WRECKED: CHOSEN FEW MC - BOOK TWO: OUTLAW BIKER/ALPHA ROMANCE

by Nessa Connor

  Thinking about it made her shake. She felt the rage and fury aroused by the idea that a person would expect a child, their own child, to deal with that much hate as a constant thing.

  “Something wrong?”

  She turned to see Greg standing, watching her. Carly was heading toward the bike and she realized she had been so preoccupied she hadn’t even heard him arrive. “Just worrying about one of the kids.”

  “Just worrying? You’re pale and shaking; panicking is more like it.”

  “I’m probably overreacting. I do that.” She forced herself to smile. “These kids are at a point where they are developing fast, and have an entire life to live. If we can give them the right tools, they’ll realize their potential. But that’s only part of it and the hard part is when you see a child who isn’t getting the right encouragement or support. A teacher doesn’t have the right or the ability to give them everything they need. I should be better at letting go, but not all the kids have a family that makes sure they do their homework and still lets them rebuild motorcycles.”

  Greg smiled. “She does have a bit of two worlds, doesn’t she? You and I and Carly’s folks are all doing our best, and while there are some bumps we have to deal with, for the moment she seems to be getting the best of both of those worlds. Certainly no one can complain about the quality of her schooling.”

  “Why, Mr. Jones, are you flattering me?”

  “It would seem that I am.”

  “And to what end?”

  Greg looked embarrassed. “Look, today I have to take Carly straight home from school.” He grinned. “Her mother decided that if she can fix bikes, she can also learn to cook. She had a good week with tips at the cafe and decided on a mother-daughter weekend of baking and other domestic bliss. Jake likes the idea of having his kid around a bit more too, so Willow wants to take her shopping for ingredients as soon as I get her home. “

  “I’m glad to hear that. I don’t see how that leads you to flatter me, however.”

  “Well, seeing as my assistant is taking a long weekend, I thought it an opportune time to suggest another bike ride. A single taste can’t possibly give you the benefit of the experience, and I feel an obligation to remedy that. Not to mention that I can’t seem to get enough of your company.”

  “You are a charmer.”

  “Charming enough that you’ll let me take you away from all this? We can take a ride up the coast again. The coastline is the best scenery around, and quite soothing. And I know a good place where I can treat you to an excellent dinner.”

  “What, no burgers?”

  “How about seafood?”

  “Not fish and chips.”

  “Ms. Wilford, I am proposing a real meal. A real restaurant where, within reason, you can dine on whatever you want.”

  The idea of not being alone, of having Greg’s company, sounded blissful. Taking a ride seemed a perfect way to put her concerns out of her head for a time, maybe long enough to regain her equilibrium. At the suggestion she found her arms aching to be around him. “I’ll admit that riding your bike is rather addictive. And a Friday night dinner out with you makes it a wonderful offer.”

  “I can be back here in half an hour.”

  She indicated her skirt and blouse. “It might be better to change into jeans, don’t you think?”

  “That would be more comfortable. And the heels might not be ideal for a bike ride.”

  “Exactly. I have a few things to wrap up here, and then I’ll go home and change. Give me an hour or a bit more, and pick me up at my place, please. I probably won’t be quite ready, but almost.”

  He winked. “Such a deal!”

  She still felt weak as she watched Greg and Carly disappear, but there was no doubt that just being around Greg had given her back some strength. Maybe being with him would ease her mind for awhile. Maybe it would do more than that. She had to move slowly, but maybe he would help get her through the weekend and come out better.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Things often lose their appeal through repetition, but Melanie found the ride up the coast just as thrilling, as exciting as the first one had been. Maybe, as Thomas Wolfe said, you can’t go home again, but on the other hand, a possibly wiser head said that you never step into the same river twice and this bike ride was the same as the first, yet different.

  The spectacular scenery and the visceral thrill of wind and speed, her arms wrapped around Greg, whose powerful body matched the sense of power of his motorcycle, propelled her into a whirl that was, ultimately, a sensual thrill. Only the nagging worry about what Brian’s father might be up to kept things from being absolutely perfect. Even that couldn’t dispel the absolute pleasure of those moments.

  This time he took her to a small restaurant that sat alone along the side of the road. Greg downshifted and pulled into the empty parking lot. The place was a bit shabby and she took it in as she removed her helmet and steadied her legs on the ground. Greg offered her his arm in an exaggerated display of courtly behavior. As they walked in the door a stout man in a white shirt and black pants came up to them. “Wrench, I’m so glad to see you,” he said. “That bike of mine…”

  Greg held up a hand and stopped him. “Hello, Chris. I’d like you to meet Melanie. I bragged about the food here. I hope you won’t let me down.”

  Seeing Melanie for the first time, he bowed. “My apologies. I put my passion ahead of my profession. That was terribly crass, Melanie. I’m Chris.”

  She grinned at him. “If the food is as good as promised, you will be forgiven.”

  “Since Wrench has but limited taste buds, I assure you it will be better than that.” With that, he led them to a table. They were the only diners in the place. As they sat, Greg looked at the eager look on his friend’s face and laughed. “Okay, Chris. Bring the bike by the shop and we will look at it.”

  “Thank you. But it doesn’t run at all. It’s been—”

  “Don’t confuse me with what you think is wrong with it. You’re a great cook, but a total loss when it comes to mechanics. And please remember that I did tell you not to get that bike. I told you an American bike or a Jap bike would be better than that Limey piece of garbage.”

  “Yes, but I could afford it.” His face lit up. “And when she runs…”

  “Which is not very often and that’s exactly the problem. You’re spending more on keeping it running than seems right.”

  He winced. “True. And tips have been poor lately.”

  “Then I’ll offer you a deal you can’t afford to refuse. If you can manage to shut up about your damn faltering Limey bike for tonight and dazzle us with your amazing service, I won’t charge you for the labor to get you back on the road. I can use it to show Carly how a bike should never be made.”

  His eyes lit up. “You’ll have Carly do it? Excellent!”

  Greg grinned at Melanie. “Her reputation is spreading.” He nodded at Chris. “Melanie is Carly’s teacher.”

  “Delighted.” Then his face fell. “But how will I get it there? It won’t start.”

  “If the meal is any good, I’ll send one of the guys up with the crash truck on Monday.”

  Chris grinned. “You are a pal.”

  “Call me a sucker. Now go into your act.” He looked at Melanie. “Chris is a one-man show as well as cook.”

  Then, to Melanie’s delight, the man straightened up, took a breath, and transformed himself into a perfect, almost snobby, waiter, suggesting various dishes.”

  “How about the seafood?” Greg asked.

  “The filet mignon,” he said firmly.

  She glanced at Greg and he laughed. “Chris knows his stuff.”

  She smiled. “Then why don’t you bring us what you think we’ll enjoy?”

  Chris beamed. “Perfect.”

  “I’d like a glass of wine… something to go with whatever I’m eating.”

  Chris looked at Greg. “Iced tea for me, Chris. An ex con driving with any alcohol on his breath is just
looking to be rousted.”

  Chris brought the drinks and then disappeared into the kitchen. Melanie realized the truth that Greg would see people, the world, things like law and order, from an entirely different perspective than she did. Just as Malcolm Innes had his own world. She smiled at him. “Is that true, that the cops are harder on you than other people?”

  He shrugged. “Some are, some aren’t, but being a biker and being an ex con gives them an excuse to be hard on you if they are disposed to. Being a cautious soul, for a renegade biker, that is, I play it safe. I’ll have a beer with the guys sometimes, but mostly if I want to drink, I prefer to do it at home.”

  Then Greg skillfully turned the conversation to Jake’s rehab, followed by casual questions about her life outside of school. She found him easy to talk to, and happily sketched out her life for him. “Rather dull, I’m afraid.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Working to put your way through school and ultimately achieving what you set out to do, become a teacher, sounds pretty persistent, dedicated, and intelligent to me. Some of us could benefit by your example. You established yourself in your profession, and are doing something important to you—teaching children.”

  “So are you.” She grinned.

  “Okay, but haphazardly, I’m afraid. And only incidentally.”

  “And you are a survivor.”

  He scowled. “So are you. We just had different things that we’ve had to survive.” His expression changed suddenly. “And just in time to rescue us from such serious in-depth analysis of our souls, comes our food.”

  And so she found herself served, with remarkable elegance, a delicious meal of tender steak, new potatoes, and a crisp green salad.

  A few customers came in and Chris left to deal with them, and then disappeared into the kitchen, looking happy.

  During the meal Greg asked more questions, seemingly curious about what it had been like to grow up in North Carolina, and why she’d moved to California. Her vague explanation seemed to delight him.

  When she asked, he told her about being a hot rodder as a kid, and then going into the Marines and learning proper mechanics working on helicopters until he’d been asked to leave.

  “What did you do?”

  “I hit an officer.”

  “Isn’t that really serious?”

  “Yes, but my decision to knock him cold saved a helicopter crew from serious injury. They couldn’t overlook the fact that I’d broken a big deal rule but they managed to let me off with a general discharge if I promised not to make the story public.

  Greg’s work shirt was open at the collar, and as they talked she noticed scars near his clavicle. He saw where she was looking and opened the next button on his shirt so that she could see the livid streaks.

  “That must’ve hurt.”

  He nodded. For a moment she thought he’d clam up. The memory upset him. “It did.” She waited without asking. Finally he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It reminds me that it doesn’t pay to have disagreements with prison inmates who have big friends. I wasn’t being smart.”

  “And you went to prison because you killed a man.”

  “You’ve done your homework. Yes, I did.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was hurting someone who was a friend. It was a one-sided, unfair contest so I stepped in. I didn’t intend to kill him, but I did intend to hurt him as much as possible. When I came to trial that didn’t count in my favor.” He watched her face for a moment. “I imagine you’ve never known a killer before.”

  “No.”

  “Do I frighten you?”

  “Oddly enough, no. Logic tells me that I should be afraid of you and when I think about that I do feel a gut reaction to what you represent. But that isn’t who you are.”

  “And I represent bikers on a rampage?”

  She smiled. “Some cliche like that.”

  “I think the cliche is partly true. Our club, most clubs like it, is a bunch of misfits who get along because they don’t fit into any other society. They act out often enough, but they join the club because they aren’t really rebels. They want to belong as much as anyone, but the mainstream society doesn’t have room for them, or is uncomfortable around them. Truthfully most of them would rather drink beer than rampage. When they get moody, they’re more likely to smack each other around than pick on what we call civilians. Not that they have a great deal of respect for civilians, but you don’t get much street cred for hitting someone who doesn’t know how to fight.”

  “And what about Carly? Don’t you worry about her safety in that crowd?”

  “From those guys? Any one of them would lay down their life for that little brat in a heartbeat. She’s got the lot of them wrapped around her tiny pinky. The only thing I worry about with her being around that crowd is that she’ll get thinking too much of herself because of how they dote on her. It’s kind of the reverse of what everyone would think. That’s one reason I’m glad she’s taken to mechanics. She knows that she can’t boss a piston into place or cajole a bike into starting. It takes hard, greasy work, and she dearly loves buckling down and getting to it.”

  “And she’s good?”

  “Getting there. She thinks she knows more than she does, but what teen doesn’t?”

  His words had a calming effect and Melanie realized she needed to evaluate this man by different standards than other men. He lived by different rules, within the greater society. She didn’t begin to understand him yet, but certainly she couldn’t fault his values or his manners. “I bet you are quite a different person when you are with your friends.”

  “Different how?”

  “Louder, probably more vulgar.”

  He laughed. “I’ll admit that I try and watch my language in more refined company, but I never seen much need to raise the volume.”

  She remembered his calmness in the face of Malcolm Innes’s tirade. “I believe you.” She did, but recalling Innes brought back her fears, and a cold chill ran through her, making her shiver.

  “Are you cold?”

  “Just suffering a chilling thought.” She looked away, hoping that breaking eye contact that way would keep him from digging deeper. He took the hint and asked her an innocuous question about her family.

  Concern made her mind drift away from Greg and the table. He called for the bill and paid it. Then they went out into the darkness. “It’s late,” she said. “We must’ve talked for hours.”

  “And it was fantastic. It’s been a long time since I’ve had so much fun eating dinner.”

  She nodded, wishing she hadn’t lost the edge of that special feeling she’d gotten as they chatted. Malcolm Innes had forced his way into that private space and she mourned the loss of it.

  They walked to the bike. When they reached it, he looked at her. “Do you have to go home now?”

  The idea of being alone with her thoughts, knowing they’d be circling around inside her head, debating what she should do, didn’t appeal to her. She drew a long breath, working up her nerve to answer him honestly. “No, I don’t.” She looked at him, their eyes connecting. “I’d really rather not go home yet.”

  He nodded and handed her a helmet. She watched him swing his leg over the bike. When he leveled it, she got on behind him, slipping her arms around him and hoping her eyes had told him the things that her mouth couldn’t find words to say. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to stay with him. She wanted him to make love to her, to make her feel safe.

  The night air was warm, yet the heat of his body and the press of her breasts against his back made an electrifying connection between them. The bike roared to life, he put it in gear and powered out of the parking lot pulling out onto the highway. She hadn’t asked where they were going, and for now she didn’t care. She was alive in the here and now, safe on the back of his bike. It was like Brian said—she wished they could ride forever and never stop.

  Somewhere out there in the darkness of Southern Cali
fornia lurked Malcolm Innes. She didn’t want to think about him and couldn’t keep him out of her head. His intrusion made her hate him for distracting her. For now she wanted to think of nothing but enjoying being where she was, and feeling the closeness of this man.

  * * *

  Riding behind Greg, with the darker thoughts worming their way through her, she felt numbness creep over her… no, not a numbness exactly. She simply began a retreat into herself. Within the cocoon of Greg’s protection, she pulled back from thinking or feeling. By the time he stopped the bike she had withdrawn so much that she had no idea where they were, as if she’d missed half the ride. Unhappily, that retreat didn’t help and when the bike stopped, she found her concerns had patiently followed her.

  She got off the motorcycle in a daze, pulling off her helmet and looking around at totally unfamiliar surroundings. She might as well have fallen out of the sky and landed here—she had no reference points. She looked at Greg curiously.

  “My place,” he said quietly. She nodded, unable to make that mean anything.

  His apartment was small, tidy, furnished with a few pieces of cheap furniture—couch, coffee table, an ancient looking television set, and a recliner chair. It barely looked lived in, except for pictures of people on motorcycles hanging on the wall. A small bookshelf held an assortment of shop manuals, novels and other books.

  “I’m not here a lot,” he said. “I don’t use it for much more than a place to shower and sleep.”

  His words made her look toward the bedroom. Through the open door she saw a neatly made bed; a dresser against the far wall with a mirror on top of that reflected her image. She saw herself staring into the room.

  He had her sit on the couch as he went into the small kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I didn’t think you wanted to be alone.”