Storm (Sinning Cobras MC Book 1) by Colbie Kay



“No!” I don’t even recognize my own voice screaming. My eyes widen with the fear that’s swallowing me. I run to her side and drop down onto my knees. Blood begins soaking through the fabric of my denim jeans. “Call 9-1-1!” I yell over and over while tears stream down my face. The wet feeling on my cheeks is foreign to me.

“Storm,” she gasps my name.

“Shh,” I hush her. “You’re going to be fine.” I don’t know if I’m trying to reassure her or myself. She has to be fine. I can’t fuckin’ lose her.

My hands, now red, covered in the blood she’s shed, lie over the bullet wound. I apply as much pressure as I can, but it won’t stop seeping from her body.

The sirens blare in the distance. They soon take her away.

“Storm, are you coming?” I barely hear the words as I’m charging toward my bike.

I climb onto my Harley without responding. My mind is consumed with one thought: I’m going to kill that motherfucker.



I lean against the doorframe, watching Haven sleep so fuckin’ peacefully. It took time for her to sleep through the night without waking and screaming as if someone was fuckin’ killing her. She’d open her eyes and see me standing right where I am now, her body would slump as if she was relieved, and a small smile would ease onto her plump lips before she’d fall back to sleep. After a while, it became routine. I was here to keep the nightmares away. Eventually, the screaming stopped, but she still wakes every now and then to make sure I’m still here. “I’ll always be here,” I whisper.

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to rid myself of the ache that pounds in there every goddamn time I look at her. She is beautiful. Her hair’s the color of chestnuts with curls that flow down her back. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wished I could run my fingers through the long strands. She has these chocolate doe eyes with long, thick black lashes that damn near drop me to my knees when she gazes at me. Her petite little frame makes me want to pick her up and have her legs wrap around my waist just to feel her body pressed against mine.

“Fuck!” I groan and silently beg my cock to stop fuckin’ growing. I run my fingers through my silver-streaked hair while trying to push those fuckin’ images out of my goddamn head. Christ, I’m fuckin’ twenty years older than her, and no fuckin’ way should I have the thoughts I do about her, but fuck if I don’t wish I could pin her to a wall and make her scream my name so fuckin’ loud, Jesus couldn’t save her.

It’s been two years since she was standing at our gate, begging to be let in, begging for us to help her and her sister. At first, she was just a job to me, watching over her, making sure she’s taking care of herself. I soon learned she didn’t know how to fuckin’ do that, so I started doing it for her. I made sure she ate and showered, and I taught her shit about everyday life. But over time, she started to change. For one, her figure filled out because she’s healthy now. It’s more than that, though. Her chocolate eyes seem to have some life back in them, something that was missing before. Coming to us broken and practically naked, she is coming out of her shell in very small ways, and thanks to Snake’s Ol’ Lady, Victoria, she has clothes to wear. She wasn’t a teenager; she was twenty-six then, and now, she’s twenty-eight with her whole fuckin’ life ahead of her. However, even though she has evolved, in some ways, she still remains locked inside of herself, terrified of the outside world.

She’s not the only one who’s changed with time. I’ve changed also, or I should say my thoughts and feelings about Haven have changed. Somewhere along the line, she stopped being a job and became my priority. What I thought of as an innocent desire to protect her has transformed into a wild obsession where I need her to need me. Once I started seeing her as a woman, those lustful thoughts started playing in my head. Thoughts of wanting to possess her, wanting to claim every goddamn part of her fuckin’ body. I know I can’t act on my urges, cravings, desires, but fuck if I’m going to allow another man to ever fuckin’ touch her.

So, instead of trying to help her grow into an independent woman, I’ve been fuckin’ selfish and allowed her to continue to live inside her fear. I’ve allowed her to get comfortable within these four walls. She’s my weakness, my kryptonite. For two years, she’s looked at me as if I’m her goddamn savior, her protector, the only person in this fuckin’ world, and because of my selfishness, I want to keep it that way. I want her to believe I’m the only one who can give her everything she needs in this world.