Tracker (Hell’s Handlers MC Florida Chapter #3) Read Online Lilly Atlas

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Mafia, MC Tags Authors: Series: Hell’s Handlers MC Florida Chapter Series by Lilly Atlas
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Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
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A cop and an outlaw biker walk into a bar…

Officer Jolene Baker spent her youth smiling and sparkling on stage when all she wanted was to run alongside her four older brothers. It took years for her to stand up for herself, ditch the pageant life, and peruse her dream of becoming a police officer. Now that she’d broken out on her own, she could dress how she wanted, swear if she wanted, and sleep with any man who caught her eye. No matter how many tattoos or piercings he had or how big a bad-boy vibe he gave off.

Tracker hit the sweet spot in his life. He owned a thriving tattoo business, found a stellar family in the Hell’s Handlers Motorcycle Club, and had no shortage of women jumping into his bed. Seducing the town’s new female cop to extract information on his club was a no-brainer. He’d be helping his club and having fun in the process.

A woman committed to justice and sworn to uphold the law, a man who lives by the outlaw code, and enough heat to burn down the town. Disaster seems inevitable, but can Jo and Tracker find a way to avoid catastrophe?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

THE BLINDING STAGE lights seared her eyes, distorting her vision. Despite having to blink away bright spots, Jolene found her family in the audience. All six of them. Four tough older brothers and two loving, devoted parents. The brothers’ facial expressions ranged in degrees of boredom, which came as no surprise, but they were there, supporting her as always. Her parents, on the other hand, radiated pride and anticipation. Their hopes and dreams rested on Jo’s bare shoulders, heavy and insistent.

No pressure.

I love my family.

I love my family.

Jo couldn’t have been more uncomfortable if a sadistic torturer shoved bamboo shoots under her fingernails. She hated standing on stage under a gleaming spotlight so the judges and fans could inspect every inch of her waxed and buffed bikini-clad body.

That was it. That’s all she was there for. Not to demonstrate intelligence or wit. Not to discuss something that interested her, like the importance of women learning to protect themselves with self-defense classes or ways to reduce crime rates in crowded cities. Sure, if she advanced through multiple rounds of Miss Teen USA, she’d have an opportunity to voice her answer to a few posed questions, but even those required a pat, well-rehearsed, politically correct response the judges would approve of. Those questions weren’t answered with the truth but what she thought the judges wanted to hear.

No one cared to hear how she thought the US prison system needed to be completely revamped and reformed or how it was an often-for-profit shitshow that did nothing to rehabilitate prisoners or prevent future crimes. No, if asked her opinion on the state of the prison system as one of the contestants was last year, she’d smile and give a nice, pretty answer about trusting the state’s elected lawmakers to have their citizens’ best interests at heart—even the incarcerated.

Blah, blah, blah.

Of course, she had to make it through this swimsuit round, then evening gowns, first. While she detested the feel of sequins and long gowns on her skin, she despised the swimsuit round with a passion she couldn’t even put into words.

“Please welcome, Miss Alabama, Jolene Baker.”

First out as always, Jo smiled, pinched her shoulder blades together, and sashayed her way down the runway. Her cheeks ached, her feet throbbed—who the hell wore stilettos with a bikini—and her eyes stung from the harsh lights as they always did. The audience clapped—her family loudest, of course—as they gawked at her nearly naked body.

Seriously? Did the other girls enjoy this?

Yes, they did. Of course, they did.

Strutting across a stage to be critiqued on the curve of her hips, the perkiness of her tits, and the shape of her legs left a lot to be desired.

She’d been a part of these competitions since before she could walk, and after countless nights in hotels with the other girls, she knew for a fact that they loved it. It was a religion to most of them.

Not Jo. She’d hated it since she first sprouted tits and realized she’d never be allowed to follow in the footsteps of her brothers and father and attend the police academy. Nope, she was the only girl in the proud southern Baker family.

Literally, of the fourteen cousins in her generation, she was the lone female. And as a southern family with highly traditional southern values, she was to be the perfect, polite little belle. A delicate, innocent flower who could charm everyone she met but would never step out of line or assert herself.

Vomit.

No matter how many frilly pink dresses they stuffed her in or how many baby dolls they bought her, little Jo had only wanted to play in the dirt and run wild with the boys.

Horrifying to her pageant mother.

She finished her walk and took her marked spot on the stage.

“Thank you, Miss Alabama. Please welcome, Miss Alaska.”

The rest of the pageant passed in a flurry of fabric, hairspray, and makeup. She moved on from swimwear to formal gowns and reached the final five with a plastic smile on her face where she should feel at least a measure of pride. Pageants were an unfortunate obligation for her, but she’d still worked her ass off to get to where she was. Sometimes she felt guilty, as though she was stealing a spot from a girl who wanted to be there. At thirteen, she’d told her mom she no longer had an interest in the pageant world. The announcement crushed her mom in a way she’d never expected.

If she’d told her mother she had stolen the family car and crashed it into a tree, the woman wouldn’t have been as upset. She didn’t rage or yell. No, that wasn’t Audry Baker’s way. But the burden of deafening disappointment which followed her for weeks was so thick that Jo couldn’t bear its weight. After catching her mom sobbing in the bathroom, she decided to continue with pageantry until she stopped winning.


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