First Ride (The Slayers MC Book 1)

by Tara Oakes

  THE SLAYERS, MC

  Book 1

  FIRST RIDE

  By Tara Oakes

  “Since when are bikers the good guys?

  ….they’re FILTHY as sin.”

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  First edition. November 10, 2015

  Copyright c. 2015 Tara Oakes

  Written by Tara Oakes

  Edited by Dana Hoffman

  Published by Twelve Oakes Publishing, Inc.

  Cover design by CBB Productions

  Photographer Allan Piers

  TO MY LAMBCHOP, MY LOVE

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  FIRST RIDE, book 1 in the brand new Slayers MC series marks my very last novel of 2015. I can’t thank you all enough for making this truly one of the best years of my life. I had no idea that something that started so small would become such a large part of my life. That each and every of you for helping make that happen.

  To my personal assistant Alicia, thanks for everything that you do so well. When you came on board in January neither one of us knew exactly what we’d be doing. But, we’ve found our groove, hit our stride, and I’m proud to say have one of the best teams out there.

  To Dana, thank you so much for stepping up to the plate and taking over editing when I needed an emergency editor. I remember the first email we exchanged months ago and look where that journey’s led us. First, you became the best beta reader I’d ever had. Next, my editor. I hope it was as great an experience for you as it was for us.

  To CBB, thanks again for another amazing cover! This one was definitely the most fun so far. Now I have to find an even hotter image for the next one.

  Thank you to every single blog that supports us, and the release of this novel. You guys make it so easy to get the word out, and I thank you for it. I thank you for posting all our last minute requests, for writing your reviews and for supporting indies the way you do.

  Thank you to every single one of you, the readers, who buy the books, write the reviews, attend the signings and pimp us indies. I know there are more than enough books out there to choose from and I am truly grateful that you’ve chosen mine.

  Many of you have followed me since day one, with the release of the first Kingsmen MC book, A LIL’ LESS BROKEN. The Kingsmen’s hourney may be over for now, but the Slayers are just beginning. Please enjoy FIRST RIDE.

  CHAPTER ONE

  DAWSON

  “You get the delivery?”

  I may be speaking to the man, the brother, Uno, as he pulls up a seat next to me but I’m most definitely looking at the chick in front of me. She knows it, too, feeding off it, putting on a show for me and my cock.

  “Yeah, boss. Damn Russians are getting greedy about it, too. Say they’re gonna up the price for the next order. I think they can tell we need it bad.”

  His one good eye settles on me.

  I take a sip of the tall beer bottle in hand and suck on the opening a little bit, nursing it, before arching my eyebrow and holding it up for the stripper on stage to see. I’ve banged her a time or two before and I know this chick, Candy, is always up for a good time; especially one that puts a little extra money in her pocket.

  She drops to all fours and saunters over like a lioness in heat, never breaking eye contact with me as her hips sway to the heavy beats of the blasting music. Her perfectly fake tits hang low, jiggling with each stride until she’s in front of me on the raised platform of a stage.

  Finally moving her eyes from mine, she fixes on the bottle I hold to her. She knows what I want. Her bright red lips open wide, practically unhinging her goddamned jaw like a pro before closing around the tip of the dark amber-colored glass bottle.

  Her cheeks hollow as she sucks the air in, creating a vacuum that my dick remembers all-too-well, before sliding down and mouth-fucking the beer as I watch.

  My cock stirs.

  Uno gasps, enjoying Candy’s demonstration of one of her many, many, talents. She’s one of our best girls, gets paid top dollar, too. I feel the hungry eyes of all the other patrons ogling her and I know she’s gonna be making bank tonight with each one of their sorry asses wanting to get a little taste of her.

  “Boss, we got a problem.”

  Candy doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t let our intruder break her rhythm.

  “What?” I growl to the prospect.

  The kid hesitates, quickly picking up on why this might be a bad time to interrupt. “Uh… Tommy says he got a problem with one of the new girls. He’s gettin’ all ballsy again.”

  I take the bottle back reluctantly with a loud popping sound echoing as it leaves the tight confines of her sucking mouth.

  “Here,” I hand the bottle to Uno, done with it for now.

  I laugh to myself as the dozens of men perched around the perimeter of the stage do just as I’d thought they would and eagerly wave green bills around in the air eagerly, wanting to get their own private demonstration from the naked woman on stage.

  My heavy boot kicks the bottom of the double swing door leading back to the dressing rooms, not happy that I have to intervene yet again in staff shit. I pay Tommy handsomely- you’d think he’d be able to do his damn job and handle this shit on his own.

  I hear the loud slapping sound like a fuckin’ fire alarm, and quicken my step.

  “I told you, you’re gonna go out there and shake that little ass of yours!” The balding man’s hand is still held in the air, threatening a repeat.

  “What the fuck are you doin'?” I feel my chest rumbling like a diesel engine at what I’ve walked in on.

  The small girl standing with her hand covering her cheek is as still as stone, crying. I don’t recognize her, but, hell, I usually can only tell these girls apart by their tits and their asses and this girl’s not showing either of them right now.

  “H-hey, Dawson,” Tommy stammers. “The new girl says she doesn’t want to dance, says she’s changed her mind.”

  “And?” I ask, shifting my eyes to scan her. The dark jeans she’s got on hug her short little legs just enough for me to tell what’s underneath the fabric is mouthwatering.

  “Last I checked, we got ourselves an open door policy,” I remind the prick although I’m gonna be reminding him of a whole lot more in a few minutes.

  “She’s supposed to go on next, D. We got no one else here right now.” The washed-up snake of a man tries to justify himself.

  It’s a Tuesday, one of the slower nights for business. We keep all the regular girls on a pretty tight rotation, giving most of them this night off.

  Heavy breathing draws my thoughts to the petite young thing who’s finally moved. She wipes the back of her hand against her lower lip. I don’t know why it catches my attention the way it does, but I watch the plump little cushion of her mouth rebound and her long-lashed eyes widen as they spot the drop of red on the porcelain skin of her hand.

  I’ve seen blood more times than most. Bucket loads of it. But, this one lone drop of it smeared on the tiny woman is enough to have me seething.

  I move quick, fast enough to cause the little thing next to me to jump in place as I charge the greasy-skinned man in front of me, sending him crashing into the wall.

  “W
hat did I tell you about keeping your hands to yourself, Tommy? You think I give a flyin’ fuck if I got an empty stage for a few minutes? Apologize to her.”

  The only things holding him high in the air right now, suspended against the wall with his scrawny legs dangling, are my fists- fists that desperately want to pound the ever loving shit out of him.

  “I- I’m sorry, D. Really.” He’s practically pissing his pants.

  “I said! Apologize to her!” My teeth are like heavy stones grinding together.

  Guys like this one get their kicks outta hitting women ‘cause they don’t have the balls to hit another man. Guys like this one need to be taught a lesson, a lesson they won’t forget.

  His eyes dart passed me to where I’m certain the girl hasn’t budged. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, Esè!” I call back to the prospect who’d summoned me earlier. “Pick out the prettiest little G-string you can find. Tommy here’s gonna fill the empty time on stage.”

  I feel my lips crack into a smile as I cast down the man’s sentence onto him. “And if he tries to step off that stage one fuckin’ time before his song’s over, you make sure to take him out back and show him how a real man hits.”

  “D… D-- don’t get carried away, Dawson. I- I won’t ever hit another one of these sluts again, promise.” He wiggles around like a fuckin’ weasel in my grip.

  I feel my eye twitch, involuntarily, hearing the word “slut” come out of his mouth and I change my mind about practicing a little self-restraint.

  I pull back my right arm, my deadly arm, and wail right into his out of shape, flabby beer gut, causing him to double over as I drop him. His gasping and retching for air is like music to my ears and I close my eyes as I savor it.

  “Esè!” I call out to the prospect. “Get him outta my sight and up on that stage!”

  The young guy moves fast, eager to please me as he grabs the scruff of the sorry sack of shit of a man and drags him away.

  I move my neck harshly to the side, cracking the joint to relieve the tension that’s built up.

  “Thank you,” a soft whisper of a voice breaks the silence.

  I turn, expecting her to be cowering in some corner, but she’s not. Now in front of her, I can finally get a good look. Her dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair is pushed back fully showcasing her deep amber eyes. They’re clear- not red and stoned like I’m used to seeing around here.

  “I’m sorry about not dancing, about causing all this trouble,” she says.

  I see the base of her throat constrict as she swallows hard. The sight of watching this pretty little thing’s throat closing tight makes my cock harder than anything Candy could’ve done on that stage and I find myself wondering if this angelic little blonde’s got a gag reflex.

  “Yeah… you don’t really look like the type that comes in here to dance.” I state the obvious. Her jeans may be tight around the luscious thighs I’m sizing up but her top isn’t. The plain black shirt she’s wearing isn’t even cut low enough for me to tell if the round handful-sized mounds that sit high on her chest are real.

  “I thought I could do it. I really did,” she shakes her head, disappointed in herself. “I needed to do it.”

  Her reaction baffles me. I’ve never seen a chick disappointed in not becoming a stripper. Usually… it’s the other way around.

  “Come again?” I arch my eyebrow.

  “Sorry,” she’s quick to try to erase her last statement. “It’s not your problem.”

  I don’t know what it is about her, maybe it’s the honesty behind her words, the demure way she carries herself so differently than most of the broads that walk through these doors, but it’s something.

  Maybe it’s the real disappointment I see on her face as if she’s pissed at herself, clearly not used to falling short on things.

  “You in some kind of trouble, darlin’?” I get the feeling there’s more to this story than just a chick not being able to fulfill some stripper fantasy.

  She closes her eyes softly, shaking her head. “I’ll figure it out.”

  What is it about her?

  “That hurt?” I take the steps to go to her, expecting her to flinch or jump back like most people do when I get close.

  She doesn’t.

  She just scrunches her forehead, confused. I take my thumb and trace under the pink area forming near the corner of her mouth. Her skin is warm, so warm and inviting, so perfect.

  She hisses as I touch near the wound, instinctively raising her hand to protect the cut, settling her warm, delicate, fingers over mine. Her eyes widen in shock as she feels the swelling of her lip.

  “You ever been hit before?” I already know the answer, judging by her reaction.

  She licks her lip, biting on the bottom one a bit. “No.”

  I didn’t realize I was holding my breath waiting for her answer until after she’d given it. Good. A sweet little angel face like this has no business being touched in such a violent way.

  I search her eyes trying to find something, anything, that will help solve her mystery.

  “I should go,” she whispers.

  I snap my hand back. Yeah, she should go. There’s no room here for a woman like this.

  “Here,” I take the wad of cash from my pocket, pulling off the money clip. I don’t count how many bills I hold out to her. It doesn’t matter, I’ve got plenty more.

  “No,” she steps back and waves the money away. “I can’t. I didn’t dance. I didn’t earn it.”

  A lightning strike of anger courses through me and I fear she’ll sense it, will be afraid of it. A woman like this shouldn’t have to earn her money shakin’ her shit for drooling men.

  “You earned it, Angel.” I don’t know where or when I came up with the name, but it suits her. Despite the bruise forming on her otherwise perfect mouth she’s got the face of an angel. “You saved me a fuckin’ headache, did me a favor. That piece of shit’s got no business being around my staff. I’m just sorry it took him hitting you for me to realize it.”

  She takes a deep breath, her chest rising, bringing her an inch or so closer to me and I revel in it. I see her watch the money hungrily, like it could mean a world of difference to her. I see the war raging in her eyes whether to take it or not, and most importantly, I see the pride that’s holding her back from accepting it.

  I do the hard part for her and place the money in her hand, closing her fingers around it. My hand lingers, holding hers within longer than it should.

  I can feel her breathing against my chest, struggling with the decision, with the closeness. I’m struggling, too. I’m torn between wanting to fuck her raw or throw her ass outta here so she can get as far away from me as possible before I do it.

  The devil in me could ruin a perfect little angel like this. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice.

  “See ya around, Angel,” I whisper before leaving her speechless, getting the hell away from her before I no longer have a choice in the matter.

  Part of me believes my words, hopes I’ll see her again. Part of me doesn’t. That’s the part of me that senses this chick, this angelic little thing, could douse me in fucking holy water and I’d beg for more if it meant I could drown in those deep brown eyes while she’s doing it.

  I didn’t catch her name and it’s probably better that way. She doesn’t need a name, doesn’t need anything to make her any more real to me. I like the name I gave her instead.

  Angel.

  MOLLY

  “Hey, Lana, I’m heading out. Are you sure this is okay?”

  My eyes dart down to Sasha playing with her favorite doll nearby on the round area rug. The small, blonde, two year old hears me and whips her head up from her playtime.

  “Where goin’, Maw?” The astute toddler is worried.

  I bend down next to her, pinching her nose sweetly like I’ve done since the day she was born. “Just out for a little while, kiddo. I’ll be back by suppertime. We’ll make spaghetti.”

  Her li
ttle eyes light up. “Pasghetti?”

  Laughing, I nod. I know it’s her favorite, not only because she likes to twirl her fork but also because I let her throw a strand against the kitchen wall to check and see when it’s done cooking.

  The little distraction takes the bite off me leaving her with Lana, one of my best friends, but I know this little girl has some deep-rooted abandonment issues. Leaning forward, I kiss her pudgy little cheek.

  “Be a good for Lana, baby girl.”

  Her soft hair smells of the baby shampoo she loves so much and I breathe it in as I close my eyes and will myself to leave before I lose the nerve to.

  “Good luck!” Lana calls out as I wave one last time to the two of them.

  I smile as I leave her small apartment not knowing what I’d do without her; she’s one of the only people I can truly rely on. Without her I’d have been in even more dire straits than I have been these last few months.

  Her apartment is much nicer than mine with the small manicured flowerbeds and bushes that line the walk to the parking lot. I managed to plant some wildflowers outside my own front door last year when I moved in to make it a little more cheery for Sasha when she plays outside, but I always wanted to make it more like Lana’s.

  Every time an apartment in this complex becomes available she’s so excited to tell me, thinking we’ll be neighbors. After the second or third time I stopped calling the main office to inquire, since the rent is always too high.

  One day though. One day I’ll be able to afford a decent place like this where Sasha can play outside in the fresh air and sunshine with all the pretty flowers around her. It’s a promise I made to her as well as to myself.

  My old beat-up Honda sits in the lot among the newer, shinier, cars and I make sure not to make eye contact with any of the nearby complex residents as I open the old rusted door. I’m not ashamed to drive the car I do, as it gets me from place to place, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy the looks others give me as I start the old compact sedan up.