William looked odd in jeans and a denim jacket. There was writing on the back of the jacket and he turned so she could read it. She read it aloud, curious about its significance, “Bill’s Bikes - Carson City, Nevada.”
“Bill was in my dad’s unit,” he began, as he took a seat at the counter. “I was named after him. That’s why I’m always William. He’s Bill. I’m William.
“Bill has a motorcycle shop in Nevada. He left the Wheels when they first started turning to the dark side.” He smiled at his Star Wars comparison and stood up so that he could move to the end of the counter. “His son doesn’t want to take over the business, so he is offering to sell it to me over time while he shows me how to run it. I’ll still be around bikes and there’s a lot of open road over there by the California border.”
Hannah remained silent, but thought, Had William come back just to say goodbye? If so, it would have been better if he had just remained gone.
“Funny thing,” he continued. “Bill’s son wants to open an accounting office. He can’t pay a whole lot, but he says he’s looking for some right-out-of-college accountants who can hold their own in tough situations. He said it’d be their chance to get in on the ground floor and maybe becomes partners as the business expanded. I told him I knew of somebody who would be perfect for the job, if she was willing to come to Carson City with me.”
He smiled broadly at her. “What do you think, cowgirl? You want to ride with me to Carson City?”
“I’ll have to give notice,” she stammered out.
“After the disturbances with the Devil’s Angels, your boss would probably be glad to be done with you.” He took her hands in his own. “And I doubt that you have gotten caught up on your rent in the past six weeks. Pack what you need and tell the landlord to sell the rest to cover the back rent. I’ve got an apartment over the shop. It’ll do until we both get back on our feet. We can leave tonight.”
“Help me finish cleaning up, and then we can leave in the morning,” she replied. “That will give this cowgirl the chance to see if she can ride a bucking bronco as well as a wounded horse.”
She threw a clean towel at him and pointed him toward one of the machines that still needed wiping down. “I don’t know. This bronco is liable to throw its rider and end up on top of her while she’s down,” he replied.
“That would be OK, too,” she answered with a smile. “Just as long as she doesn’t have to make any of these damn foam designs while she’s down.”
Below are some of Tamara Knowles' other works to enjoy! Tap the covers for a sample
Back to Table of Contents
Ride to Write
Tamara Knowles
Eric looked down at the beauty below him, his heart hammering in his chest at the thought of this siren being his forever. He bent down, his lips skimming across the swanlike neck, sighing in pleasure. Eric sdsnodbasondasaod
Hilary threw her hands up in the air after she had beaten her keyboard sufficiently. Her publisher was pressuring her to get this story written before her deadline but there was something blocking her from getting the words out. Maybe she needed some inspiration other than the four brown walls of her bedroom.
She saved the document and powered down the computer before heading over to her closet. Since she had never written about bikers before Hilary wasn’t quite sure what she was writing, so the only way to figure this out was to actually head out and find a biker bar with real, life bikers. She remembered seeing a club called Harlequins a few minutes from her home. Hilary had never gotten the courage to actually step foot in the bar because of the numerous bikes that waited outside the club.
Shaking her fear off, she dug through her closet for some decent clothing to wear. She didn’t go out that often; her job usually didn’t require it. She dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans and a white, flowing blouse, hoping this wouldn’t make her stand out as much in the club. Hilary grabbed her bag and tied her hair up before leaving her home and locking the door.
“You’re doing research, Hilary,” she whispered to herself as she walked to the club. She was surprised that she didn’t have to show her ID to get in—usually store clerks asked for her ID when she tried to so much as buy a DVD labeled at 18+. Her baby face caused many problems in her life.
She knew the second she stepped into the club that is was a bad idea to wear what she had on. Almost every eye in the club turned to stare at her. The whole bar was a sea of black leather and smelt of whiskey. Hilary kept her head down and sat at a table in the darkest corner before taking her notepad out. She was here to see how bikers acted. She needed to know.
Hilary flinched when she heard a glass break, followed by loud yelling. Violent. She wrote the word on the paper before looking back up. She was surprised to see an oversized, muscled man standing beside her table, a smirk on his face.
“Can I help you?” she asked nervously.
“Bartender. Do you want a drink?” The large man snapped the gum he was chewing before the smirk returned.
“Oh, I’ll just have an orange juice, please. I’m here to work, not for pleasure.” Hilary bent her head down again and let out a relieved breath when the man left with a chuckle. She was beginning to think that coming to this club was a bad idea when people began snickering and pointing at her.
“I’m here to work,” Hilary whispered to herself once more before looking up and around the club. The door had opened again and Hilary diverted her gaze in its direction. She needed to be able to set the scene in her story. She almost immediately regretted looking when a tall, slim man walked into the place, a smirk on his handsome face.
She quickly looked away, her cheeks flaming at the thought of being caught staring at him. He didn’t fit the usual profile of a biker. For one, he was slimmer than anyone in the club excluding the females, and he held himself in a way that screamed “don’t mess with me, or you’re going to regret it.”
Confident. The bartender returned with her drink and placed it on one of the coasters on the table. She nodded her head in thanks but didn’t touch it. Hilary couldn’t risk drinking something that could have been drugged. You could never trust a club to make sure that nothing bad happens to their patrons.
“It is safe to drink, you know.”
Hilary looked up at the sound of a man’s deep voice and faced the man from at the door. This close she could see the color of his eyes, and boy, were they stunning. They were a mix or blue and grey and would be the first thing anyone would notice were they to meet him.
“Sorry?”
“The drink. It’s safe to drink.” He took a seat opposite her and smirked. Hilary’s gaze immediately directed from his eyes to his mouth.
“I don’t drink anything that I haven’t seen prepared before me. Thank you.”
“This club has this system. The glasses will show up with a little red line if your drink has been drugged. We’re the only club to have this system at the moment, but so far it’s worked and your glass doesn’t have any red lines on it. So it is safe to consume.”
“Okay, thank you.” Hilary cast her eyes down, hoping this slim, blue-eyed wonder would leave soon. When she didn’t hear the chair scrape away on the grimy floor she looked up with a sigh.
“Is there something else that you want?”
“I’m Thomas Baker. I own this place.” Thomas gestured around the club with a smile on his face. Hilary just shrugged her shoulders before turning back to the pad. Annoying.
“What are you writing?” Thomas reached over and snatched the pad from under her fingers. She tried grasping at the paper, but he held it out of her reach as he read off each of the words before turning back to look at her.
“Are you a writer? A journalist?”
“I’m not a journalist,” Hilary hissed, and she yanked the notepad back and shoved it inside of her bag. She tossed some money on the table for the drink before standing up and heading towards the door. She felt Thomas following her but kept walking—she knew coming to t
his place was a bad idea.
“Wait up. Where are you going?”
“I’m going home. I came here for the information I needed; now I’m leaving.”
“What information did you need? I need to know for the safety of my club.” Thomas ran around her and stood in front of her, blocking her path, a cute smirk on his handsome face. Hilary took a deep breath before deciding the only way to get this man away from her was to tell her what she needed to know.
“I’m an author and my latest story involves bikers. I needed to know how they act.”
“So you thought we were violent, confident, and annoying? That’s a lie. I could tell you everything you needed to know about bikers if you were to allow me to take you out.”
“I’m sure I can figure it out myself, thank you very much.” Hilary hoisted her bag higher up onto her shoulder and tried to walk past Thomas, only to have him dart in front of her.
“One time, that’s all I ask. If you don’t get the information you need then I promise to leave you alone.”
Hilary pondered the idea. While the information would be helpful, she was worried about being around someone like Thomas after all of the stories she had seen in the newspapers. Bikers were supposedly mean, rough characters who didn’t like to be messed with. She could give Thomas one chance, but if he was in any way violent then she would be out of there faster than you could say “halleluiah.”
“One time. That’s all I’m giving.”
“Great! Meet me here tomorrow at noon. It was nice meeting you… I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Hilary. Goodnight, Thomas.” Hilary turned away and walked home. Once the club was out of sight she leaned against a wall and sighed. Hopefully the trip wasn’t as wasted as she thought it was going to be.
***
Hilary,
I expect the story to be completed by next Thursday. That gives you six days; I’m sure you will be able to accomplish this task.
Shaun.
Hilary sighed as she reread the email for the fifth time that day. It was sent yesterday morning and she had spent almost twenty hours in front of the computer screen, hoping to get the creative juices flowing. She was due to meet Thomas at the club in less than an hour and she hadn’t even showered yet. Instead, she had sat staring at her blank screen.
When the clock rolled around to half past eleven, she sighed before rushing around her tiny apartment to get showered and dressed. She chose to wear black leggings with a white shirt. Simple, yet classy. Hilary slowly made her way to the club and frowned at the “closed” sign on the door. She was sure Thomas had told her to meet her at the club at twelve.
Hilary sighed quietly before turning away. She’d have to find some other type of inspiration. She had just turned the corner when someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she swung around with her hand inside her purse, reaching for the pepper spray that she kept there just in case. Since she lived in a bad neighborhood, she always needed to be careful.
“Don’t spray me! It’s just me.” Hilary relaxed slightly as Thomas smirked at her. Thomas looked amazing, yet he also looked like he had just crawled out of bed. She followed him into the bar slowly, wondering what she was going to learn about this mysterious man.
“Take a seat. I’ll be with you shortly.” Thomas gestured to a nearby location and Hilary sat in one of the high-backed, leather chairs. She was surprised at how comfy the seats actually were, having expected them to be rough and somehow sticky. While waiting, she took out her notepad and looked around the club.
Hilary wrote down a description of the club, hoping that she could incorporate it in the story somehow. She may have slightly lied to Thomas about what her story was about earlier. It was about bikers, but the real trouble was getting the inspiration to write the erotic scenes between her two mains characters. Her publisher had complained that her readers thought the erotic scenes lacked passion and were repetitive in style.
She had come to the club to get a look at the different men that were around, since she had been writing the same style of men over and over again. She needed a change of scenery. Thomas was the perfect man for her to study. Her fictional men usually contained rippling muscles with a dark and brooding look. Thomas was the complete opposite of her usual characters.
Thomas had short, dark, slightly curled hair and amazing eyes. He wasn’t overly tall; he appeared to be around six foot tall and slim—though she could see his slight muscles under his shirt. Thomas was the exact man that she had been looking for; she just needed to get him on paper now.
****
“Who’s the pretty lady at the bar?” Rich, Thomas’ vice president, asked.
“Hilary. I found her last night, and apparently she’s a writer and needed inspiration. So I volunteered.” Thomas winked before he pulled on a tight black shirt to match his black jeans. While he didn’t look like the usual biker, his club respected him more than any other person that had run the club in ten years.
“I’m sure you volunteered.”
“I offered to help with her writing, but you know me. Never one to say ‘no’ to a pretty face.” Thomas sprayed on cologne before heading out of the office and back into the club, sitting opposite Hilary. She didn’t notice him at first, her hand busy scribbling words down on the notepad she had with her.
Thomas took that time to study her. Hilary was quite tall for a woman, which Thomas secretly liked. He hated having to bend down to kiss someone; it made his back hurt too much. Her bangs were short, cut off below her eyes, and a stunning shade of blonde. Her eyes were dark brown, but not too brown that Thomas couldn’t see the tiny flecks of green in them. Her thin, black-framed glasses drew his attention and he couldn’t help but stare at her until she looked up, a frown on her small lips.
“What are you staring at?”
“You. You really are quite beautiful.”
“Yeah, sure. Tell me about this place.” Hilary gestured around the club with her pen, her eyes intent on him.
“What would you like to know?”
“How did you end up owning it? You can’t be that old.”
“I’m twenty-seven and I got voted into earning it. Before you ask what that means let me explain it to you. The old owner was a complete dick; I mean he was at the highest level on the dick scale. If people owed him money and they were even an hour overdue, he would send someone out to beat the living daylights out of him. He was also a heavy drug addict, and it wasn’t the easy drugs either. He would take heroin and cocaine on a near daily basis.
“So, in some clubs if they believe that the president isn’t running it correctly and don’t feel like the vice president will do much better, they can hold a vote. Which is what happened in my case; you vote for who you want to run the club and it just so happened that I was the one who got chosen. Usually it doesn’t happen like this; you have to normally work your way up in the club, but in some serious cases things like this can happen.”
“So, normally you have to work your way to become the president of the club. What happens if the president dies or something happens to them?”
“If they become seriously ill or are unable to keep the club running sufficiently then the vice president steps in and takes over the duties until they are able to return, or if they die, then they will take over.”
Thomas waited for Hilary to write everything down, and in the meantime he couldn’t stop imagining what she would look like under her clothes. He didn’t realize for a few moments that Hilary was asking him a question because his mind was too engrossed in imagining what she would sound like in his hands.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“I was asking how you got into the club.” Hilary adjusted her glasses and Thomas couldn’t help but notice the little lip tick she had when she was concentrating. She would draw her bottom lip into her mouth and nibble gently before releasing it.
“How I got into the club? Well, I accidently ran in here on the way home from school o
ne day. I was being chased by bullies and this was the first building that I could find so I ducked inside. That was a bad mistake at the time. The club was being run by an asshole, really. I was grabbed by two of his henchmen and tugged into the backroom.
“They gave me two options. The first being: I join their club, and I’d have protection from anyone who tried to bully me or tried to hurt me; or the second option: I would have the crap beaten out of me and I could never mention this to anyone. Obviously I chose the first option, but they didn’t tell me they wanted me to beat one of my tormentors.”
“Did you do it?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I suppose that’s true.” Hilary inched away from the table a little bit, a frown on her heart-shaped face. Thomas reached out and placed his hand on the back of hers, trying to put a comforting smile on his face.
Runaway Ride: Alpha Bad Boy Biker and MC Romance Box Set Page 41