Whiskey Burning Read Online Bella Jewel (Iron Fury MC #1)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, Biker, Dark, Funny, MC, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Iron Fury MC Series by Bella Jewel

Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Whiskey Burning (Iron Fury MC #1)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Bella Jewel

Book Information:

In the darkness is where I first met him. Alone at a water fountain, tears rolling down my cheeks. Ready to give up. From the shadows, his voice came to me.
Soothing. Comforting.
Rough as the blackest night. I didn’t see him.I didn’t even know his name. All I knew was he saved me that night.
He put my back on my feet. And he kept me on them. Every single time I needed him, he found a way to come to me. My stranger of the night.
My dark warrior. My name is Scarlett. You probably know me. I’m America’s number one country music star.
I’m also the loneliest girl you’ll ever meet. He’s as free as a bird. A nomad. Travelling alone.
Nobody to hold him back. He holds the freedom I pray for every single day. He shows me that life can be so much more than what I’m living.
When danger comes knocking, he’ll also show me a different world.
A world I never knew existed. A world that both terrifies and fascinates me. A world that goes against everything I’ve ever known. A world of Iron Fury
Books in Series:

Iron Fury MC Series by Bella Jewel

Books by Author:

Bella Jewel Books



A tear rolls down my well made-up cheek, followed by another, and another. I don’t make any sound, I don’t even move, I just sit on the edge of the water fountain, the cool stone beneath my bottom, the trickling sounds of the water the only noise that can be heard. It’s dark out, the flickering stars and full moon shining light over the fountain, making it look like a magical creation of bursting colors. I slip a finger into the hole of my jeans; so many times my manager Susan has tried to get me to throw these out, and so many times she’s failed.

They’re the only piece of myself I have left.

It seems sometimes they’re the only piece of my life I have left that reminds me I’m still human, that beyond the make-up, the lights, the fame, and the fortune, I’m still just Scarlett. The girl who grew up in Nashville, the girl who loved to ride horses and play in her tree house. The girl who, once, had not one care in the world. These jeans remind me that I’m still a person, that deep inside me, there is still a heart beating, there is still breath in my lungs, there is still hope in my soul.

“That’s the prettiest damned cry I’ve ever heard.”

I jump at the sound of the deep, husky voice that seems to come out of nowhere. I thought I was alone here and, at the realization that I’m not, my heart begins to pound. I’m not supposed to be out alone, but I just needed some time to breathe, to think, to quiet my screaming mind. My eyes dart around the moonlit space, but I can’t see anyone. I blink a few times and then whisper at the voice in the darkness, even though I shouldn’t. I should really get up and walk away. I’m not supposed to talk with strangers.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here.”

“Neither did I,” the voice rumbles. “What’s a girl with a voice like an angel and tears that are makin’ even my heart hurt, doin’ sittin’ out here alone? It’s not the safest part of town, darlin’.”


His voice is rough, dangerous even. Yet, for some reason, I don’t feel afraid, not even a little. He has the kind of voice that would make you feel safe, like nothing in the world would ever touch you while he was around. It’s the kind of voice that tells you he would kill for something he loved. His voice is a comfort I’ve longed for for so many years. I don’t keep looking for him in the darkness, I just stare ahead and talk to the perfect stranger sitting somewhere on the water fountain with me.

“It’s the only place I can get space,” I admit, my voice husky and soft from the tears.

He makes a low sound deep in his chest. “Yeah, I know the feelin’. What’s your name, darlin’?”

Darlin’. I really like it when he calls me that. And I don’t even know him.

It makes my heart expand. It brings a comfort over me, making me feel at ease for the first time in a very, very long while.

“My name is Scarlett.”

He makes a humming sound. “Pretty name. How old are you, Scarlett?”


“So young to be so sad. What’s got you cryin’?”

I shift, pushing two fingers into the hole in my jeans again. Everyone in the United States of America knows who I am. I became famous at the tender age of nineteen when I was picked up by a scout and signed by a massive record company. I became the face of country music and have spent the last four years living in the middle of that life. Music was once my passion, now it has become my worst enemy, a cloud hovering over my head, something I can’t escape from.

I’m tired.

“I’m Scarlett Belle.”

I tell him my name, as if it’ll make some sort of difference, as if him knowing will make him understand. I hate the sound of my name, it’s so cliché, almost as if my parents called me that knowing one day it would sound good being shouted from a stage or look good flashing on a billboard.

He goes silent for a long while. So long I wonder if he’s still here. Maybe he got up and left; I wouldn’t blame him.

“No kidding,” he finally murmurs. “Should have recognized your voice. Nobody in America has a voice as sweet as yours. Hear you on the radio all the time, got the voice of an angel.”

That was once a compliment, now it just brings heavy sorrow over my chest. I lower my head, my blonde hair falling down beside my cheeks and cascading over my shoulders and breasts. I’ve often prayed for my voice to be taken, for something to happen so I could no longer use it, at least then I could walk away from this life with a valid reason.