Scott: Full Throttle Series

by Hazel Parker

  “Oh, we may have run into each other a time or two, but it was nothing formal.” She was quite casual about it. “Regardless, I have always been a fan of yours, Mr. Fields.”

  “Oh have you?” Mitchell took a quick sip of his drink. He set the glass on the bar. “And please, call me Mitchell.”

  “Well of course… Mitchell.” His name rolled so smoothly off of those beautiful red lips. Mitchell could barely contain himself.

  “So are you a model yourself?” The girl laughed.

  “Not hardly.” She took a step closer to him. Mitchell shook his head solemnly.

  “Such a shame. A beautiful girl like you? You could be any modeling agent’s dream.” The girl laughed once more. It was delicate, musical. Mitchell could not believe his level of interest in this incredible woman whom he had just met.

  “Well, you are quite the flatterer.” She shook her long blonde hair. Mitchell picked up the faint aroma of shampoo and expensive perfume.

  “I’ve been in this business for a few years.” Mitchell sipped his drink once more. “I’ve got an eye for beautiful women.”

  “I’m certain that you do.” The girl’s bright red lips formed a coy smile. “Men like you are brilliant.”

  “Well, I’m not the only one who is good with flattery.”

  “I can’t help myself.” She took a step closer to him. “There’s just something about a man in power that has always… turned me on.”

  Mitchell smiled. So she was certainly interested. That was a good thing. He wanted to see what was under that skimpy little dress that she was wearing.

  “It’s certainly a shame that you never went into modeling.” Mitchell took his own step closer to her. “The runway would have loved you.”

  “Thank you.” His mystery woman took another step closer. It made the scent of her intoxicating perfume stronger. When he moved his arm to rest on the bar, he brushed against her breasts. She did not pull away. In fact, she looked even more interested.

  “What can I tell you?” Mitchell pressed his arm more firmly against her breast. “I know a body the camera would love.”

  He watched her press her tongue against her front teeth. He found it incredibly sexy. He moved his arm slightly so that he could stroke his fingers against the side of her breast.

  “Actually,” he murmured, “I know a body that anyone would love.”

  “Oh, I know that you do.” The woman let her hand fall to rest on his upper arm. “I know all about your talent, Mr. Fields. There’s no one that I’d… trust… more.”

  Mitchell shook his head. He met his share of beautiful women at these events, and he had many of them play up to him, but this one seemed to have a particular determination. He did not really understand it—or why she was not offering her name. But he was not about to turn her down.

  “If you ever do want to get into the business,” he met her eyes, “you just let me know. I’ll make sure to find you the right connections.”

  The woman laughed flirtatiously. It was a beautiful sound, and the action made her brilliant green eyes light up. She was playing this game like a champion—and she was clearly in it to win it.

  “Well, maybe if you were really interested, I could find some time to give you a private performance.”

  Ah, there it was. It was exactly as he had thought. He felt the immediate stirrings of arousal. He was certainly not going to turn this one down.

  “Why don’t we do just that?”

  Bonus Stuff!!!

  The First Book of my MC Biker Collection

  In Deep: Love Struck

  Chapter One

  Evan

  Just a typical day. That’s what today was, or at least what I thought it was. That's what I got for thinking that, because seeing the woman I kissed in the arms of my twin brother was enough to pop that stupid, little bubble in my head. Typical day my ass.

  I saw it all in slow motion. His hand possessively gripping her hip. Her thick body aching to burst out of the tight dress, like she just came from the club. I can't help wonder if she dressed like that for me. Her eyes wide, I couldn’t tell if she looked confused, scared, guilty, or a little of all three. The smug look on his face—my face—made me wonder whether he knew she was mine, or if he just always looked like that when he thought he was about to score. I couldn’t remember.

  We shared every, damn thing—a name, family, friends… hell, this club even. But not women. Women were supposed to be out of bounds. They always were, since Irene in the 7th grade dated Ethan first, broke his heart, and sent me a note with hearts on it. I wonder briefly if he somehow thought I’d changed my mind towards this after all this time, but I couldn’t think straight because I couldn't see anything else but his hand on her hip. I could feel the blood boiling under my skin and my hands curling into fists.

  FUCK!

  Today was supposed to be a typical day.

  One Week Earlier

  I’ve always hated hospitals. I hated the smell of antiseptic, the bland, white walls, and the sound of death all around me. The clacking of the keys coming from the receptionist’s desk and the constant, boring commercials on the TV were enough to drive me insane. Not even considering how long I’d been sitting here thinking about what the fate of my brother would end up being—well, not my blood brother. That one’s was sitting right beside me. My club brother. He might not have been related by blood, but he was as family as family could get. Banditos were brothers for life, and a Bandito never leaves a brother behind. So here I was—waiting, just waiting to hear the news. We all were. That’s all we could do.

  I turned back around to survey the small space I was pacing across. Five men sat in the lobby; the rest of the visitors were too scared to sit across from them. They weren’t too focused on their worries and grief to forget stereotyping a group of tattooed men. I understood. We got it everywhere we went. You get used to it after a while. In truth, we are pretty scary looking.

  Gus looked like every motorcycle stereotype come true. Between his thick, white beard, tattoos, and his leather jacket, he could do all the scaring by himself. Add in my twin Ethan, the epitome of bad boy with his scowls and the bandana covering his head, Warren, who was the height and weight of a football player, Jason, who I hadn't seen smile in years, and Jerry, who vacillated between staring at Lila’s face and at the door the doctor would come through like he was debating charging through it at any moment? Yeah, we were a pretty intimidating group.

  The only redeeming qualities we had were Lila and Shirley who, while equally tattooed and equally tough, were women, and as a result, not quite as frightening. For some reason, humans with two X chromosome were deemed less scary. Big mistake in judgment, especially when it came to these two.

  But we weren't bad people, just significantly more tattooed than your average person with an obsession for riding. No, none of us were bad, and on a good day we’d smile and kid around, with the exception of Jason, but today wasn't a laughing day. Today was a sad day. One of our own had taken a hit and we were waiting for news—any news. The wait was draining and it was making me miserable.

  Harrison had been hit by a car while waiting at a stop sign. Some idiot just drove right over him and didn't even stop to check on him to see if he was alive or what. Nothing. Didn’t even call the police. Someone who was driving in the opposite direction saw him bleeding in the street and called for help. I bet the fool was texting. I hated to think it, but if Harrison's bike was louder, that probably wouldn't have happened. People complain about how loud bikes are, but the sound serves a purpose. You hear it and look around. You pay attention. You wouldn't believe how many people die every year by being hit by an idiot behind the wheel of a car claiming they didn't see the motorcycle, see the driver, or my favorite excuse, he “just came out of nowhere.” Motorcycles don't kill people. Idiots in four wheelers kill people, and from the way Harrison looked coming in, I didn't think he was going to make it. Which sucked, because Lila loved him more than she loved mornin
g coffee—which was a whole lot. And that’s saying something. I’ve seen her stab someone for messing with her morning coffee.

  All I needed to hear was a prognosis. Something. Anything. I needed to know my friend wasn't dead, and then I was leaving. Well, not for good. I could never abandon him like that, but I’d definitely take a break. Pacing the halls was just a way to burn nervous energy. I knew it was driving my brothers up a wall though. We all had our own way of coping.

  Gus taught me how to ride, but Harrison taught me how to make love to the road. When my father passed, there was never any doubt that I’d follow in his footsteps. I was only fourteen, but I’d been around the club every day of my life. My mother knew there was no point in trying to make us wait until we got our licenses. It was all just formalities. As soon as I weighed enough to be able to pick up a bike if it fell over, I was on one. It was my own version of rehab, and with Harrison, I learned how to cope on my own.

  I could still remember the quiet mornings when I would wake around four, before the sun rose over the Arizona horizon, looking out into the dark and sneaking off to the club on my bicycle. That was the last place I saw my father alive and somehow, being there made me feel closer to him. Harrison found me one morning and he didn’t say a thing except, “Follow me.” He mounted his bike and pointed to another for me to get on. At the time, I had no idea where we were going. I didn’t know if I should follow him either. He was still new to the club. At the time, all I knew was he was a war vet and forced into retirement after ten years in the service. He had to be around thirty years old. But he was a brother. A Bandito and I trusted him with my life. So I followed him.

  Together, we slowly rode up a mountain, around several curves and hidden bends until we were on a ledge. Then in the stillness of the morning, we watched the heavens swing open and the sun rise.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but Harrison had just showed me his own way of coping. By managing his own grief, he helped me manage mine. For months, we’d ride up in the still of morning and wait for the day to meet us. Over time, we rode more because of the serenity it gave us rather than the need to escape. I dealt with my grief and in learning that, I learned how to be a skilled driver. It felt a lot like becoming a man. It happened when I wasn’t paying attention and I owed it all to Harrison. I reached out in my own way and he held on. Without him, I couldn’t say where I would be. There’s nothing more dangerous in life than a troubled teen without a father. Ethan was proof of that.

  “Mrs. Harrison?” A doctor with silver hair and the face of some guy you'd ask for directions called out, interrupting my thoughts. He was completely nonthreatening with his thin glasses and weathered face. Lila and the crew immediately jumped up. I hung back, watching. I didn't have to hear what was being said to know it wasn't good. His movements were unhurried and deliberate, as if choreographed, ready to catch Lila if she fell, but she didn't. She had us.

  She stood there taking it all in. The pain on her face was as clear as an open wound. She covered her face, her sobs stifled as if trying to push the tears back in. Jerry rubbed her back trying to comfort her as the devastation pushed hard. She turned into Jerry’s chest and wailed. I winced. The primal sounded of her pain pulled at me. They were the kind of sounds humans were programmed not to ignore. It hurt to hear. To be so close to that kind of pain. I felt guilty walking away even though I knew I was coming back. Gus, our faithful leader stepped up with follow up questions.

  “I don't understand. Brain dead? And there's nothing we can do?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid there isn't. The machines are keeping him alive. With Mrs. Harrison's permission, I'd like to suggest organ donation. He'd be a viable candidate, and he’d be able to help a lot of people,” he said with a perfunctory frown of sympathy. “I'm sorry for your loss,” he said again before turning to walk away.

  Well, shit.

  I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. Now. I could feel it. It was coming for me. To sink me. Drown me.

  I had to get out of here.

  There were enough people in the waiting room to support Lila and hold her up. They could spare me a few minutes, and that's all I needed. Harrison was a good guy, and for some reason, hearing he was brain dead was worse than hearing he’d died on the operating table. I almost would have preferred that. At least that way, he would truly be gone. Brain dead offered options, delusions, and a lot of maybes. I didn’t want to hear he was on some table existing solely because machines willed it to be. I didn’t want to hear that there was a slight chance he’d wake up. One in a million was still a small chance and I hoped Lila wouldn’t cling to that as I walked away.

  I figured if I was going to leave, I might as well make myself useful. I had no idea where I was going, but I had every intention of finding the cafeteria. I walked aimlessly, lost in my thoughts into a dead end. Nothing here but rows of medical supplies. It was darker and secluded and gave me the minute I needed. I stood there gaping like a fish, gulping air and stuffing my pain back down where it came from, where it's supposed to lay quietly.

  Where the hell am? How did I get here?

  I tried to think rationally while mentally fighting my own demons.

  This isn't about you. You don't get to hurt right now. This is Lila's pain.

  That all sounded good, but the truth was pain isn't picky; it'll kick whoever it wants and if you let it, it'll make you its bitch.

  “Are you lost?” A soft voice came from behind me.

  I froze, the fog of my thoughts vanishing, the rows of supplies and the smooth, tan color of the wall materializing around me instead. I only needed seconds, but it was enough to piece my fractured face together and seal off my emotions just before I fell completely apart. I cleared my voice and turned around.

  Brown eyes.

  That's the first thing I saw. Big, brown eyes, wide and morphing into concern—concern for me.

  I stared at her face, trying to absorb the beauty while my chest ached. I'm not sure if you'd say she was classically beautiful, but her large, liquid, brown eyes held such an intelligence and serenity that it was impossible for me not to be held prisoner by them. Her cheekbones weren't especially high, and her nose was a little too long to be perfect, but there was undeniable symmetry to her features, and perhaps that's what held me so captivated. Her black hair was pinned in a bun, and in my mind, I could easily imagine holding the hair in my hands as our lips pushed against each other. She was wearing scrubs that in no way should have been so attractive, but on her curves, they were.

  “What gave me away?” I asked the petite nurse standing with one foot around the corner as if her body was debating whether to keep walking or stop to help me.

  “Your face. I've seen that look enough times. Where you headed?” she asked, not at all judging.

  I hoped my face didn't show that I was seconds from a panic attack. “I was trying for the cafeteria.” If it did, she didn't seem like she minded. In fact, the longer we stood together, the more I didn't want her to walk away. What could I do? How could I get her to stay?

  “Well then you're a long ways away, my friend. It's on the second floor. You're on the fourth. You'd need to take the elevator to the second floor, turn left and then—you know what? Why don't you just follow me?”

  I'd follow her anywhere. “You sure you don't mind? I don't want to impose.”

  “Not at all. I'm on break anyway. I was just off to get my own cup of java.”

  I smiled softly at her words and that she was kind enough to escort me to the cafeteria. I liked her voice. Something about it was calming. I didn't much care what we talked about as I stepped in time with her, not paying attention to where we were going.

  Kaylen

  I sat at the nurse station, exhausted. This was the first time in four hours that I'd had a moment to sit down. If I could, I would have propped my feet up on the desk, but there wasn't any space. I barely had enough space to type the updated patient information into their charts
.

  The morning had been a blur of taking vitals, bed-baths, changing adult diapers, and administering medications. I typed in Rudy Thompkins’s hourly BP, thankful to be free of her clutches. She rang for a nurse every five minutes, and if I didn't come immediately, she’d start screaming. Most days I loved my job, but patients like her made me want to scream right along with them. After typing in the last number, I smiled at the time in the corner of the computer. My lunch break had officially begun, though that really didn't mean much in the grand scheme of emergencies; patients were more important than lunch. I scrutinized my notes, making sure they were as meticulous as possible. The one thing I did remember about nursing school was the doctors drilling us about the importance of the patient’s chart.

  “This is a legal document,” the instructor would bellow, holding a blank chart in the air. “Your notes need to be written in such a way that they'd stand in the court of law!”

  If I were ever summoned, there'd be no issue with my notes. I wrote concisely, but elaborated in every place I thought appropriate. If I were working somewhere that still had paper charts, my penmanship would be equally clear and legible.

  I stood and stretched. Exhaustion wasn't an excuse here. Everyone was tired. With fifteen minutes left on my break, I logged out of my account on the computer, sterilized my hands, and made my way to the cafeteria. I needed caffeine about a week ago.

  Most times I walked on autopilot, barely paying attention to the things around me. After a while, it all blurred into the same thing: patients, either crying, laughing, coughing, or something in between. It was all the same and it was hard to condition myself not to respond. My job was to respond and help, but I was on break. I can’t just stop every time someone needed help. I tried to remember that as I walked briskly to the elevator. I didn't last a second seeing the dark shadow of a man, obviously not in the right place.