“Paris” Lost Valkyries MC #4
By Esther E. Schmidt
Copyright © 2018 by Esther E. Schmidt All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Incidents, names, places, characters and other stuff mentioned in this book is the results of the author’s imagination. Paris is a work of fiction. If there is any resemblance, it is entirely coincidental.
This content is for mature audiences only. Please do not read if sexual situations, violence and explicit language offends you.
Cover design by:
Esther E. Schmidt
Editor:
Virginia Tesi Carey
Proofreader:
Christi Durbin
Cover Model:
Shawn Joseph
Photographer:
Reggie Deanching
rplusmphoto.com
Dedication
Just so you know...the ants? The salt?
Yeah, vacation in France...fun times!
This one is for all of you who read this:
Make memories; whenever and wherever.
Table of contents
Chapter 01
Chapter 02
Chapter 03
Chapter 04
Chapter 05
Chapter 06
Chapter 07
Chapter 08
Chapter 09
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Chapter 01
***Paris***
I glance at my watch for a second time. What the hell is taking him so long?
“Sorry…but do you have any idea how long…uhmm…time frame wise?” a soft female voice strokes my ear with English words.
Fucking nice voice too. It’s been exactly three weeks since someone spoke English to me. My father was killed three weeks ago and that was the reason I picked up my shit and went back to Paris, France. It was my birthright to take over as President of the Lost Valkyries MC, French Charter. Hence my name, Paris. The guys over in the US called me that the first day I entered their clubhouse two years ago and it stuck.
I turn my attention to the left and zoom in on where the nice voice came from. A tiny woman with lush curves in all the right places is leaning against a light blue BMW M4. At first sight she seems casual, like the dark blue jeans and the blue t-shirt she’s wearing. Her light brown hair with some brighter highlights is hanging loose over her shoulders. There’s something about her that makes my cock twitch, while my body flames with lust. I swing my leg off my bike and close the distance between us.
All I can do is stare at her. Scratch the ‘seems casual’, she’s a fucking beauty. I take the toothpick from between my lips, holding it between my thumb and forefinger as I point it at her. “I don’t know. Do you? I mean, they could be fucking the night away for all we know…maybe we should entertain ourselves while we wait. That way we wouldn’t have to worry about the time. I’m sure we could even make them wait till we’re finished.”
Her magnificent eyes widen a fragment after hearing my blunt need to have her, before they narrow. “I’m fine waiting, thank you very much. I was just being nice and making conversation.”
Fuck, she’s cute. Her eyes remind me of the natural texture of a tree’s growth rings, magnificent how the color spikes.
“So…no restroom sex for us then?” I quip.
She raises one eyebrow at me while her upper body leans to the side to look around me. “Nope, it’s still occupied. By my friend and yours.”
There’s no judgement in her tone of voice, just a hint of humor and that kinda makes me question… “Does your friend make it a habit? Fucking guys at every stop?” Yeah, now she does hold judgement, except it’s all aimed at me.
“Now you listen here, French guy.” She pokes a finger straight into my leather cut that holds the President patch. “That’s my friend in there. Who are you to judge, huh? She’s a sweet girl and wanted to go to the City of Love. And dammit…she’s single…so what if her road to it is paved with sex?”
She mumbles something after that. I have no clue what, and somehow I’m intrigued. “What was that last part, mon petit oiseau?” Fuck. Those magnificent eyes flare as if dry wood catches fire.
“What did you call me?” There’s a hint of anger in her voice as if I insulted her.
The corner of my mouth twitches. “Heading for the City of Love but not speaking one single French word?”
“Parlez-vous anglais?” she states. “That’s my motto.”
My head tips back and a bark of laughter escapes me. Fucking hell, it’s been weeks since I’ve laughed.
I shake my head to regain some restraint when I take a step forward and cage her between her car and my body. “Not so very smart, mon petit oiseau. My little bird.”
Sliding one hand over her hip, I grab her ass and make sure she feels my cock that’s swelling to attention. Damn, she feels good.
“Well, well, well. Look what we have here. The President of Lost Valkyries MC, all alone,” a voice states from behind me. “Well, not so alone though.”
God-fucking-dammit. I’m fucking cornered. My VP is fucking a chick in the restroom and I’m here pressed against one. Fuck. I would recognize that voice out of a million. Gérard. President of Coup de Foudre MC. The fucker who killed my father. Or so I’ve been told he was the one who sliced his throat three weeks ago and is the reason I’m standing on French soil.
“Sorry to pull you into this, little bird. Duck or run if you can, this is going to get nasty real fast with these fuckers.” I rush out my words on a whisper before I turn and face the fucker I want to kill with my bare hands.
Dammit. He’s standing there with three of his buddies. My hands turn into fists, itching to get a few blows in. I don’t fucking care if there’s three of them, they’re going down. I’m slightly pulled off my game when I feel the woman standing tall beside me, her fucking legs slightly apart and her whole body screaming she’s ready to kick ass. What the actual fuck?
“Ah, that’s cute. Is your Old Lady going to fight with you, Paris?” Gérard sneers in French and in this moment I’m happy the woman doesn’t understand as we continue in our language.
“Leave her out of it,” I snap and try to pull her behind me but there’s so much shit happening all at once that I’m unable to.
Two guys lunge at me while I see Gérard and another biker heading for the woman. I manage to hit one guy to the ground with a right hook as I’m struggling with the other. From the corner of my eye I see the woman twist Gérard’s arm as she knees him in the gut and elbows him to the fucking ground.
I’m trying like hell to keep the one that’s still trying to slice me up with a knife away from me long enough to take him out. I’m actually caught off guard when I see the woman grabbing the guy’s wrist that’s holding the knife and turns, hooking her leg over said arm, and rolls. The guy flips forward and ends up plastered flat on the ground before she knocks him hard on the head. He goes out like a light, right next to his two other buddies, and I’m standing there…she’s now managed to fight off three dudes? I’m stunned as fuck.
That is until I hear car wheels spinning and need to jump out of the way because Gérard is speeding off in the woman’s car.
Chapter 02
***Lyra***
“Damn, that was fun,” I say to myself as I hear the guy I helped next to me start to curse. I turn and watch my car high speed out of here. Dammit, that seriously screws things up, not to mention the fact that my dad will flip out.
“Fun?” the guy growls in my face. “From what fucking planet are you? And where the hell did you learn to fight li
ke that?”
“What the fuck happened?” a guy behind the one in front of me bellows in English with a French accent. “I was in the restroom for less than ten minutes, dammit.”
I’m getting sick of this guy, guy thing. I need names instead of referring to them in my head as ‘guy’. “Okay, hi. I’m Lyra. I was happy to assist you with kicking those ugly idiots’ asses. You’re welcome, by the way, and now you need to give me your name and help me get my car back because,”
“Someone stole your car?” my friend Beatrice squeaks.
“Did this chick kick ass?” the guy my friend was screwing in the restroom says.
Again, sick with the guy thing. “Name,” I snap. “I gave you mine. Now give me all of yours before I kick you in the goddamn nuts.”
“Feisty little thing, aren’t ya?” Beatrice’s restroom pickup says to me in a husky tone. “I think I picked the wrong one to fuck.”
The guy I helped kick ass has him by the throat in one smooth move. “She’s mine, am I clear?”
“Yeah, Prez,” he wheezes before he’s thrown back on his ass.
The guy I helped turns his attention to me. “I’m Paris, President of Lost Valkyries MC, French Charter. The one who was fucking your friend is named Jérôme. He’s also my VP, but clearly failing at his fucking job.” Paris growls out this last part but all his fury is directed at his VP that looks as if shame swallowed him before puking out his ugly butt.
“Hi, I’m Beatrice,” my friend says in a sweet tone that makes my skin crawl with unexpected jealousy.
“Hey,” I snap. “Didn’t you just get your rocks off with that Jérôme guy? Give your pussy a rest before you let another dude pet that hairy thing.”
“Jesus, Lyra, what’s gotten into you? Oh,” she gasps and her eyes slide from me to Paris and back. “I get it...you go, girl.”
I throw my hands up in the air in an effort to stop her insinuation that I’m crushing on Paris and add, “Oh, for the love of ice cream and chocolate...can we focus on getting my car back?”
“Yeah, but we need to get the hell out of here first,” Paris tells me and grabs me by my upper arm, guiding me in the direction of his bike, stepping over the guys that are still sprawled over the pavement where we left them.
When I glance behind me, I can see Beatrice digging her heels in. Clearly, she’s not happy with being dragged toward Jérôme’s bike. She’s on a mission. A weird one, but you have to know that there’s a reason behind her insanity. Her boyfriend dumped her with a text message. It read ‘Sex with you is worse than with a ten-dollar whore. We’re done’. I think she needs to prove him wrong. Either that, or she’s doing some field work or something, because that pussy of hers has been getting some serious action ever since we left for Paris six days ago.
“Get on and hold on,” Paris tells me and I automatically follow his order. When I straddle his bike, he mumbles something in French before he grabs both my arms and pulls me even tighter against him.
I’m afraid to breathe due to the fact that I’m plastered against this man’s rock-hard body. I mean, I’m not as lean as he is. Totally the opposite. I might excel in martial arts and teach self-defense, but my muscles are buried underneath some...let’s say curves, so I don’t jump into the cow or fat pig section.
Paris chuckles. “Breathe, babe. I can feel your whole body is tight as a fucking string. There’s no need. I’ll protect you and will fix this mess.”
Okay, that half-assed vow is too damn funny because, “Like how I protected your ass earlier?”
The man clears his throat. “Right. Something like that,” he mutters.
My cheeks hurt from smiling. I can’t help it even though this whole situation is screwed up. “Good. Now hurry up because I need to pee.”
“You need to...what?” Paris asks over his shoulder, his voice laced with surprise.
“Hey, we were stopping at this rest stop because I needed to pee. Your guy was flirting on the damn road for a few miles alongside my car. I seriously needed to pee before they made a run for the restroom,” I grumble.
Great. Now he’s barking out his laughter.
I smack him on the pecs and add, “Just go, dammit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he tells me and I’m already addicted to his voice with that hint of a sexy French accent.
The bike roars to life underneath us and I swear with that my whole body vibrates, and it’s not because of the machine. Nope, it’s the muscular, hot guy I’m holding that oozes sex. He seems to have awakened the place between my legs and flipped the sign “open for business” and I swear I’m not ready for that any time soon.
Chapter 03
***Paris***
Is it insane that I’m actually happy this woman’s car got hijacked? Because the feel of her heat pressing against me on the back of my bike while I’m riding through the streets of my hometown is fucking indescribable.
Not to mention she could stand her ground. Fuck that, she even pulled a guy off me and took him out. All my body screams is ‘fuck her’; all my mind chants is ‘claim her’. That was the exact reason I told Jérôme she’s mine. Fury consumed me when he threw out he fucked the wrong woman. He will never lay a hand on what’s mine. And she is mine. Lyra might not realize it yet, but she’s got nowhere else to go except right here with me.
He took her fucking car and that means he can rundown every single piece of information about her. He already addressed her as my Old Lady, so killing her would be considered hurting me. And to be honest…even the mere thought makes me nauseous and puts pressure on my chest, making it hard to take my next breath. I know damn well life can be over within the blink of an eye. I’m going to protect her, even if it’ll cost me my own life. She stepped up for me without even exchanging so much as a fucking name. So yeah, she’s mine; fully and indefinitely. That fast. That easy.
Paris is crawling with tourists and people coming and going to work. Knowing this city like the back of my hand, I effortlessly guide my bike through the narrow streets and make a left to enter the passage that leads to a parking space behind the clubhouse.
After leaving our bikes, the four of us stroll inside and the moment we do, the last person I thought I would see in this clubhouse saunters up to me.
She points one red, manicured fingernail at me and sneers, “You need to pay our bills.”
Mireille is using English because that’s how I’ve addressed her ever since I got back from the US. In this moment it’s fucked up because Lyra can understand the words this bitch throws at me. And yeah, I feel Lyra stiffen behind me confirming my suspicions. I’m sure this looks as bad as it sounds, but it’s not.
I can’t deal with this right now, so I merely say, “Go home, Mireille. I don’t have the time nor the patience to deal with your kind of drama.”
I sidestep her and place my hand on the small of Lyra’s back to guide her with me toward church.
Mireille stomps her high heel against the hardwood floors and screams out her displeasure in an annoying, high pitched, squeal before she adds, “This isn’t over you filthy manwhore,” then rushes out of the clubhouse.
“Fucking bitch,” I mutter and try to keep moving forward but my arm halts as if I’m trying to push a solid wall. When my gaze hits left, I’m drawn into the gorgeous eyes of Lyra.
“What?” I ask and raise my eyebrow. “She’s damn rude and she has a stick up her ass so high she has to wear high heels to balance that shit with her toes.”
“You’re the one who’s rude. The stuff that you threw out before that? Triple rude. You should...” Lyra steps away and looks offended, or hell, maybe she looks disgusted by me or herself. I have no clue until she adds, “Go after your wife, girlfriend, whatever, and take care of your stuff. I’m leaving. Screw my car, I’ll just,”
What the hell is she thinking? “You can’t leave. It’s out there that you’re mine and they will find you.”
“I’m not yours,” Lyra snaps. “Sheesh, that woman was right,
you are a manwhore.”
“Hey.” I try like hell to keep the anger out of my voice but I’m clearly failing. How dare she fucking judge me? “I haven’t shoved my cock in a chick’s cunt, ass, or fucking mouth, in weeks. And that nutcase of a chick that wanted me to pay her bills? That’s my sorry excuse of a sister who likes to demand males pay for her shit. So, when my father died three weeks ago, murdered by the fucker who stole your car, Mireille figured I would pick up the tab and continue the money flow just like my dad used to do. Fuck her. She’s never done anything other than parade around like a damn princess. And carry a fucking attitude along with it while she demands everyone bow down to her while she blows on her nails while kicking you in the nuts. I packed all her shit up and threw her out of my father’s house. Because that house was left to me. She’s my sister, and the fact that she’s blood, is the only reason I gave her the small apartment I had registered to my name and told her I would pick up the bill for a year. That way she has a roof over her head and a year to get her head straight to take care of herself. But I made it very clear I wasn’t going to finance anything more than that. Now, if you’re done making assumptions instead of just asking who the hell that was or what’s going on...I’m free to handle your problem now.” I keep my eyes pinned on her and expect to see some kind of understanding or sympathy on her face like women would give when another person tells you about their personal problems, and yet there’s fury swirling in her eyes.
“That sister of yours is a bitch,” she snaps before a hint of sympathy flashes as she adds, “Sorry about your dad though.” Then she fucking narrows her eyes and puts her fists on those lush-full hips. “And it’s your problem that leaked into my life, so don’t you dare say it’s my problem, you ass.”
I hear murmurs coming from around the room and it doesn’t faze me that it’s due to the fact that this lush-full woman is addressing the president of an MC with a mouth that needs to be corrected. There’s no one on this whole damn earth I would allow to speak to me like that without repercussions. I take a step forward and wrap my fingers around her throat.
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