Hard Ride: Biker MC Motorcycle Club Menage Steamy Romance 4 Story Bundle Set (Hot Tales From a Hard Road Book 2)

by Motorcycle Club Thrills

  Then Beanie was at my side. He spoke pleasantly to Larry. “We’ll respect Belle’s choices here. If she wants to go with you, it’s no problem.” He smiled. “If she doesn’t, don’t make an ass of yourself, a’ight?”

  Larry’s face twitched, “Just mind your own business, pretty boy,” and he whacked Beanie’s shoulder with the heel of his hand.

  The whole clubhouse seemed to go quiet and still. Beanie looked down at his shoulder like a bug had crawled on it. His eyes swiveled back to Larry. “You could be needing your manners upgraded, Larry.”

  Larry shoved him again. Beanie’s arm shot out like a whip. His open hand caught Larry under the chin. Larry’s head snapped back and his arms windmilled as he staggered backwards into the bar.

  Glasses flew. As they fell to shatter on the floor, bikers backed away to leave a clear circle around the four of us. Larry drew his arm back with his fist clenched.

  Hammer grabbed him and said, “Take this out back into the ring.” Larry was shaking. Hammer went on, “You won’t make so much of a mess when Beanie breaks you, and we can all make some money betting against you.”

  There were halos in the smoky air that clouded around the low lights. The ring was the only part of the barn that was lit. Word of a grudge match, a fight fueled by raw anger, set a buzz round the room.

  Bikers were looking to bet, but almost nobody backed Larry. Beanie was taller, but stripped to the waist, Larry was heavier and more solid. With the tape strapped around them, his fists looked huge.

  Maybe it was the lights, but he looked heftier and harder than last time I’d seen him. That was no more than two weeks ago. Could he really have put on so much bulk? It looked like it was mostly muscle, too.

  When he swung his arms and rolled his shoulders he looked like a weapon of flesh. I couldn’t believe it was the same man.

  Light on his feet, Beanie bounced on the canvas and warmed up. He jabbed, firing his arms out in fast volleys. His head was low and his grey eyes glowed.

  Two men, both of them in fine shape, were in the ring to slug it out. Over me.

  There was a lot wrong with the way I felt about that, and I knew it. Damn, it felt good, though.

  The bikers in the room roared as the bout began. There was no room for doubt about who they were cheering for.

  I was for Beanie, too, but my body sang and vibrated with tension and tingling, crackling excitement.

  With their fists up and their heads low they circled each other. They sprang and circled, slow and deliberate.

  Beanie was lighter, more agile, but Larry looked powerful.

  Beanie threw a punch, Larry knocked it aside. He threw another and Larry deflected again.

  Beanie jabbed hard and fast. Larry dodged easily and sprang a punch to Beanie’s body. It connected, and my gut felt the sickening sound. Beanie sprang back.

  They sparred like that for some time, probing, feeling each other out. Beanie seemed to have the skills. Larry had the strength.

  Soon a sheen of sweat made their tense bodies shimmer. I strained at the edge of the ring, leaned over the canvas. I shouted for Beanie. Larry sneered with a cruel leer whenever he heard me.

  Then Beanie landed a blow on Larry’s head. Then another, and another before Larry could retreat out of range. Beanie moved in after him. Larry slung an evil, low jab.

  Beanie sprang back, but not far enough. Larry’s fist connected with a thud. Beanie’s eyes bulged and his face creased as the blow landed. Right away, he let loose a fast rattle of punches right at Larry’s head.

  Most of the blows connected loudly, and Larry stumbled backwards.

  Beanie moved in. There was a noise from behind me in the crush, a squall and a rush.

  Hawk, his face red, burst through and charged the ring. Beanie’s startled face turned with his body to face Hawk and block him. Larry’s fists lashed Beanie hard on the face. A quick salvo of hard strikes knocked Beanie backward.

  Hawk lunged at the two men. He caught Larry and the two of them went to the mat. Hawk’s fists slammed into Larry’s head. The nauseating drumbeat thundered in the echo of the room.

  The crowd pressed behind me, and I thought I could be crushed. Beanie leapt and locked his arm around Hawk’s throat. He used his other hand to pull the lock tight. He squeezed and Hawk’s eyes began to roll.

  Hammer shouted. He rushed the ring from behind me and grabbed a hold of Beanie. Beanie kept on squeezing. Hammer whacked Beanie hard with his forearm and Beanie went down.

  Hawk fell limp when Beanie let go. Larry flailed underneath him.

  Beanie slumped on the mat. His head shook slowly. Larry crawled out from under Hawk. He moved toward Beanie, but Hammer blocked him. From the bikers around the barn came a noise between a rumble and a growl.

  The sound should have told Larry if he laid a hand on Beanie now, he wouldn’t get out alive. Hammer told him it in words.

  Jascinta moved quickly onto the mat and over to where Hawk lay. She held the back of her hand under Hawk's nose. She pulled his eyelids open one by one and peered into them. Then she hauled him onto his side.

  Moving around his body, Jascinta pulled up Hawk’s knee, then his arm. She pulled his mouth open and poked her fingers inside.

  By her brisk, efficient movement, she was following a practiced procedure.

  Hammer said, “Is he going to be OK?”

  Jascinta nodded.

  Beanie got to his feet slowly. Hammer clapped a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay. Beanie nodded.

  Hammer’s voice was low and firm. He told Larry, “It would be timely if you fucked right off about now. That way, we won’t have to wipe your carotid spray off the walls.”

  Larry’s temple throbbed. His neck bulged. Hammer’s eyes narrowed. “You’re pumped on ’roids. You sold ’roids to Hawk, didn’t you?” Larry looked dumbstruck. I could see the familiar fury rise. Thwarted again.

  Hammer’s eyes narrowed. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Larry didn’t move. Hammer said, “No one else here would have been that dumb.”

  His hand was still on Beanie’s shoulder. He said, “Sorry about the slam, Beanie. I like Hawk, too, but I need you whole.” Waving his hand at Larry, he said, “I don’t give a fuck about this piece of shit, and I don’t care enough about the two of them together that I’d risk losing you.”

  Hammer’s chin straightened and flattened. Beanie’s mouth tightened. Hammer said, “Not to the jail or the morgue.” They looked in each other’s eyes a moment.

  Watching, I felt a surge of feeling for the commitment these men gave to each other.

  Hammer turned back to Larry. “You, fucker.” His voice was cold and hard now. “You came into our club and you brought drugs to sell? You dealt drugs in a biker bar, and you didn’t even think to discuss it with us?”

  Larry was gathering his response. Hammer didn’t give him time. “Forget about what kind of drugs they were—how did you think that would not get you killed, asshole?”

  Hammer’s hand went to Larry’s shoulder. He spun Larry around fast and got his arm tight around Larry’s neck. He put a knee into Larry’s back and stretched. Larry’s face flushed red and he shook.

  His arms trembled and he reached for Hammer’s arm. Then his legs twitched. He went limp. Hammer let him slide to the floor. Still kneeling by Hawk, Jascinta looked up at Hammer. She made no move.

  Hammer told her, “He’ll be out for twenty minutes. Half an hour, at most.” He turned to Beanie with a twinkle in his eye. “That’s if I timed it right,” he said, and he shrugged.

  Hammer beckoned a group of bikers over. “Sling him in the back of that despicable pimp boat outside. Drive him about fifteen minutes or so into the desert. If he comes round before you leave, knock him out again.”

  I said, “Will he survive, Hammer?”

  “Probably, Belle. But, you know what? I honestly don’t care either way.

  Beanie’s eyes welled as he bro-hugged Hammer.

  “You, Hawk… well,
I’m not one to tell a bro his business, but I’d put some thought to how you conducted yourself these past few days.”

  “You,” Hammer turned to me. “I’m claiming you.” I nearly came on the spot. He said, “For the club. For Beanie.” His smile was evil as he said, “For tonight.”

  I still wasn’t clear with myself, about what it was I really wanted. I knew that right now, though, it was in this club. It was with Hammer and Beanie.

  Hammer’s dark brows glistened as they knotted. He emitted a low growl as he gripped harder in Carlie’s messy blonde cascades. Down on all fours, her back arced and her butt cheeks rippled as Hammer’s heavy thighs slammed against the tops of her widespread legs. Her eyes rolled a Hammer slapped her ass and his grip tightened.

  Between my own wet thighs, Beanie swelled and throbbed. I gasped as he parted and filled me. I clawed in my hair and my breath fled as his velvety ridges stretched the walls of my flower. Deep inside me, sensation welled and brimmed.

  I traced the intricate ink and the burr of shaved tribal swirls on his almost naked scalp. My thighs clenched and trembled as he pulled me wider. He lifted my thighs as he penetrated deeper and I shook from deep within.

  The thrumming heat of my wetness clung around his fat girth as his rhythm hardened and he forced himself farther.

  Carlie’s wet lips parted and her eyebrows raised as she shook. Hammer plunged harder into her. I traced her lips with my finger as rolling, boiling waves of tension and release bubbled and burst through me.

  Beanie belted into me. He yanked my hair and he slapped my ass as his full red lips sank onto my aching nipple.

  I clawed and arched and gushed when his pump cannoned hot lava blasts into me.

  We had a bond. A network of bonds, really. There was a connection between Hammer and me, Carlie and me and definitely Beanie and me. There were also links both ways between the men and Carlie.

  The trust between Beanie and Hammer something extraordinary to me. It wasn’t just the biker camaraderie and code. Those two really cared about each other, and it seemed to light their other relationships.

  I felt very privileged to be part of this group within the club.

  Beads of sweat sprayed from Beanie’s brow as his head shook. Hammer shouted, and the two men reached up to slap a high five.

  © Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.

  All the people portrayed in this story are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary. If you think that you know some of them, or that you may be one of them, then you should consider writing fiction yourself.

  Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing

  THE DEVIL’S HAND

  Knights of the Lost Highway MC

  Alice May Ball

  For Gat, my rock.

  Without you, it wouldn’t mean a thing

  Larry was a massive cock on legs. I saw it the first time our eyelines crossed. Fine legs, attached to a smoking bod, it has to be said. But even the steel balls of his hard, rolling ass are nothing but a delivery system, a means of propulsion for that rock of a cock.

  Larry is driven by one thing only. To pump that monster into every beautiful woman he sees. It doesn’t make for much of a challenge when businesswomen, cheerleaders, teachers, cocktail waitresses – every kind of beautiful women — start tugging at their clothes and primping the moment he struts into a room.

  Ordinary girls and women have the same reaction too, of course, but only Larry doesn’t ever notice. Never except for me, for some reason. I still don’t have a clue why me.

  He isn’t dumb, not in any way. Thinking simply doesn’t occupy much of his time or energy. He makes his living, such as it is, providing muscle for bike gangs. That and what he takes from poker tables.

  He could be a poker pro and make real money. Serious money. If he’d ever stop still long enough to hone his skills. If he would concentrate on one thing for more than ten minutes at a time. And if that one thing wasn’t a plump, hungry pussy.

  He can focus on a pussy all day long. Long enough to get the girl’s attention — usually less than a minute — long enough to get her panties thoroughly wet — literally the twinkling of an eye — and long enough to get them off her. That’s a few more seconds.

  He can look at a woman’s pussy through her eyes, he can taste it breathing into her ear. He can get a scent of it from the hollow by her collarbone. He can feel her arousal as the tip of his tongue grazes the side of her neck.

  And he has the devil’s hand.

  After that, his attention span will mostly depend on the girl’s stamina, her imagination and inventiveness, and by how outrageously filthy she is.

  With me he was different.

  Daddy’s reaction when I handed him the ten thousand dollars was a disappointment, most of all because it was exactly what I expected.

  “Belle,” his eyes shone, “I’m back in the game. I can turn it around.” He didn’t even look up at me, he was transfixed by the little stack of bills.

  Daddy was still a good looking man, even with the ‘distinguished’ gray at the leading edges of his retreating hair. His wide open, optimistic smile could get him into the senate. The thought of where it might get him in jail made me cold inside.

  “Daddy,” I told him, “You can roll it back over the tables if you want, but Spinal will still be after you for what you owe him.”

  “But Belle, I can turn this into…” I held up a hand.

  “Daddy, the money Spinal lent you, what did you turn that into? And the money you borrowed from the Kazinzcis, what did you make with that?”

  He was about to respond. I held my hand up still.

  “You made a hole, Daddy. You dug yourself into a pit so you had to go borrow some more.”

  The thought of where I’d been that past week, of what I’d had to face and what I had done inflamed me. “I thought about taking the money straight to Spinal myself, so you wouldn’t have to be in room with ten thousand temptations. But you know what? I decided, it’s your choice, Daddy.”

  I looked him right in the eye. I thought of myself as immature for an eighteen year-old, and I always considered my father as a sage. But when it came to money, he was a gurgling infant. After the week I just had, I was middle aged, weary and worn.

  “Daddy, don’t you even want to know, don’t you wonder how your teenage daughter came up with ten thousand dollars in less than a week?”

  His big eyes sloped. At that point, I didn’t know whether it meant anything or not. Or, even if it did, whether all it meant was a variation on his old theme of, ‘Please, Belle, I don’t deserve you and I know it. Please don’t make me look at the consequences of my actions.’

  “I worked hard,” I told him, “and I did some things that I never wanted to do. And I did it all to give you the chance to pull yourself out of the hole. If you want to stay down in the hole and play some more, that choice is yours.” He couldn’t help his smile from brightening.

  “But I’m done with it, Daddy, I am out of here.” The pitch of my voice shocked me as it deepened, “I’m not going to watch you do that to yourself. I don’t want to go with strangers to identify parts of you.”