Los Perdidos: The Novel (Sons of Glory Motorcycle Club Romance)

by Daphne Loveling

  Copyright 2014 Daphne Loveling

  All rights reserved.

  Book design by Daphne Loveling

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This book contains adult themes, explicit language, and sexual situations. It is intended for mature audiences.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  About the author

  Acknowledgements

  To my community of independent authors, who are endlessly supportive, always helpful, and unfailingly giving of their time and expertise. This novel could never have seen the light of day without you.

  To my husband. I would not be half the person I am without your love.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  The second the five of us walked into the bar, I knew right away that we shouldn’t have come.

  Cory, Dana, Joshua, Kara, and I had been daring each other to go to the Black Dog for weeks now. It started with Cory. Ever since he had scraped together the money to buy himself a used motorcycle for his birthday, he had started to imagine himself a tough guy. He had started wearing a leather jacket around campus, letting his light brown hair grow past his ears, and parking his Hog conspicuously outside the frat house where he lived. On weekends, he would sit astride the bike in front of the house, beer in hand, and shoot the shit with his frat buddies, arms leaning on the ape hangers nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just learned to ride a few months ago. The four of us gave him lots of shit about it, which to his credit, he took good-naturedly. He had started watching Sons of Anarchy, and even his speech had changed a little. H e sounded more and more like a southern-fried bad boy, and less like a doctor’s son from Carbondale, Illinois, every day.

  One night near the middle of the semester, Cory had finally managed to talk his girlfriend Dana – who happens to also be my best friend -- into going with him to the Black Dog. The Black Dog was a well-known biker bar a few miles – and an entire world – away from our small college campus. Cory and Dana had gone to the Black Dog on a Wednesday night, and had been mostly ignored by the real bikers there, but Cory had really gotten off on it. Afterwards he wouldn’t stop talking about it when he was with us. “Come on, guys – it’s awesome! Really gritty, dangerous, you know? Come out with us, and try something different.”

  It’s true that the idea of something “different” was pretty appealing right about now, at least to me. It was spring semester of my junior year, and basically, everything about college just seemed like a boring rut to me. Every day was the same combination of classes, homework, papers, and job. Since I’d broken up with my boyfriend Seth a month ago, I didn’t even have the distraction of relationship problems to keep life interesting. Next year, I know, wouldn’t be much better. It would be filled with senior seminars, preparing my resume, and panicking about going out into the real world – complete with paying off my student loans. I was paying for my whole education, without family to help me, and my future looked like more of the same. My whole life felt like one boring, responsible decision after the other. Right now, I just felt trapped between the boring, predictable present and the terrifying future. I definitely needed an escape.

  So, against my better judgment, I let myself be talked into going with the gang to the Black Dog bar on a Friday night instead of to a house party off-campus that I’d been invited to. Since Dana had been to the bar already, she insisted on coming to Kara and my dorm room to help us get ready for our night out. She knocked on our door a little after 8 p.m., and I opened it to find her wearing nothing but a microscopic pair of jean shorts, a teeny, skin tight tank top, and a pair of thigh-high leather boots that I’d never seen before, and that looked new.

  “Partyyyy!!!!” she yelled, flinging her arms up over her head. “Woooo!” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small bottle of some alcohol. “Come on, girls, let’s get this party started!”

  Kara looked at me and rolled her eyes good-humoredly. We were both used to Dana’s over the top antics. Despite being sort of annoying, they were also part of what made her such a good time, so I tended to take them in stride. Dana, with her platinum blond hair and Barbie good looks, was much more outgoing than I was. I knew that her craziness, even when it got us into hot water sometimes, was good for me.

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I smiled good-naturedly and took the bottle from her. I took a swig, then spluttered as the liquid burned down my throat. I just barely managed not to spit it out. “What the hell is that?” I demanded, handing the bottle back to her.

  “Whiskey!” she said gaily. “It’s what all the bikers drink.” Taking a small sip from the bottle, she swallowed it and tried not to flinch. “See?” she said in a strangled voice. “It’s not that bad.”

  “That’s not what your face says,” laughed Kara. “Let’s put it in some Coke, at least.” Kara went to the mini-fridge and grabbed a couple of diet cokes and some Solo cups from the shelf, and portioned out three drinks for us. “Here,” she said, handing ours to us. She turned and looked skeptically at Dana. “Now, hooker, what the hell is up with your clothes?”

  “What?” Dana asked, looking down at herself. “This is perfect for the bar! Come on, you guys aren’t planning to go like that, are you?” Dana said, looking at our relatively sedate outfits. “No way.” Striding to my dresser decisively, she pulled out my oldest pair of jean shorts and demanded, “Where’s a scissors?”

  “Hey, you’re not gonna cut up my clothes!” I protested.

  “Relax, Jenny, you’re gonna look great. Trust me. And Kara, put on that super short black mini you have. And find a cami you don’t mind ‘altering’.”

  When Dana was finished with us forty minutes or so later, we all looked basically unrecognizable. The jeans shorts I had on were cut so short that they could barely be called clothing anymore. The bottom of my ass was clearly visible to anyone who bothered to look, and my legs were bare from ass to ankle. I had put on a pair of short black boots with a four-inch stiletto heel, and Dana had cut my tank top so high that if I raised my arm much, the bottoms of my tits would show. She had teased my auburn hair into a “just fucked” look, and I had on more eye makeup than I had ever worn in my life.

  I had to admit, though: I looked amazing. Like a prostitute, but amazing. I shot myself glances in the mirror while Dana worked on Kara, sipping my whiskey and diet coke and trying to calm my nerves.

  When Kara was finally done up to Dana’s satisfaction, she called the boys and had them bring Josh’s car around to meet us in front of our dorm. Cory had grumbled a lot about not being able to take his motorcycle, but Dana pointed out that it was silly for us not to all go in one car. “Besides,” she had admonished, “if you think I’m ruining the hair I spent over an hour styling by smushing it into a helmet, you’re crazy.”

  Kara, Dana and I tottered down the stairs to the front entrance to wait for the boys. Some groups of other students in the stairwell and the main floor lounge stopped what they were doing to look at us. I saw a few people whisper to each other as they shot us curious glances out of the corners of their eyes. I felt my face redden, my emotions caught between massive embarrassment and defiance. What was it to them what I dressed like, anyw
ay? It was none of their fucking business, that’s what I told myself as I fought back to not care what they thought. I held my head up and sauntered outside to wait by the curb, telling myself people were just talking because they were jealous of how hot we all looked. Even so, I was very relieved when Cory and Josh finally drove up and we were able to climb into the car and drive away.

  The ten-minute drive to the bar went quickly, even with us three girls crammed into the backseat of Josh’s car like sardines. As Josh drove, Cory, Kara, and Dana chatted away excitedly. I stared out the window most of the time, not talking much. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do this. Part of me was getting cold feet, but another part of me was excited about not knowing what to expect. For once, I told myself, I was just going to let go. For once, I would not be “the responsible one.” Just enjoy it, I told myself, and let whatever happens, happen.

  I could hear the Black Dog almost a minute before I even saw it. The distant, low rumble of motorcycles announced the place from a quarter-mile away. As we drove closer, a long row of large, shiny (and some not so shiny) choppers stood like chrome sentinels in front of a large, black concrete block building. Painted on the front of the building in giant red letters were the words “The Black Dog”, and beside them, a logo of a large, mean-looking bulldog with a motorcycle helmet on. Some of the bikes parked out front had large, bandanna’ed men in leathers sitting astride them. A few of the men were wearing mirrored sunglasses even though it was dark out. Some of them were smoking. All of them looked dangerous. Occasionally, one of the bikers would give his bike some throttle, and a loud roar would escape the metal beast, followed by a plume of exhaust.

  Kara grabbed my hand and squeezed it silently. I wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to reassure me or her. Maybe both of us. I looked over at her and she smiled at me. Her eyes were wide and gleaming with a mixture of fear and excitement. She looked absolutely fantastic: her long, straight black hair hung down over a tight, tiny leather jacket concealing a pink, cut-off tank top underneath. She was wearing the tiny black skirt that Dana had suggested, and black platform heels. Kara had the tiny figure typical of girls with her Asian heritage, but she was just curvy enough to rock that revealing outfit. I smiled at her and squeezed her hand back as the car pulled into a parking spot about a block away from the bar.

  Dana instantly began protesting that Josh should pull closer so the girls wouldn’t have to walk so far in our heels. “No way,” Cory shut her down. “It’s already too embarrassing that we didn’t show up on bikes. No way am I gonna step out of Josh’s beater right in front of those dudes over there.”

  Sighing in exasperation, Dana pulled the handle on the back door and shimmied herself out with difficulty. I followed her, and Kara got out on the other side. The boys followed last, and Josh pressed the button on his remote, a short beep signaling that the car was locked. As we walked toward the biker bar, the distinctive smells of smoke and engine oil greeted us. The sensation was immediate that we were walking into a different world, with very different rules. I knew that we were taking a risk by even stepping into this place. Strangely, my thoughts went to my parents. If they were still alive, they would be freaking out if they knew I was here. Pushing the thought away, I focused on trying not to trip in my four-inch heels. My stomach was doing flip-flops as I tried to act nonchalant walking toward the bar. I could feel the bikers’ eyes follow me as we walked by. They raked my body, sliding up my legs to my ass, then up again to my nearly exposed tits. The fantasy of the experience began to melt away as the reality hit me. I was basically a piece of meat, throwing myself voluntarily to the lions. Holy shit, I thought. How do I get out of this?

  But it was too late. I knew that. Even now, Cory was opening the door to the bar and motioning us to go inside. I tugged down on my tank top self-consciously, squared my shoulders, and followed my friends through the door.

  Inside, the noise was almost deafening. To the right, huge, tattooed men played pool while a smattering of scantily clad women watched them. To the left, leather-wearing bikers lined the bar, drinking whiskey and laughing loudly. Classic rock blared through the bar speakers. The bouncer at the door, a huge mountain of a man with a shaved head and ZZ-Top beard, just looked at us for a long moment, then smirked and waved us in. He didn’t check the girls’ bags, and I could see why; it was laughable that any of us could have brought anything into this bar that would have been any sort of threat.

  At first, no one noticed the handful of wannabees who had just stepped inside, and that was more than all right by me. Cory boldly went up to the bar, trying to strut like he belonged, and turned back to us. “What are you drinking?” he yelled. I decided I would stick with the whiskey coke I had been drinking earlier, not wanting to mix alcohols. The guy behind the bar looked to be in his mid-thirties. He didn’t bother to ask for our IDs, but merely filled our orders in silence, barely making eye contact. The five of us stood drinks in hand at the front of the bar for a few minutes. We tried to make casual conversation and not look too much like the awkward, out of place college students we clearly were. Eventually, I got tired of looking so conspicuous and decided to go explore a little around the rest of the bar. Kara said she’d go with me, and Dana hung back with Cory and Josh. I took my glass and moved further inside the bar with Kara, trying to look natural and feeling more ridiculous each second.

  Toward the back, the scene was more of the same, except that as we penetrated deeper into the space, there seemed to be more of one particular type of motorcycle jacket. On the backs of many, I read the words: Los Perdidos MC, San Cristobal, CA. Some of the men in these jackets had women draped over them. One of the women was shamelessly sticking her tongue in her guy’s ear and caressing his crotch as he shot the shit with another guy. Another couple was making out, with the guy’s hand completely up the woman’s skirt. I saw that the woman in question was wearing a leather vest herself. On the back, I could see the words: “Property of Los Perdidos MC” emblazoned there.

  “Holy shit,” Kara murmured into my ear as we tried not to gape. “This is so intense!” The whole scene exuded a pure, raw sexuality that both fascinated and excited me. This was so far out of my limited world experience, it was like I had been transported to another planet instead of just across town.

  Suddenly, a deep voice addressed us from behind. “Good evenin,’ ladies,” the voice said.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  Turning, I came face to face with the biggest, hottest man-mountain of muscle I had ever seen. The mountain had dirty-blond hair, just down to his shoulders, tattooed biceps that flexed under the sleeves of his T-shirt, and a sexy, scruffy three-day beard that made my heart beat just a little faster at the thought of it rubbing against my face. Like the others, he wore a leather vest with patches on the front. One said “Los Perdidos MC”. Another said “Sons of Glory”. A third: “V. President”. This guy smelled like leather and the road, and looked like he could break me in half with his little fingers. His voice traced a blazing path down my stomach to my core. I had never been in the presence of sex on wheels before, but this was definitely it.

  “You look a long way from home, little girl,” he drawled, and took a swig of his drink. “Are you sure you wanna play in the big pool?”

  His eyes went straight to my tank top, and his lip curled in a slight smile. Despite the heat of the bar, I felt my nipples harden. I smiled self-consciously and willed myself not to sound like an idiot.

  “My name’s Jen,” I said, since it seemed like the safest thing.

  “Smoke,” he replied. Smoke, like his smoky, velvety voice. Fitting name. I thought. “You sure you’re ready for this, Jen?” he asked again.

  “Ready for what?” I stammered.

  “For what you’re signing up for, bein’ here,” his sweeping gaze encompassed the room around him. “Or are you just a tourist?” he asked, grinning.

  I glanced over at Kara, who had disappeared to a spot across the room. She was talking to one of the
other bikers, another huge guy at least 6’5” with long, dark hair. I caught her eye and she smiled reassuringly: She was okay.

  Smoke stepped closer to me. His musky scent filled my nose; my lips parted involuntarily and my breath quickened at the nearness of him. The raw masculinity of this man was intoxicating. Everything about him said power. None of the guys I had ever been around had affected me in quite this way. He flashed a smile and I felt my eyes half-close in anticipation, hoping against hope that he would touch me. I couldn’t think about anything except what it would feel like if he took hold of me right now and kissed me. I glanced over quickly at Kara again. Her guy had her back against the wall now, and he towered over her as she smiled flirtatiously up at him.

  I looked up at Smoke and said bravely, “I’m up for whatever you have in mind.” He grinned, and said sardonically: “Are you now?” In truth, I was terrified, but also terribly excited. All my nerve endings were on edge in the presence of this strange, exciting man. I felt alive, really alive, for the first time in forever. Smoke laughed now, a low, sexy rumble that began deep in his throat. He wrapped one strong arm around me. Pulling me to him harshly, his mouth came down on mine. The smell of his leather mixed with the whiskey taste of him, intoxicated me, and I opened my mouth willingly to his probing tongue. A little moan escaped me as he pressed my body hard against him, possessing me with his mouth as his whiskers punished my face. As his tongue probed my mouth, I felt his hard bulge growing just below my belly-button. Feeling how hard he was for me made my panties dampen and my lower lips swell with sudden, overwhelming need. I whimpered with desire as my throbbing sex angled upward, desperate to connect with the most vital part of him.

  Smoke tore his lips away from mine and put both of his arms around my waist. Backing me against a pole in the middle of the bar, he cupped my ass with his hands. Honey,” he growled, “you got no idea what you’re gettin’ yourself into.” Lifting me up as though I was no heavier than a doll, he pressed us together, his hard shaft against my aching sex. I moaned as I finally got the sweet relief I craved. I kissed him passionately, the contact releasing something deep within me. I grew half wild with desire now as I ground my hips into his.