Blazing Hot Bad Boys Boxed Set - A MC Romance Bundle

by Glass, Evelyn

  She stopped when she came to a bridge that crossed a tree-crowded gully at the base of the mountain foothill. It appeared there had been a creek that ran through it. The gully was lined with smooth river rock. To the one side was the bridge; there was no rail or wall; it was long since missing from what she could tell, but it wasn't closed – not officially.

  It was plenty wide enough. The fall wouldn't be that great. Not that she would fall. Mudslides from down the mountain slope had begun to swallow up the bridge, but on a bike, a driver could cross, no problem.

  Luckily, Blanche – a shooter, also known as El Salvador, hired by the Norte Mexicali to take out the captain of the Seven Devils Motorcycle Club – was riding her Harley Sportster. With the bridge right there in front of her and the very long ride behind her, she was suddenly too lazy to go the couple hundred yards on the road around the gully to the other side.

  The real question for her was not how was she to navigate across the bridge, but how the hell was the nothing-town of Gold Creek, California a threat to the most powerful drug cartel in Central America? Was it because Norte Mexicali wanted Gold Creek's drug business? They were such a small town, how could it make any difference one way or the other? It made no sense.

  Blanche never got involved in the where's or whys, so long as the cash was good. It was way too much commitment and took away from her number one priority: herself. She was about her own gratification, no matter what that might be. She liked cash, beauty, really hot sex... and adventure.

  She had no time for other people's politics, but when she heard that there was a gringo motorcycle captain who dared to make rules about who could use the drugs in this town, it was too much for her. It was one thing to make a personal choice about whether or not to indulge in recreational pleasures, but to forbid an entire town struck a negative chord with Blanche.

  She hated, absolutely hated, oppressive, bossy types. Blanche was the type that hated chains of any kind. Rules were the worst kind of chain, as far she could see. She loved her freedom. She loved not answering to anyone and, ultimately, it made no difference to her what the deal was, but this one she would enjoy.

  It was a long ride from Escondido, where she kept a house in the hills, to Gold Creek. The Santa Ana winds were whipping around and driving everyone loco. Blanche was no stranger to the Santa Anas, but they were getting to her, she feared. The air was hot and bothersome. Blanche shed her jacket down to her camisole once she got off the highway to the side roads towards town.

  The neckline of her tank was modest, but her petite body was voluptuous. Her cleavage was endless and her breasts all but spilled over. Her necklace, from which hung a secret weapon she used when on the job, dangled precariously at the curve of her bosom.

  She was done with the back roads. She planned on taking take the shortcut across the defunct bridge and get to the other side and be done with it. The long way around, the smarter, sensible way, was not happening at this point. The length of the bridge was probably like sixty yards.

  She couldn't figure out why Gold Creek let it go to pot except that the population of the area was so scant, it probably didn't matter one way or the other. Blanche was about half way across the bridge when she heard the distinct sound of something giving. Oh no, she thought. Her heart was electrified with adrenalin. She had made a bad decision and it could very well cost her her life. She was out in the middle of nowhere chasing down the closest thing to a grudge she allowed herself to have.

  ***

  Blanche remained as still as she could. She disregarded the annoyance that the perspiration trickling between her breasts and down the small of her back posed. The fall was one thing but the thought of caving in through an abandoned bridge was overwhelming and she couldn't move. She closed her eyes. Sweat drenched her and the salt stung beneath her eyelids.

  "Don't move," came an ominous warning. "I'm going to get you off."

  It was not exactly the moment to be thinking in double entendres, but it sounded almost like the smoldering voice just promised to give her pleasure. Hopefully it would be after he saved her life. Maybe she was hallucinating. Blanche was scared and that almost never happened…not if she could help it.

  She kept her eyes shut through the whole thing. She could hear him somehow managing to make his way to the railing and, light as a cat and as quick, he was on her bike with her riding bitch. They flew to the end of the bridge safely reaching solid ground just in time to have the section behind them give. Blanche dismounted and darted a few feet before collapsing to the ground. She heard herself sobbing hysterically.

  "Hey," he said placing a warm hand on the small of her back as she bent over. He hovered with her as if to shelter her. His energy was positively soothing. He was like standing next to a spa; there was something very disarming about him that made her unwind and relax and lazy.

  Blanche realized he was somehow getting the better of her. Alert with alarm, she stood up straight and raged, "What is the idea of having a bridge like? Someone could get killed!" She punched his very solid arm.

  For the first time since their encounter, Blanche got a glimpse of the stranger's face. She staggered backward, overcome by his handsomeness. In the barrage of shock from the bridge and his sudden appearance and now his overwhelming good looks, Blanche struggled to place him. She had seen him before, but how...

  Oh no. She shook her head. Jason Fowler? Gold Creek had just gotten ridiculously smaller. Again, she couldn’t figure how this small strip of nothing real estate could be a thorn in the side of the Norte Mexicali Cartel, but who was she to question?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Blanche Herrera knew her sweet face that made her look about seventeen was her cover. More often than not, it disarmed her foe. Jason Fowler was no exception. He was both her target and caught unaware, for little did he know that she was in his one-horse town on business. She was a hired shooter for the Norte Mexicali Cartel and they didn’t like him, and because he was against what they stood for, neither did she.

  Jason Fowler saw Blanche as a helpless damsel in distress, which suited her fine. He embraced her almost lovingly. Certainly warmly. This man had just about the finest touch she had ever felt and it had been just simple contact. Involuntarily, she wondered what that touch might be like if she felt it... everywhere. Maybe it was the excitement, but it seemed like an almost electric heat radiated from his fingers as they guided her to steadiness in such a nurturing way.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. He was kind, but patronizing. He completely disregarded that she took a swing at him, but she didn’t. He was fine. His body was hard as a rock.

  “I am fine,” she replied. The day was clear as a bell in Gold Creek. The trees that rose up the hill behind them filtered golden sunlight.

  “So how did you happen to get on the bridge?” he questioned in gentle tones.

  “I was cutting across –” she began, trying to affect a girlish quality to her voice.

  “Oh,” his words were instantly stern and scolding. “You went across on purpose. Did you not see the hill over there swallowing half of it up? See how the road goes straight? Not even connected to the bridge? Note how there is no railing on the one side? What exactly were you thinking?”

  Blanche got the distinct impression that if he could, he would take her across his knee. She might consent to such a submission to him if the conditions were right but he would have to catch her first. She wanted to give him her actual tough girl answer like “you’ve never ridden off road before? Who’s the little girl now?” But she had a cover to maintain.

  “I thought it would be quicker,” she answered plainly. “I only weigh 115 pounds. I thought it would hold.” Blanche was devious in mentioning her weight. It was the undoing for men. They say they like their women with a little meat on their bones – and she had it in all the right places – but she watched them shiver when she said how much. Or how little.

  He was trying to be a good boy, but she had to hold back a laugh. He flinched
. He liked them lean and now she knew. “Well it’s done,” he replied practically, “and I am going to chalk your wailing on my arm up to the heat of the moment, but we don’t hit around here, not for any reason except to defend yourself and there is no need for that. You are safe with me.”

  Jason Fowler was as square as they came, Blanche thought. No wonder the Norte Mexicali couldn’t abide by him. How could he be a part of a group called the Seven Devils if he was as pure as the driven snow? Rules about being polite. Rules about driving only on pavement. Rules about no drugs, no drug sales. Blanche even heard that he was a bit of a health ninny. He was into juicing – veggies, not heroin – and working out.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked her, like he was her guardian.

  “Excuse me?” she smiled sweetly, though pressed with patience.

  “A simple question. Where are you headed?” he repeated.

  Now that Blanche was on the safe side of the bridge, she wasn’t going to play nice anymore. Not for now. Not until she absolutely had to. She was going to head to the rooming house that she had a reservation at and sleep for a couple of hours after she took a very long, hot, steamy bubble bath. She may be a woman mercenary; she was still a woman.

  “Thank you for your help,” she cooed.

  Jason Fowler stood toe to toe with her. A hot little smirk curled his lips. “You know, don’t think I didn’t notice a few things about you, like the way you are really good at dodging a direct question. Are you going to be in town for a while or are you just passing through?”

  “You sound like you are sheriff of Gold Creek, Mr. Fowler?” Blanche froze. Jason froze. She slipped big time.

  “How do you know my name?” he demanded. His demeanor was that of a predator and not of the Good Samaritan anymore.

  “You told me,” she stuttered. She was going to have to be awfully cute to get out of this one.

  “No I didn’t,” he answered, blocking her path to her transportation away from the scene. He hadn’t told her.

  It wasn’t like her to make such a sloppy error and it made her nervous to have to spend energy on fixing it. “Yes you did," she lied, “Unless some angel whispered in my ear when I was about to die. It’s been known to happen,” she said, affecting a Tijuana accent on her English syllables.

  Jason Fowler crowded her so his lips touched her ear. "Do they whisper like this?" His voice sent wetness to her legs. "Listen to me, missy, don't fuck with me."

  Blanche shivered at his dark advice. For one, she found him scary and for two, she found him so hot. As a last ditch to throw him off, she changed the subject completely and disclosed where she was staying.

  “I am on my way to Cranston’s Boarding House. I’ve never been here, so I am not sure where that is. Is it near?” Blanche did her best to will herself to look sweet and innocent. She flipped a lock of her satiny coal black hair. She knew that when it caught the sunlight, its shine was as white as a diamond. Blanche’s hair was spectacular and it usually proved to be yet another source of a man’s weakness.

  It worked. She could tell that he didn’t know what to make of her, but because he found her cute, he was still willing to be civil. “I can show you, sure. I would just give you directions, but I’m not sure if there are any more danger zones that you might not have the sense to avoid. Let me get my bike. I am just down the way.”

  Blanche had to contain herself from reacting to his snarky remark. “Do you live under the bridge? Are you a handsome troll?”

  Just when Blanche thought she had him, he answered, “How about you ask the angel who whispered my name, little girl?”

  She watched him stride down the cement roadway that bent around the gully. Had she just taken that road around instead of crossing the old bridge, she might have seen a house embedded in the canyon. His house. She took great pleasure viewing his form, his musculature that rendered an ordinary pair of jeans and T-shirt into a living work of art. Blanche heard the unmistakable churn of a Harley fire up and soon enough, Jason appeared. She mounted her bike and they were off.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The ancient mining town, now charmingly restored, of Gold Creek was not more than a couple miles down. Many of the buildings were built right into the rise of the mountains that had been mined long ago for treasures.

  The township was situated on a cool running waterway that was about as blue green as Jason Fowler’s eyes. It was a tiny body of water, big enough to enjoy, formed in a cup cut out of the San Gabriel Mountains from mountain run off. Blanche had not spotted it on the map. It was simply called by locals as the Gold Creek Bay.

  Gold Creek was a beautiful little town. Rustic and slow moving, but it certainly had its appeal. Blanche kept going back to the nagging question about why the heck would this place or anyone who lived here be so important to the people who hired her, hired her to take out the man showing her around? Jason Fowler.

  Very handsome and delicious looking Jason Fowler.

  They parked their bikes. He insisted on escorting her to the owner of the house. He was super polite that way. Just about an hour ago, that might be something that bothered Blanche to no end. Now, it had just the opposite effect. It was causing her to melt.

  He took her bags and noted, “Not much. You sure pack light. Where are you from? What brings you here?”

  Blanche answered his question with a question as they entered the front of the house, “Is this where we go in?”

  A woman, who Blanche estimated must be the owner, started to greet them but Jason sidestepped her. “Excuse us,” he said. Jason dropped the bags and swept Blanche at the waist, hoisting her into the dining area. “Now, missy. For the last time, I have asked you a direct question and you have evaded me. You did know my name and I did not tell you. I have asked you twice now why are you here. We don’t get a lot of traffic through here of folks we don’t know. Gold Creek is not exactly on the beaten path.”

  Blanche’s trick now was to be on the verge of tears. She was great at crying at the drop of a hat and, while it was not a tactic she liked to pull early in the game, it was warranted. She just let her lip tremble a little as she spoke. “I asked you are you the sheriff? I am sorry I went on the bridge. I probably ought to report it – ” That was as far as she got. It was just her luck that, for the first time ever, the waterworks were not coming. She tried again.

  “Stop it,” he said. She had mucked this job up completely. “I can see what you’re doing. Maybe I ought to get the sheriff out here.”

  Blanche shed all of her act and was her cold, professional self. “What for? If I owe you something for helping me out back there, let me know and I will pony up. I didn’t ask you to be my personal escort; I just asked you to point me in the direction of this place and, really, I was just being polite. Call the sheriff if you’d like. Maybe you can answer what you were doing creeping in the woods by the roadside waiting for victims.”

  Jason smiled. Damn, he was gorgeous. He had absolutely perfect teeth. That was fortunate, because they went well with the symmetry of his face, the balance of size and placement of each feature. He was also wonderfully cursed with super thick eyelashes, so he almost looked as though he borrowed someone’s mascara. His eyes really were the color of a luscious body of water just beyond the roadside.

  “Somehow, I hardly think you are anyone’s victim,” he said.

  No, she thought. It was usually the other way around, but this man made her lose her edge. She was off her game, off focus. Blanche never let herself have any time off. Never let herself have any sort of personal life. This stranger, who she was hired to put down, stirred ideas of a quiet drink at a café, maybe a tavern here in Gold Creek. She would have to force herself to be his enemy.

  As the situation threatened to get her kicked out of her spot at the boarding house, Blanche looked at Jason, searching, trying to affect her sweet and innocent look while she tried to quickly formulate a game. It worked. He grabbed her and kissed her firmly, full on the mouth. Without a
care that the landlady was watching, Jason penetrated Blanche's mouth with his tongue. He tasted so sweet. It had been such a long time since a man kissed her. It had been such a long time, indeed. Jason had figured out Blanche's angle for her.

  He pulled apart from the kiss, his eyes twinkling into hers, "No, Denise. We just had kind of a scare there. I think we’re both just worked up."

  "I can see that," the landlady murmured. She bashfully left them alone.

  Jason took her face in his hands and whispered softly as his eyes looked so intently into hers, "I don't know who you are or where you came from, or," he chuckled, "why the hell it was me who ran into you. I don't go around kissing strange women."

  "I am not so strange," Blanche whispered.

  "Bewitched. That's kind of a dumb word, but it's the only word for it. This has been a strange couple of hours, indeed."

  Blanche studied him. At his core, Jason Fowler was not a guy who deviated from his schedule of morals, let alone his straight-laced little life. She was sure a woman like her could throw him and did, but he kissed her and she was thrown, as well.