{"product_id":"judgment-road-isbn-9780451488510","title":"Judgment Road","description":"\u003cb\u003e#1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Bestseller\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn outlaw motorcycle club sets up shop next door to Sea Haven in the dangerously sexy new series from \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Christine Feehan.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA brutal education in a Russian training facility for assassins has taught this group of men one thing: It's a long road to redemption.\u003c\/i\u003e..\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the enforcer of the Torpedo Ink motorcycle club, Reaper lives for riding and fighting. He's a stone-cold killer who turns his wrath on those who deserve it. Feelings are a weakness he can't afford--until a gorgeous bartender gets under his skin...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNear Sea Haven, the small town of Caspar has given Anya Rafferty a new lease on life. And she's desperate to hold on to her job at the biker bar, even if the scariest member of the club seems to have it out for her. But Reaper's imposing presence and smoldering looks just ratchet up the heat. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnya's touch is everything Reaper doesn't want--and it brands him to the bone. But when her secrets catch up to her, Reaper will have to choose between Anya and his club--his heart and his soul.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Christine Feehan and the Sea Haven Novels\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I love everything she does.”—J. R. Ward\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The queen of paranormal romance.”—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The fiery combination of Prakenskii brothers and elemental sisters has made this series one that never disappoints. Pure Feehan magic!”—\u003ci\u003eRT Book Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sensual, violent, intense and thrilling.”—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Ms. Feehan is at the top of her game with this magical romance.”—The Romance Readers Connection\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Feehan brings a sizzling story of seduction and sorcery to her readers.”—Examiner.com\u003cb\u003eChristine Feehan\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the Carpathian series, the GhostWalker series, the Leopard series, the Shadow Riders series, and the Sea Haven novels, including the Drake Sisters series and the Sisters of the Heart series.One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The wind blew off the sea as the three Harleys made their way      through the last series of snaking turns and hit the straight      stretch on Highway 1 running parallel to the ocean. The night was      well under way, a fact that Savva \"Reaper\" Pajari was well aware      of. He had to report to the president of his club, Czar, the      moment they arrived back in Caspar, but time didn't matter for      that. Even if Czar was at his home in Sea Haven, tucked in close      to his wife, Reaper'd just hit the roof and climb in through the      bedroom window. He'd done it more than once.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He lived for two things: riding free and fighting. He needed to      feel solid muscle under his knuckles. He needed to feel fists      hitting his body, tapping into that well of ice that covered every      emotion. That swift explosion of violence and sweet pain as fists      connected was his life, and had been his life since he was five.      Now, he needed to stay sharp somehow, in this new bullshit      direction the club had taken.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He rode along the highway, aware of the others on either side of      him. Brothers, some for over thirty years. Men he counted on. Men      he called family. Still, he was apart from them and he knew it,      even if they didn't. He turned his head toward the ocean. Waves      sprayed up into the air, rushing over rocks and battering at the      cliffs. Sometimes he felt those battered rocks were him, time      wearing him away, little by little.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His soul had been gone so long ago that he couldn't remember      having one. Now, his heart was slowly disappearing. There wasn't a      place on his body without a scar. He had another to add from this      last trip. He also would have to have Ink tat his back, three more      skulls to add to the collection of those resting in the roots of      the tree on his back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Viktor Prakenskii, the man known as Czar, was the best man he      knew. Reaper's job was to stand in front of Czar, his      self-appointed task from the time he was a little boy. He'd been      doing it for so long now, he didn't know any other way of life. He      stood in front of all his brothers and sisters-in Torpedo Ink, his      club. He was proud to wear the club colors. He'd die for those      colors and still detested any mission he ran if he had to take      them off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They turned off the main highway onto Caspar Road leading to the      town of Caspar, where they'd set up home. They'd designed their      compound around the old paymaster's building for the Caspar      logging company. They had spent the first few months working on      the building, turning it into their clubhouse. It housed multiple      bedrooms, a bar, their meeting room-known as the chapel-and a      kitchen. They shared bathrooms, whichever was closest to their      assigned sleeping room. Czar had insisted each of them purchase a      home nearby. He wanted those roots put down deep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Reaper didn't give a damn where they all slept. As long as he      could defend his club and their president, he was fine. The      compound had a bed and right now, he needed one. He was      forty-eight hours without sleep. He'd stitched up the wound in his      side himself, making a piss-poor job of it too, but all he'd had      was a little whiskey to disinfect it, and that had burned like      hell. It still did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They rode up to the compound, and Storm and Keys parked their      bikes while he scanned the lot. Either Czar was home or at the      bar. Reaper was fairly certain he'd be at the bar waiting for a      report. He didn't like to disturb his wife, Blythe, or their four      adopted children. Reaper didn't shut his bike down and waited for      the others to turn to him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Goin' to find Czar,\" he said, unnecessarily, but they were      looking at him like he should say something. He didn't like stupid      shit, like the formalities that seemed so important to others. He      didn't care if people liked him, in fact, he preferred they stay      the hell away, except for his brothers, who understood him and      made it clear they expected him to at least talk once in a while.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I can report in,\" Keys offered. \"You could use the downtime.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Reaper shook his head. \"Won't be able to sleep right away. I have      to check on him anyway. You know how I am.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Want company?\" Storm asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He shook his head. \"Not necessary. Savage will be with him,      probably a few others. Get some sleep. We all earned it.\" Savin      \"Savage\" Pajari was his birth brother. Like Reaper, he acted as      sergeant at arms, protecting Czar at all times. Between the two      men, they had their president covered whether he liked it or not      around the clock. \"I already texted Czar we were comin' in when we      were an hour out.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He was certain if he did that, Czar would go to the bar rather      than have Reaper come to his home-exactly what Reaper wanted. It      was the new bartender. Reaper didn't like anything out of the      ordinary. He didn't trust it. The woman was definitely something      out of the ordinary. Code could find dirt on anyone, but he hadn't      found a single trace of her anywhere. She worked for cash, under      the table. She wore designer jeans, but she drove a beat-up car on      its last leg, rust breaking through the paint. The fucking thing      smoked every time she turned the engine over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Torpedo Ink had a garage up and running. Did she take her car      there to get it fixed? Hell no. She drove off every night thinking      no one knew where she was going. That was the hell of it. She      drove back toward Fort Bragg, took Highway 20 and turned off at      the Egg Taking Station, a campground in the Jackson Demonstration      Forest. Why the fuck would a classy woman be bartending in a biker      bar, drive a beat-up Honda Civic older than she was and be      camping? It made no sense. He didn't like puzzles and Anya      Rafferty was not only a puzzle, but one big headache.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Reaper had watched her for over a month. Five weeks and three days      to be precise. He'd learned she was a hard worker. She listened to      people, remembered their names and what they liked to drink. She      flirted just enough to get good tips, but not enough to cause      fights. She was generous with the waitresses, sharing tips she      didn't have to share. She was careful and guarded yet gave the      illusion she was open. She was kind to those less fortunate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He'd watched her give a homeless man a blanket she carried in her      car, and twice she'd brought him coffee and a meal. Twice she'd      spent money he was certain she didn't have to get food or shoes      for someone living on the streets. She seemed to have an affinity      for the homeless, and he was certain she knew all of them by name.      She volunteered in the soup kitchen Saturday mornings even though      she couldn't have had more than a couple of hours of sleep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She didn't flinch around the bikers, but it was obvious she wasn't      from their world and didn't have a clue how to fit in. She took      her cues from Czar and sometimes asked him questions. She'd never      asked Reaper a single question, but she sent him a few shy smiles,      which he didn't return. He'd spent more time in the bar in the      five weeks she'd been there than he'd ever spent in a bar in his      life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Reaper glanced away from the compound, up toward the bar. He could      see the lights shining through the dark from the banks of windows.      His heart accelerated. His cock jerked hard in his jeans. That was      unacceptable and that was why the woman had to go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Every one of those in his club had been taught to be in complete      control of their bodies at all times. They'd been beaten, starved,      tortured and had unspeakable things done to them in order to shape      them into disciplined killing machines. He felt very little      emotion and certainly not physical attractions. The bitches      partying hard, getting it on with anyone and everyone, did nothing      for him. Not one thing. He often walked through a room full of      half naked or naked women and his body didn't so much as stir.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One look at Anya Rafferty. Listening to the sound of her voice.      Her fucking laugh. The way all that hair fell around her face like      a dark cloud. A waterfall. She had more hair than two women put      together, and he found he thought a lot about that hair when he      should be thinking about keeping his president alive. Or himself.      He refused to allow his cock to drive him. That part of his      anatomy would never drive him. He didn't trust anyone, especially      not a woman who made his body ache until his teeth hurt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He sighed and turned his Harley, heading for the bar. He'd told      Czar Anya had to go. She was a problem. Nothing about her added      up. Nothing. Protecting Czar was his number-one priority, and if      she wasn't forthcoming, she had to go. He told himself that shit,      but he knew it wasn't the truth. He hated bullshit. Detested it.      Especially when he was trying to bullshit himself. He could make      all the excuses in the world, but the truth was, the bartender      upset him. She got under his skin without trying.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Once in the parking area, Reaper swung his leg over his motorcycle      and forced himself to stand upright, his two feet planted on solid      ground. He'd been on his bike so long he wasn't certain he had the      legs for earth any longer. Placing his dome on the bike he did a      casual sweep of the parking lot. In that one moment, he took in      every detail of the cars and lines of motorcycles parked there. He      recognized several of the bikes. Two prospects were lounging      close, keeping an eye on the bikes. He didn't acknowledge them,      but he saw every detail. He removed the small leather bag from one      of the compartments hidden in his bike and made his way across the      parking area toward the bar, still looking around to every      conceivable parking spot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What he didn't see was the bartender's old rust bucket. He paused      for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, breathing deeply, not      knowing if that made him happy or if his mind went somewhere he      refused to acknowledge. She was gone. Czar had done what he'd      asked, and her presence was removed. That should make him happy.      Well, he was never happy. He didn't know how to be. He'd      forgotten. Relief maybe-except now he had to go to the campground      and make certain she was okay. Damn it. He swore under his breath      and climbed the steps leading up to the bar. His gut burned like      hell with every step, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the ache in      his chest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Music poured out of the building, a loud, drubbing beat. That only      added to the pounding in his head. He ignored it and yanked open      the door. Raised voices and laughter mixed with the clink of      glasses. Funny, now that it was an established biker bar, the      place was hopping almost every night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He stepped to the side of the door and took a long look around,      noting every jacket or vest with colors. Mostly small-time clubs,      or weekenders. A couple of legitimate road warriors. Three wannabe      hard-asses, drinking, looking for women and most likely a fight.      Five, sitting in the corner, badasses wearing Demon patches. They      noticed him the moment he walked in. All five were packing and      they weren't drinking, at least not enough to say they were there      for a good time. He did a quick inventory of his body. He could      move fast if needed. He never minded a good fight and most likely,      any minute, he'd be welcoming one. He let the Demons see his gaze      linger on them before he allowed himself to scan along the bar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He had a gun tucked in his waistband at the small of his back.      Another was down in his boot along with a knife. A third gun was      inside his jacket, easy access, just a cross-body pull and he was      in business. The truth was, he rarely used a gun or a knife when      he killed. He preferred silence, but weapons came in handy      occasionally and he was proficient in the use of all of them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He knew he was looking for the bartender. Anya. He fucking loved      that name. It suited her face. Her voice. It was possible her      piece of junk car had broken down and she had hitched a ride with      someone. He didn't see her anywhere and it pissed him off that      he'd even looked. Worse, the pressure in his chest grew.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tonight's bartender, Preacher, looked harassed. He glanced up from      the sea of customers and shot Reaper a welcoming grin, his eyes      scanning for wounds, dwelling for a moment on the blood on      Reaper's shirt and then jumping back to his face. Reaper gave him      a nod, indicating he was fine, and Preacher nodded back. He jerked      his chin toward the hall behind the bar. There was a doorway to      the left of the bar, but Reaper stalked across the room and      flipped up the jointed wooden slab that allowed him to walk      through the opening to get behind the bar. He moved down the long      hallway straight to the office.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The door to the back office was closed, signifying a meeting of      some kind. If the door was closed, any waitress or non-club member      stayed out. Unzipping his jacket, Reaper went right on in, hoping      Savage didn't put a bullet in him as he waltzed through the door.      Savage was unpredictable at times. His brother gave a quick scan      of his body, much the way Preacher had. Czar stood up to face him,      doing the same. He frowned when he saw the blood. Shit, he'd      forgotten his shirt was a mess. It wasn't all his, either.      Savage's gaze jumped back to his face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'm fine,\" he said, to stop the questions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Code had been poring over books with Czar, which was laughable.      Czar hated number crunching and only pretended to listen to Code      half the time. With Czar and Code at the table were two other club      members, Absinthe and Ice, Storm's twin brother. All had their      eyes on him and the blood on his shirt. Something was up to have      so many gathered this late at night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What happened?\" Czar snapped before anyone else could say      anything.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301493952741,"sku":"NP9780451488510","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780451488510.jpg?v=1767730503","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/judgment-road-isbn-9780451488510","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}