Don't Miss the first in a Brand New MC Romance Series!
Sons of Odin MC #1
Releasing December 8th, 2015
If you love the motorcycle romances of Joanna Wylde and Julie Ann Walker, don’t miss Violetta Rand’s irresistible novel about a sexy-as-sin biker who tempts a good girl to go bad.
Lang Anderson may be the new leader of the Sons of Odin motorcycle club, but his personal life is in shreds. He’s struggling to take care of his three young sisters in the wake of tragedy, while rumors of drug dealing within his ranks jeopardize everything he’s built. The last thing he needs is another distraction—like a bar brawl over a woman—but Lang is a sucker for a damsel in distress. And this one gets him roaring like a finely tuned engine.
High school guidance counselor Lily Gallo is no fender bunny. So why can’t she get Lang off her mind? Lily’s head says the rugged, rough-and-tumble biker who came to her aid is bad news. Her body begs to differ. But when Lang’s troubled kid sister walks into her office, Lily’s determined to help, even if it puts her in the crossfire of a gang war. On a crash course with danger and desire, Lily partners up with Lang to fight for his family—and for love.
Corpus had its share of cases that made the national news. Mix in an outlaw bike club and the story went viral on social media within fifteen minutes.
And his sisters had access to it and had watched in horror as Uncle Jessie was escorted into court. The questions his youngest sister, Trisha, asked broke his heart.
It was all he could do to hold himself back and not follow the prosecutor to her car and give the bitch a Texas-sized welcome—one she’d never forget. He smoked his Marlboro down to the filter and tossed it on the ground. The status quo didn’t satisfy Lang anymore. He wanted more, or less, depending on what perspective he took. More for his family, less heat from the cops.
Several Brothers had spent the afternoon in court waiting for Jess to be arraigned. Merritt approached, wearing a frown on his bearded face. “He’s fucked,” he commented, shaking his head. “Racketeering, witness tampering, and murder.”
“All true,” Lang confirmed. Why lie out of earshot? “He just got caught.”
“The club can’t afford another shakedown,” Merritt said.
Lang agreed. Time to remind members that representing the club didn’t mean attracting negative publicity. Jess’s lax leadership hadn’t helped. “First line of business,” Lang started. “Fast-tracking Vincent and Merk. Time to patch out.”
“You won’t get any arguments from me—but Patrick, Sampson, and Moco might not agree.”
Lang already knew he’d meet with some resistance. Appointing officers was the sole right of the president. What the charter needed most was new blood. Men with a different perspective. Like any business, the club had centralized power. All men weren’t created equal. Respect was given first, then earned, just like the fucking patches on his back. He fully intended to teach his Brothers the difference.
Charter rules were chiseled in stone like the Ten Commandments. And if anyone disagreed, they’d lose their membership, maybe their right to breathe.
Eventually the other Brothers filed out of the building. Lang imagined they looked out of place standing together in the middle of the afternoon wearing leathers and combat boots. Unlike attorneys and their clients shuffling in and out in their Sunday best, the Sons of Odin always wore their cuts whenever they represented the club, regardless of the venue.
The stares and whispers their presence evoked inspired Patrick and Sampson to retaliate. They flipped off a couple in the entryway and then Patrick lit a joint, blowing the acrid smoke in their direction.
“Contact high,” he laughed at them. “Get the fucking corncobs out of your asses.”
“Hey.” Lang tapped his shoulder angrily. This was a perfect example of the juvenile mentality he planned on eradicating. “Not the time or place. We already have a PR nightmare on our hands.”
The Corpus Christi elite wanted clubs like the Sons of Odin dismantled, but average residents were often the beneficiaries of the generosity of the club. It was always the first to donate when disaster struck the city, and even the paper occasionally touted the members as heroes.
Keeping club image in mind, Lang knew when enough was enough. “Let’s go,” he commanded, leading them to the far side of the parking lot, where their Harleys were lined up like tanks.
An environmental scientist by day, Violetta Rand has been in love with writing since childhood. Struck with an entrepreneurial spirit at a young age, she wrote short stories illustrated by her best friend and sold them in her neighborhood. Rand enjoys outdoor activities, music, reading, and losing herself in the world she brings to life in the pages of her stories. The only thing she loves more than writing is her wonderful relationship with her husband.