Donovan

Contents Title Rights Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Epilogue Also by Jessica Gadziala About the Author Acknowledgments Stalk Her! Guide Contents Start of Content DONOVAN Golden Glades Henchmen MC #6 — Jessica Gadziala Copyright © 2023 Jessica Gadziala All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review. "This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental." Cover image credit: South_Agency / Getty Images “None of this book was written using A.I. tools. Each word was crafted with human hands.” CHAPTER ONE Donovan “What’s everyone looking at?” I asked, walking down into the kitchen to find Cato, Levee, and Alaric looking down at something on someone’s laptop while Eddie was at the stove, as usual. Everyone was ignoring Mackie, the blue and gold macaw, as he climbed down his cage, and started eating someone’s cereal they’d left on the table, the multicolored rings getting soggy in the milk. “The kids finally made it on the site,” Eddie declared, waving a spatula toward the guys while standing there in his Kiss the… apron that featured a prominent rooster under the words. “What site?” I asked, snatching the bowl away from the bird, not wanting a lecture from Remy if he somehow found out that he was eating junk food again. Levee had gotten never-ending shit from Remy when he heard that the bird had gotten into a bag of Doritos. “Fuck you, Benny,” Mackie grumbled at me—his personal catchphrase—but set his sights on the grapes at the center of the table instead. I wasn’t risking a finger to try to take those away from him. “That fan page website,” Eddie said, chest a little puffed because he’d been on that site for over a year. Despite not actually being a member of the club. “Yeah? What’d they say about you?” I asked. The entry about me was kind of sparse, without any of the gushing I’d seen for some of the other guys. The woman had just stated my general appearance, my penchant for dressing up compared to the others, and my history with setting up street races. “Just general descriptions,” Eddie told me. “No gushing.” “She must not have met us yet,” Levee decided. “I mean, she gushes about Eddie who isn’t even a member.” “Hey, I have many admirable attributes,” Eddie said, smirking, enjoying the fuck out of his apparent superiority on this matter. “The honeys, they love a man who can cook. I would teach you how, but then that would just look like you’re trying to get that fan page updated.” “Christ. She’s still updating that thing?” Huck asked, coming in from the front of the house, shaking his head. “Not often,” Alaric said. “The girls would have told us sooner if she had updated.” “I should probably have Teddy have his lawyers lean on her to take it down completely,” Huck said, looking over at the stove to see what Eddie was whipping up. “She’s not giving out anything that a random chick coming to a party likely wouldn’t know,” Alaric reasoned. “True,” Huck said, shrugging. “But if anything goes up on there that is giving too much away, I want to know about it,” he said, getting a nod. I doubted Levee or Cato would say shit even if they were giving out drop schedules unless or until the woman updated it with some gushing on their sections of the site. “Where you headed?” Huck asked, inclining his chin to me as I grabbed my keys off of their hook by the door. “Just a ride,” I told him. Things had been quiet around the club. I would never say “too quiet,” because that shit was just inviting trouble, but quiet enough that I was going a little stir crazy just hanging around the clubhouse all the time. Huck gave me a nod, getting it. I heard him head out on his bike some nights too when he needed to clear his head. “We’re having some people over later,” Levee told me as I opened the door. “You always do,” I agreed, nodding. It wasn’t that I begrudged them their partying ways. They were young. It was expected. It was that I was… less young. As much as I hated to admit it, I was getting to that place where the music was too loud and I found myself wanting to head to bed instead of drink and find a skirt to chase. At least, I didn’t want that every night. It still had some appeal. But it was Tuesday, for fuck’s sake. I wanted a drive, some of whatever Eddie was cooking, then some sleep. Christ. Add in “do a little Sudoku” and “have a cup of Sleepytime tea” and I was my grandfather. On that depressing thought, I moved down the driveway toward my bike. I had to admit, the bike took some getting used to. Like Che and Eddie, I’d grown up in the street racing world. We’d always been obsessed with our cars. And all the ways we could fix them up, make them run real sweet. But when that career path no longer served me, and it was time to pick something else, a biker just made a certain sort of