by Cathryn Cade
“I used an iron, and product,” Lindi reminded her. “Which we are getting some of today. She needs the works. Remember, Keys is treating you.”
He was indeed. That morning at breakfast, he’d told Kit that tonight was the night, they were going to the Flyers’ club house for a barbecue, and he needed her looking good, like a woman that he would make a play for.
When he put it that way, Kit couldn’t say no, especially when she remembered Sheena’s ‘farm girl’ remark. She wanted to look good for him, and for Remi. But she was also so nervous about being on display for him that her mouth was dry, her palms sweaty, her tummy in a knot and though she’d doubled down on her antiperspirant, her underarms were still damp.
This appointment was a welcome distraction from worrying about the evening to come—unless she ended up with some hair-don’t instead of a hairdo.
“Ooh, goodie,” Blythe enthused. “We’re giving you a mane makeover, girl. I’m going to do some trimming, shaping, texture it just a bit around your face, and then we’ll talk product and tools. Sound okay?”
Kit looked to Lindi, who nodded firmly. “Say yes.”
Kit took a breath. “Yes.”
“Want a glass of wine up there?” Dar called. “Soothes the nerves when you’re trying something new.”
Sounded great to Kit. “Bring me the bottle,” she blurted.
Lindi laughed. “She’s not worried about your skills,” she told Blythe and Dar. “She’s going to a big party tonight—lot of important people there.”
“So you want something formal?” Blythe asked, looking puzzled.
“Not exactly,” Kit said. She accepted a glass of white wine from Dar and took a drink. “My, uh, boyfriend’s a biker. I want to look hot.”
“Oh, you want ‘fuck me’ hair,” Blythe said. “Gotcha. I can do that.”
Lindi and Kit burst out laughing. Dar set the bottle down, and held up her hand. “Hold on. I’m getting two more glasses. I want to hear more about this party.”
An hour later, Kit walked out of the salon beside Lindi, after giving her new friend a big hug. Blythe returned it with enthusiasm. “Ooh, I love it when clients love their new look. See you in six weeks, okay?”
“Okay,” Kit agreed happily. She waved goodbye to Dar, who was also her friend because she had a liberal hand with the free wine, and Kit was much more relaxed than she had been on arrival at the salon.
She carried a glossy shopping bag. She set it carefully in the backseat of Lindi’s rig. The bag was full of product and a shiny new blow-dryer and fat-barrel curling iron, for when she wanted the big, loose curls Blythe had done for her.
Sliding into the front seat, she pulled down the vanity mirror and looked at herself, smiling. Her hair was tousled, but in a glossy, controlled way instead of a cloud that blew into her face and up around her with every puff of air. It framed her face and shoulders, and still hung down her back, because Blythe hadn’t taken off length, just carefully layered it.
“I look like I did for girl’s night,” she told Lindi happily.
“Even better. Love the layered pieces around your face. You can pull them back or let them wave. And now, I get to share another surprise. We’re going shopping!”
Kit pulled her gaze away from the mirror to stare at her friend. “We are?”
Lindi nodded as she pulled out into traffic and headed south. “Yeppers. We get to go to the Harley store and Victoria’s Secret. Woohoo! We’re gonna turn you into a red hot, biker mama.”
“Holy crap,” Kit breathed. She held out her arm as they stopped at a red light. “Pinch me, I must be dreaming.”
When Lindi complied, she yelped. “Ow! Didn’t need to do it that hard, you brat.”
“Did so, beeyotch.”
They looked at each other, and burst out laughing. “Who would’ve ever thought we’d be dating biker bros?” Lindi demanded. “Not me.”
“They do kind of ride on in and change your world, don’t they?” Kit smiled to herself as she remembered the way she’d been awakened that morning. Then she looked to Lindi, and found her watching Kit, a startled look on her face.
“What?” Kit asked.
“Nothing,” Lindi said. “Well ... okay, it’s just that ... you look like me when I’m thinking of Jack. And I’m gone in love with Jack.”
Then she faced the road as they accelerated onto the ramp that took them onto the interstate west. Leaving Kit feeling like she’d been punched in the gut with a bag of marshmallows--sort of soft and gooey, but a direct hit, nevertheless.
They were nearly slowing on the exit ramp, the cheerful black and orange of the Harley Davidson shop in sight before Lindi spoke again. “So, which one are you in love with, honey?”
Kit exhaled shakily. “Both of them.”
They turned onto the frontage road, and pulled into the parking lot of the store.
“Well,” Lindi said, reaching over to take Kit’s hand. “In that case, we better get you looking hotter than hell, right? ‘Cause you’ll be fending off double the club whores and old lady wannabes.”
Kit narrowed her eyes, and firmed her jaw. “True. Let’s go.”
* * *
The Devil’s Flyers MC Clubhouse had once housed a carpet and flooring warehouse and sales center in Airway Heights, Washington. But the little town just west of Spokane had failed to grow as projected and the business had gone under in the 90’s, leaving a long, low one-story building with a paved parking lot in front.
On the north side was a gravel sweep, loading docks and a privacy-fenced area with plenty of space for whatever a motorcycle club might want to store out of sight of curious passersby.
Now the sales center housed the club room and bar, as well as a kitchen and meeting room.
Part of the warehouse had been enclosed for a weight room and locker room of sorts, with showers and toilets. There were also an assortment of bedrooms, two offices, and a huge open area which most often held crates with labels announcing they contained motor parts—but which occasionally held other items—and an assortment of motorcycles in various stages of repair.
Someone had poured a patio out back, which was now rimmed with huge smokers and barbecues. Portable tents were set up for barbecues, to shade the all-important kegs and coolers of bottled beer and other drinks. Picnic tables and an assortment of plastic chairs dotted the shade offered by a row of evergreens.
Long tables groaned with food, chips and condiments. Webb and two prospects manned the grills. For the first barbecue of the summer, all the Flyers’ were present, with wives, old ladies and all the other levels of club-associated women. Assorted kids ran around, darting in and out of the adults and raising hell, the younger ones led by two sturdy little boys with white-blond hair and their father’s ice grey eyes.
Keys stood with Jack, Remi, Rocker, and Moke and Stick. Beers in hand, they were discussing the finer points of the original Harley Tribute engine vs. the new twin cam design with big valve performance heads.
Moke, a tall, broad Hawaiian with tribal ink abounding under his cut, which was all he wore over his jeans and boots, was thumbing his phone, looking through photos he’d taken on a recent Big Island ride, for a unique bike he’d spotted in Kona.
Rocker, a lean, dark-haired biker with a goatee threaded with silver, was laughing as Keys argued for the superiority of the Indian, for maneuverability and grace.
Stick, who rode a big custom Harley sized for his six-five frame, was shaking his head at this while keeping a weather eye on his sons’ progress through the crowd.
Jack looked over Keys’ shoulder, a slow smile dawning on his tough face. He nudged Keys, interrupting him. “Bro, somethin’ you gotta see.”
“What?” Keys turned his head and looked toward the corner of the clubhouse. “Holy ... “ he began, but forgot to finish his words or the thought.
Lindi had just walked around the corner of the clubhouse, smiling at Jack. She looked good in a fancy low-cut tee and new jeans, Keys note
d vaguely.
But behind her, Keys caught sight of red hair, and his attention homed in like a laser sight on the woman following Lindi.
She was tall, bodacious and hot in the way only a true biker babe could achieve. Her auburn hair spilled down in loose, glossy waves around her beautiful face.
She had glistening lips, smoky, sultry eyes and pale, pearly skin bared clear down to what seemed at first look an endless dip of deep, mysterious cleavage above a black lace tank with only skinny straps supporting her full, round breasts, dipping in to her small waist and out again.
Below this miraculous top, she wore boot-cut jeans embellished with black sequins and lace, which appeared to have been painted onto her full, rounded hips and long, long legs.
She was strutting her stuff on high-heeled black sandals, her hips swaying, breasts bouncing, and hair flying as she tossed her head and smiled, straight at him. She was a vision of hot, biker chick beauty, and she was his. His and Remi’s.
Their Kit.
“Fuckin’ A,” he breathed. “Here she is.”
The men around him went silent, and it seemed to Keys that their silence spilled outward in rings of reaction, until most of the males present, between the ages of fourteen and seventy-five, were watching her with a reverence reserved for something special. And probably sporting wood, to a man.
And one of them was Bouncer, who stood spraddle-legged in the shade of the club house, beer in hand, his cronies gathered around him. Keys managed to tear his gaze from her long enough to watch the other biker’s gaze lock on Kit. Bouncer’s face went dark, his gaze narrowed, full of speculation and anticipation.
But before he could move, Keys sauntered out to meet her in the open space in the midst of the gathering. He was hard as a rock in his tight jeans, and he did not bother to hide this. It was only her due.
“Babe,” he called, holding open his arms and flashing her a big smile. “‘Bout time you got your fine ass out here. You girls go shoppin’ and forget what time it was?”
Kit strutted right into his arms, throwing herself against his chest with her back foot coming up, her hands on his chest, smoothing over his cut with due reverence while she smiled up into his face, giving him a slumberous look from under her lashes. “I never forget you, big guy. Just wanted to look real special for you. You like?”
Part of him wanted to throw back his head and laugh, because she was putting on a show, one shade shy of her biker bimbo act. She started callin’ him daddy, that was it—he was taking her inside and fucking her gorgeous brains out.
But first they had a show to do, so he drew back just far enough to look her up and down and nod emphatically. “I like, sweet thing. Only one thing will make you look better.”
Her eyes widened, and for the first time his Kit looked uncertain. “Um, what’s that?”
He winked at her. “Just this, baby.” He dipped his hand into the pocket of his cut and let her go, just long enough to hold up his gift before her—a silver pendant on a black leather thong.
Then, as she went still and wide-eyed, he draped the leather around her throat and fastened it at her nape. Her hair clung and slipped over his hands like living silk.
Drawing back, he reached down and picked up the pendant hanging on her chest, just above the shadow of her cleavage. “Now, that’s perfect.”
She looked down and he heard her breath catch as she studied the pendant—an ornate silver lock. The mate to the key he wore around his own neck.
She gave him one shocked look and then remembered to smile, wide and bright for their audience, and flung her arms around his neck.
“Oh, it’s perfect. Thank you, Keys.”
He kissed her, deep and wet, and bent her back over his arm, making a show of it. But at the same time, he felt something warm and solid thunk into place deep in his chest, like that lock closing around his very heart.
She smelled of perfume and warm woman, and she tasted like sweet, hot sex and everything he needed. Well, almost everything. Straightening, he caught her in the circle of his arm, turned and guided her back with him through the avidly watching crowd to Remi, who stood waiting, his beautiful, lean face stoic.
Keys looked into Remi’s eyes, and sent a silent message—that one day soon, when this was settled, they would reveal themselves not as a couple with a wingman, but as a triad, a very special one. Remi lifted his chin in silent acknowledgment, their gazes locked.
“Now that’s what I call claimin’ a woman,” Jack called jovially, his deep rough voice carrying like a drum-beat through the crowd. “Keys, bro, you always were a showy bastard.”
“Hey, I heard you proposed in front of Stick and the boys,” Keys called back, his arm draped around Kit’s neck. “Had to keep up with that.”
“Yeah, but I put a ring on it,” Jack retorted. “I didn’t collar her, for Chrissake.”
Many of the other bikers roared with laughter, and Kit hid her flaming face in Keys’ chest. He held her close, laughing with his brothers.
“When you get hold of a wild one, you gotta tame ‘em to bridle,” Keys said. He turned her to face the crowd, and lifted his arm. “Brothers! Family and friends—my old lady, Kit Weeks!”
Jack put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Moke, Rocker and Stick lifted their beers to Kit.
Kit’s mom came through like a champ. Deni let out a shriek of pure joy, darted around from behind the buffet table where she’d been arranging food with Velvet, and ran to her daughter. “Oh, my baby girl! I’m so happy.”
Keys let go of Kit and allowed her to be enveloped in her mother’s hug, followed by Velvet and some of the other old ladies who liked Kit, and also liked being treated like valuable partners and not commodities, and thus cordially despised Bouncer and his ilk.
The older bikers just watched, then went back to their drinking and talking. A few of the women looked on enviously and then put their heads together to gossip about making such a big show out of a private moment.
But when Keys met Bouncer’s gaze across the clearing, he saw that his point had been made. Bouncer glared at him, his face livid, and Keys returned the look with interest. The other biker then turned his back, saving his pride by showing his complete lack of interest in the proceedings. Silently declaring he was done with Kit.
He was also showing outright disrespect for a brother. Coupled with the shit he’d already dished out, there would come a reckoning for both, but Keys could wait till later to dish that out, when the kids were gone.
Kit let out a long breath, and Keys gave her a squeeze, and leaned in to kiss her temple. “You did good, Red.”
“That went well, yeah?” Remi asked quietly.
“So far,” Keys said. He and Jack exchanged a look that said Keys wasn’t done, not by a long shot, and that Jack would back any play he chose to make.
Stick, who had been watching the performance with an enigmatic smile, stepped forward. He looked Kit over head to toe and lifted his chin to Keys. “Nice catch, Keys. Hold on tight, yeah?”
His icy gaze cut to Remi, he smiled faintly and then walked away, cutting through the crowd, which gave way respectfully to their president.
“Whoa,” Remi murmured, for their ears only. “That dude does not miss a thing. I think he knows what I ate for breakfast.”
Keys nodded. “I hear you. He’s sharp, but he’s a good man. He appreciates we got through this with no blood—yet.” He and Remi exchanged a look of understanding.
“What does that mean?” Kit asked, looking up into his face. “Keys, be careful.”
“Babe,” he said. “Bouncer’s been terrorizing you for nearly two weeks, making you afraid to set foot out of my place without a guard on you. I may not be patched in here, but I’m a Flyer. That shit does not happen.”
Her smile was gone, but she nodded. “Okay, sensei. I get it. He also just disrespected you in front of everyone, so when you’re pounding his face in, give him a shot for me too, please?”
He nodded,
and gave her a squeeze. “You bet I will. You’re my old lady now, I gotta listen to you.”
She cut a wicked look to Remi and smiled. “That’s right, you do.”
Keys exchanged another look with Remi, this one laughing. “Not sure who collared who,” Remi said.
Kit batted her lashes at Keys, and turned into him, looking up into his face with wide eyes. “My daddy put his collar on me, so I know he wants to ‘do me’.”
“Oh, I’ll do you, all right, baby.” He leaned close and whispered. “We’ll both do you every chance we get, starting tonight. We could go find an empty room right now, the three of us.”
Remi nudged them. “Everyone’s headed for the buffet. Time to mingle.”
“Whoa. Just a sec,” Keys said as he caught sight of red hair a shade brighter and less natural than Kit’s gleaming in the evening sun. “Hold your beers and watch this.”
With near-perfect timing, Sheena stepped out of the back door of the club and posed. Wearing an emerald satin bustier top over black leggings and high-heeled boots, her dyed red hair shone like a battle flag. She smiled, gave a little wave at someone in the crowd, and then sashayed out onto the patio.
Keys pulled Kit back with him, positioning her between him and Remi. Remi moved a half-step closer, and Kit leaned into him. Keys reached around her back and touched Remi’s arm, giving it a squeeze before he let go. Then the three of them watched the drama unfold.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bouncer and his friends stood several feet from the food tables. Sheena made her way casually toward them, veering over to take a glass of beer from someone, then casually back toward Bouncer, stopping to chat with another woman.
She tipped back her head and laughed, and Keys saw Bouncer stiffen, then turn to look back toward her.
“And the big dog smells the bait,” Remi said, his lips twitching with amusement.
“But will he bite?” Keys murmured.
Kit snickered.