Warning: This isn’t a romance, but instead a tale of love between two despairing people, from two different worlds, both aching for something more.
Debbie Reynolds is a runaway, New York City-bound. Living on the road comes with many challenges—fighting for her next meal, seeking safe places to sleep, and dodging men with less than honorable intentions, all while searching for meaning in a life she finds painful and pointless.
Damon “Preacher” Fox, vice president of the Silver Demons Motorcycle Club, has been in prison for club-related crimes. As his release draws near, he begins to reevaluate his choices in life, realizing that if he stays with the club, this won’t be his last stint behind bars. Suddenly Preacher finds himself doubting everything he’s ever known, wishing for a life beyond the club.
When Preacher and Debbie’s paths cross, they find in each other a sense of peace they had been lacking. But life is about to catch up with Preacher, and Debbie, desperate to keep the one person who’s ever shown her any kindness, finds herself caught between forces far deadlier and more powerful than she could have ever imagined.
This is Debbie and Preacher’s story.
At the end, we should all go back to the beginning,
if only to remind ourselves that we once lived.
UNDESERVING is book #5 in the USA Today bestselling UNDENIABLE series.
(Looking for English to Spanish translation.)
I stormed out of the elevator and into the fourth-floor hallway of Queens City Hospital in New York City, NY. Ignoring the glances I attracted from the staff standing behind and milling around the nurses’ station, I quickly spotted what I was looking for—a group of familiar men clustered together down the hall—and began marching toward them.
Behind me—quite a distance behind me, actually—my husband, Cole “Deuce” West, better known as “Prez” to his fellow bikers in the Hell’s Horsemen Motorcycle Club, was shuffling along slowly, obviously not in any hurry to catch up with me. Not that I could blame him. I’d done little else but yell, scream, and cry at him since finding out about my father’s rapidly declining health, something I’d come to discover Deuce had known about all along and had purposely hidden from me.
But my anger with Deuce stemmed from more than just that.
In all the years we’d been together, through the good and the bad, the thick and the thin, he’d still yet to figure out how to react to me when I was upset. He was a man through and through, and in my experience, men like Deuce, men like my father, they dealt with their own emotions by using their fists, emptying a bottle of whiskey, or losing themselves between the thighs of a willing woman. Forget dealing with the upsets of their own women; at that, these men were all utterly clueless.
As for this latest turn of events, “upset” was putting very, very mildly what my tumultuous emotions were doing, and Deuce’s cluelessness was only furthering my anger.
My father, my beloved father, was dying of cancer.
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French
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German
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Polish
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