Hard Rider (A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance)

by Wild, Nikki

  “You fuckin’ bolted after the fire,” he said, taking a long pull of his beer. “I asked the Captain what the hell was up, but he told me it was personal. That girl a friend of yours?”

  Man, some of these guys were like bloodhounds for pussy. Every time we pulled some chick out of a burning building, they expected to get their dicks wet. I usually didn’t pay them much mind, but now we were talking about my stepsister, and that changed things.

  Hoping to shut him down easy, I shrugged. “Not really.”

  But goddamn Garfield couldn’t take a hint. “She looked really fuckin’ familiar. You bring her around here or something before? One of your conquests?”

  I swallowed the bite of burger in my mouth. “She’s my fuckin’ stepsister, asshole. Watch your mouth.”

  “You got a sister?” Garfield looked stunned, like I’d just told him that at night I grew wings and moonlighted as the Tooth Fairy. “Shit, I thought you were an only child.”

  “We haven’t talked in a while.” Before he could say anything else, I added, “Look, man, I don’t want to get into it.”

  Garfield went quiet for a minute, and I thought it was over. Then he frowned and I sighed. Dude was like a dog with a bone. “But I know I’ve seen her somewhere before. It’s starting to fuckin’ drive me nuts, y’know?”

  All right. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

  “I don’t know where the hell you would have seen her before, Garfield. I didn’t even know she still lived in the city. I didn’t exactly leave under the best circumstances, and if it’s all right with you, I’d really like to fuckin’ drop it, all right?”

  “But, I mean, if you didn’t bring her around, then I must have seen her somewhere else.” Fuck-face McGee must’ve been drunk, because usually all I had to do around the station was tell someone to shut the fuck up, and they did it. They all knew better. “Does she go to the gym, or something?”

  “For fuck’s sakes, Garfield, I don’t fuckin’ know. This is the first time I’ve even talked to her in years.”

  “She go to school? I’m takin’ some courses at the community college. Maybe I’ve seen her there.”

  “What’s a retard like you doin’ taking college courses?” Stoggins interrupted, and I heard a few of the other guys chuckle. “Shit, man. If that girl’s in college, she’s damn well outta your league. Plus she’s Gunner’s sister. She’s off-limits. Leave it alone.”

  I cast a thankful glance in Stoggins’ direction and Garfield sighed, looking at the ground. I didn’t understand why this was bugging him so much. But the more he thought about it, the more agitated and determined he seemed to place just where he’d seen Tanya before.

  “Where does she work?” he asked, looking up from a few moments of contemplation.

  “I don’t know,” I sighed, rubbing my face. “I think she’s a waitress. Maybe the last time you were stuffin’ your fat face, she’s the one who served your food.”

  “That’s startin’ to ring a bell, yeah.” He nodded, tapping his foot. Christ, I could practically hear the gears turning. If he thought about this much harder, he was gonna set off our smoke alarms. “I just can’t place her at any of my usual haunts. Shit, I feel like I’ve seen her a lot, thought. I just don’t know where. You know what place she waitresses at?”

  “Garfield, drop it, man,” Stoggins warned.

  “Some club,” I told him through my teeth. “Downtown. That’s all I got. Now fuckin’ give it up before I...”

  Garfield’s face flushed for a moment, then went white as a sheet. No sooner had I mentioned it being a club than our conversation ground to a halt.

  “Oh,” he said, his tone a mix of realization and dread. “Okay, Gunner. Whatever you say, man.”

  I narrowed my eyes. I didn’t like the way that sounded one bit.

  “What the hell does ‘oh’ mean, Garfield?”

  “Nothing, dude, let’s just forget it.”

  “No, I want to know what the hell ‘oh’ means. Spit it out.”

  He sighed, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. His eyes darted around, his weight shifting in the cheap lawn chair he’d plotted his ass into. I could feel my heart rate rising as my annoyance with this whole conversation reached a boiling point.

  “There’s the club I go to every once in a while downtown—y’know, someplace I go to unwind. Well, it’s the only time I ever go downtown, honestly, and...” He sighed, wiping his forehead as sweat began to glisten on his skin. “It’s not exactly the most savory of places, if you catch my drift.”

  “Get to it, Garfield,” I snapped, my voice rising high enough to start getting the attention of the others around me. Deep down I knew where this was going, but I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted what Garfield was about to say to not be true with every fiber of my being.

  “All right,” Garfield said. “I’m just gonna come out with it, then.” He looked at me very seriously. “You’re sister’s a stripper, Gunner.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I mean it,” he said, pushing himself up out of his chair. I felt like everything was closing in on me. My chest felt tight and my heart was racing in my ears. “I’m not saying this to be some kind of a jerk, man. I’m just telling you what I saw.”

  “You don’t know it was her. It could have been any fuckin’ girl. Just ‘cause she looks like someone who shook their tits in your face doesn’t mean...”

  “Is her name Tanya?” Garfield asked, looking me dead in the eyes.

  I swung my arm out wide and clocked him in his right eye, knocking him right back into his crappy lawn chair. One moment he was looking into my face and then the next he was on his ass, clutching his eye. It only took the other guys a few seconds to get between us, pushing me as far back away from Garfield as I’d let them. I fought against the tide of human bodies, yelling over the deafening tattoo of my pulse in my ears.

  “Don’t you ever fuckin’ say that shit about my sister! You fucking hear me, Garfield?!”

  I tried to push against the wall of my fellow firemen. I wanted to hurt him so bad, to make everything he said not be true. But inside I knew that he might be right. She’d been so adamant about me not driving her to work. Was she really hiding something like this from me? My blood felt like it was boiling in my veins as I finally turned away from the human barricade.

  “Maybe you need to go home,” Stoggins said softly. He put his hand on my shoulder and I jerked away and headed toward my car. I was going to get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing I did.

  I pulled into my driveway only minutes later, breaking more than a few traffic laws along the way. I didn’t care. I needed to know. Could my sister have been reduced to shaking her ass on stage like some slut?

  I opened the door, calling out her name. “Tanya?” I took a deep breath and walked down the hallway, pushing open her door without so much as a knock.

  “Tanya,” I began, but the room was empty, and the bed not so much as touched since I made it.

  I let out a snarl, driving the heels of my palms against my forehead in a feeble effort to calm my anger. The hell was she doing taking off like that? I told her to rest!

  I marched back out toward the kitchen in the hopes of grabbing myself a beer to calm my nerves. I’d never been a big fan of booze, but beer had a way of taking the edge off. It was just as I was reaching toward the handle of the refrigerator that I finally saw the note.

  Gunner,

  I just couldn’t sit around all day and do nothing. I went to work and I’ll be back late. I’ll catch a ride home with one of the other girls. Don’t wait up.

  Tanya

  “Goddammit!” I growled, crumpling up the note as I pressed my back against the fridge. I shut my eyes tight, struggling to think. This rage was like a fog that just wouldn’t lift, no matter how hard I tried. All I could think about was finding Tanya and bringing her home.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started a search for strip clubs down town. I knew that one of the
m had to be the one Tanya worked at, and I’d check them all if I had to. I had all night.

  Chapter 6

  Tanya

  Maybe I couldn’t work a pole so good with my crispy right hand, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t dance.

  I used the pole as a prop, sliding my back down it as the bass throbbed in my chest. When I got low to the ground I opened my legs, showing off the goods covered by only a semi-sheer thong. What I was wearing tonight wasn’t my hottest ensemble, but short on time and short on cash, it would have to do.

  Thank God I’d kept a few outfits in my locker, or I’d really be shit out of luck.

  There weren’t a whole lot of men crowded around my stage tonight, which wasn’t doing much for my self-esteem. Ginger—not her real name—had twice as many guys as I did, all of whom were in various stages of professing their undying love to her ass. On most nights I drew a decent turn-out, including a few regulars. I had something of a cult following here. Guys had even followed me from my old club, the Dollhouse, just so they could keep watching me and my show, the one that kept their greedy eyes glued to me and my tits half the night.

  It wasn’t rocket science. All I did was take a few classes—belly dancing, air aerobics, and some “stripping for exercise” course all the new moms were dying to try. Shit, I think I even got a Groupon for that one. It pissed me off a little that these middle-class thirty-somethings thought working a pole was all fun and games. They didn’t know jack shit about being a stripper. They wouldn’t have lasted five seconds in any of the clubs I’d worked in.

  The classes paid off, though. Gave me an edge over my competitors. And that was what they were at the end of the day, all these women grinding on the stage—my competition.

  And tonight, I was failing miserably.

  I lunged forward and crawled toward my audience. It didn’t come off as sexy as it usually did—I had to sort of army-crawl on my forearms so’s to keep pressure off my bandaged hand. I tried to make my movements sensual and slow, but the guys couldn’t get a good view of my tits, and when I looked into their eyes, I saw frustration. Pity.

  I wasn’t sure which made me feel worse.

  But then I saw it: somebody holding up a twenty, waving it around like a matador flagging down a bull. I blew out a sigh of relief and sat up, sweeping my legs off the stage and putting my feet on the ground.

  Thank God. I was starting to think I wasn’t going to make back my bus fare for the evening. Not to mention that the more money I put in my pocket—or my G-string—the quicker I could get the hell out of my stepbrother’s house.

  Asshole thinks he owns me now, I thought, walking toward my customer with long strides that made my tits jiggle. Like he can just swoop in after all these years and start acting like we’re family again.

  But Gunner wasn’t really acting like we were family at all. The way he’d looked at me when I stepped out of the shower. The way his eyes had roamed over every inch and curve of my body. The way his jaw twitched like he was just barely holding back. God, he’d looked at me like_._._.

  Like he wanted to fuck me.

  On the other side of the group of men, I finally caught a glimpse of the guy with the twenty. My heart sank. Motherfucker—it was Gino.

  He folded up the bill in one of his pudgy hands and gave me an appraising look. His lips tightened into a thin, grim line across his sweaty face, and he slowly shook his head as his gaze snagged on my bandaged hand.

  “Shit. If you’d told me it was this bad, I would’ve let you stay home.”

  I did tell you it was this bad, I wanted to say, but I knew better than to argue with Gino. It was like playing chess with a pigeon. No matter how right I was, he was just gonna shit all over the board and strut around like he’d won, anyway.

  “Chastity’s got your stage for the next hour,” he continued, using the bill to mop sweat from under his chins. “You got a visitor.”

  I squinted at him. “A visitor? I’m workin’ here, Gino.”

  “Yeah, and now you’re workin’ there,” he said, jerking his head toward the back of the club, “in the champagne room.”

  The Domino wasn’t nice enough to have a real champagne room, but what we had did the trick. It offered the girls and their customer privacy whenever somebody decided to spring for a more intimate lap dance. I knew some of the other girls found ways to earn a little more back there—blowjobs, handjobs, full-on fucking. I wasn’t part of that club. That stuff led down dark paths.

  We got a lot of lonely guys here. A lot of guys that came in because nobody else would have them. They ran the gamut from just a little awkward to real goddamn creeps. But one guy had transcended all the regular weirdoes we got around here. One guy had scared me so damn bad I’d almost quit working right then and there.

  I shook off the chill snaking up my spine and said to Gino, “How’s the money on this one?”

  Gino shrugged. “Not bad. Ain’t the world’s biggest spender, this one, but better than you would’ve made out here.” He handed me the damp twenty-dollar bill. “Here. Maybe this’ll sweeten the deal.”

  Gross! I plucked the money from his hand with the tips of my nails. Twenty dollars was still twenty dollars, even sweat-stained and reeking of Crown Royale.

  I wove through the tables, spying Ginger grinding on stage out of the corner of my eye. Her red hair flashed as she flipped it, stealing a glance in my direction. I saw her smirk—saw triumph glitter in her eyes. Whatever, bitch. I won’t be out of commission forever.

  Maybe if I made enough money, I could get a new outfit. Something skanky. Something with higher heels. And then maybe Ginger could go jump off a fucking bridge.

  I was halfway to the champagne room when Chelsea spotted me. She was on some drunk guy’s lap, which was pretty much where you could usually find her, if she wasn’t at home. Even when we went out to the clubs—the ones without naked chicks all over—Chel was a bloodhound for the guys with one too many drinks in ‘em and more money than they could spend. Sometimes I wished I had her nose for it. Maybe then I could get the fuck out of Gunner’s place, this club, and this whole damn city.

  “Hey, look who’s here!” Chelsea said, giggling as she bent backward. With her tits straight up in the air she looked at me, batting her baby blues. “How’s the hand, sweets?”

  “Shitty for dancing,” I told her, smiling as she straightened back up. She undulated like a snake, her flesh always moving. Her customer seemed pleased. “I got someone in the champagne room, though.”

  Chelsea spun around, kicking her legs off the man’s lap to grind her ass into him. “Ooh, maybe you’ll get another regular? I’m tellin’ you, sweets, a steady stream of loyal customers is the only way to go.”

  “You want loyal customers?” one of the fat, greasy men next to her sneered over the rim of his Jack and Coke. “Shut the fuck up while you’re on the job.”

  The man under Chelsea winced. “Jeez, Dad. Leave her alone.”

  I stood there for a moment, taking in the scene. Chelsea was ignoring the men pretty successfully, but I couldn’t. I just didn’t have her resolve.

  It fuckin’ killed me to see the generational misogyny evolving right before my eyes. Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad, but he was still here, wasn’t he—taking advantage of women with no viable alternative for survival? Renting our bodies like we were any other whore on the street? He might not have been a blatant dick like his dad, but what would happen if Chel saw him in a Starbucks someday, and he thought he could get her into his car and back to his house because, hey, he’d bought and paid for her, right?

  When she said no, what was the first thing he’d say back to her? No? You’re a fucking stripper. Who the fuck are you to tell me no? Fucking bitch. You’re nothing but a whore.

  I’d seen it happen. I’d been on the receiving end of that shit way too many times. Thank God I’d always been able to walk away. I knew a lot of girls who never had that choice and came to work the next day with scrapes and bruises as a r
esult.

  And here that vicious cycle was, perpetuating right in front of me. Men’s ownership of women, of our bodies. It made me think of what Gunner would say if he could see me here, shaking my tits up on stage.

  That was why I had to get out of his house. He was just another Jim waiting to happen. I was sure of it.

  Hell, they all were.

  I left Chelsea to it after mouthing “we’ll talk later” and seeing her wink in reply. No way she was gonna give up a sweet tip just ‘cause of the guy’s fuck-face father. I understood it. Didn’t like it, especially since she was my friend, but money makes the world go ‘round.

  I knew that all too well.

  As soon as I neared the back door, the smell hit me: sweat, sex, and somebody’s shattered dignity. It hung stale in the air. I wrinkled my nose. It had smelled exactly like this the last time I was in here with a man—the one who’d turned me off to the idea of private dances for a long, long time.

  Usually, all a stripper had to worry about was some guy who didn’t know when enough was enough. Some asshole who’d get too handsy, or who wouldn’t listen when a girl said “no.” Then we’d just call one of the bouncers and hope they got to us before the guy had a chance to clock us, or worse, get their bodily fluids in our hair.

  But this guy... I’d known from the moment I shut the door that something about him was off. Maybe it was the mask he wore over his face. Like Comedy and Tragedy, only this guy had forgot the Comedy part.

  I could see his eyes glinting through the dark socket holes, and I think that’s when I knew for sure shit would go wrong. There was nothing there. No hope, no desire, not even a drunken spark. His eyes were flat and dead. Like a shark’s.

  He didn’t want me to dance, either. He wanted me to take my top off. He wanted me to stand in the middle of the room and he circled around me, looking me up and down, judging me, scrutinizing me. He’d made me feel like a slab of meat.

  Then he’d bent me over the stage, spread my legs, and began grinding between my ass cheeks. I could feel him filling up, getting harder. When I tried to speak, he put his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed. And then he’d started talking.