Book Title: My Iron Knight (An Enemy Territory Story)
Author: S. J.
Release Date: April 12,
Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance, Biker Romance,
Tropes: Forbidden love, Enemies to Lovers, Small Town
Heat Rating: 4
Length: 32 900 words/ 137
It is a standalone story and
does not end on a cliffhanger.
Dash Cassidy loves his
town even more than his bike, but his priorities have a violent shift in gear when an
irresistible Russian hitman comes along.
Darius ‘Dash’ Cassidy has ended up president of the small
town of Salvation’s Iron Knights motorcycle gang, almost by accident. His sister, Zara, is the
more business-savvy and ambitious of the two, but their father—the infamous Butch
Cassidy—was far from politically correct, so Dash was left in charge.
Up to now, Dash has been more than happy to muscle his
way through life as his father did before him, even if he is starting to suspect that something
might be missing.
But now there’s a new player in town. Iris Damaro has
plans to make Salvation the center of her international smuggling operation. Dash isn’t
going to sit still while Damaro steamrolls through his town, but when the crime boss sends
her alluring Russian number two, Nikita Vasiliev, to do her negotiating, Dash realizes he may
be in over his head.
Can Dash figure out where his priorities lie before his
town—or his heart—is lost forever?
The doorbell jangled and in stepped Nikita Vasiliev.
He was perfect, not a speck of dust or gleam of sweat on
him. He wore a tight black T-shirt and jeans, which did very little to stop Dash from picturing
what might lay underneath. His bare arms were surprisingly toned, the muscles sliding
under his pale skin as he moved. His smile was thin and his eyes, like white-hot needles,
drove right into Dash’s belly. His suited shadows followed, their expressions hidden by
“I told her the same thing I told you,” Vasiliev said
smoothly. “I told her to think about it.”
Dash stood, his hand on his gun. Furniture scraped as the
diners stood and looked vainly at the exit, now blocked by the suited goons.
“No, please,” Vasiliev said as he came forward, sinuous as a
snake, his fine-boned hands held out, palms up. “Do not let us interrupt your meals.” The
diners slowly lowered themselves back to their seats, and the Russian turned his smile on
Dash. “Mr. Cassidy, let’s not ruin these fine people’s mornings.”
“What do you want, Vasiliev?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Your pronunciation is improving.
Did you look it up on YouTube?”
“Gentlemen,” Rosie barked, “this here may be an old-
fashioned business, but it’s still my business. Either you order something or take your
“I’d say that’s fair,” the Russian said, perusing the menu on
the wall. “My associates will take a coffee. I believe I would very much like to try
“Comin’ up,” she said, nodding reassuringly at Big Bill
through the hatch, as his face had grown stormy. “Cassidy?” she said, tilting her chin. “I
don’t care who your daddy were. My place, my rules.”
“Refill,” he said without moving.
A wider smile spread over Vasiliev’s sculpted mouth. He
drifted past Dash to a booth against the wall. “Shall we act like civilized adults?”
Dash glanced at the heavies as they took stools at the end
of the counter, between him and the door, and sat.
Vasiliev lowered himself into the seat opposite,
interweaving his long fingers on the scarred Formica tabletop. Dash realized for the first
time that his fingers were slightly crooked, the skin webbed with scars as fine as silver
Rosie slapped a plate of pancakes and a syrup jug on the
table. She set a fresh coffee in front of Dash with a hard look then hastened back behind the
“What are you doing here?” Dash asked in a low voice.
“Quite incredible,” Vasiliev said, pouring syrup on the
pancakes. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
“You don’t scare me, Vasiliev.”
“Don’t I?” He met Dash’s eyes as he lifted a forkful of
pancake to his mouth. He chewed, scowled then pushed the plate away. “Bliaha. How can
you have something so sweet for breakfast? May I?” Before Dash could speak, Vasiliev had
sipped from Dash’s mug, his blue eyes boring into his over the rim. “Ah,” he said, lowering
the cup. “Seems America does get some things right.”
“What do you want with Rosie?” Dash said, fighting to keep
his voice under control.
“I came to see if she had had any further thoughts on our
proposal,” Vasiliev said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “But I’m guessing her position is
as yet unchanged. No matter. She has thirteen more days…just like you.”
“What happens then?”
“That’s our business.”
Dash leaned forward on his elbows. “Your boss may be
used to getting what she wants, but she won’t get what she wants from us.”
“Then she’ll kill you all.”
“I’d like to see her try.”
About the Author
S.J. Coles is a Romance writer originally from Shropshire, UK.
She has been writing stories for as long as she has been able to read them. Her biggest
passion is exploring narratives through character relationships.
She finds writing
LGBT/paranormal romance provides many unique and fulfilling opportunities to explore
many (often neglected or under-represented) aspects of human experience, expectation,
emotion and sexuality.
Among her biggest influences
are LGBT Romance authors K J Charles and Josh Lanyon and Vampire Chronicles author Anne