Devil's Angels Boxed Set: Bikers and Alpha Bad Boy Erotic Romance

by Joanna Wilson

  Can't trust a girl who can either. She smiled gently and buried her anxiety. Micah's spirit was fearless, he lived hard and loved easily. His joy was boundless and it made her tremble all the more. He is so unsuspecting. Micah had sank back into his chair while she lowered herself on top of him.

  She steadied her hands on his shoulders and lowered herself onto his hard and veined weapon. Gasps shot from her lips when she felt his bulbous head pierce her folds. “Oh god...” she moaned and then Micah pulled her down at once, filling her up to the root.

  “Ride me. Show me what you got.” he said and the spirit of lust and competition roiled and mixed within her soul. His hands pawed at her breasts while she sank herself upon his length and bounced. She hissed in pleasure when his palms ran along her smooth flanks and pulled her closer in a crazed series of thrusts.

  The music in the bar picked up with a heavy, driving rhythm. The very walls of the office seemed to shake to the symphonic thunder outside while Micah's chair strained and creaked to their ferocious coupling. “Oh Micah! Don't stop!” she gasped, biting her lips as she clenched her pussy with each downward slide on his thick member.

  Her pace was so violent she didn't care that her heavy breasts hit Micah's face. He probably doesn't care either. All that mattered was that piece of ultimate pleasure that hung teasingly in reach, entwined with her love's approval. She yowled like a cat in heat when she felt Micah's hand pull down on her hair, sending her into more lustful spasms as she swiveled her hips against his cock.

  He pulled harder when he heard her gasp and slapped her gyrating bottom with a loud clap. A husky moan of ecstasy ripped forth from her lips and her back arched. The intense strains of the music outside boomed in her head as much as the beat of her heart. Her body stiffened and white hot euphoria rushed up her spine like a plume of fire. She screamed and slammed herself like a frenzied hell cat down on his rippling tool.

  “Goddamn!” grunted Micah as he pulled Abbey down to his chest, rubbing her voluptuous endowments across his muscles as his lusts exploded. She writhed atop him, wracked with convulsions when his cock twitched and unleashed an ocean of his hot seed deep into her silken depths.

  She panted as he pumped his spend inside her. They released their manic grips on each other with satisfied sighs. The music outside had also calmed into a more mellow rhythm.

  “Ok...” he said, his breath light, “you know how to ride. I trust you.”

  Abbey moaned in content and rested her head on his bare chest while his hand traced lazy circles on her back. “Micah...” she said softly, spent and satiated. “Can I trust you? I know the Black Asphalt boys aren't just into charity. Everyone knows that.”

  Micah chuckled. “Yeah. Everyone knows but no one can prove it. Funny how that works.”

  “Please baby, let's just run away from all this. Get away from the drugs and it'll be the two of us.” For one long moment, she hoped he'd listen. They were the truest words she'd ever spoken. The MPD had no evidence against Micah. We could run away right now and we wouldn't be breaking the law. MPD hasn't made dropping out in the middle of the investigation illegal.

  He sighed and stroked her hair. “I will. I'm getting' tired of this shit anyway but after the 26th, I'll be flush. Just you, me, and the bike.”

  Through tears and a smile, Abbey received his secret and did the math. 26th. That's September 26th. She picked up more of his secrets in the coming days and weeks, with each passionate expression of their love a simultaneous step to their ruin, each union a joy yet a harbinger of pain to come. I'm so sorry. I love you Micah but please forgive me. I have no choice. Even up to the eve of the exchange, Micah took her sad expressions as the wistful delight of being with the man she belonged to.

  Never did it cross his mind that the woman he gave his heart to kept her heart divided, all for what was to come...

  ***

  “Alright goddammit!” Mulder clapped his hands together in the trailer. “Finally... finally, we're gonna nail this son of a bitch! Let's give a round of applause to Ms. Channing for delivering this asshole on a silver platter!”

  Various team leaders in tactical gear clapped but then Mulder shut them up. “Alright alright be quiet. It ain't over yet. Don't wanna spook him before it's time... speaking of which.” He looked straight at Abbey. “Your wire working ok? With the traffic and blindspots around the warehouse we won't know when the exchange has started until they say the magic words.”

  She tested it with a few taps on her shirt. “Yep. Good to go, sir.” she said, trying to keep her spirits up and not let any hint of regret seep into her voice. The amount of intel Micah gave her was staggering, so much so she had the Black Asphalt MC's drop points and exchange spots planned out for the next five months.

  But none of that mattered. It all came down to tonight.

  “Good. Let's do this!” barked Mulder and the various leaders filed out. Abbey followed them and then got back into her car.

  Tears formed in her eyes. I love you Micah. I love you so much, please don't die. Please forgive me. She started the engine and drove away, to bring her lover to his final fight and enjoy the freedom one last night...

  ***

  “Why the fuck is she coming along?” said Spider, his voice low and threatening.

  Micah didn't lose a step as they entered the warehouse. “It's some asshole from back east, probably from the Hamptons, not some Colombian motherfucker with a machete to grind. She'll be fine, it's all casual.”

  Abbey squeezed his hand and kissed him on the cheek. Please keep it casual, baby. I don't want to see you hurt. Don't die on me. With each step she felt her Beretta rub against her skin. Please don't make me use it, Micah.

  “East coast." Luke lit a cigarette even though he never smoked a day in his life. "Maybe they can throw in some of that Wall Street blow, a little friendly gesture for meeting way the fuck out here."

  “If you want some snow kid, I know some brothers south of the border that can help with that. More pure than the crap they're peddling in New York.” Rick growled while Pedro coughed awkwardly.

  The five walked through the place, stepping over tumbled crates and walking through patches of sporadic light. Old Joe stayed outside, guarding the motorcycles. A man in a black suit and tie awaited them with a briefcase in hand; his bodyguards at his side.

  “You must be Micah!” he called out and laid his briefcase atop a waist high crate, already snapping open the clasps.

  “The one and only!” returned Micah, gesturing for Pedro to hand him the duffel bag. He spoke again when they were all cross from the man. “I've gotta say, damn refreshing dealing with a man whose dressed sharp and already popping open the cash.”

  “Ah, we're just businessmen here Micah.” He turned the case around. “Ten mill.”

  Abbey watched intently as Micah propped the bag on the crate and saw little bags of white jumbling inside. “Forty pounds of crystal.” She shuddered at how he said it and imagined SWAT teams storming out of their trucks now. “You know... you're a strange man. You've got all that green to burn and you asked for this when you could've gotten some high quality coke anywhere else.”

  Abbey saw the man's eyes dilate and his stance shift. Something wasn't right here. “Ah, but where else can I get high quality crystal?”

  Micah laughed. “It's cheap as hell to make. Shit you could've made your own lab with that kind of money. But I don't care. Money is money. Just be careful with it, the stuff will rot your teeth out.”

  “Now that's the kind of attitude I can respect. Ten million dollars for forty pounds of methamphetamines.” Is he another cop? Mulder didn't say anything about another cop. The way he said things so clearly made her heart pound.

  “Deal.” said Micah but before he could reach the case gunshots rang out and Pedro had fallen to the ground, smoking in a spreading pool of his blood.

  “DEA! Freeze!” shouted Spider, holding the smoking gun. Rick and Luke ducked beneath a crate while the man in the
suit and his three men pulled out their weapons. Oh shit! Shit! Before Micah could respond the windows burst into shards of glass, while tactical units roped in.

  “MPD! Drop your weapons!” The man in the tailored suit winged Micah in the shoulder, while Rick and Luke shot him in turn. The rappelling MPD officers then took up positions among the crates and opened fire on the DEA agents and the bikers, sending splinters up into the air as the duo took cover.

  Abbey took Micah to the ground and the two crawled on their hands and knees. “Fuck! I'm going to kill that little fucking snake...” she heard Micah over the firefight. Christ! Blunder of the century. Cops firing on feds! When the two got away from the center, they stood up and sprinted back to the floor entrance. Micah kicked open the door.

  “Joe get ready to--” he stopped when he saw Spider leaning over the slumped old man, his beard red from his slit throat. How the hell did he get out before we did? Micah quaked with rage and barreled into the traitor. “I gave you a home, I treated you like a brother, and this is how you repay me!?” He broke Spider's nose in one blow, sending a ribbon of blood spewing across the pavement and then ripped the knife from his hands. Abbey watched as he gutted the man and then pulled the knife free.

  “Still just a fuckin' criminal, no matter how much you dress it up...” rasped Spider as he slid down the brick wall, leaving a blood trail. Abbey's hands were shaking. The quick betrayal and retribution of it all shook her to her core. Micah was right. I can't go through with this. Her heart sank when she saw an officer running up the street to them, radio in hand, gun unholstered.

  The DEA mix-up would have given her a clean get-away and Micah would have never known about the real Abbey. Now she had no choice but to make a choice.

  They were coming. Coming to take away her Micah. The officer was within ten feet of them when she heard him. “This is Mendez. Officer Channing on scene with suspect, need EMT, two men down--” She pulled out the pistol tucked behind her belt and shot the man dead in the street and then shot him again until he stopped shaking. She took deep breaths and lowered her shaking hands. It's done. I'm committed now.

  Micah spun around, his chest spattered with blood and his face bewildered. “What?” Abbey shoved the gun back into her pants and gave him a quick kiss on his shocked face. She saw the confusion in his eyes, confusion that turned to recognition, and recognition that flared into something else.

  She grabbed him before he had a chance to react. “Baby, I love you but we don't have time for this. We've gotta go. Now!” She heard the lack of shots from inside the warehouse and knew the worst had come to pass. Micah quickly mounted his Harley and started it with a cacophonous roar. She wrapped her arms around him. “It's just us now.”

  He revved the engine and turned his head. “We're gonna have a long fuckin' talk after this... but Pedro was right, you are ride or die.”

  She gave him a kiss by the ear. “Then let's ride.”

  RETURN TO TABLE OF CONTENTS

  SAVED BY A BIKER

  EMILY STONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Vanessa slammed the open palms of her hands into the sides of the steering wheel, screaming out a loud “Damn!” each time the wheel shook with the force of her blows. How had Duane found her? She hadn’t told anyone where she was going.

  She hadn’t contacted anybody from back home since she left. She wasn’t using her real name. She wasn’t even using that degree in bookkeeping that had gotten her into all this. And yet, he had found her... again!

  The day had started out badly for Vanessa, and had gotten worse with each passing hour. To begin with, it was one of those gray, cold, freezing-rain, late-spring days that you can only get in a place like Minneapolis.

  Her landlord had given her until today to pay up or get out of her dingy apartment, so the day began with her putting her meager belongings in the trunk and back seat of her car. She had been hoping to at least come up with enough money to get a room somewhere for the night, but the tips at work had been terrible.

  Normally her warm smile and the tight, yellow short-shorts that showed off her curvy body could charm at least a couple of extra bucks out of the customers at the diner, but that night everyone was made of stone. And then, almost at the end of her shift, Duane came bursting into the place yelling at her and calling her a useless, runaway whore. The few customers that were there quickly paid their tabs and left as Duane continued his tirade of abuse.

  The manager had the compassion of an alligator. He didn’t confront Duane. He didn’t call the police. He instead told Vanessa that they couldn’t have this sort of problem in a nice place like his. And then he told her to leave—permanently.

  Tony, the owner, had suddenly appeared and was even colder... no, not colder, slimier. In his velvet voice, dripping with artificial sympathy, he said there really wasn’t much he could do on the diner side, but if she was willing to dance on the other side, the bouncers could protect her.

  Tony ran a combination strip-club and restaurant. Actually, the diner side was just a plausible reason for your car being in the parking lot. It wasn’t a bad place to eat, but what Tony actually ran was a strip club with a built in excuse and lie to tell your wife.

  Tony knew that Candy—that was what Vanessa was calling herself—could dance. He could see it in her athletic body, in the way her movements naturally showed off her breasts in her skimpy outfit. And he could see it in the way she treated the off duty dancers when they stopped by before or after their shifts.

  “If you were willing to dance on the other side...” Vanessa said aloud in a mocking voice. Pole dancing was what had gotten her into this mess. Or, at least, that was how she had met Duane. It sounded corny, but she truly had been just a naive college girl from Iowa trying to pay off some debts by dancing in a club. It was a pasties and G-string type of club so she really didn’t have to show a lot more than she did on a beach in a small bikini. And nothing more than dancing was expected of her. Duane had seemed so nice... until she finally agreed to go out with him. Then he’d become an obsessed, possessive demon who followed her everywhere and made her life a living hell!

  “You could even live in one of the apartments upstairs...” she repeated in the same bitter, mocking tone. A couple of the dancers lived above the club, or rather they danced in the club and worked in their living quarters one flight up. Tony was “offering” to let her live up there.

  He was “willing” to let her strip naked on stage, and then take one or more of the customers back to her place... for a price. And Tony got a 60% to 80% cut of the action plus rent for the apartment.

  Vanessa screamed out her frustration at the dark, wet highway as it all suddenly clicked into place in her mind.... Tony! She had used her real social security number on the tax forms when she was hired. The migrant workers on her father’s farm always had valid social security numbers, but it was never theirs. No one checked anything as long as the number was valid. Tony must have checked. And her social security number was on the restraining order she had gotten against Duane.

  A lot of good that order had done. A slap on the wrist the first time he found her, and thirty days the second time when he burst into the apartment she thought he didn’t know about. A month in jail was all that Duane got for hitting her, because he’d gone into therapy.

  This was the second time he had beaten her, despite the restraining order. The nurse at the ER said, “Honey, this is the truth. The only good those orders do is tell the cops who to arrest when they find your body. You gotta get out of town and disappear or that man will eventually kill you.”

  Vanessa took her advice, and thought that she had successfully disappeared… but Duane had found her. And the only way Duane could have found her was if Tony had called him! It all fit. The manager’s lack of compassion. Tony’s sudden appearance on the diner side.

  It was all part of his plan.

  Somehow Tony expected that she would be grateful enough, or desperate enough, to become one of his whor
es just to escape her psycho ex-boyfriend. They had expected her to fold under the pressure and become what they wanted her to be—a cheap whore.

  But Vanessa didn’t do what they expected. Neither the manager nor Tony nor Duane had expected her to grab her purse and run to the parking lot in just her waitress outfit, jump into her car and drive... and drive... and drive. By the time Duane had gotten to his pickup truck, Vanessa’s taillights had disappeared into the distance.

  She didn’t know where she was going. She used a credit card for gas in Madison, but knew that she had to switch to cash or Duane would find her again. For some reason she felt in her heart that if she just drove south and got to someplace where it was warm, she could escape Duane and the hell that her life had become.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The sun had risen before she got to Chicago, and it set again sometime after she crossed the Missouri border into Arkansas. She had taken back roads through Illinois and southern Missouri, and back roads in a lot of the South means driving through miles of nothing but empty fields and tractors.