Biker's Bride: A Bad Boy Romance (Demons MC)

by B. B. Hamel

  He held tight. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “We have orders.”

  Spill grabbed my waist and threw me over his shoulder like I was nothing.

  “Put me down!” I yelled, hitting his back.

  Spill ignored me and carried me back inside, putting me down on the couch.

  “Sorry,” he said, looking away, “but you have to stay.”

  The two pledges left, closing the door behind them.

  I sat there staring after them, anger flowing through my body.

  Not only did Ford leave me, but he locked me up in his damn cabin like I was a prisoner.

  That asshole. That bastard. He was going to hear about it.

  As soon as I figured out how to escape from these goons.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Ford

  “What’s your name?”

  The Snake was tied up to a chair in the armory basement. He was sweating and bleeding, but not fast enough that he was in danger of dying anytime soon.

  “Chris,” he said.

  “Okay, Chris.” I sat in a chair across from him. “Tell me what I want to know.”

  “Why? You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe not. If you tell me enough, I might just decide to convince our president to use you as a messenger to your club.”

  He snorted. “Not likely.”

  “No,” I agreed, “not likely. But there’s a chance.”

  He looked at me for a second, and I could see that the seeds of doubt had been sown.

  Back when the Demons were in a full-time war, back in the dark days, interrogations had been something of a specialty of mine. For some reason, I was good at reading people, at figuring out when they were lying and when they weren’t, and at finding pressure points to jab my fingers into.

  From what I could tell, Chris was a pretty low-ranking Snake, maybe even new to the club. I didn’t think he was ready to die for them, and I had to exploit that.

  “Why did your people ambush us?” I asked him.

  “Fuck yourself.”

  “Are the Rebels involved? Are you working with them?”

  “Fuck yourself harder.”

  I sighed. “Work with me here, Chris.”

  “Fuck. You.”

  I stood up and backhanded him across the face. He grunted and I hit him again.

  “Make this easy on yourself, Chris. You’re still bleeding from that leg wound. It’s not bad, but it can definitely kill you if we don’t patch you up soon.”

  “If I talk, I’m dead,” he said. “If I don’t, I’m dead. So I might as well keep my fucking mouth shut.”

  “Depends what you tell us,” I mused. “Secrets would get you killed, sure. But the fact that you guys attacked us first isn’t in dispute. All I’m asking is why.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I put my hand over his leg and pressed down on his bullet wound. He screamed.

  “Come on, Chris.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he sneered through the pain. “You have the girl.”

  I stopped pressing, surprised. “Why do you guys care about her?”

  “She was with that traitor fuck Rebel.”

  Traitor? What was that supposed to mean?

  “She doesn’t have anything to do with this,” I said.

  “Not according to my boss. She’s deep in this shit.”

  “What do you think she did?”

  “That drop, that was supposed to be a drug deal. But that Rebel fuck tried to pass off some fake fucking drugs instead of the real shit, and so we killed him.” He paused, taking deep breaths. “Leadership thinks the girl has our drugs.”

  “Shit,” I said.

  “Shit is right, man.”

  That explained it. That was what had started all of this. That fucking idiot Rod had tried to rip off the Snakes, and he’d gotten himself killed in the process. When we took in Caralee, we made it seem like she was a part of the operation. They probably thought we stole the drugs.

  They thought we had started this whole war, or at least that Caralee was central to starting it. Meanwhile, it was the fucking Rebels that tried ripping off the Snakes. We only made the mistake of trying to protect an innocent girl.

  Fucking dumbass bikers. Thought more with their guns than with their brains sometimes.

  “What do your people want?” I asked him

  “Your fucking territory and your lives now,” he said. “You think the Snakes are going to roll over and let you guys murder us?”

  “Guess not,” I said, sitting back down in my chair. “Last question: What do the Mezcals have to do with all this?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He cringed as I stood up. “But you’ve given me enough.”

  “You’ll let me go?”

  I turned and walked away, nodding at Clutch. He walked in, cocking his pistol.

  “Hey, wait!” Chris yelled.

  I heard the gunshot ring out as I left the basement and walked upstairs.

  Chris had been right. The second we rolled up on them was the second he was dead.

  Larkin was standing in the kitchen, waiting for me. “Our boy talk?”

  “He told me some interesting things,” I said.

  “Come on. We’ll talk in private.” I followed him back into his office. He shut the door and sat down in his chair with a grunt. “So,” he said.

  “You know the fucked-up thing?” I asked him.

  “Get to it, Ford.”

  “This all started with a misunderstanding.”

  “How so?”

  “It turns out that Caralee’s buddy Rod the Rebel tried to pass off some fake fucking drugs on the Snakes. That was why they killed him.”

  Larkin grunted. “So it wasn’t just some random hit like Jetter was pretending.”

  “Not at all. Problem is, the Snakes think the real drugs are out there, and that it’s their fucking stuff.”

  “Why? No harm, no foul. Rod got popped. That’s the end of it.”

  “Who knows? Maybe the Rebels were just intermediaries or some shit. Might explain their relationship with the Mezcals.”

  “Which you haven’t proven yet,” Larkin reminded me.

  “Sure. But the point is, when we took in Caralee, we made it seem like we were a part of it. They think she has the drugs, or we do.”

  “Shit,” Larkin said, shaking his head. “A misunderstanding.”

  “But now we have blood spilled.”

  “They’re not going to forgive that.”

  “No,” I said, “they’re not.”

  “So no matter what, it’s still war.”

  “At least we know the Snakes and the Rebels aren’t working together.”

  Larkin laughed ruefully. “Yeah, there’s that.”

  I stood up. “What’s the next move?” I asked.

  “Hold tight for now,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

  I nodded. “Got it, prez.”

  I pushed open the door and left.

  The main clubhouse room was mostly empty. Clutch and Spoil were dealing with the dead Snake in the basement. I sat down at the bar and grabbed a whisky. Thade was into his fourth or fifth beer, sipping slowly.

  “I always feel this way after a job like that, you know?” he said to me.

  “Yeah,” I grunted, “I know.”

  It was a strange feeling, a mixture of excitement and terror, pleasure and pain.

  Something like how I felt when I was around Caralee.

  The damn girl. She had no clue how deep into this she was, no clue at all. I thought the Snakes might have been after her because she’d witnessed a murder, but it was much worse than that. They thought she’d stolen from them, and that was something no club could ever forgive.

  I had to somehow prove that she hadn’t stolen the drugs. How I could do that, well, I had no clue.

  But I knew I had to try. Because Caralee was my fucking wife now. I had made a pledge t
o protect her, and I thought that pledge would be enough.

  I was beginning to realize that there was more going on than I had bargained for. Marrying Caralee and bringing her into the Demons’ realm of protection just wasn’t going to cut it anymore, not with the Snakes pushing for real war.

  I had to step my game up.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Caralee

  A few hours sitting around in the cabin were more than enough to make me mad as hell.

  I wasn’t a damn prisoner, and those two idiots couldn’t keep me locked up.

  Worst of all, where was Ford? He could call me at any time, and yet he wasn’t bothering to. And to top it all off, I was his wife now, his old lady. Our first day married and he had already run off to someplace doing whatever the damn club wanted him to do.

  I was fuming, so angry. I felt like an animal locked in a cage. Some part of me understood that it was for my own protection, but I wasn’t a little girl that needed protecting.

  And so sitting there on the couch, I slowly began to formulate an escape plan.

  My best chance was to somehow steal one of those motorcycles. I knew they tended to leave their keys right in the ignition since they were sitting right in front of them. When I used to hang out with Rod, he had tried to teach me how to ride once. Sure, it wasn’t exactly successful, but I’d gotten the basics down. I could go straight without destroying anything.

  Shifting gears, well, that might still be an issue.

  Still, it was my best bet. Those pledges weren’t going to let me just walk out there and take a bike, though. I needed a plan.

  I needed a distraction.

  I got up and dressed, putting on pair of jeans, a pair of heavy boots, and a black T-shirt. If I was going to do something stupid, then I might as well look the part.

  Next, I went into the bathroom. It had a window that overlooked the wooded area just behind Ford’s cabin.

  And I started to scream.

  It didn’t take long for the two pledges to come bursting inside, guns drawn.

  “Out there!” I shouted, pointing at the window.

  “What’s happening?” Ryan asked.

  “Two guys, both in leather jackets. They’re just out back!”

  Ryan nodded. “Stay here with her. I’ll go.”

  He quickly disappeared back out the front door.

  “Come on,” Spill said, leading me into the living room. He kept his gun drawn and ready. “What did they look like?” he asked.

  “Tall,” I said, frowning, my heart pounding.

  Was I really going to do this?

  Looking at Spill, at his concerned gaze, at his gun, I suddenly had second thoughts. This whole thing was crazy.

  But I didn’t want to be locked up. And besides, he was joining a violent and dangerous gang. He understood the risks.

  “Sorry, Spill,” I said.

  “For what?” he asked, smiling.

  But that smile quickly disappeared, and I could tell he knew what I was planning.

  He was too late. I had already cocked my leg back and smashed my foot right into his crotch. I kicked him in the balls harder than I’d meant to, but I wanted to make sure he went down.

  “Oh fuck,” he grunted and dropped his gun. He cupped his nuts as he fell to the ground. “Oh my god.”

  I turned and ran. I couldn’t believe I had done that, but it was too late to go back now.

  Poor Spill. I really hoped I hadn’t hurt him too badly. It wasn’t like I had any real ill will toward either of the pledges. They were just doing their job after all. But I wanted to get out of there, and he was standing in my way.

  I made it to the bikes a few seconds later. I straddled the first one, pressed the clutch, and started the engine.

  It roared to life. I grabbed the helmet from its rest on the back seat and popped it onto my head. It smelled like sweat, but that didn’t matter.

  Taking deep breaths, I slowly backed the bike up.

  I heard shouting from over near the cabin. Ryan was coming at me, waving his arms.

  I hit the gas, revving the engine. Slowly, so slowly and gently, I let out the clutch. The bike went into first gear, bucked a bit, and jolted forward.

  I flew down the dirt road, going way too fast. I quickly got myself under control, slowing down slightly. I made it all the way to the highway before I heard the sound of the other bike coming after me.

  Once I was on paved road, I opened it up, driving fast. I flew forward as the other bike hit the road behind me and tried to catch up.

  In that moment, I felt freer than I had in a long, long time.

  I loved riding on the back of bikes. I was an awful driver, but there was just something about riding that made me feel good. But in that moment, in control, I realized that I had been born to ride.

  I laughed loudly, driving faster and faster. Ryan kept pace behind me but didn’t move to cut me off at all, probably afraid to knock me off my bike.

  Which was a good call, because a minute later I nearly smashed into the back of a Honda that was stopped at a light.

  I grabbed the brakes, the tires screaming on the asphalt. The back of the bike fishtailed and I almost lost control, but I managed to keep my balance as the bike came to a stop.

  I was breathing hard as I put my feet down on the ground. Ryan pulled up next to me. “Get off the bike,” he yelled.

  “No,” I said. “I’m going to the clubhouse. You can follow me or not.”

  He started to say something else, but traffic was already moving.

  This time, I didn’t ride too fast. Ryan kept pace just behind me, but he didn’t try to stop me.

  I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I couldn’t believe I had successfully escaped from them, let alone was riding a motorcycle. Sure, I was taking it easy, keeping to the right lane and riding slow, but still. I had control, and I was free.

  I laughed the whole way into Austin. I knew the way to the clubhouse, fortunately, and had no trouble navigating the wide city streets. Austin was a newer city, so I didn’t have to worry about heavy pedestrian traffic or tiny alleyways.

  I pulled up outside the clubhouse and killed the engine. Ryan pulled up next to me.

  I grinned at him. “Shouldn’t have stopped me,” I said.

  “Caralee, please.” He stood next to me, looking terrified. “You can get me in serious trouble. Please come back to the cabin.”

  “Sorry, Ryan,” I said. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, but I’m not going to be your prisoner.”

  He looked seriously troubled. “Listen to me. They might kill us over this. They don’t fuck around. Please, come back.”

  I looked at him for a second, and the full weight of what I had done came crashing down.

  I knew what kind of men I was dealing with. They were violent and serious men, not the sort of people who messed around. Ryan and Spill could get in some serious trouble, and who knew what that really meant with a motorcycle gang.

  And this whole escape was childish. Truth was, I was angry and upset that Ford had ditched out on me the morning after we had gotten married and slept together for the first time. I was taking it out on Spill and Ryan, and it really wasn’t their fault.

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay. We can go back.”

  He looked so relieved, like a prisoner that had just been pardoned.

  “Come on,” he said. “You ride pretty good.”

  As he started his engine, the door to the clubhouse opened. I looked over.

  Ford stared back at me. “Caralee?”

  “Hi, Ford.”

  He stared at Ryan. “What’s she doing here?”

  Ryan killed his engine. “I’m sorry, Ford. She kicked Spill in the nuts and stole his bike.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “She said she saw guys around the place. I was checking it out.”

  He stared at me for a second and then burst out laughing. “Did you really kick Spill in the nuts?” he asked me.

  I
grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I did.”

  “And you rode that here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Holy shit, girl.” He walked over, laughing and shaking his head.

  “You’re not mad?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, boss,” Ryan said.

  “You’re a dumbass, but it’s not your fault. Caralee can be tough.” He grinned at me.

  I smiled back, but inwardly I wanted to slap him. “Where have you been?” I asked.

  “Club business.”

  “So that’s the deal then? You’re just going to disappear whenever you feel like it.”

  He expression hardened. “Not when I feel like it. When the club calls me, I answer. Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you back.” He moved toward the bike.

  “I’m riding,” I said.

  He stopped and frowned. “You sure?”

  “She did good getting over here,” Ryan said. Ford silenced him with a look.

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  “Fine. Stay with me.” He walked over to his own bike and got on, kicking it started.

  We rode out in formation, heading back toward the cabin. My stomach was a knot of worry, both for Ryan and Spill and for myself. I didn’t know how Ford would punish them.

  And I didn’t know how I felt about Ford. I was already on edge about him abandoning me once. I didn’t think I could take it again.

  The feeling of joy and freedom was completely gone as we headed back toward Ford’s place. Instead, I felt only confused, worried, and angry.

  And I sure hoped that I hadn’t broken Spill’s balls.

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Ford

  We tore back toward my cabin, and I couldn’t help but laugh the whole way back.

  Caralee had broken free of those two idiot pledges. I didn’t blame them, though they should have been on her better. But the girl was clearly tough as nails and resourceful to boot. I had to admit, I was pretty damn impressed.

  Plus, she was awful at riding. Just uncomfortable and awkward. I was half afraid she was going to fall over the whole way back, though she managed to remain upright. We pulled down the dirt road that led to my cabin and parked our bikes.

  Spill was sitting on the front porch, looking pained.

  “You okay?” Ryan called out to him.