by Rye Hart
“So is the limp in your left leg, but you don’t see me staring at you when you walk.”
I saw a wall come down in front of his face. His eyes whipped up toward mine, and his smile turned from playful to dark. His eyes clouded with a fury that seemed uncharacteristically like him.
And yet, it didn’t.
I’d hit a sore spot, and I was glad. If he thought I wasn’t watching him, then he had another thing coming. If he didn’t think I saw his faults, he was wrong. He wasn’t some swoon-worthy country gentleman that any woman would be proud to settle down with.
He was a miserable, cynical drunk.
“Same time tomorrow,” Drake said, as he turned and left.
I watched him walk into his house, the screen door slamming behind him. The sun had fallen, and my legs were still weak. I needed a meal, a shower, and two gallons of water poured down my throat. I got inside my truck, slamming the door shut as I dug for my keys. I pulled my seat mirror down and took a look at myself, my face flushed with effort and my neck tanned from the sun.
“It’s good money, Delia. It’s very fucking good money. It’ll set you up. It’ll pay off your degree. It’ll give you the perfect reference for any job you want.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I flipped the mirror up and jammed my keys into the ignition.
I didn’t want to come back tomorrow. I wasn’t going to lie to myself. He was a miserable man who was determined to walk all over me just to prove a point. Whether it was control at this point or whether he was just pissed at my existence, I hadn’t quite figured out yet. But if I did the job I came here to do correctly, it would get me into whatever facility I wanted to work in until I’d established enough experience to open my own practice.
It was only a bit of hard work. one more semester’s worth of pushing through to get to where I was going. I’d done it all my life. This was no different. Dealing with this asshole was no different than dealing with any other asshole that had stood in my way.
If he wasn’t going to recognize my authority, then I had another trick up my sleeve.
I could stand toe-to-toe with his antics, if only to show him that however far he could dig his boots in, I could dig mine farther.
This wasn’t my first rodeo.
Chapter 7
Drake
“What?” I asked with a groan.
“You’ve got a performance today. Get up and get going,” Hank said.
“I don’t have anything like that on my calendar,” I said. “The fuck gives?”
“Shouldn’t you be up anyway? You know, doing ranch stuff? It’s an impromptu concert you’ve been invited to.”
“I don’t do those.”
“It’s an open-air thing, and you do it now.”
“I’m goin’ the fuck back to bed.”
“It’s for a good charity,” he said.
“Then just write them a check,” I said.
“It’s an acoustic set. Real mellow stuff.”
“I don’t do mellow.”
“Will you do it for Autism Speaks?”
Raking my hand across my face, I slung my legs over the edge of the bed. I had a soft spot for that charity, for the awareness they put out and the educational materials they had for people. My sister was the light of my life, but I’d watched my parents struggle most of their final years trying to understand how my sister worked. Elsie could operate in public for the most part. She held down her own part-time job and everything. But she had her moments, and they were rough.
Nonetheless, that girl was everything to me. And anything I could do for people who spread awareness about autism, I was more than willing to do.
“Why the fuck didn’t you lead off with that, Hank?”
“Should I have to?” he asked.
“When you’re calling at five in the morning, yes.”
“I’ll remember that for next time,” Hank said.
“There better not be a next time. When’s the concert?”
“It’s a morning thing. You go on stage at eight fifteen. I can’t get your P.A. on the phone. Fill her in when she gets to you if she hasn’t already quit yet. I’m sending the address to your phone and hers.”
Sighing, I hung up the phone, waiting for the message to come through.
I dragged myself to the bathroom and cleaned myself up. I showered, shaved, and put on the nicest boots and bucket hat I owned. If I was going to make an appearance at something like this, then I wanted to make it a good one. The understanding I had of my sister and her condition was a direct result of charities like Autism Speaks.
I walked downstairs and headed for the door just as I heard the sound.
Delia’s truck drove up the driveway, and I shook my head. Fuck, the woman was persistent. I had thrown her one of the tougher days on the farm, so she’d go running to the hills and quit like I wanted her to. But it didn’t work. She was driving up my driveway in that rust bucket she owned, ready for another day’s work.
Even after mucking out horse stalls.
Sleeping had been hard last night. Seeing her sweat drenched face chugging that water as it dripped down her neck, falling onto those sweat-soaked tits with nipples that were poking against her bra. Her white shirt clung to her as she tipped that bottle back, chugging it without taking even one breath. It had set my groin pumping for her. That's the last thing I needed too.
And that angry look in her eye. Shit. That was the icing on the cake. It was a good thing she didn’t have any romantic interest in me. Otherwise, we’d be in deep shit.
Today was her lucky day. Even though she was dressed for another day on the ranch, we had to leave for my performance. I went into the kitchen and drew out my flask, tipping it back and draining it so I could fill it up again. I didn’t have enough time for coffee, but this would warm me up just fine.
I screwed the cap on tight, took another swig from the bottle, and headed for my truck.
“We’re leaving,” I said, as I stepped back inside and grabbed my guitar.
“What? Where are we headed?” Delia asked as she rushed up to me.
“Pick up your phone, and you’d know,” I said.
“That still doesn’t answer my question,” she said.
“We’re heading to an impromptu concert. I’m due on stage at eight fifteen.”
“Is the band meeting you there?”
“No, just me and my guitar this morning. Come on, we’re taking my truck.”
I walked over to my blacked-out truck, a present to myself after my second hit single.
I pulled open my truck door and tossed my guitar in, but I noticed Delia wasn’t getting in. She was standing against her truck, her arms crossed as she studied me closely. I didn’t have time for this shit. We had to get going.
“You coming? Or is this you quitting?” I asked.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just answer me one question.”
She walked over to me, her hips swaying as her tits jostled with her movements.
“Have you been drinking already this morning?” Delia asked.
Her eyes were holding mine as her hands rested on her hips. She was eyeing me up and down. Sizing me the fuck up at seven in the damn morning. I sighed as I closed my eyes, knowing it did me no good to lie to this woman.
I nodded, hearing her let out a deep sigh.
“I’m driving,” Delia said.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m driving.”
“I’m not even drunk.”
“I’m driving. Now get in,” she said. “You'd think you, of all people, would know better than to get behind the wheel when you've been drinking.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Now get in the fucking car. I'm driving.”
She had a fucking point, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t drunk, but I still had a drink that morning.
I watched her open her truck door and hop in, sitting t
here as she waited for me to join her .I ripped my guitar from my truck and slammed the door, gritting my teeth in the process.
I slid into her truck, my guitar sitting between my legs as we pulled out.
“I got the address of the place,” I said.
“I know where you’re going,” Delia said.
“You told Hank I’d been drinking, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said.
The truck ride was silent after that. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly, and her back was completely straight. If she wasn’t going to entertain me with some sort of conversation, then I was going to study her. I hooked onto the profile of her face and grazed my eyes down her body.
She was a pain in my ass, but she was nice on the eyes.
We pulled into the venue, and I saw Hank flagging us down. Delia pulled into a parking space, not speaking to me as she slid out of her side of the truck. I grabbed my guitar and started for the coordinator, who was usually a goofy-looking asshole with a clipboard.
Hank and Delia were talking to one another before they joined the conversation.
“You’ll have time at the top of the hour to set up, then your set starts at eight fifteen, Mr. Blackthorn. Your bus is here with your gear in case you need it, though it’s an acoustic set so a speaker and a hookup is plenty. Your bus is yours to use as you wish—”
“I know my bus is mine,” I said. “Just point me in that direction, and I’ll take it from here.”
Both Delia and Hank looked over at me before the coordinator pointed.
“Thanks.”
I didn’t wait around for either of them to lecture me on my tone of voice. Hank fucking acted like my mother, and Delia was quickly becoming that nagging little voice I wanted to squash like a bug. I heard the pitter patter of little feet behind me as I strode for my bus, pulling the door open and stepping inside.
I heard someone step in behind me before the door closed.
“Sure you wanna do that?” I asked.
I looked up into a mirror and saw Delia’s reflection standing at the front of the bus.
“Didn’t realize you’d need all this for a local performance,” she said.
“Gets brought to every performance,” I said. “Personal protocol. If you don’t wanna attend the performance, you can stay on the bus.”
“Sounds fine with me,” she said.
“I got a forty-five-minute set, so try not to miss me too much.”
“It’ll be hard, but I think I can manage.”
My eyes whipped to hers in the mirror before I turned around and picked up my guitar.
“Enjoy the bus,” I said, as I maneuvered past her. “When I’m done, we can get on back to the ranch.”
I stepped off the bus before she could say anything. I didn’t give a shit what she did, honestly. If she got into her truck and drove off, she’d be doing both of us a fucking favor. I walked up to Hank who was still talking to the coordinator, getting logistics and probably working out payment options for the gig.
“I’m not taking payment,” I said.
“What?” Hank asked.
“Don’t pay me for this gig. Keep your money,” I said.
“Mr. Blackthorn, Autism Speaks sets aside funds for stuff like this.”
“Keep the money and put it to better use. If artists demand to be paid for things like this, then they don’t need to be doing it. Though you could’ve made it an afternoon concert if you’re looking for suggestions.”
I marched off toward the venue, ready to warm up and tune my guitar. Delia was alone on the bus doing fuck-knew-what, Hank was probably pissed I wasn’t accepting payment, and this guitar hadn’t seen the light of fucking day in almost a year. It would take me all my damn warm-up time just to tune the fucking thing, but I didn’t care.
It would be worth it to see those kids smile.
The End
End of Sneak Peek. Would you like to know how this continues?
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5 BIKERS FOR VALENTINES
PROLOGUE
Breakfast with the Grove brothers was already getting interesting. By now, all five were watching my every move.
My eyes were fixated on Nick, who was starved for something other than eggs and bacon and I had a feeling I’d soon find out what that was. The midnight blue tint of his eyes darkened even further with lust, and caused a spark to set off in my toes.
He scanned my body as Tyler got up from the table, leaving his coffee behind and stalking toward me.
My gaze followed him as he stood up in front of me, stepping in between my legs as he cupped my blushing cheek.
I nuzzled into his hand, and the air in the room changed on a dime. I heard Nick get up and pad over to me, taking my coffee mug from my hands. I tilted my lips into Tyler’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, and then I felt Nick’s hands come down on my shoulders.
Tyler swiped his hand over the kitchen table, scattering the remains of breakfast to the floor, before he yanked me from the chair. His hands were all over me, ripping my pajamas off my body. I felt Nick’s hands on my ass, squeezing it as his lips attached to the back of my neck. I felt my body heating with electricity as their skin grazed mine.
I slid to my knees as I kissed down Tyler’s body. His muscles jumped for me as my hands raked down his sides. I felt every one of his chiseled muscles pulse underneath my touch as I sank to the floor. He was now dripping for me, lurching toward my mouth and begging to be between my lips. I wrapped my hands around his thighs and pulled him close to me.
I felt Tyler’s hands wrap tightly in my hair as Nick perched himself behind me.
“Hold on,” Nick said. “I want to taste you.”
I heard chairs moving and the table shifting before Nick slid underneath my thighs. His hands traveled up my body, squeezing my breasts as I moaned. I grabbed Tyler’s cock and wrapped my lips around it, causing a groan to fall from his lips.
Then, Nick pulled my pussy down onto his lips.
“Oh shit,” I said. “Holy fuck.”
Tyler’s hand guided my face along his cock as my hips rolled into Nick’s lips. I reached around and sank my nails into Tyler’s tight ass, causing him to thrust forward. I raked my nails down his thighs as Nick sucked my clit between his teeth, causing my legs to grow weak.
“I got you, Kitten” Nick said.
His arms held me up as I braced against Tyler. I could feel myself quickly approaching my end. My eyes rolled back as my throat clamped down around Tyler. I moaned and whimpered. I was trembling against them both, riding Nick’s face with no shame as I enjoyed the wave of an intoxicating orgasm rushing through my body.
“You taste so fucking good,” Nick said.
His vibrations sent me over the edge. His tongue pressed into my clit, riding me through my orgasm as Tyler pulled his cock from my mouth. I moaned into the room, crying out Nick’s name as I shook. Tyler’s hand was holding my hair, pulling my gaze up to his.
“You’ll moan my name before this is all over.”
I had a feeling he wouldn’t disappoint.
CHAPTER 1
Not tonight.
I don’t need this shit tonight.
What started out as a slow afternoon was quickly turning into a wild night at The Skull. In just five hours, I’d already yelled for the bouncers to break up three bar fights between drunken asshats fighting over purely senseless shit. I was losing my damn mind and voice.
Unlike most evenings when I work through the chaos with polished grace, tonight’s serving of ridiculous crap was working my patience in a royal way.
Thanks to the current state of my personal life I didn’t have the tolerance to deal with the bull that came with my bartending gig.
Luckily though, I knew how to use the pistol stashed below the counter.
Special announcement dicks: I’m not afraid to pull the bitch out.
A low-key evening to help me get away from all the bullshi
t happening at home was all I asked. That’s what everyone was going to give me, whether they liked it or not.
I’d worked at The Skull for a little over two years. It was the only place willing to hire someone without work experience and the owner didn't give a damn about my age. I was now a nineteen-year-old, slinging beer and whiskey in a biker bar to save up money to fund my own dream.
What was my dream?
I was going to be a badass biker street wear boutique owner.
I was determined.
I was driven.
Mostly, I was hungry.
To say that I’d grown up in an unstable household would have been an understatement. I had to make my own way through life ever since I could remember. My passion for clothing design gave me a break from Emma’s screwed up world, and into a fantasy of leather and lace.