by K. M. Liss
RIDERS
Crossroads (II)
K.M.Liss
RIDERS
Crossroads (II)
By Katrina Liss
Copyright 2015 K.M.Liss
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Disclaimer: This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on real figures, are purely the work of the author’s imagination.
Thanks & Acknowledgements
Love and thanks to my family and friends, for believing in me and encouraging me to write my little heart out.
CHAPTER ONE
I tried to keep my mind focused on the gray strip of road ahead of me, as I sped home, way too fast.
“Shit! Shit! SHIT!”
I couldn't believe what I'd just done.
Going bare with a girl I hardly knew, fucking her like an animal over a table in her Mom's back yard?
Jesus! What kind of guy am I?
I didn't want to answer that question. I didn't like what that made me. A few choice words sprang to mind.
I tried to cut myself some slack...
I don't know what the hell came over me.
But that was a lie. I did know.
She'd made me take leave of my sanity. I'd never been so out of my head in lust with anyone in my life as I was with her. I couldn't stop touching, and once I had her close, I wanted to touch everything in the most intimate way possible. Nothing mattered but getting my dick inside her, as fast as possible. I didn't stop to think, how, where, why or what the fuck... should I even do this? What had happened had been the culmination of the heavy sexual tension building throughout the evening and the inexplicable hold she had over me.
It may be a cliché, but I'd never met anyone like her before. It wasn't just the looks. It was the whole Tiffany thing she had going on. Christ, she was an irresistible package.
From the minute she opened her smart mouth and the put downs and frosty looks started to emerge, I was hooked.
I'd found out a little about her from Cherry. She was a law student at UC Kansas; aged twenty and a 'nice' girl.
I wanted a little piece of her style of nice.
I'd had far too much at the other end of the spectrum.
She painted a perfect, beautiful, picture in my head - long blonde curls, large and expressive gray eyes, the lips of my dreams, and the most gorgeous face and body I'd ever seen. Not to mention the hottest ass, which she could move like nothing on this earth. I'd been dying for her to move it on me.
I wanted her. In a really bad way.
I drew up to a junction and broke hard, coming to a stop.
I thumped the handlebars on my bike in frustration.
“Fuck...what a screw up.” My brain was in turmoil, struggling with a mixture of post coital exhilaration, and a heavy dose of guilt on top.
I didn't know whether to punch the air or my head.
I was taking all the blame for that fuck up. It was my fault. I'd pushed it. I'd lost control, and I'd led the way - all the way. I should have been more in control of myself. I was a responsible guy, normally.
I hadn't intended to go that far tonight. I'd wanted to kiss her; that was all; to leave her with a good impression of me. In hindsight, what happened in the alley behind the bar, should have been a warning to keep away... but once I'd burnt my fingers, I wanted some more of that burn.
I kinda lost my mind. I'm pretty sure we both did.
I wish I didn't keep remembering that horrified expression on her face, when she told me to go... and the flood of tears.
I'd upset her so bad, and that hurt.
I tried to sound cool about it, to make her feel better, but it hadn't helped much. I wasn't used to dealing with distressed girls. I wasn't quite sure what to say or do, given the circumstances. I'd tried to hug her, but she wasn't having any of that.
She had every right to push me away and to tell me to fuck off.
Initially, my instincts told me to turn tail and fly. But the better side of me hadn't wanted to leave her like that, sobbing her little heart out, like we'd committed the worst sin in the world. I needed to know she was okay and didn't think I was a complete and utter bastard. I'd tried my best. All I could think to do was to assure her that I wanted to see her again, that she wasn't a two minute fuck and dump. But I couldn't do or say the right thing. Seeing her standing there, as I left, had stabbed me in the gut. I wanted nothing more than to take her with me and to make things right somehow. Goddamn fucking anyhow. But I knew she wanted me gone. Everything about her... her body language, the look on her face... it all said fuck the hell off, you asshole. Not having much choice, that's what I did. Probably could have handled it a whole lot better though.
I could have said sorry. Why the hell hadn't I said sorry? I was such a dumb-ass jerk.
I set off at a slower pace trying to calm down, thinking about something else... anything else, but her. I couldn't calm down while I was thinking about her, in any sense.
My mind wandered to work, as it always did. Work was safe and a place I felt good. We were in the process of moving the livestock to new pasture. Safer pasture, less accessible to thieves. We had a fair bit of trouble with missing cattle. Rustling was still very much alive, even in the twenty first century. We'd lost fifteen Gelbvieh half breeds over the past year. They were prime beef stock and worth a fair deal of cash. But the strangest thing was the shootings. Two weeks ago, someone had shot two of our Angus and left them to rot. A prankster? A crazy? A grudge? We didn't know. Hopefully that was the last we'd see of it.
It took a few days to move the herd. I enjoyed the roundup and transporting the cattle. It would mean a night sleeping out, under the stars, to make sure they settled in right. Being at one with nature appealed to me. As I gazed up at the heavens, my eyes connecting the millions of tiny dots of light in the darkness above me, I always felt an inner peace. Nowhere else, did I feel this way - like I was being watched over by something out there. I wasn't a believer in God, that was a plain fact, but I felt right, and in good hands, close to my mom when I was out there. She'd been very active on the ranch, being a veterinary nurse, she helped out with the cattle and horses, tending to any little ailments they had. Until she got sick. I pushed those thoughts away―the memory of her painfully thin face and scared eyes. It still upset me so bad. Enough to bring tears forth. No woman as wonderful as my mom should get sick and die at forty nine. There was something seriously wrong with God letting it happen.
I slipped along the silent, empty country roads, my bike disturbing the peace of the night. A few rabbit and deer shot across the road, stopping in my path, their bright eyes shocked and terrified at my rapid approach. I smiled to myself. Goddamn stupid fucking animals. As usual, I did my best not to run them down, although it was tempting.
It was a short journey, just ten minutes at my usual kick-ass speed, before I was turning left at the open iron gate, rising up the long and winding, tree-lined approach road, to the center of Mill Creek Ranch. As I came into the stable yard, the security light flicked on, glaringly bright as
I passed through the open hay-barn door, where we kept our bikes. The soft fragrance of hay assailed my senses. I loved the smell of it. Hell, I loved the taste of it. I was always chewing on the damn stuff out on the ranch.
A quick stock-take, of bikes present, told me Kicker wasn't back yet. I didn't expect him to be. He was getting involved with his girl. He regularly stayed at her place, in town. I wouldn't see him till we started work tomorrow, I guessed.
Cherry was okay, and I suppose everyone deserved a second chance. I didn't know her story and I wasn't judgmental as a rule. Kicker seemed to see something in her, apart from the whore label, and I'd go along with that, for his sake.
I parked up at the end of the row, next to Pete's red Honda, switched off the bike engine and pocketed the key. I heard a rustle in the hay stacked up to my side... then another. The whole place seemed to be rustling. Mice. The place was fucking well swarming with them since the cat died. We needed another cat. Maybe a few very hungry cats based on the amount of rustling I could hear.
I ran my hands over the smooth chrome curve of the handlebars and sat there for a moment, not wanting to leave the comfort zone of my much loved bike. I stared blindly at the dirty wall in the semi darkness. A few seconds later, the light from the outside motion sensor switched off and plunged the barn into an inky pitch black.
I knew I wasn't supposed to smoke in the barn, for obvious reasons, but I wanted to sit a while longer, to come down from my sex rush which was still running through me like a raging river. I needed the calming effect that a smoke provided. I fished around in my jacket pockets and plucked out my almost empty pack of Camels, along with my battered silver Zippo. I put a cigarette in my mouth and lit up, inhaling deeply.
I cursed the day I got hooked on the goddamn things.
I referred to it as my California habit.
I'd started out a clean living twenty one, but hanging with California gang, MCC Iron Beaters, for eighteen months, had got me into a lot of stuff I shouldn't have. Smoking cigarettes, dope, heavy drinking, doing drugs, real dirty girls... there weren't any sins and substances I hadn't tried. The hard stuff I had no interest in pursuing. I'd got past my curiosity fast. Once was enough. I'd seen the spaced out look of hopeless addiction on the older guys faces as they shot up with H – guys who'd been doing it a while – and needed more and more to get a high – I didn't wanna join their number. But unfortunately, nicotine had become ingrained in my brain. I was constantly trying to give the wretched white sticks up. Me and Kicker both. Not so easy. Fucking impossible in fact. We both agreed on that. It was shit awful habit to break. But I kept on trying. God knows why.
I let out a long stream of smoke, and my head buzzed pleasantly, a soothing raft of nicotine flooding my veins.
I wondered what she was doing now.
Asleep? I guessed not.
More likely lying awake in the dark thinking about me and what we'd done together. I hoped some positives crossed her mind, along with the overriding negative that had my name on it.
I remembered her positive point very clearly. The look on her face when she came. I wanted to see that look again - a whole damn lot of agains - to watch the way her eyes rolled and her mouth opened with a throaty little gasp - the deep muscular spasms which followed which sent me sailing off into mind-blown-man land.
I'd wanted to eat her. At that point she belonged to me. I'd made her feel real damn good... only for a few seconds... but I hoped it stuck in her mind a whole lot longer than that.
I needed all the help I could get, because I was damn sure I faced a real challenge on Sunday, getting her to come out with me was going to be a trial.
I wouldn't blame her if she never spoke to me again.
My eyes accustomed themselves to the dark and I got off the bike, kicking the stand down and heading for the bunk house where I slept. It made life easier if I didn't sleep in the house with my Dad. We didn't always see eye to eye. Actually we didn't ever see eye to eye. It had been a lot worse since I left home for that eighteen months of free living when I was twenty one. I thought I was entitled to do that, but apparently, he didn't. The family had a ranch to run, and this was where I belonged, he'd argued with me more than a few times on the phone.
It had taken a while for me to see that, actually, he was right. Although I wouldn't have traded in my time with the Breakers for any amount of gold, I didn't want to become a bike obsessed, dope addicted, low grade human. A loser. And that's where I'd been headed. I'd done the wild ride. I'd hung with California's meanest badass fuckers and lived to tell the tale. And fuck, could I tell a few tales.
Jeez... those guys were crazzzzeeeee bastards.
I sniggered to myself, a very amusing Breakers memory flooding my brain, as I walked across the yard.
The bunk house was in darkness as I slipped in quietly and locked up behind me. I poured myself a glass of water and gulped it down before making my way to my room. The bunk house had ten small rooms, all the same, nicely done out, with basic and functional furniture.
I turned the corner and noticed a door slightly open and a light on at the end of the short corridor, the room next to mine. Col's room. I headed that way in the hope of a few civil words with him. I got on well with Col. He was the eldest of the ranch hands, early forties, pleasant, easy going and a great hand around the place. There wasn't much he couldn't do - from horse breaking, livestock handling, woodworking, repairs to machinery, you name it... he was a good team guy and my third, after Kicker. Although Kicker was my good pal, and we had a solid relationship, I couldn't really tell him stuff. We joked around and had fun together and I had his back, as he did mine, but Col was more of a close older brother to me. Actually, he was more of a father figure than my dad was. I'd confided a few times, since Ma died. I'd needed to. It had hit me hard and Dad had closed down. Not that he'd ever been that open with me beforehand. And he was most definitely a closed door now.
I peeped in the gap, sussing the scene before I barged in on something private. He was lounging on his bed, in his jocks, with his earphones on, fast asleep, and snoring loudly enough to prove it to the whole fucking world. I entered his room and removed them... he didn't stir, remaining semi upright against the wall, so I pushed him with my palm and he toppled over, sideways, onto his pillow. A perfect soft landing.
His eyes opened blearily. They had the look of a heavy dose of Jack Daniels about them. Col drank too much. I knew he carried a lot of pain. All down to his cheating ex wife Diana and his kid, Kyle, who he wasn't so sure was his. Drinking was his way of dealing with it – but I didn't think it did much more than give him a fucking awful hang over, and a whole bunch of depression, from what I'd seen.
“Yo man, what's up?...God...my head fuckin' hurts,” he moaned and yawned simultaneously.
“Nothin' to worry about – your light was on, that's all... go back to sleep, pal.”
I tossed a blanket over him and turned the light out, leaving him to it.
I liked to take care of the guys. Technically speaking I wasn't their boss, Dad was, but he left the fieldwork to me. He spent most of his time traveling the county and further afield, visiting existing and potential new customers, or he sat in the plush office space, with Janice, my older sister, and his preferred son, her husband Rob.
Rob was everything I wasn't. College educated, very well spoken, and recently a father to Bella, my niece. I got on okay with Rob, in small doses. But I was head over heels in love with Bella. Six months old and a bundle of pinkness, big brown eyes and curly fair hair. She competed with my emotional attachment to my V-Rod, and that was saying something. I'd have a dose of Bella most days, carrying her over to the bunk house where we all had a turn, passing her around, cuddling her like a bunch of lovestruck idiots. When I wasn't out on the ranch, being the unofficial head rancher, I was being an official hands-on uncle.
After more than three years hard graft I felt I'd earned the title of Head Rancher officially, but obviously Dad didn't feel the same w
ay. At least I didn't think he did. We never spoke about it, or anything much at all. I didn't want to push it in case I got an answer I didn't like.
In any case, no one questioned my authority or had any reason to. I was Charlie Lyle's son and therefore, in charge. If anyone felt a mind to take me on, we'd settle it the old fashioned way, physically. Not that I had any concerns in that direction, apart from Lucky. He was kinda in my face now and then. Greg Lucky had a lot of different ideas on the way things should be done, and wasn't shy of letting me know. I always listened, but I could see the defiance in his eyes when I gave out the orders my way. His 'what-the-hell-d'you know-about-anything-boy' look, said it all. But on the whole we all worked well together. Not too many instances of excess testosterone had occurred to blight my days. If they had, there were drink and women involved, usually. Pete and Jackson had had a major drunken dispute over Lola one night. I earned myself a broken rib and a black eye, getting too involved and coming between them before someone died. Not something I planned on doing again.
I took a two minute, cool shower, in the washroom and then turned in for what was left of the night.
I text Kicker with some friendly advice. Just in case he'd forgotten what we were doing the next day.
- start at ten. get some decent sleep. long day ahead.
And I finally laid down on my bed, trying to go to sleep myself. But my mind was in overdrive.
I kept going there... again... and again... and again... fuck!
Back to her yard, replaying the whole hot session over and over on loop.
I gave up trying to stop myself thinking about it in the end.
A big smile lit up my face. Tonight had had its good points. Fucking awesome points.
My God, that was something to remember... hot and fast and so goddamn sweet it stirred my soul... the way she responded to me was just perfect. She was perfect. Like a dream. Edible, lickable, kissable and so goddamn fuckable she'd tempt a Buddhist monk...