Love, Loyalty & Mayhem: A Motorcycle Club Romance Anthology

by Ryan Michele

  Finding her shop hadn't been the hard part. Maneuvering around the film crew for one of those naval crime shows just a few blocks away from the French Market, on the other hand, is a different story. It took four attempts of alleys and re-routes, before we finally make it. The dark blue flashing sign with the figure of Papa Midnight himself contrasted starkly against the white shiplap siding on the outside of the building. We walk through one of the open bay doors and find Remy cussing up a storm with a wrench in hand.

  “Don’t let Ameline hear you talking like that,” I warn her, as Remy clutches the wrench tightly in her fist. “Easy, killer. I was just fucking joking.”

  “Language!” I hear Ameline’s voice call out from the second floor.

  “How in the hell did she hear that all the way up there?” I groan, pointing to the railing of the second floor, where I spot her standing. “Is she a bat?”

  "I'm pretty sure the second you push a kid of out your body you get superhuman hearing."

  I immediately grimace, “I did not need that visual.”

  “You’re welcome,” Remy grins back in a reply. “You hear to see her?”

  “Which one? The bike or your mama?”

  “The what?” Presley interjects. “What bike?”

  “The one that he’s had me working on for the last year. Oh shit… I wasn’t supposed to tell her was I.” One damn sentence, is all that it takes for my step-sister to reveal one of my ulterior motives for our trip here. Family, of course, being the biggest of them, but the other was coming to see the progress on my present to Presley.

  "Way to ruin the surprise, Remy." I scold her. "Show her."

  "Follow me." Remy tosses the wrench in her hand into the open toolbox with a clang that echoes throughout the entire shop. Not a single person turns their head or takes notice. Odd, but knowing Remy's temper, a few wrenches flying around probably isn't a random act of aggression. Not when you really piss her off. She leads us back to a separate space and flicks on the light. Her gift is now entirely on display. It’s unfinished, but not precisely unrecognizable either.

  “Is that for me?” Presley questions with a wavering and unsure tone.

  “It is. A present from me and your brother. An olive branch for if and when you made your decision about the club.”

  She looks back at me confused at first, but I watch closely, as she inches her way towards her gift. A nineteen twenty-nine Indian Scout. Her fingers trace against the worn metal tank, as she takes it all in.

  “Your dad bought it for you. Raze found it, when he was cleaning out one of the club’s old barns. Your mom confirmed it.”

  Presley doesn't say a single word, as she continues to look over it carefully.

  I just want to start rattling off the historical significance to this bike. It’s the same model that Bessie Springfield rode back in the early nineteen thirties, or that finding one intact is like finding a needle in the world’s biggest haystack. These bikes aren’t just rare. They are non-existent. But it will be lost on her right now. Maybe later, when all of this has really sunk it.

  A tear rolls down her face, and she tries to hide it quickly, but another just shows up right after it, until she can't stop them from falling. They ping on the exposed metal of the bike below her, and I go to her, embracing her, as she sobs against my shoulder.

  “I don’t understand. Why would my dad buy this for me? I was ten, when he died.”

  “Your brother doesn’t know either, but she’s yours.”

  “I don’t even know how to ride,” she admits.

  “I can teach you,” Remy offers.

  “Really?” Presley answers, lifting her beautiful face from my now tear-stained shirt.

  “We’re family, aren’t we?”

  6

  Presley

  With promises of Remy visiting us with Beaux and a return trip in the future, we board our plane for home. Leaving New Orleans is harder than I ever imagined. It may have only been a few short days, but a piece of my heart will always belong there. I just wish that I had a chance to talk more with Ameline, but I have faith that our relationship will soften with each trip we make back. At least, I hope it’s that way.

  That city and Beau's sister gave me the closure and the hope that I needed to move forward in our new life. Every ounce of hatred I have for my father still lingers below the surface, but spending time with Remy, has helped me to understand that every club, even one with bloodstained pasts like the Heaven's Rejects, are worthy of redemption. I just have to give them a chance. Beau belongs there under the Rejects’ colors, and so do I. It will take some time to work through the lingering effects of my sordid childhood, but knowing just how fantastic the future can be, will be worth every single tear. The debt that I owe to both Remy and Beau can’t be priced.

  Although, I do have a good idea of where to start with repaying him.

  "I'll be right back," I mention, while unbuckling my seatbelt and sliding past Beau in the aisle seat. I can feel his eyes on my ass with every step that I take towards the front lavatory of the plane. Thankfully, it's unoccupied. Pulling the latch, I slide inside, locking it behind me. The lights flicker on, drawing my attention to the mirror to my left.

  The reflection shining back at me isn’t the one I saw, when we left for New Orleans. Long gone, is the part of me who hated the club. I hated what my father had done to our family. Hated the blood coursing through my veins, and how that blood drove my brother to stay in the club life. For too long, hate has inspired me, but that ends now. Spending time away with Beau and his family, gave me hope. Hope, that I desperately needed about the club and my life with Beau could co-exist. And Remy gave that to me, like a present under the Christmas tree. Neatly wrapped with love and acceptance. This trip is only the beginning to a significant relationship between the two of us. Remy and I have way too much in common not to keep in touch. Plus, she promised me, before I left, that anytime I need blackmail ammo against her brother that she is my go-to girl.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I press my finger to the home button, unlocking it and firing off a quick message to Beau. Mere seconds tick by, before a knock raps on the door. I take a deep breath and open it, as Beau slides inside, locking it again. A sigh of relief exits me, knowing that I didn’t just open the door for some stranger, who wanted to use the bathroom for its intended purposes, and not for what we are about to do.

  “Babe, you okay?” He asks with a wild flash of curiosity. I shift to lean against the tiny sink, trying my best to look casually sexy, all the while my adrenaline and anxiety are hitting off the chart levels. Embracing every single moment in my life, is starting here and now. No more hiding. No more trying to be above what I really am. I’m a biker's old lady, and I’m a therapist. Crazy is my life, and it's high time that I accept it and start to live that way.

  “Fine,” I smile. “I was thinking…” I start, praying that my nerves aren’t as apparent as I think they are to Beau. He’d never go through with this, if he knew I was freaking the fuck out on the inside.

  “That I just paraded to the front of the plane with the occupied sign on over the entrance?” He isn’t the least bit annoyed. Knowing Beau, he was probably humming that fucking Akon song all the way up the aisle and getting high fives from all the men, as he passed them. Subtle, he is not.

  I shrug with a smile, “Oops?” Playing hard to get isn’t really in my wheelhouse, but I have to admit, torturing him is a little fun. I might have to do this more often. Just not on a plane full of people. The fact that there is a group of elderly men seated not ten feet away from this door sends my nerves spiraling into overdrive, but that is the old me. This is the first step in finding out who I really am with the duality in my life. It’s time I embrace the crazy and the unknown in my life with both hands.

  “Oops, my ass, babe. You and me,” he says pointing between us,” in this room means something. Hopefully, it’s the something I mentioned on the way out here.”

  “Possibl
y,” I answer coyly. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.” Beau cocks his brow.

  “We doing this, or will I be telling our grandkids someday the story about how Pappy had to walk through a crowded plane with a woody?”

  Did he just call an erection a woody? Lord help me, he's reverting back to his teenage years. Not like that's anything new. He just didn't outwardly and verbally express that to me regularly. The video games and action figures are a different story. Just more reasons why I love this man. Weirdness and all.

  “Grandkids, really?”

  “This goes the way I’m thinking. We’ll have loads.”

  “Let’s just start with one of our own first, and then see how that goes.”

  “Fair enough, but you can’t resist this.” He tries to show off his best assets, but bumps into absolutely everything in the tight space, including me. "Need a better runway."

  The plane shudders, when it hits an air pocket. Beau falls against the door with a thud, and we both freeze, praying that no one heard that. We wait a few minutes, and no one knocks on the door, but the plane dips again.

  “If this keeps up, then we don’t have much time, before they force us back to our seats. Decision time. Go or no go?” He asks hopefully.

  “Wouldn’t have asked you to come here, if I wasn’t.”

  “Alright then,” he affirms, going for his belt.

  “Wait,” I tell him, before he gets his fly unzipped, and he freezes.

  “Changed your mind already?”

  “No, but how in the hell are we going to do this? We’re packed in here.” I scan around the tiny space. It’s not like this room has a pull-out bed or a slide out for more room. We barely have enough room to breathe let alone try to screw around quietly.

  “Baby, your lack of faith saddens me. I’ve been thinking about this, since the minute I booked the flight. I extensively researched this.”

  “You mean, you’ve watched movies.”

  “Correct. Just trust me.”

  Beau goes back for his fly. He pushes his jeans down to just below his hips, before he turns his attention back to me, standing there unsure of where to even start.

  “Turn around,” he orders. I shift, pressing my front against the sink, as Beau’s lips press against my neck. “Relax.” His hand slips under the waistband of my shorts, and I freeze momentarily, while my brain battles with my body. Experiencing something like this is so outside of my comfort zone, but I want to test my boundaries. Giving this to Beau, means something to him, and this is my first chance to break away from common sense and just feel.

  He presses me hard against his body. His hardening cock tight against my ass.

  “Ahh,” I moan uncontrollably, when his teeth gently graze against where my neck and shoulder meet. It’s one of those instant turn-on spots that he has spent the last year trying to memorize. It felt almost scientific at first, but Beau’s determination to learn my body, showed me just how much he was in with this relationship. He is an all or nothing type of guy. Head first no matter what the situation is, and I envy him for that lack of fear.

  The nervousness begins to fade away to a driving want and need. Then the need begins to turn into a raw emotional pull to take this opportunity by the proverbial balls and give into everything that scares me. His finger slips inside of my panties gently touching the wetness between my legs, before he slides two fingers inside of me with a quick thrust. He leans in close. His warm breath prickling against my skin. “See not so scary, is it?” He comments with a low, lustful tone. “Block out the world, Presley. It’s just us here.”

  “And all one hundred and forty-five passengers on board.”

  “Not helping,” he chastises me. “Block it out. Feel me. Feel what I’m doing to your body.”

  How can I not feel it? Every time Beau walks into a room, my body ignites. He's the match, and I’m the flame. My body burns and aches for him. Every single touch feels like his fingers are pure fire, flicking at my surface. I need to feel the burn again. Now, before my courage burns away, and the self-doubt kicks back in.

  His hand dances against my flesh, brushing against my clit and sending shockwaves of arousal cascading all over my body. Heavy footsteps stop outside of the locked door. We both pause, and I pray that someone doesn’t come busting in, while Beau’s hand is down my pants.

  His breath hitches, when the footsteps move away.

  “We don’t have much time,” I remind him. “They’ll be back soon.”

  “As much as I would like to drag this out, until we land, you’re right. Damnit.”

  Beau pulls away from me, giving me just enough space to slip my shorts and panties from my hips, as his large hands help me. I step out of them, spinning to face him and pull him into a kiss. He cups the back of my head, deepening it, and I let out a moan in his mouth, when his tongue invades mine. God bless the genes that can make this man kiss. It’s like every single one of them is his way of staking a further claim on my body and my heart without placing a single mark on my lips.

  "Ass on the sink," he commands. "Only way this is going to happen without one of us falling through the door." I give him a questioning look. "Movies," he reminds me. While I would generally take this opportunity to argue with him, his logic seems sound enough to me. We also don’t have time to take it up with the morality committee that is my brain regularly. Sometimes being so full of common sense is a pain in the ass, especially when your man is staring at you waiting for the meeting to adjourn, like Beau is right now.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, pivoting again and pushing my ass against the microscopic counter.

  “I love your mind, babe, but…” he trails off.

  “Shut it off, I know. I know.”

  Beau reaches down and kisses me again, and with it, taking away every ounce of inhibition inside of me. This trip is what I needed, but this moment between us is what we needed, even if it is in an airplane bathroom with an audience likely listening in.

  “Ready?” He whispers against my lips.

  I break the contact between us, pushing myself up on the sink. It's cold steel biting into my flesh. Beau steps forward and presses his erection against my core. He kisses me again, before shoving himself inside of me, and he hisses to my moan. His entire length pushes inside of me, as the plane jerks with turbulence. My hairs brace against the sides of the wall, as he stills inside of me. We wait only for a second, before he pulls back and plunges inside of me again.

  “Fuck,” he growls, when his pace quickens. “Presley you have no idea how you fucking feel, when you’re wrapped around me.”

  “Tell me,” I encourage him. “How do I make you feel?”

  "Like I’m a sinner getting a second chance to reach heaven," he mutters. I wrap my hands around his neck, and his hands grip my ass tightly, lifting me from the counter. He nudges me roughly, as he tries to get the right support not to drop me. Beau sinks himself back inside of me deeper and deeper, until there’s nothing left between us. I know that I’ll be sore later, but I just don’t care anymore. Soreness. Getting caught. The fact this is a bathroom. None of it matters.

  Planting my hands on the edge of the counter, I arch my back, deepening his thrust. My core nearing combustion from both the sensation of our two bodies joined and the excitement of being caught.

  "Gives a whole new meaning to if the plane is a-rockin’,” he starts, but I shift a hand from the wall and press a finger to his lips. “Don’t think about finishing that.” He murmurs against my finger in protest, but a shift of my hips brings him back to reality.

  A soft rap comes at the door, and we both look at each other wild-eyed, but he doesn't stop. He pushes and pulls, until the cusp of my orgasm breaks free, rippling over like a flooded lake breaking the dam. I bite down into his shoulder to mask the moan I so desperately want to scream out, and to shout to the world.

  Beau finds his release a few minutes after me, and we fall back onto the counter. Chests heaving, and smiles beaming from our faces.
>
  "Welcome to the mile-high club, babe," he jokes. I try not to laugh, but once the giggles leave my lips, I can't help it. Beau joins in, until a cabin notification dings, and the captain’s low voice fills the air.

  "Ladies and Gentlemen, air traffic control is diverting us to Las Vegas due to adverse weather conditions in the area. All flights going into the LA area have been canceled." A collective of groans echo outside. “It might get a little bumpy, so we will be putting on the fasten seatbelt sign. We ask that all passengers return to their seats.”

  We both panic, re-dressing in a hurry, when a sudden realization hits me. It isn’t going to take a rocket scientist to figure out that there’s only one bathroom and two people coming from it. Fuck. My. Life. Why did I think this was a good idea? I need one of those time machines from that Dr. Who show that Beau watches to teleport myself back in time and kick my ass for this.

  “Can we just stay in here?” I squeak out. “I’m not going out there.”

  “Babe, I hate to tell you, but if we don’t, they’ll come in after us. Pretty sure the guy a few rows back is an air marshal.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me there’s an air marshal on the plane?”

  “Didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

  Beau slips out of the door, before I can stop him. Thanks jackass, for leaving me to face the music alone. If he had waited, I could have at least hidden behind him. This was your idea, dummy. Albeit a bad one in hindsight.

  I crack open the door and peer out. A few of the men he passes whistle and give him a congratulatory high five, including one of the elderly men in the front row. My face flushes even more. The men on our flight clearly think our mile-high club status is great, whereas the few women I can see are sneering a disgusted hole through him. I can only imagine the kind of looks that I’ll be getting. I take one last look in the mirror, straighten my clothes, and suck in a deep breath, before exiting. The cabin erupts into cheers and claps the second I’m visible at the front of the plane. I can feel the face of the sun flush illuminating my face, as I stalk back to our row with my eyes plastered to the ground. If I don’t make eye contact, then they can’t see me, right? Wrong. So wrong. I can feel every single set of eyes locked onto me with each and every step that I take. Every. Single. One.