BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books

by Kristina Blake

  "It's all right. I can do it. I can get out of here," I say with more confidence than I feel. It must work, because after letting vent a gusty sigh of frustration through his nose, Dash turns to our damsel and grabs her around the waist. She cries out in protest, but it's over almost as soon as it's begun, and she's now sitting astride the bike. She draws her quaking knees in close.

  "Put your arms through the sleeves," he suggests. "It's going to get cold out there on the road."

  She does as instructed, then turns to me as Dash pushes her legs apart and seats himself between them. I can see the panic in her eyes. "When you said you'd be around—" she begins to say.

  "I meant it," I emphasize. "But you don't need me. They may not look it, but these are good men." Affectionate gestures don't come naturally to me, or so I always thought…but I lay a hand on the girl's cheek then. "You're going to be all right. You're with a Robber Baron now. He may look scary, but he'll protect you."

  Gabriella surprises me then with her next question: "Are the two of you…?"

  "What?" I lift my eyes and scoff as Dash revs the engine; I'm sure he hasn't heard. "Me and Dash? No…we're not whatever you're thinking."

  "Good." She wraps her arms around his waist, a bit less tentative this time, and leans her cheek in against the indent in his back. I don't have time to waste analyzing what her words mean—they roar out of the darkness and peel down the road into the night, leaving me stranded and alone. Just the way I wanted it.

  But I realize then that I don't want to be alone, not really. An image of Wolf's face swims before my eyes; rather than push it aside, I keep it with me as I hold my handgun aloft and steal off into the nearby woods.

  It's my mission now to survive the night alive without being captured by Devil’s Bastards. All I have to do is evade them until dawn, and then…

  CHAPTER 10

  WOLF

  "I just fucking knew she was going to pull something like this!" I shout as I shove my helmet down over my head. I've barely let Dash get a word in yet about what happened, but I already know—I knew all along. I transfer my Bluetooth over from my phone to my helmet as I stride out to the garage.

  "She's a brave woman." Dash's voice echoes into the receiver implanted in my helmet. "She made a huge sacrifice for us, Wolf."

  "Us?" I repeat. Adrenaline enables me to practically yank my bike up one-handed as I give the kickstand a boot. "Lane gave up her spot? You got a new pill riding on back?"

  "I'll explain it all when I get back to the Clubhouse," Dash says, "though I assume I'm not going to find you there."

  "You assume correctly, Dash old buddy." I mount and peel out of the driveway, shooting a spray of gravel like bullets beneath my spinning back tire. The automatic gate recedes before me, too slowly; I barely manage to avoid crashing into it on my way off the property, but I'm no stranger to making tight, last-second fits. The engine's buzz raises itself to a roar as I tear down the highway after the insane woman I love.

  "Is she suicidal?" I find myself muttering. I forgot that I'm still on the line with Dash.

  "She gave up her spot," he insists. "And she's a capable woman."

  "Even the most capable woman stands no chance going it alone, on foot, against the worst the DBMC has to offer," I growl.

  "She's likely taken cover in the woods somewhere around the dive," Dash continues, ever the one to be level headed and on track. "She won't be able to make it far on foot in that getup she's wearing, and she knows it. If you want to find her before they do, your best bet is to start looking within a radius of…"

  "I already know," I interrupt him, watching a little red light blink in the upper corner of my helmet. "That tracker she planted on me when she came to find the Clubhouse? Let's just say I returned the favor."

  "The gun…" Dash sounds approving. "You want Bentley in on this? I can call him."

  "Nah. Leave the head honcho out," I say. "I'm almost there."

  I didn't pay my guy in Silicon Valley nearly enough for this little all-in-one invention, I think, as the little light begins to blip with increasing frequency. I notice another light growing on the road up ahead, and the expected happens—Dash flies by me going in the opposite direction, lifting his hand in a low wave, signaling his recognition of who I am. I like to take his flippant little biker acknowledgement as a good omen for the chaotic outcome I'm sure to be driving into. We pass each other in a flash, but it's enough time for me to note who he's got on back: a young woman, probably late teens or early twenties, wrapped in his jacket and clutching onto him for dear life. Now there's a story I look forward to hearing, if any of us survive this night.

  I'm so busy watching the tracker signal that I almost miss what's going on around me. The trees flash by me in a blur, until they look like just one long wall on either side of me, and the road before me a corridor. The highway is abandoned, although I assume it's only a matter of time before the DBMC is out in full-force…

  Then I hear it: the pop of a gun. Once, twice, and once more, echoing through the trees. I know the model instantly—I've heard it before. The tracker in my helmet flickers with each shuddering shot.

  "Damn it, Lane!" I curse as I pull up short, thrusting my heels down into the hard terrain of the road to aid in my change of course. Either she's been discovered, or she's squeezing a few off to draw the Devil’s Bastards away from Dash and his new girlfriend to aid in their escape. I wheel the Nighthawk around and launch it over the ditch separating the road from the trees.

  I don't know this terrain, and I’m still getting used to the new bike I got to replace the one the Bastards found at the warehouse. The Hawk rocks and lurches beneath me; I crank the handle to put on more speed. It's certainly not the most reckless thing I've ever done, but with the visor of my helmet obstructing my peripheral vision, it certainly isn't the smartest, either—

  A figure stumbles out of the trees in front of me. I have only seconds to react; I yank the Hawk up hard, like reining in a mustang hell-bent on killing its rider, and destroying everything else in its path. The figure dives out of the way as I take a hard left away from them, upending and sliding along the forest floor. The bike unseats me before I hit the ground, which is probably a good thing—otherwise, I risk becoming a very expensive smear on the path. I can't help the explosive groan of pain that escapes me as my shoulders hit the ground. Momentum propels me into an uncontrolled roll, but the next flash of canopy above me reorients me for an instant. I plant my feet and rise up, still skidding, but at least I'm upright for all intents and purposes. I catch myself against a tree as the Nighthawk careens into the darkness and smashes against another tree. I cringe at the noise it makes, but the headlight is still on and trained toward the sky—if anything is broken, at least it still might drive. I turn away from it, eyes hunting the darkness for the person I nearly took out.

  "Houdini!" Lane shouts. Once my eyes find her, there's no avoiding how blessedly whole—and sinfully sexy—the figure is that rushes to meet me.

  After a moment, I burst out laughing at hearing her revert to my old name. The laugh that escapes me is as wild as the woods she's found herself lost in: half-delirious, half-relieved. I straighten and push myself off from the tree. I've barely recovered my balance before she's throwing her whole weight against me with a sob.

  "Easy," I hiss, but there's no way I'm letting her go now that I've found her again. I wrap her in my arms and hold her prisoner momentarily against me. Never have I felt such a strong soul so ready and willing to succumb. I entertain the thought of being humbled by the way she lets me hold her, until I feel the press of the handle of her gun against the small of my back. "Wait, is that thing still loaded?"

  "I'm all out of bullets," the weeping woman reassures me as she drags herself away again. The moonlight reflects back to me in her unlikely tears. I realize she isn't crying because of her ordeal, but from the utter relief of being reunited with me again. I reach up with one gloved finger and carefully whisk any lingering mois
ture away from her flushed cheeks.

  "You're not alone," I assure her. "I'm with you, Lane. Until my dying day."

  "Then let's get the hell out of here," she suggests, some of her usual briskness returning, "before that day is today."

  "I assume you got all your evidence?" I ask as I move to reclaim my bike from where it lays on its side. I pull it upright, but there's not much I can do to assess the damage in the dark. Lane flanks me, and I notice her adjusting the cleavage of her dress; I wonder what she could be hiding in there. The Great Houdini certainly isn't afraid to find out.

  "Yeah, I got it," she states. I get on first to stabilize the bike, and she clambers on behind me. "But I also have the majority of the Devil’s Bastards after me tonight. Do you really think we can outrun them all?"

  I laugh again, the roguish sound echoing inside my helmet.

  "Of course we can," Lane mutters. "Also, why does your voice sound like your voice?"

  "No use activating the distortion. Pity, it's kind of fun." Before taking off, I reach back into my saddlebag, and pull out a small, reinforced canister of gas. "So if there's no question we can outrun them, what question are we left with?" I ask as I pass it back to her. Lane studies it, intelligent blue eyes taking in options as she turns the canister this way and that.

  "You got a book of matches?" she asks finally.

  "I might," I concede. She tosses her blond hair over her shoulder once, and when she suddenly grins, I have a feeling that it's more than my heart that's going to be melting tonight. "You got a play, Little Laney?" I ask as I rev the bike.

  "We did pull the fire alarm while we were escaping," she muses as we take off back toward the road. "It would be wrong to not fulfill expectations."

  "I couldn't agree more," I say.

  "And cop or not, it would be wrong to let all that illegal product in the bar's backroom out onto the street."

  "How will you sleep at night?" I lament.

  "Well," she states as we lurch back out onto the road. I feel her arms loop around me, and I clench my knees over the gas canister balanced between my legs. I turn the bike around, and we take off down the road in the opposite direction of the Clubhouse—south, toward the bar. I see lights in the distance, and put on an extra burst of speed.

  "I'm going to sleep very well," Lane tells me.

  #

  "I have you exactly where I want you," I growl seductively. Okay, so maybe I'm laying it on a bit thick; but can anyone really blame me, considering the female feast that's laid before me?

  The newly reinstated Lane is stretched out on the bed beneath me, not a stitch of clothing on her. My eyes rake her form lasciviously as I take a moment to enjoy looking over my conquest. Her toned stomach stretches down toward the flat plane of her pelvis, and the bald, smooth lips of her womanhood. My legs straddle hers, and I brace myself on my haunches to take in the rest of her with a lusty, approving look. My eyes climb to the taut little hills of her breasts, the pale pink nipples tightening and darkening beneath my gaze with evidence of her arousal. They look as delicious as cherries ripe for the plucking, just waiting to be mouthed and tasted by a true connoisseur.

  Past her breasts, I spy the fine line of her collarbone, and her lovely, flushed face is watching me impatiently, expectantly. Her arms are stretch above her head, her back forced to arch beneath her so she remains comfortable; I've placed a pillow beneath her. Ever thoughtful. Above the crown of her head, her blond hair spills like a halo around her awaiting face; above that, her wrists are bound, locked inside a pair of glinting silver handcuffs and hooked around the bedpost.

  "Can you please spare me the roleplay?" Not exactly the sort of begging I wanted to hear from my ladylove, but Officer Lane isn't the sort to go in for a lot of exposition when all she really wants to do is bang. I've learned that the hard way, 'hard' being the key word I suppose.

  "What roleplay is that?" I come back at her, stretching forward so I can test the rigidity of her arms with my own two hands. I relish wrapping my fingers around the much smaller width of her wrists, pushing and pressing with my thumbs. God, she has the smoothest skin of anyone I have ever met. I could just touch her like this all day and be satisfied.

  Lane squirms beneath me, and I decide in the next moment that I am sorely mistaken in what it will take to satisfy me; I sit down astride her to keep her from moving too much, and her silken stomach slides up and down beneath me, stimulating my stiff member. I groan as she darts a tongue out to lick her lips. "Come on. I let you cuff me. Isn't that enough without all the gloating and theatrics?"

  "No fucking way," I answer her as I lower myself to lavish my lips in the valley between her breasts. I hear a little moan catch in her throat. She never lets herself cry out if she can help it, not until I'm buried deep inside her. All in good time. "I'm going to enjoy this. And so are you. How does it feel to be cuffed, Officer Lane? Little Laney?" I smile into her breasts as she stiffens in disproval at the nickname, but we both know it isn't going away any time soon. I slide my cock against her skin, aroused by the feeling of her so close, of the skin-on-skin contact and our combined heat. Friction can be handled slowly, and so can Elizabeth Lane. "What's your hurry?" I ask casually. "Last I checked, you had already caught your man." I trail my lips up the hill of her breast and wrap them around one tight, too-perfect nipple, flicking my tongue out for a taste of the pebbled flesh. I suck harder, and she gasps beneath me, half-rising off the pillow in response.

  "Then why... does it feel like... I'm the one who's captured?" Lane pants.

  "Because you are," I point out. She moans in disappointment, unable to press my mouth back to her aching breast with her own desperate fingers, so I comply with her wordless demands and return to pleasuring them.

  "And just what does a criminal like you intend to do with me?"

  There's my girl. "No roleplaying, my ass." My mouth pops free, and I watch her breast slip down and settle back on her chest with a little quiver. "You want to know what I intend for you?" I ask as I lean up and over her. Lane presses her cheek into the pillow and eyes me coyly. "I'm going to fuck you while you’re in your own cuffs, so that every time you look at them you're reminded of the man who turned them against you. I'm going to take you the way every man you've ever arrested and ever will arrest wishes he could: hard, and fast, and mewling for more."

  "Mewling?" she scoffs as I ease up her neck. My lips linger near the edge of her mouth as she turns her head toward me, but I don't kiss her outright. Not yet.

  "Never heard yourself having sex with me, I take it?" I tease her.

  "There's no way in hell that I 'mewl', Wolf Larson," she argues.

  "You do. You also moan, beg, plead, curse, and try every trick in that utility belt of yours to get me to fuck you harder." I move my mouth sideways, speaking low and sultry against hers. I feel her plump lips quiver beneath my own, wanting so badly to give themselves over to my kiss even as the woman beneath me still refuses the whims of her body. "You like it hard, huh, Laney? I bet the boys at the precinct don't even know. I guarantee you every one of them, on either side of the bars, has thought about you naked and pinned beneath them. Can't say I blame them, but can't say I want to share you, either. I'm living out the darkest fantasies they pleasure themselves to, and they're as good as eating my dust. As usual."

  "Somehow, it always comes back to how fast you are. Why am I not surprised?" She gasps a laugh, and my lips claim hers in a slow, dominating pressure, until I'm certain I've swallowed any further jokes or protest. Lane's tongue, thin and sharp and tasting tartly of the champagne we've both just spent the majority of the evening sipping, darts past the line of my lips to seek mine out. I groan and press myself closer, my hand coming up to cup the curvature of her skull, my fingers losing themselves in the tangle of her golden hair. If expensive champagne were a woman, it would be the intoxicating creature pinned beneath me…although I'm not even sure she has a price.

  "I promise I'll go slowly this time," I murmur. B
efore she can ask any further questions about what I might mean, I act: I withdraw my cock, as hard as a marble column, from the velvet-soft spot below her navel I've been pleasuring myself against. My next thrust is precise and well-aimed, and the thin slit of her womanhood isn't enough to guard against my assault; my thick head works its way past her outer lips, her inner folds, finding and penetrating the tight entry hidden within. There's nothing sweeter in this world than coming home to that sensation: the small opening, the feeling that it won't give beneath you, then finding out just how well you are received. Lane is slick with the evidence of her wanting, and I take a split second to reflect on just what an effect my mouth must have on her, before I'm groaning and sinking down against her. Her breasts flatten beneath me, cushioning my weight as much as the pillow beneath her back cushions her. My cock slides deeper into her, so slow and effortless that I swear I must have added extra inches when I wasn't looking.

  "Oh God!" she moans in whispered appreciation as I fill her.

  "That what you need?" I manage to tease through teeth clenched in blissful agony. Warmth encases me, and my belly tingles. "You're so tight all the time. You need to be fucked every day if you want to loosen up. How about I come visit you on your lunch breaks?" I ease out and slip my length in again, all of it. She lifts her hips up to meet me, to take me back inside her. "How about I take you in the back of your squad car? We'll fog the windows up and no one will see. That's how hard I'll fuck you, right there in the parking lot."

  The handcuff chain jingles, either from the exertion of our physical activity, or from a failed attempt on Lane's part to grab hold of me. I hear them pull tight with a loud 'chink!', and guess that it's probably the latter. "You don't want me to loosen up," she accuses. I hear the sexy vixen in her voice, the pleasured husk, too late to anticipate what she intends: she raises her hips even higher off the pillow, practically climbing my right leg as she takes the entire length of my cock like it's nothing.