STAG: MC ROMANCE (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 7)

by Samantha Leal

  Sadness overwhelmed her as she thought over her last “steady” relationship she had had. That would be Justin. He had joined the Marine Corps immediately after high-school, and proposed to her on his last night in Black Rock before he shipped out for Iraq in 2005. He was dead by 2006.

  This had been the trigger that led to her eating more than anything. But Amy had never been one to hide. So, rather than not fit in at all, she began to compensate for her perceived lack of physical appeal with “fat” jokes…usually at her own expense. She wasn’t even that big. She was just curvy, but she found her place making the jokes nonetheless. Sure, she had plenty of friends all through her college career at the University of California at Berkeley, but between grief over Justin’s death and her subsequent weight gain, her sex life had consisted primarily of one night stands ever since.

  “Whatever,” she thought, “I am who I am, after all.” The older she got, the less she could constantly worry about it. She had a plan to start hitting the gym soon, but in the meantime, if guys didn’t appreciate her as she was, well screw ‘em…they weren’t worth her time anyhow. Of course she still had her insecurities, but she was beginning to feel better and better about herself. She was actually beginning to sort of revel in her curves. The guys didn’t know what they were missing.

  “Oh my! Is that the time?” Amy said to herself, coming out of her mental wanderings. She had glanced at the clock on the bottom, right hand side of her ancient PC after typing in her password. “No wonder I’m so hungry!”

  It was very nearly 1:45 p.m.

  She got up from her desk, grabbed her purse, and began walking toward the door.

  “Alice! I’ll be back! I’m getting lunch!” she hollered to her supervisor, the lead at the grief counseling agency that she worked in. Entering the hallway and turning to the right, she shouted out “Hey! Hold the elevator!” just in time to see the arm of a tailored suit ending in a deeply tanned hand extend itself to hold the elevator doors open.

  Houston Storm was feeling hungry as well, and so decided to go to Giglio’s for lunch. He quickly placed a phone call to his valet, asking him to bring a car around.

  “Which car, Mr. Storm?”

  “I think I’ll take the Viper, Steven,” he answered. Hanging up the telephone hotline to his garage, he walked out of his 1,000 square foot personal office, and across the floor of offices inhabited by the rest of his staff, who handled all of the “nuts and bolts” of his company, Larger-Than-Life-Love Inc. The company controlled seven of the top ten niche dating websites in North America. Their premier website, “largerthanlifelove.com,” was deemed the most profitable web based dating site for the previous three years. Nowhere was this fact more obvious than in the lifestyle choices of the company’s founder, Houston Storm.

  Having been named the “San Francisco Bay Area’s Most Eligible Bachelor” for each of the previous four years was likely a byproduct of being named one of California’s “Top Ten Richest Men” for the previous five years by The Californian magazine. Whether it was the actual rankings, or just who he was, the fact was that he found woman falling at his feet seemingly everywhere he went. He had absolutely no problem taking full advantage of this fact either. As a result, and probably coupled with the fact that he still had not even reached the tender age of thirty five, the paparazzi had already branded him as a “bad boy”. They seemed to have no more favored task than proving their label by keeping the tabloids supplied with an endless series of shots of him and his many female guests inside his Los Gatos mansion compound.

  The truth was, however, that he had created his first website in his second year of junior college—Larger Than Life Love—in order to actually find that perfect woman. The only problem was, instead of drawing to him the kind of small town girl he really desired, his being rich and powerful brought all kinds of disingenuous women to his door instead.

  After he walked to the elevator and punched the ground floor button, he had expected an uninterrupted journey down the seventeen floors of the Yuanfen Building, which was normally quiet by this time of day, but he was wrong. On the sixth floor, his elevator car picked up a young intern from the law offices on that floor She rode down to four before getting off. The door was just closing when Houston heard the voice of a young woman, calling for him to hold the door. Extending his expensively clothed arm through the door, he beheld the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

  Chapter 2

  Immediately in awe of the breathtaking sight of the man wearing the suit, Amy found herself momentarily breathless. Everything about him—his custom tailored suit, his piercingly dark eyes, his deep tan, and the way his black hair carelessly waved to the right side of his perfect head—was simply … perfect. His eyes, a deep chocolate, were focused intently on her own.

  His nose sat dead center of his perfect face, with a very deeply indented bridge sitting equidistant from both of his eyes. His black eyebrows, which arched down from the outside in, gave him a shrewd look, in addition to making him appear darkly mysterious. He had a very thin chin and pronounced cheekbones in addition to a black and well-groomed goatee. His neck was very muscular, with a well-defined Adam’s apple, with just the uppermost tip of a tribal style tattoo sneaking up behind his left ear.

  His shoulders were broad, and betrayed a sense of careless athleticism, making it evident that he was once a formidable force in whatever athletic pursuit he participated in. The suit was made of the finest black fabric, and shined in the dim light of the elevator, betraying the presence of silk. Under the sporty suit coat, the dark man wore a simple beige button up shirt; with the top two buttons undone, the man looked as if he was intentionally displaying a tuft of his dark chest hair.

  Amy was a sucker for chest hair.

  For pants and shoes, the godlike man wore simple, dark blue jeans and pristine, gunmetal colored Testoni dress shoes.

  Amy stepped inside, and the doors closed behind her. She immediately felt as if every molecule of air in the enclosed space had been consumed, leaving her in a vacuum, with only the well-dressed and gorgeous stranger as company. Time seemed to freeze, as she was suspended in the elevator, which seemed hell-bent on staying still. Finally, the stranger broke the thick silence, and asked,

  “Which floor, darlin’?”

  “Ground,” she said, sharply taking in a lungful of air.

  “Where are you going this time of day?”

  “I lost track of time, and didn’t get lunch,” Amy answered. Her chest was heaving with the stress of trying to swallow the suddenly thin air in the elevator.

  “I am too, oddly enough. How would you feel about accompanying me to Giglio’s? It is rare that I get to have such a ravishing a meal-time guest as yourself.”

  “Giglio’s?” Amy asked, shocked. The restaurant had been rated as five stars by no less than seven different renowned food critics. Tables were notoriously difficult to get, and were worth over $150 per seat. “I’d love to, but I don’t have that kind of money…”

  “Baby, I don’t think I asked if you could afford Giglio’s, I asked if you would join me.”

  “Uh…” Amy said, completely unsure of whether she should accompany the stranger to lunch. When she left her hometown of Black Rock, Arkansas to attend college at Berkeley, her father had warned her to be careful to avoid strange men…but this was no normal strange man.

  “What?” the man asked, “Afraid to accompany a stranger to lunch?” he shrewdly asked.

  “Um…yes, actually,” she answered, blushing a brilliant shade of scarlet.

  “Fine,” the man said, holding out a hand, “My name is Houston Storm.”

  “Amy Delaney,” she answered him as she took his hand.

  “There…now we aren’t strangers,” Houston Storm told her as the elevator doors opened, displaying the magnificent marble of the Yuanfen Building’s foyer. “Now, will you accompany me? There’s my car at the door…I can drive us.”

  Amy looked outside the glass façade
of the building and saw a completely gorgeous, blue Dodge Viper. “Uh, yeah…I mean, yes, I’d love to.”

  “Excellent!” Houston exclaimed, flashing a smile which betrayed a perfect set of completely straight and brilliantly white teeth. “Here, let me get the door for you,” Houston said, opening the passenger side door of the Viper. “Thank you, Steven,” he said to the valet, handing the young man a $50 bill in exchange for the keys.

  When Houston cranked the car, and pulled away from the curb, Amy said “Wait…lunch service stops at two o’clock at Giglio’s. How are we going to eat?”

  The car’s clock and Amy’s cell-phone showed it as 2:02 p.m.

  “Don’t worry,” Houston said with a laugh and another smile. “I own a third of the business.”

  Houston could not believe his good fortune as he pulled the Viper away from the curb in front of the Yuanfen Building. His day had been going exceedingly badly until the gorgeous Amy Delaney agreed to accompany him to lunch. To start, he had received no less than four letters attempting to blackmail him. Apparently, there had been paparazzi near his pool house the previous week, and had captured the entire business between he and rising Japanese starlet, Willow Saito. The young woman had been in a very public dating relationship with a popular minor league baseball pitcher for the local Giants affiliate. There had been a lot of talk about the boy going across the country to play AA ball for the Richmond Flying Squirrels in Virginia.

  Being an opportunist, Houston had swooped in on the opportunity to get some Asian tail after seeing Willow at a San Jose Giants game. The asshole photographer managed to get some very compromising pictures of Willow as she entered the pool house alone and clothed, and came out with Houston—naked. He seemed to think that he would want their new affair kept quiet.

  Houston had spent two hours on his phone that morning with the paparazzi photog, explaining that he didn’t care who saw the pictures, and that he shouldn’t expect a goddamned dime from Houston’s personal coffers…it wasn’t as if his titties had been bouncing for the camera! Why would he care if the photographer sold the pictures to some tabloid?

  Houston had always been a playboy…and being filthy, stinking rich had not changed this fact. Sure, he had gone from being a bar bouncer to pay for junior college to being the San Francisco Bay area’s second richest man, valued at just over $19.8 billion. He had even used his bad boy reputation to score new bedroom trophies.

  The niche dating business was certainly lucrative.

  The simple fact was, however, that he was still the same kid who had grown up as the only white kid on his block in Modesto, California, surrounded by Hispanic gang members. Growing up in this rough environment taught Houston skills that, while not useful in his failed attempt to graduate college, had certainly served to keep him alive. It wasn’t as if he was scared of some prima donna baseball player who was going across the country in a week’s time.

  So it was that when Houston left the Larger Than Life Love, Inc. offices, he was in a distinctly bad mood…until he reached the fourth floor, that is.

  As a Web Design major at his junior college, he had started largerthanlifelove.com to find the perfect bigger girl, and instead ended up in a string of bad relationships that were punctuated by intense sexual experiences. He loved the exhilaration of having a new lover every other week…almost always with the skinny-as-hell-model types that were only interested in his fortune. The thrill of the chase was the only thing that distracted him from the demons that still haunted his dreams, but these pencil thin types were not what he truly desired.

  He wanted a woman just like Amy Delaney. There was a time a “Botticellian” woman was the ideal. Of course that had been five hundred years ago, but he thought it was time for a comeback.

  When the gorgeous woman to his right had hollered for him to hold the elevator, he felt something he realized he hadn’t felt in a while…genuine attraction. This goddess of a woman kindled a fire deep inside him, and forced all thoughts of Willow Saito far from his mind.

  Chapter 3

  When they arrived at Giglio’s, Houston had the red carpet rolled out for his lunch guest. As they sat talking over their antipasto and waiting for their entrees, Houston surveyed his prey. Amy is average height, with wavy dark hair that falls carelessly passed her shoulders. Her eyes are beautiful almond, and she had a way about her that seemed to light her entire face up.

  She was dark and alluring, just as he like his woman. She had an almost exotic look about her. Her eyebrows were highly arched, creating a uniform curvature over each of her eyes. She liked the way she clearly put attention on taking care of her appearance. Her chin came to a distinct point, which gave her face a thin appearance, despite her curves.

  Although she cared for her looks obviously, it was not overdone, and the result was that she was the exact type of girl-next-door that Houston had always craved to be with.

  She wore a simple white dress that was decorated with large, lavish hibiscus flowers that were colored brilliant shades of red, along with a red fabric belt that gathered at her waist, visibly slimming her, and extenuating her curves all the more. Her breasts were noticeably large, and while they certainly drew the eye towards them, she was careful to keep them concealed in a valiant attempt at modesty. Her ample hips swayed sexily when she walked, and Houston spent much of the ride to Giglio’s wondering what it would be like to hold them in the heat of passion.

  Finally, after they arrived and were seated for a while, their splendid meal of linguine with clam sauce arrives, and the conversation turned to their respective pasts.

  “Where are you from, Houston?” Amy asked, dabbing the side of her mouth with a napkin.

  “Originally? Modesto. About two and a half hours drive from here…depending on the route you take.”

  “Modesto? Isn’t that the city where—?”

  “Where Scott Peterson killed his wife and unborn baby? Yeah, it is,” Houston answered the common question.

  “Wow…where were you at the time?” she asked.

  “I was actually in town from school when Laci was killed, and my mom went to the New Year’s Eve candlelight vigil.”

  “Wow.”

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Me? I was a sophomore in high school at the time, so I was still in Black Rock.”

  “Black Rock?” Houston asked.

  “Black Rock, Arkansas. It’s a little town in Lawrence County and is about two hour’s drive northeast of Little Rock.”

  “Oh, awesome,” Houston said, sincerely.

  “Yeah, if you like small towns it’s awesome I guess,” Amy said, laughing.

  “Well, I’ve always thought that living in a small town would be great. I’ve always lived in the city, and the idea of small town life seems really attractive to me, actually.”

  “It’s really nothing that special,” Amy said between bites. “I miss my family, but I don’t miss having nothing to do on the weekends.”

  “Now that sounds like Modesto!” Houston answered, laughing.

  “What do you mean? Isn’t Modesto a city?”

  “Yeah, it is, but there isn’t much to do for the kids…except for dodging bullets.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, the gangs are starting to get big there. It’s always been a rough part of the country, but in the last few years, it’s gotten terrible.”

  “Wow…I don’t know if I’d want to be in that kind of place.”

  “I grew up in it. It’s made me who I am, and it affects the way I live to this day.”

  One particular incident came immediately to Houston’s mind. One night, a group of gang members were hassling several of Houston’s college classmates in the bar he was working in at the time. The college kids were wearing red sweatshirts, the color of his college’s sports teams. The five gang members (who wore blue) demanded the students take the sweatshirts off. The guys in the group had complied quietly, but the young woman refused, saying that she wasn’t wearing
anything underneath.

  “Well, I guess we’re gonna see your chichotas then, eh, concha?” the gang leader said, calling the young girl a cunt and laughing. Houston, who had grown up surrounded by Hispanics, knew just how much the banger had insulted the young woman, and stepped in to end the disrespect.

  “Vete a chingar a tu madre, puta!” the leader said, telling Houston to “go fuck his mother,” as well as calling him a bitch. Houston then punched the gang leader, and three of the other members drew knives, and the fourth pulled a gun. Houston had no weapon, but two of the five gang members died from gunshot wounds, another died of wounds from a knife, and the other two had extensive hospital stays before going to prison for other crimes that they were wanted for.

  Houston received eleven stitches, and none of the college kids were injured.

  “Wow…” Amy said, in awe after he finished recounting this story to her. “I don’t know what I would have done in that situation. That was incredibly brave of you, Houston.”

  “I try not to think about it, honestly. I still dream about those fucking bangers…the cops put me in cuffs, of course, but charges were never filed. The kids told them that I was just doing my job, and that if I hadn’t been there, the girl would’ve ended up with her titties bouncing around in plain sight. Sorry,” he added, “I don’t mean to talk so vulgar in front of a lady such as you. My dear mother would be ashamed.”

  Far from being disgusted by his language, Amy found herself even more attracted to this man…his dark past only served to cause her nether-lips to quiver with longing at the thought of what it would take to tame a man such as him. The fact that he used language like “fuck” and “titty” only made her wonder what it would be like to have him talk to her when in the sack.