F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7)

by Scott Hildreth

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lex

  Adam’s attire was the same every day. He wore his jeans, black and white Van’s sneakers, a stark white tee shirt, and his black hat. Day in, day out, it was the exact same thing, every day. After a little begging on my part, he’d agreed to add some clothes to his wardrobe.

  Standing in the middle of the living room, he turned slowly so I could inspect him for change.

  Other than his face being cleanly shaven, I came up with nothing.

  “I’m not seeing it,” I said. “Even your watch is the same.”

  “My arms are bare.” He turned to the side and raised his eyebrows.

  I don’t know what I expected, but the subtle change he’d made had gone unnoticed until he mentioned it.

  “Your arms are always bare.”

  “Normally, I wear a tee shirt with sleeves,” he said. “Today, I’m wearing a black wife beater.”

  “Ooh. Classy,” I said with a laugh.

  After he’d mentioned it, I couldn’t help but notice that his arms were bare, and it looked like he was wearing nothing more than his leather vest.

  It dawned on me that except for the night we met, I’d never seen him without his vest on. My recollection of that night was spotty at best, so in all reality, I’d never seen him without it.

  I wagged my finger toward him. “Can you take off the vest?”

  He sighed, removed the vest, and draped it over the back of the chair.

  Dear God.

  After he’d removed the vest, I realized just how much the sleeveless piece of leather concealed. The black ribbed tank clung to his skin like a coat of paint.

  His stomach was flatter than flat. His chest was massive and wide. His arms, which I’d seen every day for the last month, seemed much more muscular. In short, I liked his vest right where it was.

  After a few seconds of drooling, my eyes locked on his torso. The black cotton did little to conceal his washboard abs, but it camouflaged them enough to frustrate me.

  “Can you. Uhhm. Lift up...” I pointed toward the hem of his shirt. “I want to see your…”

  With the bill of his hat pinched between his thumb and forefinger, and his eyes fixed on the floor at his feet, he seemed embarrassed.

  I was at a point that I didn’t care.

  “Lift up your shirt,” I said, almost demanding it.

  He reached for the front of the shirt, pulled it over his head, and draped it over the back of his neck, revealing his entire upper body for my inspection.

  The evening sun cast shadows over his rippling abs, and his tanned chest flowed into his shoulders, arms, and torso like nothing I’d ever seen.

  My heart went batty, beating like I was running a race.

  Then, my face went flush.

  “I’m sorry,” I said apologetically, fanning my face as I spoke. “Can you turn just a little to your left?”

  He sighed, tugged against the bill of his hat, and twisted at the waist. His jeans fell a little lower on his hip. With the bill of his hat still pinched between his thumb and forefinger, he glanced down, noticed more of him was revealed than he was comfortable with, and he quickly released his hat and reached for his jeans.

  “Don’t,” I begged. “Leave them. Please.”

  He looked up. I pried my eyes away from his well-defined torso and met his gaze. “New rule,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  I wasn’t about to tell him he had to live life shirtless, although it would have been fine with me. I didn’t have a problem, however, asking him for something a little less embarrassing.

  “You’ve got to take off the vest from time-to-time,” I said.

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Can I get dressed now?”

  I liked it that he was modest. “Yes,” I said. “You can.”

  He pulled down his shirt, adjusted his hat, and then stepped to my side. “New rule for you, too.”

  I envisioned showing him my tits, or some goofy rule about blowjobs as soon as he crossed the threshold of the door.

  I leaned close enough to him to kiss him, and then paused. “What?”

  He raised his finger toward my face, and I although I didn’t flinch, I held my breath and waited anxiously for him to touch me.

  He brushed my hair away from my face, tucking it behind my right ear, and then reached toward the other side of my face. After carefully positioning the left side in the same fashion, he leaned back and studied me.

  A smile of satisfaction quickly washed over him.

  “There.” His eyes moved from one side of my face to the other, and then back. “Perfect.”

  I exhaled, and then met his gaze. His blue eyes glistened. “I like you.”

  His gaze fell to his feet. “I like you, too.”

  “Do I still make you nervous?” I asked.

  He looked up. “Yeah. A little. It’s not bad, though. Not as bad as it used to be.”

  “I like that, too,” I said.

  I inhaled a breath of courage, reached for the hem of my tee shirt, and pulled it over my head, no differently than he had done with his. After unbuckling my bra and dropping it at my feet, I stood mere feet from him, naked from the waist up.

  I felt vulnerable and a little embarrassed, but I stood there nonetheless.

  I wasn’t a prude, and in fact, was far from it. In the past, being naked in public wouldn’t have been beyond the realm of possibilities, but things had changed.

  I had changed.

  I wanted him to feel comfortable in my presence, and I needed to feel comfortable in his, too. I watched him as he slowly took me into his view, inch by inch.

  He took a step back and studied me. He crossed his arms over his chest and inhaled a deep breath. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Can you turn to the left a little?”

  I did as he asked.

  His eyes searched me from head to toe, and then focused on my naked torso. He pushed his hands into his pockets. A few seconds later, he exhaled.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I reached for my bra. “For what?”

  As I stood, he leaned toward me and kissed me lightly on the lips.

  “Trusting me,” he said.

  I put on my bra, and then pulled my shirt on. “Thank you.”

  He grinned. “For what?”

  “Making me feel like I could.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cholo

  Each time Alexandra and I were together, it seemed we reached a milestone or learned something about new each other. Being apart caused me to yearn to be together for no other reason than to experience something new with her.

  Although I didn’t want to accelerate the process, and enjoyed every minute of not knowing what was next, I found myself wanting to spend more time with her after each day had passed.

  Each time we met, I saw subtle changes in her ability to open up to me. I noticed progress in me, too. The sexual desires of my past had vanished, and although I wanted to one day have sex with Alexandra, it wasn’t my focus at all.

  In fact, my focus was the journey itself. The steps I needed to take to earn her trust were steps I needed, and wanted, to take. In the process, I was sure that I would become more confident in myself and my ability to be exactly what Alexandra needed.

  It was rare for a man to get an opportunity to turn back the clock and start his life over, but I believed I was given just that chance with Alexandra. I felt like it was my first sexual experience. As far as my heart was concerned, it was.

  And, this time, I was going to do things right.

  I pulled my hat on, slipped my kutte over my shoulders, and reached for the door. The sheetrock crew was scheduled to meet me at the La Jolla home, and I didn’t want to be late.

  I opened the door, looked up, and froze. Standing at the edge of my porch stood an unpleasant surprise.

  “Good morning. It’s Downey, right? Adam Downey?”

  “I’m going to be late for work,” I said. “If you
don’t mind--”

  “I didn’t introduce myself,” he said. “Detective Watson, with the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Okay, detective Watson, I’m going to be late for work.”

  “You’ll be a lot later if I have to handcuff you and take you in for questioning,” he said. “Have you got a minute to answer a few questions?”

  I looked at my watch. “I’ll give you ten minutes,” I said. “Then, I’m leaving. You’ll either have to arrest me or step aside and let me go.”

  He motioned toward the door. “Shall we go inside?”

  I stepped onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind me. “No, you can come in the garage.”

  I checked to make sure the door was locked, and then walked toward the garage. My home was the same as most homes in neighborhood, in that it had a detached garage that was beside – and slightly behind – the house.

  I unlocked the garage, pulled up the door, and stepped inside. After admiring my bike for a minute, he looked at me. “Nice bike.”

  I grabbed a dust rag and wiped the dust off the tank and saddlebags. “You come here to tell me that?”

  His grin disappeared and his face went stern. “No. I came here to talk to you about a murder investigation.”

  “Same shit you were talking about in the shop the other day?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll ask the questions, and you answer them. Not the other way around.”

  I looked at my watch. “Get to asking. You’ve got eight minutes.”

  “The day I was talking to Navarro, a woman left your clubhouse in a little bit of a hurry,” he said. “And, I’m one of those weird OCD types that makes note of everything. So, I couldn’t help but notice as she sped past me that she was driving a silver Chevy Cruze.”

  I shrugged. “Crime now to drive an American made car?”

  He chuckled. “Not yet, no. But killing someone is.”

  I tossed the rag on the workbench. “She kill someone on the way out of the shop, did she?”

  “Like I said,” he said. “I’ll ask, you answer.”

  I looked at my watch. “Seven minutes.”

  He pressed his hands to his hips. “When I left your clubhouse, I went to Lucy Hart’s home to talk to her and her daughter, Alexandra. Alexandra being one of the girls who had been abducted, I felt the need to press her for information about how she got away from her abductors. When I pulled in front of the house, I couldn’t help but notice there was a silver Chevy Cruze in the drive.”

  I didn’t give him the satisfaction of saying one word. After pausing for a few seconds, he continued.

  “I knocked on the door, and when it opened, I’ll be damned if the lady at the door wasn’t the same lady that was at your clubhouse.”

  I cocked an eyebrow.

  He raised his index finger. “I know Navarro’s fucking the reporter from the Tribune.” He raised his middle finger. “And, I know Peanut Butter is engaged to be married to some nurse.”

  He put his hands back on his hips. “So, I doubted she was there to see them. Me being a detective and all, I’m thinking maybe it was you she was there to see. So, I had one of my patrols go by her house a few times to see if any of the FFMC crew show up. This morning I get a report across my desk that has mention of a Heritage Softail parked in the drive that’s registered to you.”

  I looked at my watch. “Three minutes.”

  “What’s your relationship with Lucy Hart?”

  I straddled my bike. “Don’t have one.”

  He took a few steps back and glared at me. “You saying you don’t know her?”

  “That’s not what you asked me.”

  He shook his head then let out a sigh. “Do you know Lucy Hart?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re not making this easy, Downey.”

  I chuckled. “You’re not asking the right questions, cop.”

  I kicked the bike into neutral and pushed it outside the garage and into the drive. Still standing in the garage, the detective appeared to be growing annoyed.

  I looked at my watch.

  “You’ve only got a minute, so I’ll do you a favor,” I said. “Lucy Hart was my neighbor for ten years. I met her daughter after she was abducted. I’d love to find the cocksuckers who did it, believe me. Sad truth is that she was blindfolded the entire time and didn’t get a good look at them. I’ve asked over and over. Get the same story each time. It’s not a crime to know people, and unless you’re going to cuff me, I’d appreciate it if you got out of my garage so I can go to work.”

  He walked out of the garage and stopped beside my bike. I got off, shut the door, and locked it. With his eyes locked on me, I walked back to the bike, got on, and met his stone-faced stare.

  I shoved my hat between my legs, put on my helmet, and looked at him. “Got any more questions?”

  “That little boy saw it all,” he said. “He didn’t want to tell me everything, but he witnessed it. I’m sure of it.”

  “The one who gave you a handy for that lollipop?”

  “Word on the streets is that Calle 18 wants their money,” he said. “And they’re not going to stop until they get it.”

  “Well, if they come here looking for it, they’ll get shot. Might tell ‘em that when you see ‘em next.”

  “If I knew where to find them, I’d be sure and tell them.” He cleared his throat and then met my gaze. “So, you’ve got guns? Do you own a .45 caliber pistol?”

  “Can’t say that I do, detective,” I responded. “Now, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go earn a living.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said. “I’m sure something else will come up.”

  “I don’t give hand jobs for lollipops, detective. Find someone else to fuck with.”

  I pulled the choke and pressed the start button. As the sounds from the exhaust echoed against the side of the house, he turned away.

  The .45 caliber pistol I used to kill Calle 18’s filth had long since been dismantled and tossed in the ocean, once piece at a time.

  As I pulled out of the drive, I hoped like hell that’s where it stayed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lex

  I felt awkward. Not a lot. Just enough to make me a little apprehensive. I tried to convince myself being in Adam’s house didn’t make me any more vulnerable than being in my mother’s, but my knee didn’t seem to agree.

  It bounced up and down like a hyperactive teen’s.

  “Coffee, beer, tea, anything?” he asked.

  I forced a smile and shrugged. “No. I’m okay.”

  “Still not hungry?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  He sat down beside me and put his arm around me. It felt different. I wanted to be back at home, but, then again, I didn’t.

  I hated that things had changed. That the former me had all but vanished, leaving a shell of a woman that was afraid of someone or something that had done nothing to deserve the fear. I pressed my hand against my knee and stopped it from bouncing, making eye contact with Adam at the same time.

  “Let’s go outside,” he said.

  “Outside?”

  He stood. “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  He pushed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “It’s nice out there.”

  I stood. “Okay.”

  I followed him outside and into the garage. He motioned toward his motorcycle. “Get on.”

  “Without you?”

  “Get on like you’re going to ride it.”

  “I don’t want to tip it over.”

  “You won’t. It’s on the stand. Just get on.”

  I did as he asked, and got on the motorcycle. His portion of the seat was wider and much more comfortable than where I sat.

  I wiggled back and forth in the plush seat. “It feels nice up here.”

  “Like riding a marshmallow,” he said. He motioned toward the handlebars. “Grab the handlebars.”

  “They’re too high.
”

  “They look higher than they are. They’re called ape hangers. You’ve got long arms, you’ll reach just fine. Grab ‘em.”

  I reached for the handlebars.

  Sitting in his seat with the handlebars in my grasp made me feel powerful, but I didn’t say anything. It seemed silly, but I liked that he let me sit there.

  “Just relax,” he said.

  He reached for a switch in the center of the gas tank. “This is how you turn it on.”

  He pointed to a glowing green light. “And this light tells you if it’s in neutral.”

  “If it’s on, and it’s in neutral, you push this button to start it.”

  He pressed his thumb against a button on the handlebars marked start.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as the engine cranked over.

  The engine came to life and started rumbling out the exhaust. Along with it, the motorcycle began to vibrate, shaking me back and forth in the seat.

  “Adam, it’s running. I’m not--”

  “Just sit back and relax,” he said.

  The muscles in my arms were tense and my knees were shaking.

  He rested his hand against my knee and grinned.

  After a moment of the motorcycle vibrating between my legs, I felt like I’d been hypnotized. With each passing second, I became a little more relaxed. Soon, I was actually enjoying myself.

  I watched as my hands shook violently from having the handlebars in my grip.

  “Guess how many people have sat where you are?” he asked over the sound of the exhaust.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Two,” he said. “You, and me.”

  “You don’t let other people ride it?”

  He laughed. “No, I sure don’t.”

  “Your right hand is the throttle,” he said. “Close your eyes and twist it back a little bit.”

  I closed my eyes, listened to the sound of the echoing exhaust, and found that it had a rhythm. In no time, it seemed to envelop me, almost rocking me into a comfortable state of bliss.

  I realized my knee had stopped bouncing.

  I twisted the throttle a little. And then, a little more.

  The sound from the exhaust bounced off of everything behind it, making me feel like I was controlling something powerful and manly.