Sweet Perdition
A Four Horsemen MC Novel
BOOK ONE
Copyright
© Cynthia Rayne 2014, Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review or book discussion, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
Find out more about the author at www.cynthiarayne.com
Cover Art
© Sarah Laney 2014
Sweet Southern Creations
Find out more about the talented cover artists work at
http://sarah-laney.weebly.com
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s wicked imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
She didn’t belong.
Ryker couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Dressed in a pink fluffy gown, the woman in question resembled a Barbie doll sitting among the tattooed women in tight tank tops and leather pants at the bar. Pretty in Pink sucked down her bottle of Bud with gusto, seemingly unaware of the curious glances she received from the rest of the club.
He knew all the women here, fucked most of them, but this particular girl pricked his curiosity. Good girls don’t drink at bars with notorious reps. Perdition, like nearly every other business in Hell, Texas, had a hellacious theme. Just like his MC. The Four Horsemen owned and operated the bar as well as a shitload of other properties in the town.
So, what gives?
Even if she didn’t happen to be a local, Perdition sure as hell didn’t look like a wing and beer joint. Everything about it shouted biker bar. The building had been a warehouse and still maintained a rough, industrial feel. The vaulted ceiling sported two large exposed steel beams and his brothers had suspended a pair of antique Harleys from them on chains. A long, lacy string of ladies panties wrapped around the walls, along with the occasional framed poster of a nearly naked chick draped over motorcycles. Think on your Sins, the club motto, was painted in blood red across the surface of one large wall.
So, Pinky shoulda run screamin’ from this place. But maybe she wanted a little fun? Throw back a few and fuck a biker. Yeah, he’d bet his shit kickers on it.
Only one way to find out for sure though.
He commandeered the stool next to hers. She didn’t so much as glance up from the beer she clutched like a lifeline. He crowded close to her, letting his leg slide up against her thigh, real slow so as not to spook her. Well, not too much.
“Hi, Pinky,” he growled in her ear.
His husky voice normally gave the wild women who hung around his brothers a naughty shiver. It rarely took more effort to get between their thighs. Ryker never took any of them home, preferring to fuck them in one of the dozen or so crash rooms in the back. Or even the pinball room if nothin’ else was available and it suited both parties just fine. No strings pussy.
Tonight he needed the thrill of the chase.
“Go away!” she snarled, and then slid over to the empty stool next to her.
Damn. Not expecting that one. He’d have to get creative, but she’d give in to him, eventually. He had yet to meet a woman he couldn’t lure into bed and he definitely wanted her.
Even buried beneath yards of girly fabric, he could tell she had the type of body that rocked him. Everything in all the right places. Big tits, a generous spankable ass, and a large, rounded hourglass figure.
Just like that old Queen song, he had a thing for Fat Bottomed Girls. He loved his women with some serious curves and she fits the bill. He needed something he could hang on to. She wouldn’t break if he decided to take her hard and fast. And all that pale skin and candy apple red hair made him want to take a bite of her. See if she tasted as sweet as she looked.
He scooted onto the stool she’d just vacated and placed a hand at the small of her back. Not quite on her juicy ass, though he wanted to give it a squeeze. Maybe a slap for good measure. Damn, he’d like to see those butt cheeks pressed into a tight leather skirt, with only a thong beneath. It’d be easy to yank it to the side and slide his cock right in.
Damn. The thought alone got him hard.
She turned to scowl at him. She had a set of raccoon eyes and her rosy lipstick had smudged a circle around her pouty mouth. Blotches of red stained her cheeks. She’d been crying, judging by how shiny her blue eyes appeared.
Well, he could offer a bit of comfort. Nothing like sexual healing to cure what ails you.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to keep your hands to yourself?” she said, rubbing at one mascara-caked eye. She stared pointedly in the direction of his until he removed it. Reluctantly.
Actually, his mom could be a rebel and a force to be reckoned with in her own right. She didn’t give a crap about society’s rules, one of the many things he loved about her. “No, but she taught me to help a woman in need. What’s wrong, Pinky?”
She lifted her chin, all offended dignity and grit. Absolutely adorable. He knew grown men who wouldn’t have the nerve to get in his face. “I’m fine. Why don’t you do us both a favor and find another girl to hit on?”
He gave her a good once over. “Sitting by yourself, drinking beer, and crying in a bar because you’re fine? Ain’t buyin’ it.”
She sighed. Still annoyed, but not as hostile. “Okay. You got me.” A ghost of a smile curled her lips. “I came from my ex-boyfriend’s wedding and let’s just say I’ve had better evenings.”
He let out a low whistle. That’d be enough to give anyone a good square kick in the balls. “Damn. That’s rough.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” She took another swig from the bottle. “Want to know the kicker?” He nodded. “He married my best friend, instead of me.”
Ouch. He winced in sympathy. Talk about a double whammy. “Holy shit.”
He had a hard time wrapping his head around that one. Guy must be a dipshit to not want her, even tear stained and miserable. What man in his right mind could pass on such a fine ass? “I’m really sorry.” Okay, not that sorry. After all, she wouldn’t be here if the dipshit hadn’t dumped her for another woman. “His loss." My gain.
She shrugged. “Lisa, the bride, had a dry wedding reception.” She hiccupped. “I couldn’t even get trashed and pretend to be fine. I needed alcohol. Fast.” She lifted her beer and then took a healthy swig.
“Darlin’, did you ever come to the right place.” It must have been the perfect thing to say, because the flood gates opened and she started confiding in him.
Good. First step to getting her panties off.
“And then she made me wear this neon dress.” She gestured to the pink cloud she wore. “I feel like a glittery unicorn puked on me.”
He couldn’t help but laugh.
“At least her outfit was worse.” she shuddered. “Gross. A low cut wedding dress which showed pretty much everything but her, um, nipples.”
Her cheeks got even redder and it turned him on. There’s a reason the porn industry makes naughty nun flicks. Somethin’ about that innocence. Made you want to corrupt them.
“Kept waiting for her to have a wardrobe malfunction and flash the preacher.”
He’d heard worse news. He had no problem ogling tits, even if they belonged to a bride at a wedding. “And that’s bad?”
“That’s Lisa.” She sighed. “This is going to sound like I’m bitter, but she dated a lot of guys. I mean a lot.”
“And by date, you mean fucked?”
She blinked at him, all wide-eyed and clearly flustered by his rough talk. “Your words. Not mine.” But she didn’t correct him.
He changed the subject, because he c
ould give a crap about some chick’s wedding dress. He wanted to know more about Pinky. “I gotta ask the obvious. We’ll blow right past why you even went to the wedding and get straight to the shit, why the hell did you agree to be in it?”
She stared at him, as though the answer should be obvious.
“Because I’m nice!” She hiccupped and then pressed her hand over her mouth. “I thought I would show up, all pretty and la la la I don’t care if you're marrying my ex-boyfriend, but nooooo,” she singsonged. “I spent the night in this butt ugly dress with no alcohol to comfort me, watching her practically chew Carl’s mouth off on the dance floor.” She shook her head. “Ugh.”
“You still love the dickhead or what?” He didn’t like the thought of her pining after some jackass. Ryker didn’t know her, but she seemed a decent sort of person. She deserved better than that fraction of a man.
She made a face. “No! We broke up about two years ago. I’m over it. ‘Sides,” she slurred. “They didn’t start dating for six months after my thing with Carl ended.” She leaned over to him and whispered. “But it’s not cool, you know? She violated the friendship code. We were besties, Lisa and me. Sisters before misters, even if she is a bit skanky.” She took another good swig. “She even had the nerve to ask me for my blessing to date Carl, so I had to be all okay with it.”
“Why didn’t you tell her to fuck off?”
“I don’t want anyone to think I’m petty.”
He shook his head. If he lived to be a thousand, he’d never understand women. He preferred screwing them to shooting the shit. “If you are no longer hot for this dipshit, then why are you crying?”
She paused a moment, took another drink. “I don’t want him back, but seeing him marry someone else right in front of me set off old memories.” She sighed. “Plus, I created some sort of love triangle tragedy porn which kept everyone pointing and talking about me behind my back all night. Like a reality show or something.” She chugged the rest of her beer, then scowled at the bottle as though it were to blame for being empty.
“You gotta drink something stronger than beer to wash down that kind of pain. With a bit more kick. Like whiskey.” He signaled to the bartender for the night, Fetch.
Fetch dutifully poured two shots and then hauled ass to the other side of the bar. Pretty good for a prospect, at least he knew when to make himself scarce. Most of them behaved like neutered puppies, following the brothers around, waiting for orders.
All of the club members started out as prospects because you had to prove your worth before becoming a full-fledged member. Sort of like pledging a fraternity.
Only with motorcycles and guns.
Before he could propose a toast, she’d already downed it like a champ. “Tasted like cinnamon.” She licked her lips and he resisted the urge to moan. “Alcoholic cinnamon. Yummy.”
Nothing sexier than a woman who drank with purpose. “Yeah, it’s Fireball whiskey.” One of his favorites. Loosened you up and Lord knows he loved the tingling sensation it added to a good blow job.
She finally turned to stare at him, really gave him the hairy eyeball. Staring down at his boots, to his jean clad legs, to his eagle T-shirt, and then she finally met his eyes. She frowned as she stared at him.
“Like what you see, Pinky?” he drawled.
“My name is not Pinky. It’s Elizabeth Williams.” She raised her chin.
He smiled. His standards for women tended to deal with more physical attributes than personality. She cleared the bar and then some, but he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had captured his interest when he didn’t currently have his cock stuck in her.
Jesus. He hadn’t had a piece of ass in a couple of weeks. Too busy with club business. Maybe he’d gone soft, sitting here chatting up a piece of tail, admiring her conversational skills instead of her ample assets.
“Whatever you say, Pinky. For what it’s worth? I think he’s a dipshit for marrying her, when he could have had you.”
“Thank you. I suppose he is a dipshit,” she said thoughtfully.
She plunked a manicured fingertip in her empty glass and then licked the digit clean with her pink tongue while he watched. Fascinated. Of course, he wanted to see her lick other, larger objects. Starting with his dick. It felt like a red hot poker in his jeans, thanks to her unintended cockteasing.
“And Pinky?” he told her, because she hadn’t asked. “I’m Ryker.”
“Your name is Ryker? Seriously?!”
Despite himself, he liked her, even tipsy and sad, she had sass. “No, it’s a road name. He’s one of the Star Trek guys.” He thrust his chest out. “My brothers call me Ryker because I go where no man’s gone before.”
She blinked.
“I throw the first punch in a fight.” He liked to fire the first shot, too. He made it a point to be the first one to do a lot of things. For instance, he loved to try out every new hellion who walked in the door. But he doubted the info would endear him to her.
She didn’t even seem impressed with his road name. “I get it, but what’s your first name?”
“I don’t use it.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “It’s a road rule. Don't use your real name, don't touch another man's bike, and… most importantly… don't ever mess with a brother's old lady,” he rattled off, to make his point.
She frowned. “Old lady?”
“His girlfriend or wife.”
He downed his whiskey and slapped the glass on the table. “What do you say we play a game of pool?” He hoped the activity would sober her up a bit, get her out of this funk. He didn’t want to get too much alcohol in her or she’d pass out and he wouldn’t get to have any fun.
And she seemed like a lot of fun.
She peered over his shoulder, eyeing the pool table with interest. “Cool table.”
He grinned. “Thanks.” The club had it custom made. A converted black Trans Am served as the base of the pool table, complete with tires and the chrome accessories on the hood. Though, the top had been covered in red felt. In short, far too expensive and bad ass as they come, but a pool table worthy of the Four Horsemen motorcycle club.
She had an evil gleam in her bright blue eyes. “Would we be playing just for fun?”
“No fun if somethin’ isn’t on the line. Life is all about risk. But if you are afraid to part with your money, I could think of something else we could wager for.”
She bit her lower lip. “Like what?”
He pretended to think about it, but he had a clear path to seduction in mind. “Well, if I win, you give me a kiss.”
A protest flared in her eyes and she paused long enough to make him almost back off, but she finally dipped her head in agreement. “Okay, fine.”
While not exactly enthusiastic, she didn’t seem totally put off by the idea. Good. Now they were getting somewhere. Once she kissed him, the battle would be nearly won. He could be an Olympian when it came to kissing, according to the ladies.
"And if I win, I want a ride on your motorcycle." She lifted her chin as if daring him to say no.
“You know you aren’t supposed to ask for a ride, aren’t you? One of those road rules again.”
She didn’t stand a chance in hell. He played pool all the time and he’d fleeced most of his brothers. This would be a case of taking candy from a babe and he wanted all her sweets.
She rolled her eyes. “So what's it gonna be, big bad biker man? Are you giving me a ride or what?”
Oh, he planned on giving her a ride all right.
“Abso-fucking-lutely, sweet cheeks. Let’s get this show started.” He followed her over to the table, loving the way her hips swayed.
She seemed intent, circling the table and studying it. Hmm. She might not be as drunk as he thought.
He pulled two pool cues from the holder on the wall, and handed her one before he racked the balls. “I’m solids, you're stripes,” he said.
She chalked the end of her cue. “Ladie
s first, right?”
“Be my guest.” He’d let her get a shot in before he finished off the table and kissed her senseless.
She broke the balls up and then prowled around, holding her pool cue at the ready. Then she proceeded to sink them into the pockets, moving with precision. She even winked at him as she made a shot in case he didn’t get the picture.
He had been hustled.
Damn. Schooled in front of his brothers and by a girl, no less.
A low whistle made him turn to see his brother, Shepherd, approach watching her work the table with wide, approving eyes. He had his camera phone on, recording the event for posterity’s sake in case any of the guy’s had missed it. He had no doubt the video would make the rounds through the club tonight. Fuck.
“Way to go, sweetheart!” Shep called to her. “You keep this up and I'll buy you a beer."
“Don’t you have any place else to be?” he drawled.
“Nope.” The other man shook his head. "What's a matter, bro? Embarrassed a chick handed you your own ass?"
He dragged Shepherd over near the jukebox, so she wouldn’t hear them. “Speaking of Pool Shark Barbie, don’t go near her,” he bit out, staring at the other man with his patented screw-with-me-and-die face. “There will be no buying of beers, no touching, and no more goddamn wolf whistles. Got it?”
“Well, aren’t we testy tonight?” Shep, just to be a real dickhead, took a long drag on his menthol cigarette, seemingly bored. “What’s so special about this chick?”
“Not sayin’ she’s something special, brother, but I don’t like sloppy seconds.” Call it a kink, but Ryker felt like fucking a good girl. Find yourself a hellion if you want to get laid, there is plenty of free-range pussy around this place.”
Speaking of hellions, he’d gotten lucky she’d wandered into the bar before things got into full swing. She would have bolted if she’d seen one of the chicks crawling beneath a table to give a blowjob. They usually tried to keep all the action in the back, but, what can you do? Shit happens.
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