“What’s that?” I said.
“I’m here for my daughter,” the cop said.
Chapter Ten
Priss
I sat in the front of Dad’s squad car wearing Thunder’s Billy Joel tee shirt. At least I’d had time to pull my panties on before they came in for me. It wouldn’t have made a material difference if Thunder had told my father I wasn’t there—my father wasn’t the type to take a biker’s word in a matter as serious as his daughter’s welfare. Still, I wished Thunder hadn’t seemed so eager to be rid of me.
“Are you okay, Priss?” Dad asked. His eyes kept sneaking a look at my tee shirt. Maybe I was lucky it was a Billy Joel tee shirt. Dad probably didn’t think it could possibly be Thunder’s. Dad probably thought it was mine, which meant that it didn’t look so much like I’d slept with Thunder. Dad wouldn’t remember that I’d never been to a Billy Joel concert.
“I’m fine, Dad, really. How did you find me so fast?”
“Deputy Sykes was in the Slot Machine, doing some…undercover work. He saw you get abducted.”
“I didn’t get abducted, Dad. Thunder saved my life.”
“What were you even doing in there?”
Good question. How did I get into this predicament? Oh, yeah, I was angry.
“He owed me a tip. He came to my blackjack table and said he’d tip me and he didn’t, so I went after him.”
“You went after the biker?” For the first time in the car ride, my Dad smiled. “My little girl has some starch in her!” He slapped the steering wheel. “That was incredibly foolish, but I admire your gumption.”
His enthusiasm brought a smile to my face. “Thanks Dad.”
We drove for another hour before Dad finally asked what he’d wanted to from the start. “They didn’t touch you, did they Priss? They weren’t…inappropriate with you? If they were, we can go right to the hospital and file rape charges.”
“No, Dad. My virtue remains the same as it did when I left the house this morning.” Much to my disappointment!
“Okay, okay. Don’t mock me for being a father. And please, don’t talk about your virtue. I know you’re twenty-two years old, and I’m no fool.” We approached the bridge into Atlantic City proper. “And I can read the look on my daughter’s face.”
That made me blush. How well could he read it? I hoped not too well.
“I forbid you to have contact with them again,” Dad said. “They’re dangerous, Priss. Don’t contact them.”
“Hey, Dad,” I said. “Do you remember the part where you said you knew I was twenty-two years old?”
He nodded his head slowly, with just a hint of sadness.
“Can blame me for trying,” he replied.
I’d expect no less.
Chapter Eleven
Thunder
Two weeks after the shooting at the Slot Machine, and still no word from Sweets. Our drug-run out of Ocean City was on hold. Sweets was our contact for that. The club was hurting for cash flow. You never hear about it in the TV shows, but we had mortgages to pay just like ordinary citizens. Sure, our mortgages weren’t on Ozzie and Harriet suburban tracts, but Trouble had a mortgage out on it, and if we didn’t get some serious cash flow soon, we’d have to tap the line of credit on the motel.
Freddy Mac was nowhere to be seen. The Balties claimed Freddy Mac had gone rogue, and I had no reason not to believe them. Then again, the Balties scooped up our Ocean City gig, so it wasn’t like they had our backs on this either.
We did what we always do when money became an issue: we advertised for new dancers at Trouble. Normally auditioning new talent was like a holiday. Most of the girls were eager to get the job, and would do anything for it. There was a day when I’d banged all our strippers more than once, and every single one of them before they got hired. But this time it was different. And I knew who to blame.
Priscilla, that damn citizen. I couldn’t get that bunny-eyed hottie out of my mind. I’d already turned away two auditioning girls for no better reason than not looking enough like Priscilla. It was madness. What, was I going to wait until a girl walked through the door and she looked exactly like Priscilla? She still wouldn’t be Priscilla. She wouldn’t be the girl who’d clung to my back on that ride and somehow taken my mind hostage.
The door to Trouble opened, and daylight streamed in, somewhat blinding me. I didn’t worry about Freddy Mac barging in. Killjoy was stationed outside.
The silhouette in the door was a knockout. She wore a plaid pussy hammock—super short mini-skirt—and had a tied off top roping in her full breasts. Her stomach was taut and tone. I liked the gracefulness of her gait, too. The last three candidates had lumbered in here like oxen.
“I’m here to audition,” she said. I was still blinking hard, trying to dispel the effect of the bright sunlight.
“Have you danced before?” I asked. She was walking toward me. My sight was coming back.
“Yes, professionally,” she said.
I rose to my feet.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “You’re not dancing here.”
“Why not?” she asked, her big bunny-eyes gazing up. Every ounce of control left my body.
I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to the door.
Chapter Twelve
Priss
We got to Thunder’s door. He spun me around and my back crashed into the door.
“What are you doing here, Priscilla?”
“I want you, Thunder. And call me Priss. My friends call me Priss.”
Thunder’s breathe fell hot on my face. He seemed to be struggling with something.
“I don’t want a thank-you fuck from you.”
“And I’m not offering one,” I barked. Thunder was in for a rude awakening if he thought I was interested in being one of his whores.
“Then why are you here, Priss?”
“Like I said, because I want you.”
His hands trembled. “Don’t just say that if you don’t mean it.” His face grew red.
“I mean it,” I said, and I did mean it. I meant it with all my heart. For two weeks, all I thought about was Thunder, and the night that almost was. I’d told Daniel to go to hell, and every night I drifted off thinking of our midnight bike ride, our flight from peril. Thunder filled my mind.
His lips descended upon mine, and his big mitts made tatters of my shirt. I pressed my lace bra against his chest, and hung onto his round shoulders, pulling him to me.
“I need you,” Thunder whispered. “I need you now.”
My heart soared.
Thunder reached down, twisted the doorknob, and kicked the door open. The two of us spilled into his room. He grabbed my mini-mini-skirt and ripped it off me. The door slammed shut.
“You keep ripping up my clothes,” I said with a grin.
Thunder scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the bed. He set me down, and my fingers worked hurriedly at his belt buckle.
“You’re not going to need clothes,” Thunder replied as he whipped off his vest and tee shirt.
I got naked while he kicked off his jeans.
“Come here, baby,” I said.
Thunder climbed onto the bed, and I laid back. He was big, in every imaginable way, and I longed for his touch.
For a biker dude, Thunder was a patient lover. His body consumed mine. I was the delicate flower under his graceful sun, and I bloomed with delight. Sweet kisses peppered my lips. Hands caressed me. My taut body preened and bristled.
I grew impatient with his patience, and finally reached down and grabbed hold of his magnificent cock. It was burning hot, and throbbed in my palm. I pressed him against my wetness and said, “Do your worst.”
“And my best,” Thunder replied, and finally, after so much waiting, his hips sailed home.
That was when I became Thunder’s girl.
THE END
Baby Riders
CHAPTER ONE
My father, who happened to be the leader of the motorcycle gang, the road warrior
s, raised me. He was very adamant that I would not end up a motorcycle mamma and last year after I graduated high school he sent me off to college, paid for with funds that he acquired through the gang in a an untraditional sense. Now I was home for the summer and I had missed the motorcycle lifestyle dearly. I had a hard time fitting in at college because I had this attitude that had been instilled in me. I knew that I would forever be the motorcycle blood type, but my father would have none of it. He made me promise to never fool around with anyone in the gang, which was a promise I always kept, until this summer. There was a new recruit in the gang named Johnny Green. The first time I saw him, I knew I was in trouble. I just didn’t expect that the trouble would take us on a cross-country adventure that would change my life forever.
It had only been home for two days and my father was making me go to the library to keep up with my studies. I actually enjoyed the library so I didn’t mind going.
“Brittany your mind is a muscle and you have to keep exercising it,” my father Seth Black said to me.
I didn’t argue with him because there was no winning and argument with him. He was a tough man that no one crossed. His ruthlessness was how he remained the pack leader for years. Everyone feared him.
That day I got dressed and I pulled my long brown hair high into a ponytail and I brushed on some black mascara that accentuated my big brown eyes. I pulled on a stripped sweater, jeans, and calf high boots. I decided the best place to go was the city library. It was my solace. I was sitting there at a table reading some William S. Burroughs when I saw him across the library. I lowered my book and peered over the top. He was wearing a tight white t-shirt, jeans, and army boots. His hair was long but pulled back into a low messy bun with loose tendrils of hair around his face. It was dark and stringy. I had never seen him before. I would remember seeing someone like him. I was flushed with excitement that he was there. A million questions popped into my head of who he was. He held the book high like I was. It was “On the Road” Jack Kerouac. I was immediately interested. If no other book sparked my imagination for getting out and seeing the world. It was that one. It had everything I wanted to be. I longed to experience those very same experiences. It was perfect that he was reading it. Then he did something that I did not expect. While all my attention was focused on the cover of the book he peered directly at me. My gaze went from the cover of the book to his eyes. They were green. I quickly averted my eyes. I felt nervous. He had seen me looking right at him and all sense of playing coy went right out of the room. I raised my book higher over my face. I pretended to read. Suddenly we were playing a silly game of peek-a-boo with our books. I finally laughed out loud.
“Shhh…” the librarian said from somewhere in the room.
We both giggled about being busted. Then he got up from his chair and sat next to me. I stared at him. He winked. What was going on? I felt like this was a cheesy James Dean character in Rebel Without a Cause. He just had that air about him. Like he had lived, or like he had seen some stuff.
He pulled out a notebook and wrote down, “Hi.”
I laughed and once again the librarian motioned for us to be quiet.
I grabbed his pen and wrote, “Hi my name is Brittany. You?”
He grabbed the pen and wrote, “Johnny.”
He looked at me and jerked his head to the side motioning for me to follow him outside. A rush of danger and excitement rushed through me, but I followed anyway. I was after all my father’s daughter and growing up in a motorcycle gang made me attracted to danger.
We walked out of the library and to the side of the building.
“So tell me sugar plum what are you doing here?”
“I’m just hanging out. I’m home from college for summer vacation. What about you?”
“I stopped going to school. I stopped conforming to that environment. I am a free man.”
“You dropped out?” I asked.
“Yeah I did,” he casually leaned against the wall.
“So what do you do then?” “I see the world. I’m on the road.”
“So you just left one day? Just got up and left from home?” I asked.
“Exactly the way it sounds. I got up and I packed a few things, hopped on my bike, and left. Then I never went back. That’s all it is. It sounds tough but it’s really just one day at a time. That’s all. I go where I want to go. I see all the things I’ve longed to see. Why should we wait to do that? I have a good head on my shoulders. I make good decisions. I’m in charge of my own life.”
“And your family?” I asked.
“I found a new family here. They’re all the family I need. They take care of me. I take care of them.
I took a place leaning against the wall next to him. I had heard that sentence before. It was what everyone in the road warriors gang said. I just kept my mouth shut.
“So you’re in college?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“School feels wrong to me. I can’t explain it. I understand the point in learning information but all the crap that comes with it of being in a school social circle and the teachers just throw worksheets at us and that’s it. They’re not actually teaching us anything. I mean, it’s just a lot of things.”
“You’re tired of it?” he asked.
“I am,” I sighed. I truly was.
“Then come with me.”
“What?”
“Come with me. Be my old lady and let’s take on the world together.”
I laughed, “I can’t do that. I mean not really. I don’t even know you. How would we eat? Where would we stay? I don’t want to be a street rat fighting for food and struggling.”
He looked at me and laughed. He took off his backpack and unzipped it. He held it open and motioned to me, “Look.”
I peeked in. There were stacks and stacks of cash. My mouth dropped open. I had never seen so much money in my life!
“How did you get that? Where did that come from?” I was so confused. “Did you steal it?”
“My parents would never miss it. There’s a lot more where that came from? But you see, we wouldn’t be living like street rats.”
“You’re serious about this aren’t you?” I looked at him with a slight smile. I was tempted to take him up on his offer. Suddenly being whisked off by this gorgeous guy with loads of money and the open road seemed like a good idea. I knew I shouldn’t do it. It would be wrong.
“Yes. I am,” he smiled. “You don’t have to answer me now though. Just sleep on it. For now, how about I buy you lunch?”
“Okay, lunch is good.”
We walked to the greasy diner at the edge of town. Sitting in a red leather booth we ordered cherry cokes and cheeseburgers. We shared a large order of crispy fries and then shared an apple pie. It was perfect. He told me about his rich parents and being raised by a number of nannies. He had been in and out of boarding schools and his parents were rarely in the country for months at a time. I loved listening to him. It was like listening to a story about another world. It was exotic to me.
“So want to go for ride? I have a motorcycle,” he said.
I laughed at him trying to impress me with a bike. Clearly, he didn’t know my true background and I wasn’t about to tell him. It was more fun to play along.
“Oh, a motorcycle! Isn’t that very dangerous?” I said in my most damsel in distress voice.
He straightened himself and stood up a little straighter and with pride said, “Yeah it is but I handle my baby pretty good.”
“Where would we go?” I asked in a sexy low lusty voice.
He looked at me with an arrogant cocky grin and said, “We could go to my pad. If you want.”
I hesitated letting him sweat it out and then finally said, “Yeah okay.”
Minutes later I was sitting on the back of his motorcycle straddling him. I forgot how much I loved the feel of the open road on my face. It was exhilarating and I was turned on in no time flat. Johnny
showed off going fast and making dangerous maneuvers around curves, but I just held on tight and enjoyed it. I had a lot of fun.
We arrived on the outside of town to a greenhouse like building. It was a perfect mix of a place that showed this guy was game to crash anywhere but also had money. Though the building was run down, inside were fine furnishings. It was very confusing and I could see that Johnny was different than your usual motorcycle bad boy. He was well read, educated, and had money. Yet there was one more thing he was hiding, a creative talent. He was a painter. There were spindly trees and English ivy all around. The furniture was of white iron that made leafy patterns and scrolls. The large candelabras were tall with white candles in place with wax that hung off them like tattered cloth. The rugs on the ground were a rich maroon color and a table was set up with paints and canvases.
“Can I paint you?” he asked.
“What?” I said shocked. I was not expecting that at all.
“Yes,” I said blushing as I realized I had been caught staring at him with admiration. He smiled at me as he made it a point to look down at his trousers where I had been staring. I looked away pretending to be interested in the room.
“There is a screen there with a dress behind it if you will change, please.”
“Change?” I said.
“Yes, certainly I can not paint you in what you’re wearing. It would not fit the scene.”
“Yes, of course,” I said feeling silly.
I walked around to the white screen and moved behind it. There was a rich maroon velvet dress with white pearls sewn into the fabric. It was very elegant and rich. It was beautiful.
“Do you need help?” he yelled.
“No! No, I got it,” I yelled back frantically. I heard him chuckle at my nervousness. I quickly fumbled with my clothes and then slipped on the maroon one. However, it buttoned up the back and not the front. I had no choice but to ask for help. I pulled the dress up my body as tight as I could and held it against me. I stepped out from behind the screen.
“I do need help after all. The buttons are on the back, I can not reach them.”
MOTORCYCLE CLUB: Rebel Riders (Billionaire MC Romance) (Biker With A Cause Book 1) Page 20