Drifter (MC Sinners Next Generation #2) by Bella Jewel


Twisting my body to the side, I shuffle through the crowd that’s far bigger tonight than it has been in the last few times I’ve been into this bar. We got VIP tickets on a lucky break to come and see a local band, Wrath. I’d heard of them and, in desperate need of a night out, decided to enter a competition for the chance to win. Two tickets later, Pru—my best friend—and I made our way down to Eskimos, a local hotspot, to watch them play.

Finding a space amongst the crowd so I can see the stage, I press my back against the wall and wait, Pru bouncing anxiously by my side. We head off to college in Denver in just a few days, so this is the last chance we’ll have to get out and about before life in the real world starts. I turned twenty-one recently, and let’s just say I’ve been enjoying my newfound freedom. Being the daughter of an over protective biker can be slightly daunting at times.

That’s a lie.

It’s daunting all the time.

“Can you see them yet?” Pru cries into my ear, happily hopping from one foot to the other.

I grin at my best friend, who is no bigger than five foot. She boasts serious curves, and often says she’s on the chunky side, but most people we come across think she’s perfect. At least, most men do, anyway. They’re forever staring at her luscious curves and long, dark, exotic hair. Not to mention her eyes. She’s stunning and even more so tonight, in her clingy red dress that leaves little to the imagination. My dad would never let me leave the house in that—hell, he’d never even let something like that enter my closet.

“No,” I yell back. “But they’re due to start.”

“I’ve heard they’re hot!”

I roll my eyes. “You think anything with a penis is hot.”

She gapes at me. “No!”

I giggle and focus back on the crowd, then I reach down and adjust my black dress. It isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough on my skin that I feel slightly uncomfortable. The top of the dress is ruffled and dips low enough to show slight cleavage at the top. My dad wasn’t home when I left, and it’s the only reason I got away with it. Pru loaned it to me. The rest of the dress is semi-clingy, right down to my knees. It’s pretty. I left my blond hair down to cover some of the skin showing on my back.

“There they are!” she squeals.

I shift, trying to see the stage clearly as people start bobbing around trying to see. Three guys come on; one is holding a guitar and walks to the front of the stage, and the other two separate, one going to a keyboard and the other to a set of drums. The lights dip low, and I push up as high as I can on my heels to see better but it’s just about impossible. I focus on the singer holding the guitar and gasp as he steps into the light, curling his big hand around the microphone.

Holy hell.

He’s hot.

I notice immediately that he’s of Native American descent. He has these stunning almond-shaped eyes. I’d just bet they’re either really dark brown or maybe even black. His hair is long enough to touch the collar of his shirt, curling slightly at the ends. It looks thick. Really, really thick. His jaw is chiseled and his lips full. He looks like he purposefully hasn’t shaved for a few days, letting the hair on his cheeks get scratchy and heck, it’s masculine enough to make me blush.

My eyes move down over his body, just as I’m sure every other woman’s in this room does. He’s wearing a tight black tee that clings to his clearly defined chest and abs. He’s lean, but well built. Tall. Dark. Amazing. His jeans are faded, his boots undone, with laces trailing across the stage floor. He shifts, and my eyes shoot back up to his face to see him lean down to the microphone. “Hey,” he says, his voice thick and strong. Holy huskiness. “I’m Diesel and this is my band, Wrath.”

The girls squeal happily, and I stand in a daze as he opens his mouth and sings.

I swear the entire room stops, all the sound being sucked out except the low melody of his voice. He has a dark voice, husky and deep, with an edge of danger. He sings with his eyes closed, his fingers curled around the microphone as his body sways slightly from side to side. Holy. Hell.

“Oh my god!” Pru screams, throwing her hands in the air. “I just fell in love.”

Me too.

Holy shit, me too.


“The band is right through here.”

Pru grips my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh as a bouncer leads us to a door. We’re finally getting our VIP privileges - meeting the band. I can’t wait. I’m practically buzzing to be up close to Diesel. I want to see his face, the color of his eyes, to put him in my memory with the voice I’ve now lodged into it.

We move into a room that’s small, definitely not for a famous person. The door is opened and we step in, immediately seeing the two other band members sitting on stools beside a pool table, beers in hand, laughing. They stop when we enter and the room goes still. I squirm, uncomfortable. Aside from the horrible first kiss of my life, I’ve had very little interaction with men outside the club.

I don’t know what to do.

“Hi!” Pru cries, throwing a hand up in an enthusiastic wave that makes her boobs bounce.

Two sets of male eyes drop to those boobs.


“Hey,” the guy who was playing the piano says.

“’Sup.” The drum player nods.

The guy who led us in looks to the band members and mutters, “These two got the VIP pass. Be nice.”

Then he leaves.

Pru wastes no time skipping forward. “Hi, I’m Pru. I know, awful name, but I swear you’ll forget about it soon.”

I roll my eyes and walk in, studying the two men. They’re both hot—not in the mysterious way Diesel is, but in a bad boy, rugged kind of way. The drum player has messy blond hair that falls over his forehead. He has blue eyes and a massive grin, the all-American, boy-next-door kind. The piano player has dark hair that’s cropped short in a buzz-cut. His eyes are the lightest olive, and he’s most certainly got a darker edge than his friend beside him.

“Name’s Bates,” the piano player says.

“And I’m Spencer.”

Pru waves and turns, jerking me closer. “This is my friend Mercedes.”

Both Bates and Spencer look to me, eyes lowering down over my body and taking me in. I squirm and then blurt, “So, where’s the other member?”

Bates nods to a door, where a soft sound is coming from. I never noticed until now, assuming it was background music, but the harder I listen, the more I realize it isn’t.

“Go on through. I’m sure he’d love company.” Spencer grins, but it looks mischievous.

“Right. I just want to tell him I enjoyed his songs. I won’t be long.”

“I’ll stay right here,” Pru says, sliding her bottom onto the pool table.

I sigh and turn, walking towards the sound.

This should be interesting.


Diesel’s back is to me. I take in his tall, strong frame, the way his head is dipped as he strums his guitar. Taking a step closer, I rub my arms nervously. I don’t want to interrupt, but at the same time, I really want to see his face and talk to him. I’m giddy for it, and that’s unusual. I clear my throat softly and he stops playing, his back straightening.