Size Queen: A Motorcycle Club Biker Romance (Size Matters Book 3)

by S. C. Adams

  Not long after returning to the table, Damon joins me with breakfast: eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, and hash browns. My mouth waters before the food even touches my fork.

  Breakfast is mostly quiet, save for a few nonverbal exclamations of enjoyment over the quality of the meal from time to time. Damon finally decides to speak once he’s cleared his plate of meat and eggs.

  “I don’t know about you,” he says, toying with his half-eaten toast, “but I wouldn’t mind having a repeat of last night some other time.”

  “I’d like that,” I say, sure I’m blushing. “I’m so glad we ran into each other last night like that.”

  “Yeah, no kidding. It’s almost like fate brought us together.”

  “Do you believe in fate?”

  “I believe in a lot of things,” he replies. “You might think it’s strange, what with me owning a bike shop and all, but I believe that two people can be connected.”

  “Do you mean like soul mates?”

  “I was trying to avoid that term, but yes,” he laughs.

  “I believe that, too,” I say honestly. “My problem is knowing where to look.”

  Now, we each aimlessly play with the remainder of our food, dancing around a flame that is growing higher by the minute.

  “So, what else do you believe?” I ask in an attempt to steer the conversation in a different direction.

  “I believe in an eye for an eye,” he says almost ominously.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. If someone attacks you, I feel it is your right to attack back,” he explains. “I’m a pacifist, for the most part, until you come after me unprovoked. What do you when someone wrongs you horribly, Noelle?”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Let’s say someone stole your car and then ended up totaling it. How would you respond?”

  I want to give him a good, sincere response, but I don’t want to come off the wrong way. I shrug. “I’ve never had something that bad happen to me like that. I really don’t know what I would do.”

  “All right, forget your car getting totaled,” he muses. “Let’s say you owned a studio downtown that modeling agencies rented out.”

  I chuckle. “Okay.”

  “Then, one day, a modeling agency starts using your building without your permission and refuses to pay you, and they were smug and arrogant about it. You can’t go to the police.”

  “Why can’t I go to the police?”

  He ponders for a few seconds before replying, “They threaten you and everyone you love.”

  “Okay,” I accept blindly. “So, what’s the question?”

  “What do you do to the squatters?”

  I shrug again. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’d ever own a building, either.”

  He slides his plate and mug away from him before continuing.

  “I don’t like to talk with people outside of the club about club business,” says Damon. “Rolling Heads, I mean.”

  “I figured.”

  “My gang, my boys… we get into all sorts of trouble. There are real dangers whenever you roll with the Rolling Heads. I’m the president, so I see it all.”

  I nod along, trying not to vividly envision what he means by “danger.”

  “Most of the time, people see the bike, the jacket, or both, and they don’t bother us,” he says. “I don’t demand respect from people I don’t know. Just let us be us, and we let you be you. Just don’t fuck with us.”

  I think he can tell he’s pushing me away; not physically or literally, but the more he speaks of his club, the more apprehensive I become about the prospect of that potential “repeat of last night.”

  “I also believe in having at least one full day in the week where you do whatever the hell you want,” Damon says. “I guess it’s kind of like a Sabbath kind of thing, but it doesn’t have to be church.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” I ask.

  This topic of conversation makes him more uncomfortable than the implication of violent revenge.

  “It’s just—you said you believed in soul mates,” I add.

  “I’m not uncomfortable talking about love,” he says slowly. “I just don’t like thinking of the past. They’re called exes for a reason, you know?”

  “I do know, unfortunately,” I agree. “So, you have had strong feelings, shall we say, about other girls before.”

  “I’ve had strong feelings for a couple of real women before,” he retorts. “I might sleep with a lot of girls, but it’s only a woman that gets the password to my Wi-Fi.”

  We laugh and finish up our breakfasts.

  “So, what does a girl have to do to get your phone number?” I ask with desire in my voice and my eyes.

  “All you have to do is ask nicely.” He stands and takes my plate.

  “I’ve got shoots this weekend,” I say without knowing for certain if that’s true or not. “I’m not sure what all you’re doing this week, but if you were serious about… you know, meeting up again…”

  He puts the plates and mugs in the sink as quickly as possible so that he can take me in his arms and passionately kiss me, holding me close to him. I never want it to end, but like all good things, eventually our lips part.

  “I’m down to get together whenever,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you, though.”

  “Why would I feel pressured?” I wonder.

  “I’m the president of a gang. I don’t want you to think you have to be with me ‘or else.’ When I was talking about the Rolling Heads, you seemed a little wary.”

  “I’ll admit, I’m a little nervous. When most guys talk about danger, they don’t mean… what you mean.”

  “Exactly,” he agrees. “You may want to take some time and figure out if it’s a good idea.”

  “I think it would be a bad idea if we didn’t do it,” I say. “After all, just because we give each other our numbers, it doesn’t mean we have to call each other.”

  Unable to defeat that simple logic, we use this as our cue to get our cell phones and exchange numbers. Already, I’m beginning to think of mischievous things I could say and send to him now that I know how to find him.

  “I’m not afraid of being with you,” I say affirmatively. “Since you don’t like talking about ‘club business’ outside of the shop, then… I shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

  “In theory,” says Damon.

  “Why do you have to be so fucking sexy?” I ask like he has an answer.

  “If I’m sexy at all, it’s because you bring it out of me,” he quips.

  As I journey back home from Damon’s place, my nerves get the better of me again. I consider just deleting his number… removing temptation and resisting the urge to travel farther down the rabbit hole.

  Even if I only wanted something casual with him, I know it would be impossible to have any real “normalcy” with him. I question myself during the whole drive, wondering if I should even be thinking of considering sleeping with him again. He had warned me loud and clear: with him, there could be danger.

  I was ready to face the danger…

  8

  Damon

  I called a meeting for Thursday afternoon for the Rolling Heads. Everyone was already at the shop waiting for me before I’ve even left the house. I feel tired, but it’s completely worth it.

  Since Monday night, Noelle and I have been texting each other almost nonstop. We both were waiting for the other to text the other first, but finally I just went for it and texted her after I’d closed up shop that night. A lot of it was casual small talk, but it felt great to hear from her.

  It was also nice to wake up not knowing what wonders might be waiting for me on the phone. On Tuesday morning, she texted me a picture of herself naked in the shower—water rushing down her delicious, nude body—as a way of greeting me for the day. With that being the first picture message I ever received from her, I was instantly curious about her standards. I was anxious for m
ore pictures to come.

  Our flirtatious, provocative texting continued all the way to now. She was waiting for my response to a suggestive text about exploring the back of my shop again… unfortunately for our sex life, my work life is calling.

  I roll in to the parking lot. There, in my spot, is Kace—smoking a cigarette and chilling—waiting for me to arrive. We nod to each other.

  “What’s the word?” I ask as I park my bike.

  “Some shit’s brewing with the Hell-Snakes,” he says.

  “Yeah, no shit,” I reply. “Tell me something that isn’t obvious.”

  “It isn’t just about the Hell-Snakes anymore,” Kace informs me. “It isn’t just about our club rivals; it’s about our business rivals. We know for certain now: the Snakes are trying to take our customers away from the shop here, too.”

  “How do we know for sure?”

  “A lot of bikers go to the same spots in Miami, bro,” he points out. “They get in their ear over at some of the bars and places to shoot the shit. Before you know it, they’re spreading rumors. Never had one bad word said about us before these fuckers rolled in. Now, they’re smearing us and steering away the competition.”

  “And this is a certainty?”

  “I witnessed it in person,” he says. “You’re more recognizable than I am, Damon. I can blend in better. No one’s going to misbehave when the Head Roller is around. People respect you.”

  “True. So, they’re really trying to move in on our territory. In every sense of the meaning.”

  “The longer we stay quiet, the further they’re going to push the boundaries. Just because we went to a few of their spots downtown doesn’t mean they know we’re serious. We may need to send a message.”

  “I’m angry about their shitty business tactics, but I can’t just respond with violence,” I say. “Our fathers have had claim to this part of Miami for years. Now, it’s ours, and if anything, we push the boundaries. No one’s taking over us.”

  “Hey, save some of the inspiring talk for the fellas during the meeting.”

  “Good point,” I concede. “How to respond…”

  “I say we tell them to back the fuck off, simple as that,” says Kace. “If they don’t, they’re going to have a problem.”

  “Yeah, this isn’t okay.” I try to imagine what a takeover from a rival gang might look like. “We need to teach them how things work around here.”

  “How do you want to approach it?”

  “After our meeting here, I’ll go talk to Tom Wright at the Hell-Snakes’ lodge,” I declare. “I’ll go alone so it won’t be confrontational in nature and we can relax.”

  “Fuck that shit,” Kace retorts. “You ain’t going anywhere near Wright without backup.”

  “Tom and I aren’t on bad terms,” I defend. “There’s tension, and we both know it doesn’t feel right. One of us has to take the initiative, and I don’t want there to be any bloodshed.”

  “So, me or anyone else going with you is going to incite violence?” Kace asks in an offended tone.

  “I just want everyone to be relaxed,” I stress. “I think we’ll all have cooler heads if it’s just me. I’m going with my instincts here.”

  Kace doesn’t like it, and he looks like he’s going to persist. Instead, he bites his tongue.

  “I’ll be able to get a good look around their compound, also,” I point out. “I’ll get a feel for what they’re all about. Count their numbers—their bikes, their weapons, their fighters—all of them.”

  “They say Tom Wright threw a woman out of a moving van on I-4,” he says.

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is we know what kind of people they are and what kind of show Wright is running,” he says. “You might go alone to talk to him, but we’re gonna be close. Ain’t no way I’m letting you go there totally alone.”

  Kace and I abandon our calm demeanors and replace them with looks of steely determination. We go into the shop to address the club and fill them in on the plan.

  Tom Wright’s clubhouse is big and a prominent spot on the outskirts of downtown. From my neck of the woods, it’s almost a straight drive. I ride on my Yamaha, roaring down the highway. I want them to know I’m coming. It’s not to be confrontational or provoking; it’s a notification.

  I arrive at Tom’s place, and there in the parking lot waiting for me are several Hell-Snakes coiled around their bikes, poised and ready to strike. They all look at me with stares of malcontent, but they all keep their distance once I dismount and get ready to do my business.

  I find Tom with everyone else inside by the pool tables, drinking and ogling a cute little blonde bartender who can’t be older than twenty-one.

  “Afternoon,” says Tom upon seeing me.

  “Howdy,” I reply. “We’ve not been formally introduced—”

  “I know who you are,” he interrupts. “Same way you know who I am, I reckon.”

  “I don’t mean to get in the way of a game or anything,” I say coolly. “I was wondering if you and I could maybe have a word in private?”

  His posse doesn’t seem to like the idea of us alone. Tom, however, is amused by my arrival. He puts his drink down and slowly slithers in my direction.

  “I would love to,” he obliges. “My penthouse is on the second floor, if you’d like to follow me.”

  As I walk up the stairs to the penthouse, I scan the place, getting the lay of the land. There are many men and women scattered about, and there isn’t a quiet room in the building.

  Upon entering Tom’s penthouse suite, I feel myself becoming livid. There are tens of thousands of dollars of drugs on multiple tables, and expensive furniture and collectibles as far as the eye can see.

  “Nice room.”

  Tom snickers while taking a seat. “You work hard, you play hard, right?”

  “I promise I won’t take up much of your time here,” I say. “In fact, I expect I’ll be out the door in less than two minutes.”

  “No rush. Why don’t you have a seat?”

  “I’d prefer to stand. May I call you Tom?”

  “Please,” he allows.

  “Tom, to be blunt, I want to know if any of your guys have been spreading rhetoric and lies to steer people away from me and my shop.”

  Tom smiles widely, bearing a grin that’s eaten its fair amount of shit.

  “Why would I ever do anything like that?” he asks. “You getting paranoid over there by the shore?”

  “Your boys have been riding through our part of town a lot lately,” I say. “Scouting for new digs?”

  “I don’t know who you’ve been seeing riding through, but it ain’t us,” Tom says dismissively. “You sure it isn’t somebody else? I saw a couple fellas come riding in from Tampa just the other day that looked like an unpleasant pack of fucks. Maybe it was one of them.”

  “What kind of business would anybody in Tampa be doing in Miami?” I wonder. “They’re central.”

  “My reach goes a lot farther than just Miami,” says Tom. “But really—why do you think any of my guys are trying to steal business away from your store? I don’t need any of your business, Damon. Quite honestly, I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

  Everything about Tom Wright is fake—from his words, to his face, to every single aspect about his life—and he knows that I know he’s full of shit. I saw right through him from the moment I laid eyes on him.

  “Why would we even have a problem?” Tom continues coyly. “I thought we held stake to our respective claims pretty well. I’m not interested in a gang war. This isn’t Greg Powers going up against your daddies. Times have changed.”

  Greg Powers was the head of an old gang that used to run half of South Beach. He decided to pick a fight with the Rolling Heads when my father was in charge, and he lost. Badly.

  “I don’t want trouble either,” I say. “I just want honesty. If y’all are just joyriding, hanging out, I get it. Just be straight with me, that’s
all.”

  “I am being straight with you. My boys aren’t doing anything they ain’t supposed to. Your boys on their best behavior, I assume?”

  “They aren’t doing anything they’re not supposed to,” I retort. “Thanks for your time, Tom.”

  I walk over to him so that we can shake hands and part ways on relatively good terms.

  As I make my way out to leave, I keep looking around to get a feel for the place. There are plenty of places to hide and take cover… It plays in my favor, and I think most of Tom’s guys know it, too.

  That night, as I lie in bed and think about how to deal with the Hell-Snakes, I get a late-night text from Noelle:

  How was your day?

  I text back: Fine, can’t complain. Yours?

  It was good. I had the day off, so I got to relax.

  What are you doing right now?

  Watching some show with Sabrina, she answers. She’s about to leave.

  Are you doing anything on Saturday?

  Not sure… I’m not working.

  Do you maybe want to get together on Saturday? I propose.

  I’d like that What did you have in mind?

  Not sure yet. I’ll think of something by then.

  Ah you want to get together for what comes AFTER the date lol ;)

  That’s not the only reason. I really want to see you again, I say.

  Well, I’m down

  We don’t even have to have sex you know no pressure, I add.

  I don’t think we should rule that out…

  Oh?

  I think our sex together is really good, and I want to keep having it, says Noelle. I’ve been thinking a lot about it.

  Me too…

  I nearly pass out when I get her next response, which is exactly what I wanted to see:

  I’m touching myself right now…

  I slide my shorts and boxers right off from me and immediately join her.

  So am I, I inform her. Too bad we can’t touch each other instead.

  I’ve got two fingers in now, wishing it was your dick… Tell me what you want to do to me…