Ultimate Alphas: Bad Boys and Good Lovers (The Naughty List Romance Bundles)

by Synthia St. Claire

  As they approached, I retreated back to my car, hoping they wouldn't notice me. As the lights shone in my direction, I got a look at the guys in front. The three of them rode side-by-side, with everyone else behind them. Their bikes were larger too. I couldn't really tell the difference, but they seemed more powerful somehow.

  As they passed by, one of the guys in the front locked eyes with me. His eyes pierced through the darkness, and struck me so that I had to hold my breath. Why was he looking at me?

  I crossed my fingers, hoping that this group of whatever they were would just continue on down the road. But this wasn't exactly my lucky day.

  The guy who noticed me put his hand in the air. He made some kind of hand movement and the whole parade of bikers slowed down. Then it got worse.

  He broke away from the pack, driving right up to me. He stopped the motorcycle only inches from my body, and it kicked up dirt as it slid on the path.

  At first, we only looked at one another. In the darkness I could hardly see his face, but something about it seemed familiar. And again, those piercing eyes swept across my face and body.

  What did he want with me?

  "Get on," he said.

  I looked at the motorcycle. It was huge. I couldn't even imagine how to get on one, let alone how to ride one. Never mind that agreeing to ride with a pack of tatted up bikers would definitely be on the list of things my mom would warn me about. It seemed like the kind of situation you would see on the evening news.

  I took a step back, shaking my head.

  "No, thank you."

  As soon as the words left my mouth, motorcycles around me started to rev. They sounded like a pack of lions roaring at me. Were they trying to intimidate me?

  "Get on," he said again. His voice was more forceful this time and his grip tightened on the handlebars.

  I took another step back.

  "I already called a tow truck," I said. "So thanks, but they'll be here any minute!"

  The guy's hand shot out and wrapped around my waist. Before I knew it, I was off my feet. He pulled me onto the bike, planted me behind him, and took off before I could even try to run.

  "Hold on," he said and sped up.

  He didn't have to tell me. The road zipped past below me. It looked like a blur just a few inches from my feet. A fast moving blur. A blur that would break my bones if I fell onto it.

  My stomach dropped. I threw my arms around his waist and held on tight. I didn't need to fall off the bike on top of everything else.

  Now that I was so close, I noticed something that I had never noticed before. Guns. Not everyone had them, but enough to make me rethink running the first moment they took a break. Great, so I'd been kidnapped by a group of gun-toting bikers. Wonderful.

  I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it. Maybe it was fine. Maybe they were really good Samaritans with squishy soft hearts inside. I laughed to myself. Yes, and maybe I could just fly home.

  Below me, the big bike rumbled between my legs. Through the thin fabric of my pants, the vibrations felt better than I expected them to. I blushed, hoping no one was paying attention.

  I looked up at my biker. It was hard to see, but he wasn't bad looking. Actually, he was pretty good-looking.

  His blonde hair tousled in the breeze and his wide back supported me with no strain. He had his jacket pushed up to his elbows, so I could see the strong muscles of his forearms as he gripped the handle bars. The way he held them seemed like he was determined to do something. What, I wasn't sure.

  I laid my cheek on his leather jacket. The warmth from his body radiated outward, filling me with his heat. So close to his body, I could even smell his scent. It was warm and musky, and somewhat familiar. Just like those eyes…

  Who was this guy?

  As we kept on riding, I got used to the feeling of being on the bike. It didn't seem so scary anymore. After all, I was riding behind this good looking guy, wrapping my legs tightly around him. That wasn't so bad, was it?

  I shivered and scolded myself. What was I thinking? These bikers (with guns) abducted me, and I was thinking about how sexy they were? Right. I've got to be sleepy.

  For the first time in hours there was something else on the road. I looked ahead and saw bright lights in the distance. A large highway sign by overhead.

  Rest Stop, Next Exit

  It seemed like a miracle. Even though I wasn't doing anything, my body felt sore. Curled up and frightened behind a big biker guy wasn't exactly the most comfortable position.

  The guy next to his bike put his hand in the air. He made a movement, and started to turn. Almost like a pack of lions or wolves, the whole motorcycle brigade moved as one. They flooded into the rest stop, surprising everyone else who had stopped there in the middle of the night. I felt sorry for the shopkeepers.

  We drove under the bright lights, and for the first time I could see everything clearly. I hadn't expected it, but the bike underneath me was beautiful and spotless. I thought it would be gross, old and rusting, but it was clear that someone loved it very much.

  My biker cut his engine, swung off the bike, and parked her. Without a word, he started walking towards the convenience shop. Without his body against me, I felt naked. The eyes of the other bikers were on me. I crossed my arms over my chest.

  "What do you think we should do with this bitch, huh?" one said. He pointed at me, smiling as if he'd made a joke.

  "I know what I would do…"

  "We should dump her. She's dead weight."

  The noise got louder as the whole group started talking about me. Their voices overlapped, arguing about my fate. Of course, I didn't have a say.

  I could feel their eyes on my body. Whatever they wanted with me, it wasn't something good. I wanted to run away, or disappear as fast as I could.

  As soon as my biker stepped out of the convenience store, the chatter stopped. He came out holding a giant crate of beer, and tossed it to one of the other bikers. They cheered and started passing the cans around.

  He had another one in his hand and held it out to me.

  "Want some?"

  I actually almost reached out to grab it, but then pulled my hand back. What was I thinking, to drink with my kidnapper? I shook my head.

  "Here," he said.

  He shoved something into my hand, forcing my hand to wrap around it. I looked down and saw what it was. An apple juice box.

  The men around us started to laugh, pointing at my juice. They probably thought I was a little girl, too scared to drink beer. I stabbed the package and sucked on the straw, my cheeks on fire.

  When my guy finished his beer, he crushed it in his hand and threw it on the floor. I'd always heard about that, but never seen it done.

  He walked away from the bike, stretching his arms. Then his jacket came off, and he pulled his shirt over his head. Sweat covered his skin, shining in the fluorescent lights. Now I could see each of his muscles rippling as he rolled back his shoulders.

  The dark jeans he wore hung low on his hips, and I sucked in my breath when I saw the trail of hair leading down below his belt. I turned my eyes away, but then I took another peek. That wasn't all, there were…scars?

  "We don't have time for this!"

  Someone came up to my guy, screaming. He waved his hand in my direction, yelling so loud that his spit jumped into the air. Just like that, my guy went from relaxing into fight mode. They were right in each other's faces.

  "We're going to do it!" he said.

  "Oh yeah, why? Why do we have to come along for the ride when you just want to fuck some bitch's pussy?"

  He wanted to what?

  My biker curled his fist and pulled it back. Just before he let his punch loose, a third guy pushed the two apart. He was still wearing his jacket. It was almost like everyone else's, except the word "President" splashed over the back.

  "Joel, calm down. It's not that big a deal," he said. "Come on, let's get going."

  They broke it up, but Joel kept s
taring my guy down. He didn't stop until he got on his bike ahead of everyone else and drove away. The president put his hand on my guy's shoulder.

  "Don't worry about it," he said.

  "Don't worry about it, Mav? Look at the way that he talks to me!" my guy said. "He doesn't know any respect!"

  Mav shook his head and looked off in the direction that Joel had gone. Then he turned back to my guy.

  "Let's just get this done, and then we'll deal with Joel. Okay?" When my guy didn't respond, he deepened his voice. "Wild?"

  Wild? What kind of name was that? My stomach clenched. What had he done to deserve that kind of nickname from a bunch of guys like this? Couldn't he have a normal name, like Bill?

  "Yeah, yeah, okay," he said.

  Mav smacked Wild on the back and walked away, towards his bike and another group of riders.

  Wild came back in my direction, but it was clear he wasn't paying any attention to me. His eyes were clouded over, as if he was thinking about something far away, and his lips turned into a frown.

  His determined steps stopped just in front of his bike. Wild pulled a cloth out of the back pocket of his jeans and started to wipe away the grime that had started to accumulate on its beautiful frame. I had been sitting on the bike this entire time, but I stood up because I didn't want to get in his way.

  It wasn't until then that he noticed me. I was shivering, my teeth chattering from the wind. The thin fabric of my skirt blew around me, billowing like a flower. It was pretty, but not the right clothing for for riding with bikers.

  Wild stood up. He closed the distance between us until he was so close that could feel the weight of his imposing shadow. All this time I'd been on the bike with him, so I never realized just how tall he was. He looked down at me with a strange mixture of emotions in his eyes. All on its own, my heart started to race.

  Without speaking, Wild grabbed his leather jacket and threw it over my shoulders. He made me thread my arms through the sleeves, holding me close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body burning into me.

  When he finally zipped me up and stepped away, I missed the feeling of his closeness. It was strange, but my body wanted to feel his touch again. Instead, Wild went back to his bike, just like before.

  I stood there in his jacket, feeling like a little kid. The fabric overwhelmed me. The size of it was way too large, and the sleeves trailed all the way down to my knees. At the same time, I liked it. It smelled like him and the warmth that I felt was almost like he was still holding me.

  Mav revved his bike and made a hand movement. All at once, the bikers started to move. They hopped on their cycles and started their engines, throwing bottles of beer on the ground around them.

  Wild lifted up his head. Slowly and calmly, he stood up and put his cloth back into his pocket. As if he was just taking a walk, Wild swung onto his bike and started her up.

  I stared at the bike, wondering how to get on. Should I just hop on? Was it like a bicycle? I didn't have time to finish thinking about it, because just as easily as he got on the bike himself, Wild grabbed me by the waist and pulled me on.

  "Hold on," he said.

  That was the last thing I heard before the roaring of the wind and a couple dozen engines blared in my ears. Wild moved into position and the entire gang followed behind us. Before long, we were back on the road and there was nothing around besides the asphalt and the dark sky.

  At first, the slight swaying of the bike scared me. I had thought I was going to fall off and dug my hands into Wild's waist. But now, I was more used to it. My hips shifted under me, rocking with the rhythm of the road.

  I leaned my head on Wild's back. I could feel his muscles shifting subtly underneath me as he steered. The night was so cool and quiet that the sound of this group of riders trailed into the distance.

  My eyelids grew heavy, and before I knew it I was asleep. I didn't realize until I woke up and my vision was bleary. Blinking awake, I looked around.

  Something was wrong. Wild turned down the road I had seen every day of my life for 10 years. That was enough to jolt me awake.

  What were we doing here? After a few more streets, he turned left. Just where I would have turned if I were going…

  My stomach clenched. Why were we going to my house? Did he know who I was? Were they going to do something to my mom?

  I was just about to start screaming when Wild screeched to a halt just in front of my childhood doorstep. It seems surreal to be in front of the old house again in this situation. It wasn't exactly the homecoming I had imagined.

  The bikers surrounded our house. The noise was enough to wake up everyone in the neighborhood, but no one turned on their lights or opened their doors. They knew trouble when they saw it.

  Well, everyone else did, except for my mom. The light in the kitchen turned on, and then the front door creaked open. She stood there in her frilly pink nightgown, staring at the scene.

  "Mom!" I yelled.

  I jumped off the bike and ran to her. Tears dripped down my cheeks as I closed my arms around her. She felt so frail. So much smaller than the mom who sent me off to college with tears in her eyes.

  I only had a moment to be emotional before rationality kicked in. It was the middle of the night and a group of gun toting bikers was surrounding my house. Not exactly the best time for a touching moment.

  "Get inside!" I said, and slammed the front door behind us.

  I locked the door and turned out the light, waiting for them to leave.

  "Lily, you didn't tell me you were coming!"

  "Of course I was coming! You're sick," I said. The word sick stuck in my throat. She was more than sick. "I couldn't not come."

  Finally, I heard more roaring. The sound got fainter until it was far off in the distance.

  "But if you needed a ride home, I could have come to get you. You should have let me know!"

  I turned to my mother. Was she joking?

  "Do you think that was my ride? I was just kidnapped by that motorcycle gang. I don't know why they picked me up, or why they know where I live…"

  My mom looked at me with pity in her face.

  "What?" I yelled.

  "You didn't know, did you baby?" she asked. Her voice was soft.

  "Didn't know what?"

  "That's Asher!"

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ASHER.

  IT WAS STRANGE being back in my old room. It looked like a time capsule. Everything was just the same way I left it that day. Well, mostly. I was almost certain that there were some piles of clothing on the floor that had been cleaned up for the sake of my mother's memories.

  I flopped on the tiny bed. It was still full of my toys. I picked up a stuffed bunny. It had the premium place, right next to my pillow so that I could cuddle it at night. My first ever stuffed animal, the one my parents gave me as an infant. The poor thing only had one eye and half of its right ear had been nibbled off.

  My eyes looked around the room, taking everything in. It was also familiar, and yet so strange. How long had it been now? Six years?

  On my bookshelf, I spotted my middle school science fair trophies. I got one every year, even though science wasn't my thing. Then, next to them, I saw the yearbooks.

  I jumped up and grabbed one, flipping through the pages furiously. I looked through all the little squares of children. People I once knew.

  I scanned the names until finally I found him. Asher Thomas.

  My eyes softened as I looked at the picture. We were so little then. His face was still soft and round, and his hair was in that silly bowl cut. He could only afford to get his hair done at home, but no one was brave enough to make fun of him for it.

  Asher smiled at the camera, but he didn't look like the other kids. He was defiant. As if he was challenging the camera man to something. What? A fight?

  I looked at that young smile and compared it to the man who picked me up and planted me on his motorcycle. Was that really him? I told myself that they were
totally different, that they didn't look the same at all.

  But then there were those eyes. Even back then, they were the same piercing blue. It had to be him.

  I rolled over on my back, holding the yearbook to my chest. I closed my eyes. It has been so long since I thought about these things.

  He was my first kiss. Asher made me come out behind the elementary school one day. He told me to close my eyes, and I did.

  The next thing I felt were his warm, wet lips against mine. It was just for an instant. My eyes shot open and I pushed him away.

  "What are you doing!" I yelled. "I'm going to tell the teachers!"

  Asher pushed me back.

  "Go ahead! It was icky anyway!" he yelled. Asher ran away, leaving me behind the school by myself.

  I remember touching my finger to my lips, trying to recapture the feeling. Of course, I didn't tell the teachers. And even though he said it was icky, Asher made me meet him there every day from then on.

  So we were two elementary kids meeting out back to smooch. Clearly there should have been better security at our school.

  Back then, everyone told me Asher was a bad kid.

  "Why are you hanging out with him?" they would say. "You have such a bright future ahead of you."

  It was easy to ignore them. What do elementary school kids know about the future?

  In middle school, Asher started buying me a soda at lunch. I didn't ask him to. I just walked into the lunch room one day and there was a can of ginger ale right in the middle of the space where I would normally sit.

  He never said anything about it, but every day it was there. My can of ginger ale. I remember drinking it like it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. While everyone else was busy chugging Mountain Dew or Diet Coke, I had my secret ginger ale.

  Everyone thought he was a delinquent, but Asher was smart. They couldn't deny it, because he tested into the gifted program. I'm sure they would've kept him out if they could have.

  We took the advanced courses together, but teachers would make sure we couldn't sit next to one another. So we spent semesters smiling at each other from opposite sides of the classroom.