Blurb
He turned me into a woman of extremes, living a life of intense passion and fierce emotions in the rugged landscape of West Texas.
When I cried, I drowned.
When I loved, I burned.
Declan Wilder, a man with a deadly past and a killer smile, made me feel alive like never before. Little did I know that he was a key player in the criminal underground rodeo circuit, where danger and desire went hand in hand. Little did I know, he had been hired to kill me.
When he aimed, he destroyed.
When he obsessed, he consumed.
Our love burned hot, an insatiable fire that threatened to ruin us both in a world of reckless outlaws and high-stakes games. Declan was my forbidden flame, a man with a dark past and a possessive streak that threatened to devour me whole. Still, I ached for him, even if it meant facing the deadly consequences of his criminal ties in the gritty and unpredictable wild of the West.
When we fell, we crashed.
When he claimed, he ruined.
I knew that I was destined to ride the thrilling waves of passion and adventure, even if it meant risking it all on a journey where love, danger, and villains collided.
Content Warning
Dear Reader,
I am excited to introduce you to my latest book, The Harder They Ride. Before you dive into this dark romance, however, I feel it’s important to warn you it contains themes that may be triggering for some readers.
The Harder They Ride includes intense scenes of stalker behavior, rape, dubious consent, knife play, primal play, murder, violence, and gore. These themes are integral to the plot and, as such, may be difficult for some readers to handle. I encourage you to prioritize your mental health and well-being and stop reading if any of these themes become too overwhelming.
At its core, The Harder They Ride is a story about overcoming trauma and the power of love to heal even the deepest of wounds. It follows the journey of two flawed individuals as they navigate their complicated relationship and the obstacles that stand in their way.
If you or someone you know is experiencing trauma, please know that there are resources available to you. One such resource is the National Domestic Violence Hotline, which provides support and resources for women experiencing abuse. You can visit their website at www.thehotline.org or call their 24/7 hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233).
Thank you for considering The Harder They Ride as your next read. While it may be a challenging read at times, I hope it will move and inspire you, and I encourage you to prioritize your mental health above all else.
XOXO,
CoraLee June
DECLAN
Tonight, the desert throbbed with an untamed symphony. Each step I took crushed the gravel under my boots, and the rustle of desert critters filled the air. The night was vibrant, teeming with life, the wind screaming through the canyon, carrying the pungent scent of sage and mesquite.
In some parallel universe, my father might have been here, watching, a proud smile tugging at his lips. My mother would’ve been a tearful contrast, heart clenched in fear for her boy venturing into the jaws of danger.
But death had robbed them of the chance to feel, to think, to exist.
The dead don’t deal in emotions, and the living run from them.
The land was pulsating, matching the wild rhythm of my heart, and I was stalking through its rugged beauty, like a predator on a hunt.
The underground rodeo, a grueling trial of strength and guts, lured in men hardened by life.
The deal?
To prove myself.
The reward?
Answers.
In the looming distance, a bonfire danced wildly, throwing monstrous shadows around. It roared its fierce existence, echoed back by the escalating shouts of the crowd. The air was thick, clogged with a potent cocktail of sweat and adrenaline.
As I neared the arena, shadowy whispers danced around me, tales spun from the heart of the desert. The bulls in their enclosures snorted, restless. The clanging boom of riders prepping added a metallic note to the sounds of the night.
“You think you’re ready?” Hank’s voice sliced through the noise, the question hanging heavily in the air.
My nod was curt—a silent declaration. Here, actions were louder than any sermon.
I vaulted over the fence, and the chilly cloak of the night wrapped around me. I took a moment, my gaze raking over the frenzied crowd—fellow riders preparing for the battle, spectators high on anticipation, silhouettes lurking in the shadows. Danger was woven into the very fabric of this place, and I knew with complete certainty that I was cut out for it.
No, more than that—I was born for it.
Walking up to the chute, the floodgates of my memory were thrown open. They lit up the darkest corners of my past.
The blood.
The sweat.
The echoes of lives crushed under my hands. They were a brutal testament to the path I had walked.
But the impatient snorts of the bull demanded my attention.
As I filled my lungs with the hot night air, I hoisted myself onto the bull’s back. My grip on the rope was a vise.
And then, we were off.
The gate swung open, the bull lunging into the storm of cheers that erupted from the crowd.
The noises faded into a blur as I narrowed my focus on the ride.
The prize was within my reach.
This was my arena, my battleground. I was the hunter here. I was the goddamn king. No force on heaven or earth would stand in my way now.
CLOVER
“That’ll be twenty bucks,” a gritty man said, his gold-coated tooth shimmering in the descending sun.
As I rummaged through my bag, my heart pounded in my chest, resonating with the fear of being in this seedy part of town. This was the hub of the underground Nightfall Rodeo, the town’s well-kept secret.
Law enforcement turned a blind eye to the unsanctioned event, too wary to interfere with the Dust Devils, the local gang orchestrating the spectacle. The danger wasn’t exclusive to the bucking bulls.
My purpose here wasn’t the thrill of the rodeo.
I was in search of my sister.
My stupid, naïve, lovable, reckless, fucking sister.
After handing over the money, I glimpsed the man’s twisted smile. He motioned me toward the stands. His eyes shone with a secretive amusement in the sinking sunlight. “Better be quick, sweetheart. The betting ends in ten. And remember, no phones, no pictures. We like our secrets here.”
“Understood,” I murmured, my voice wavering with a mix of anxiety and excitement.
“Good girl.” His eyes, as sly as a fox, raked over me. “Nightfall Rodeo ain’t for the faint of heart. Just keep your head low and steer clear of the Devils. You’re too pretty to be on their radar.”
A shudder ran through me. This place evoked painful memories; I could almost envision my father’s ghost smirking in the background.
I made my way toward the arena, and the crowd was electric, erupting into a frenzy every time a bull charged into the ring, wild and primal as the riders tried to tame them.
The spectators were a fascinating mix of rowdy small-town folk in sweat-stained overalls and knockoff cowboy hats. Their infectious energy hummed through me.