen cut, the leather vest
which marked him as a member of the MC. He wanted to shut this thing down.
Tonight. He fantasized about drawing his Colt, rounding every single one of
these dickheads up, and then making an example of them, all by his Lone
Ranger self. But he knew it would be suicide.
And he’d gotten over his death wish a couple of years ago.
He scanned the back of the club. Two big guys served as bouncers. They
both had to be pushing three hundred and fifty pounds, easily six and a half
feet. Both of them wore Raptor prospect cuts, so they hadn’t been officially let
into the club. Like a fraternity, potential members had to pledge before they
became full members.
Down the hallway, to the left of the stage, he spied the Raptor meeting
room. The club symbol, a bird of prey with talons bared, had been carved into
the wooden doors. Took some balls, to put your MC’s club house in a strip joint
funded by drugged women.
He couldn’t help but eye the pretty stripper again.
And damn if she didn’t look good enough to eat. From the way his dick
reacted, you’d think he hadn’t seen a woman in years. Even though he’d gotten
a blow job this morning from one of the hellions, naughty girls who hung
around his club. Nothing special, but it had drained his balls and cleared his
head. Well, until he saw the stripper.
The wild cat locked eyes with him and wrapped one, long, lean leg around
the pole, held on tight. Then bucked against it. Hard. Again and again as he
watched every fucking movement. He imagined her thrusting against him like
that, as she rode his cock.
He clutched the empty beer bottle in his hand, worried he might bust the
She shimmied away from the pole, teasing him with more glimpses of her
panties beneath the fabric of that short skirt. Then, turned and rocked her ass
back and forth to Warrant’s Cherry Pie, pausing only to glance at him over her
shoulder and then she winked.
Oh fuck me.
She glided down the stage steps, but snubbed the military douchebags and
Suit Guy, eyes completely focused on Cowboy alone. The boys frantically tried
to flag her down with dollar bills, but she strutted to his table instead. Then
eased her arms up over her head and danced just for him.
She swung her hips, shook that ass. Then, she leaned over, giving him a
real good view of those big tits, straining to break free from her corset.
Cowboy clenched his jaw.
She leaned down and whispered to him, her cherry mouth against his ear.
“What do you say, baby? Take me to the champagne room?”
Christ. His cock reared at her words, stood up in his pants like the stripper
pole she’d twirled on. He knew she had only offered him an invitation to buy a
lap dance, a poor imitation of what he really craved but his cock didn’t seem to
give a shit about the circumstances.
Mentally, he said no. However, his dick, the traitorous fucker, made him
Before he could stop himself, he’d gotten to his feet and followed her down
a very narrow hallway to a small, empty room. Discreet, and off the beaten, the
room had red velvet chairs, a private pole, and a big black coffee table that
could serve as a tiny stage.
Another thought suddenly occurred to him.
What if the Raptors used the dancers as prostitutes as well? Maybe the
club had the girls proposition men for sex on site. It made sense. The club
didn’t have to buy or rent a separate facility or even secure a hotel room. The
bouncers could even protect their “merchandise” from dudes who might
damage their investment.
And this situation put Cowboy securely on the horns of a real fucking
When it came to the wild cat, he didn’t know if his moral compass currently
pointed due north. Could he pass up the chance to fuck her if she offered it
up? He swallowed thickly.
Dear fluffy Lord, I hope so.
He’d never paid for sex. Never. He considered it a point of pride. The women
he slept with craved him as well. Nothing but mutual lust, attraction and never
a business arrangement.
Cowboy argued with himself. He’d just look, okay, maybe touch, but
definitely not fuck. Because it wouldn’t be right. He just needed to know
exactly what kind of bullshit the Raptors were into. That’s it! If she offered, he’d
pony up the cash and make her turn on the dickheads and blab all the details.
But, she didn’t offer him anything. Not. One. Damn. Thing.
They stood staring at one another for a moment and he got the distinct
impression that she’d never done this before. She bit her lip, not meeting his
gaze and her confidence seemed to fade. The silence stretched in the small
room. Just the two of them without the hypnotic, hard pounding music and the
benefit of nearby alcohol to smooth the rough edges.
To clear the tension, he reached for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
She shook her head. “We’ll worry about that in a bit.” She stepped up on
the coffee table. “For now, I want you to watch me.”
A stripper or possible prostitute who wouldn’t take money up front? His
bullshit o’ meter started ringin’. Yeah, she didn’t belong here. She didn’t seem
drugged and had way more attitude than any stripper he’d ever seen.
None of it added up.
She hit the button on a remote she plucked from the table and then tossed
it on the carpet. Chris Isaak’s Wicked Games filled the room. Much more
mellow than the bump and grind music on the main floor. Like a puppet on her
G-string, he sank down in the nearest chair, duty promptly forgotten in a haze
Everything seemed to melt away, the throbbing music from down the hall,
the drunken catcalls. Nothing in all of Texas, but the two of them.
She started to move leisurely, seductively on the table. He couldn’t talk
now, even if he wanted to. She ran a hand down the long, graceful line of her
neck and then rubbed between the mounds of her breasts, touching herself
where he longed to. Then, she turned around slowly and bent over, showing
him her shapely ass as she stroked her impossibly long legs.
He gripped the armrests to keep from reaching for her. Fuck. Bent over like
that, he could yank her panties aside, push his stiff cock in her. He could
spread her wide open for him and then take her again and again, making her
come for him until she pleaded with him to stop. Then he’d fuck her some
more. Until they were both too exhausted to see straight. But he wouldn’t.
What the fuck am I doing? Engaging in some masochistic blue ball torture,
She hopped off the makeshift stage and walked to a table by the door. “I’m
sorry. I forgot to offer you some bubbly, baby. This is the champagne room,
after all.” She reached into a bucket of ice and pulled out a small bottle of
champagne. The cheap shit. Not that he expected Dom Perignon or anything
but it figures the Raptors would stock second rate alcohol. Perdition, the bar
his club owned, only carried top shelf, but nothing as girly as sparkling wine.
She poured them two glasses of bubbly and then carried them both over.
Her breasts nearly spilled over the top of her corset, bouncing as she walked.
He wanted to see her rosy nipples puckering up, just begging to be taken in his
mouth. Damn. Then, he wanted to pour the alcohol over them, lick it off her
while she squealed and not in protest either.
But he settled for taking a sip from the glass she offered him, eyes glued to
her chest. The alcohol tasted strange, medicine-y. It reminded him of the foul
flavor of uncoated aspirin on his tongue. He took another swig of it, just in case
he’d been mistaken. Nope, shit still tasted bad. Maybe because it was the cheap
“This tastes like ass.” He grimaced. “Maybe I’m more of a tequila man?”
He started to reach around her to place the flute on the table, but she
clinked her glass to his. “A toast to discovery?”
Shit. It’d be rude not to drink, so he forced himself to bolt the rest of it like
With a catlike grin, she set her glass aside, settled herself on his lap and he
forgot he had the ability to form words. She put one strong thigh on either side
of his, draped her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts into his