BIKER DADDY: The Chain Gang MC

by St. Rose, Claire

  "Am I so different? I mean, look at you. Some people may see you and formulate who they think you are by what you wear and how you carry yourself. But, are you so one dimensional that they get you right every time?"

  "You have a point."

  "I know." He rested his elbow on the table and drummed with his fingertips. His eyes never left hers. She inhaled slowly, and her eyelids fluttered. Like a desert breeze, she tugged at him with invisible hands. He was a very private individual, but she made him want to share his secrets.

  "To an extent, I am what I appear," she tried to explain. "I am a good Muslim girl from a protective, loving family, and I try to abide by their expectations. I think I'm hard working and ambitious, to the bane of my older brother. But, I'm also considerate, and I do my best not to shame them. I'm—"

  "Telling me who your family wants you to be. I'm more interested in who you are. What music you like, what movies you like, the minutiae of what you do in your free time, the mundane details that add up to Zoya."

  "I thought we were talking about you," she paused, smiling. Their drinks arrived. He studied her over the rim of his wineglass as he took a sip. She felt herself coloring at his scrutiny. The tables had turned fast.

  He replied casually, "I was raised by a single mother. I grew up in a trailer. I'm the end result of a raw deal I leveraged to my advantage. We were poor, and that made me determined to not remain that way, so I worked my ass off, but it also made me grow up with a chip on my shoulder. I got in a lot of fights and got kicked out of a couple of schools. I tried drugs and alcohol, the normal shit that teenagers sample, because I wanted an escape. There wasn't any nirvana in that stuff for me."

  "I was a model student. I excelled at my studies. I've never been in a fight in my life—although my big brother fought for me more times than I can count. I never even thought about trying drugs, and I don't drink excessively. Moderation in all things."

  He smiled. "You sound like you had it easy."

  "I've been bullied, poked fun at, and downright abused in this country. People see me now and they think terrorist, an extremist. If you call that easy, you're crazy."

  "My apologies, I didn't mean to devalue your experiences," he said lightly.

  "You're a white male in a white male dominated world," she pushed a little. "Not that I have anything against you. It's just easy for a man like you to ignore what it's like to not be the majority."

  He pushed up his sleeve and flashed his tattoos. "It all depends on which aspect people see first. Few things in life are as simple as they seem. For instance, when you're poor, you're considered inferior. When you're different, you're considered a threat. I've been both. I don't want to compare battle stripes, but—suffice it to say—I'm not oblivious to what it's like to be labeled. But, we aren't our scars, and we aren't defined by what other people call us. I see you, and I see a beautiful girl with eyes like an unfamiliar song I want to learn the words to."

  "What if there aren't any words?" she asked. Her hooded eyes were seductive, even though she didn't intend them to be. The waiter appeared with their food, which broke the mood. Zoya snatched her gaze away and gave her attention to the meal placed before her. "This looks delicious."

  "I was thinking the same thing." She looked up, and his eyes were still on her.

  She cleared her throat. "You were telling me about your childhood."

  "There isn't much to tell," he replied. "At some point in a courtroom for some random juvenile offense, I realized that I was following a well-traveled path to a hell I wasn't interested in visiting. I was locked away in a group home for six months and had to do community service, but when I got out, I had a whole new perspective on what it meant to have street cred. I looked at the neighborhood guys who seemed to be the hardest, most respected gangsters, and they didn't hold the same kind of weight around town as the doctors and the lawyers."

  "Scared straight," she interjected. He nodded, smiling. It was easy to smile with her. Talking to her was easy. He didn't see judgment in her eyes at the mention of being raised by a single mom or his earlier criminal behavior. He had dated some chicks who looked at his past like a mark against him.

  "I got my GED. I dedicated myself to getting into college, and once there, I made it my business to get a degree. I've always been kind of great with cars and shit, so mechanical engineering came second nature, but I never really thought I'd get as far as I have. During my junior year of college, I got a scholarship from GM."

  "So, what do you for a living?"

  "I'm a draftsman. I design products to enhance engine performance."

  "That sounds complicated. What I want to do is work as a physician assistant, preferably in a major hospital. I have another year, and my goal will be realized."

  "And, your family isn't happy about that? You mentioned something about your brother not liking your ambition."

  She shrugged, digging into her food. "Miad feels a woman's place is in the home. He's old-fashioned. He thinks a man is supposed to take care of me. I know I'm intelligent enough and strong enough to make my own way in this world. When it comes to relationships, I don't want to feel like I have to shrink my dynamism so my partner can feel like the bigger person. I guess I'm more influenced by this culture than my family prefers that I be. It's just that...well, I'm not trying to supersede anybody. But, what's wrong with being equals?"

  "I see your strength."

  "You see me quivering like a mouse. Stop it," she said softly.

  He put his hand over hers across the table, and she didn't pull back. Zoya looked up into his eyes. They were sheer blue as the sky. "If it makes you feel better, you make my pulse race, too."

  "Why is that?" Zoya asked. He chuckled and glanced away, eyes returning with renewed force.

  She leaned back in her chair, finally tucking her hands under her arms, knowing distance was her only salvation. The way the light touched his skin washed his face in golden highlights and navy shadows, and the image was branded into her consciousness. She would see him, even if her eyes went blind. His hand upon hers had burned her fingers. She was sure there were blisters where their skin had touched. This was arousal, she surmised. She would've thought she was old enough to recognize it by now, but she had never felt a desire so hot it scalded.

  "Because...you're nothing like what I'm used to, and I have no idea what to make of you. A part of me knows I should speed away in the opposite direction, but my mind can't move away."

  "The timeless dilemma. The Forbidden Fruit."

  "Is it the same for you?"

  "My family would never accept you. Why don't I care?"

  "Don't say things like that. I almost wish you would steer clear of me. I'm not exactly in a position to give you the right advice about a guy like me. To be blunt...for all you see, there are things you don't."

  "Don't worry. I'm wiser than my foolish words," she said with a half-smile. "So, you're telling me I'm better off abiding by the rules."

  "I wish you wouldn't though."

  "Say what you mean."

  "I'm trying," he admitted.

  They lapsed into a loaded silence, eyes saying too much. Eating occupied the need for conversation. She saw the warning and the invitation. He saw the need for her to make an honest mistake. She would put faith in him that he maybe didn't deserve, Micah realized. He was equally aware she might be able to make him do what others couldn't. Change.

  They ordered a dessert, which they shared. Zoya adjusted her hijab around her face. She knew it was late, and she couldn't stay out all night, and she pulled out her phone to check the time. She hadn't even thought
to call Callie. Her roommate would be worried. "Oh, it's almost eleven."

  "Is that my cue to get you home?" Micah asked with a grin. He called for the check and paid the bill, grabbing his jacket. He reached for Zoya, but he didn't touch her. He guided her out of the restaurant into the chilly night, and Micah dropped his leather jacket around her shoulders for warmth. When she stepped under his arm and let it rest around her shoulders, he didn't say a word, but simply reveled in the feel of her. They walked together to the motorcycle.

  "Have I sufficiently scared you off?" he asked impulsively.

  "You've given me a lot to consider," she replied.

  She settled on the bike behind him, arms easily resting around his waist, and when he took off, she clutched him tighter. He sped the short distance to her apartment. He had to get her home. If he didn't, he couldn't be held accountable for what he might do.

  She stood on the steps to her apartment, watching him ride away and struggling to push down the excitement that still lingered long after he disappeared into the night. What was wrong with her? She suppressed a soulful groan. He had all but told her he was bad news, but she couldn't resist continuing the story to see what would happen next.

  CHAPTER 5 Callie had waited up for her, and as soon as Zoya walked into the apartment, she was assailed with questions about how the date went and what he was like. She barely had the words to describe everything. Zoya sat at the kitchen counter with Callie going over everything in detail and watching her friend's face carefully to see what Callie thought about the whole situation.

  "The problem is," said Zoya, "this weekend I'm going with my parents to meet a man they hope will pique my interest. They're ready for me to settle down. I know what's expected of me, Callie, but..."

  Callie chipped at the polish on her nails with chewed off nails, contemplating. "What they don't know won't hurt them, right?"

  "I can't hide something as big as this. If they find out, they'll never trust me again."

  Callie reached out and grabbed her arm. "Zoya, you're an adult!"

  "I'm trying to tell you what it's like in my family, Callie. I know I'm an adult, but I still have responsibilities, duties. I can't just walk around like none of that matters. Why won't you listen to me?"

  "I'm doing the best I can, honey, but I'm having a hard time reconciling the girl I know with the person you're trying to turn yourself into. Every challenge you've encountered since I met you, you've conquered. You're not some shrinking violet who can be manipulated, and you're letting yourself be backed into a corner by hardline traditionalists who expect you to conform to their standards with no allowance for what you really want to do with your life! Zoya, you have a right to pave your own way."

  "I'm scared I'll mess things up." Zoya's voice was small, as she admitted the fear that lingered in the back of her mind every time she thought about rebelling against her parents' wishes. She wasn't so arrogant that she imagined she'd never need their help in the future. These were things that had to be considered.

  "You will mess up. We all mess up. Your folks have messed up before. Look, I know you think you have them all figured out, but they're humans, too. The bottom line is, you don't know what you'll do if you keep waiting around for someone else to make all your decisions for you."

  "He basically told me he couldn't be trusted."

  Callie snorted. "At least he's honest."

  Zoya giggled. "I gotta get some sleep," she said finally. "Whose idea was it to have a late night date in the middle of a class week?"

  "Yours," Callie reminded her.

  Zoya got up from the counter and made her way to the bathroom, and she drew a bath so she could contemplate her night in private. She sank into the tub, and the bubbles rose to her chest. She slowly washed her face, sweeping the towel over her glistening skin. She washed away the day, while her mind was lingering on the night. Micah was more than attractive; he was interesting. She wondered if it was the forbidden quality that stamped their relationship with taboo that appealed to her most.

  It was intense to know he was just as interested in her as she was in him, and he respected her. That was different. That was important, but what should she do with him? Callie's suggestion was that Zoya keep the relationship a secret from her family. As much as Zoya had protested, she knew she could do it. What she did at grad school was her business. They rarely even asked much about it.

  On the other hand, the subterfuge would place a wedge between them that hadn't existed before. Zoya had always played by the rules, but she had never wanted to break them so badly before.

  Zoya smoothed the towel down her torso to her delicate mons. As the terry cloth skated over her labia, her eyes drifted shut, and she sank deeper into the water. Her head rested on the back of the ivory tub, her shiny hair floated on the surface of the water. She had never touched herself so intimately, but her hand moved of its own accord between her legs. She thought of the man who inspired her lust. "Micah," she murmured heatedly. His face flashed behind her closed eye. She squeezed them tighter shut.

  What was he doing to her?

  A gentle moan hummed in her chest, and her naked body trembled in the still water. Her fingertips slipped past the towel to touch herself. The pad of her index finger stroked her clitoris. Her hips shifted forward, legs drifting open wider. Her womanhood clenched, and she bit her bottom lip, hissing in a breath as her finger slipped close to her entrance. She was a virgin. She had never been penetrated. The questing digit was enough to bring her crashing back to reality.

  Bath water sloshed to the floor as Zoya sat up straight with a gasp like she had been holding her breath, and she quickly washed her hands. She swiftly finished bathing. It was a mistake. It was a mistake to let herself get too involved with Micah. She hurried out of the tub and got dressed. She couldn't look at herself in the mirror, and she didn't want to think about what she had almost done. But, as she climbed into the bed and pulled her comforter up over her shoulders, her mind raced, against conscious effort, back to thoughts of the bad boy biker who inflamed her desires more than any man ever had.

  She wanted him so badly, it hurt. It had to be a sin.

  ***

  "Have you met my daughter, Zoya?" Musa beamed with pride.

  Taba, resplendent in a scarlet Iranian folk costume, the red silk painted with gold designs, held out her ringed finger to Zoya who was wearing fair rose. The wealthy merchant, Javid's father, stared openly in approval. Zoya knew she looked the picture of the proper Muslim girl. She was appropriately modest and demure. She kept her eyes downcast. She wouldn't speak unless spoken to, and she wouldn't voice her opinions unless asked. She knew what was desired of her. He gestured for his son, and Javid came reluctantly to his side, probably already having met every single woman at the party—young, old, beautiful, and ugly. Getting paired was tiresome work.

  "You must meet my oldest son," Ahmad introduced.

  Javid eyes glittered with interest, as he finally looked at her. Zoya smiled tightly, eyes cautiously lifting to dart around the crowded room. The Muhamad house was filled with family and friends celebrating the momentous occasion of Javid's graduation from medical school, and she was honored to be a guest, but she was past ready to go home. Dinner had been served; musicians serenaded; and a belly dancer moved around the room. How long could the party last? She had assignments to catch up on.

  "So, you're studying to be a physician assistant?" Javid asked. "Do you find it demanding coursework?"

  "It can be," Zoya allowed. She nervously glanced at the man her parents were gunning for her to begin a courtship with, and she just couldn't find anything appealing about him. Javid's ears were larger than she recalled from the last time she had seen him, and to make matters worse, he had a faint odor of garlic and onio
ns from the savory meal they had eaten. She fought not to gag.

  Putting a safe distance between him and her nose, she looked back down at the floor. He remarked, "You must have many men begging to see you. Your beauty draws the eye of every man here." There was a possessive catch to his voice. Zoya managed not to roll her eyes. She smiled instead.

  "You are overly kind," she replied.

  Javid launched into a boring conversation about his residency, which she followed with some difficulty. The way her attention skittered off at every distraction didn't bode well. She tried to appear attentive, but Zoya was sure she was failing. Javid didn't seem to notice. He brought her refreshments, sweet cakes and spicy punch, and he rambled on about wanting to be a neurologist, but she had visions of bikers flying down the highway of her thoughts.