Outlaw MC: The Complete Boxset

by Ethan Egorov

  Still, the car stays stalled and then I find it kind of creepy that the headlights are still on, blinding beyond what I can see. I don’t get too worked up though, I can take a creep down. I wipe my hands off on the rag and step forward under the garage light entrance, to the center of the car. I can see the emblem, an old Chevy, but that’s about it.

  After a few seconds I hear a soft voice but can’t really make it out over the engine and the bright lights. I don’t really want to go around to the driver’s side because I don’t know what I’m going to end up seeing.

  “Come back tomorrow,” I wave my hand, shouting again.

  Eventually the engine cuts and I frown because that’s the opposite of what I wanted. Maybe they are just lost and need directions.

  “Sorry, I got lost.” A voice finally comes through, confirming what I thought, and when I notice that it’s a woman, I relax a little bit. I’m less inclined to shoo them away now.

  “No problem, can you cut the lights so I can see.” I drop my hand and stuff the towel in my pocket. I hear the clicking, some confusion going on for a bit.

  “This isn’t your car is it?” I shout, laugh once and come around the front of it unlike before.

  When I get to the side mirror, I peer inside the glass and can only make out a head of light brown hair. I knock on the window and she jumps, maybe screams a little. I laugh again and can’t believe I’m stuck with this flustered person.

  She does roll the window down though, and I’m stuck looking at her face in a bit of shock. Whoever this is, she’s the hottest girl I’ve seen in a long time, if ever. This confused vibe she has going on makes her full lips pout and her skin flushed, I can only see that she has on a tight tank top and jeans. Her eyes, big and blue, stare into mine momentarily and I think we’re both wondering what the hell is going to happen next.

  2

  Emily

  I get mashed peas thrown into my face but it’s not as bad as the spaghetti from yesterday. I don’t know why I subject myself to this, honestly. Each day it gets harder to remember why, then I recall going to school and getting a degree to do this exact thing. Early childhood education is the hardest career choice of all, I’m sure of it.

  “Miss Denny, I want tv.” The little tyrant says, after tossing his lunch at me. My last name is Danielson but that’s the best he can say it, even though they can call me by my first name if they want.

  “After your math lesson. Let’s go.” I finish wiping my face off and can level my head. This is my second house of the day; I am always exhausted by the time I get here.

  “But…”

  “No buts kid, let’s go.” I laugh at him, he’s kind of funny looking and when he pouts it’s even worse. He has bright red hair like his parents and chubby cheeks like any five-year-old.

  I eventually coax him out of the kitchen and back to the dining room, that’s set up like a classroom.

  Some parents decide to have pre-school be the kid’s homeschooling and that’s where I come in. I majored in early childhood education, worked at a pre-school for a while and then hated how structured it was. I just kind of started freelancing and ended up with a client list, each year it varies but I have three families this year to help space out the lesson times. It has to do with when their kid is the most productive, Robbie here is better in the evening. The other two are useless after two and three pm so my day starts relatively early. Robbie’s parents are somewhere in the house, I think they enjoy the time to relax. It’s not like being a nanny and having the dads hit on you, I don’t know what I would do if any of them did but they kind of understand that I’m a teacher like anyone else, just not in a traditional school building.

  After his math lesson is finished, I have him do his end of day summary and then I’m free to go. I’m exhausted, but like usual Friday’s, I have to go and see my dad. He isn’t all that old, but he is sick, so I had to put him in a long-term resort elder care type of place. It’s just like living in an apartment building except with nurses around the clock and structured days. I wanted there to be another way, but it is just the two of us and I couldn’t be there with him all the time to make sure nothing happened to him. It’s not cheap, but it’s the best thing for him and I still hope he gets better one of these days.

  “Dad, hi.” I knock on his apartment door and enter; they don’t have locks so the staff can enter if need be. I find him in his usual place by the tv, in a big leather armchair. He looks relatively okay, I get my brown hair from him and blue eyes, my mom was blonde, and we don’t keep many pictures of her. When I was five, she decided being a mother was too hard and then I never saw her again.

  “Em, I forgot you were coming.” He tries to stand, and I stop him. I know evenings are harder for him.

  “That’s okay. I brought dinner.” I start getting out the food, he has to eat relatively healthy but one day won’t hurt him, and fried chicken is his favorite. I get his portions right, though, and give it to him.

  “What did you do today?” I ask him.

  He fills me in on his ride around the golf course, going to the movie center they have here, and then his mandatory exercise that he hates. Even talking a little bit gets him out of breath and my heart goes out to him. But then it is my turn to fill him in, he laughs about the kids getting on my nerves and briefly tells me about how I used to be the same way. I try to spend as many hours with him as possible, just in case our time really is limited, but I hate to think about it that way.

  “I need a favor Em, among all the other stuff you do for me.”

  I giggle and wave him off, “What is it?”

  “I guess it’s kind of a gift, too. My Chevy, we should get it fixed up and then sell it. Help pay for all this.” He says.

  “Dad, you love that car. And it’s fine, you know I don’t have student loans. My apartment is cheap.” I remind him. I got a scholarship for school and I still have our house I grew up in. The mortgage is inexpensive because it is so old.

  “I know. But it isn’t doing much sitting here. And you don’t have to sell it, you loved it when you were a kid. I don’t know, I just think if we got it fixed up then when I’m ready to drive it again, I can.” He looks at me and I see the feeling in his eyes, it makes me sad, but I have hope too that one day he’ll get better and won’t need to be less mobile. He was a car collector back in his time, and that Chevy was meant for someone else but apparently, I loved it while he fixed it up and kept hanging around it, so he kept it. A few months ago, it had a few problems with the transmission so it can’t really be used that much. He taught me all about cars, though, and if I had the tools, I would fix it myself.

  “Okay, Dad. I’ll get it fixed for you.” I tell him. He smiles more than I’ve seen in a long time and am glad it makes him so happy.

  I stay with him for a little longer and clean the place up a bit. I have the keys to the Chevy but have to drive my car home first and then drive it out, since it is parked at the house. I’m sure any mechanic shop will be closed by the time I get back, but I still set out to find one. I’ve lived here my whole life and only know of one place; the motorcycle club that some people hate and think it’s dangerous, and others think it’s hot as hell and crowd the place all the time. Whenever I came home from college, I would hear new rumors about who hooked up with whom, who was the worst of all of them. I never really paid mind to it because I didn’t think I would have to interact with them, yet, here I am.

  I peel off the route and know the car has reached its limit, it’s old and the last restoration was temporary. But it looks like the garage is closed, or closing soon, and I feel bad. I’m exhausted and wish the day was over already. When the guy comes out, I can barely make out what he is saying, and in the dark, it’s harder to see the controls in the car to shut the head lights off.

  It’s pretty embarrassing since I know how to use cars and it looks like I don’t, but the guy comes around to the driver’s side and half scares me to death. I roll it down the window and
then, I’m just shocked.

  He looks like a fucking Greek god. Honestly, with the blond hair and hard square jaw, full pink lips in a half smile and his multi-colored eyes staring at me, I feel awe struck. He’s tall, from what I can tell, and widely muscled.

  “Need some help?” He asks, and his voice is deep but still somehow soft. He looks a lot more intimidating than he sounds though.

  “No,” I lie. With the light coming in from the garage, I can easier see the dash and cut off the headlights.

  “I was just about to close up.” He says, leaning into the car.

  For some reason, I don’t pull away, my personal space being invaded. Instead, I lean closer and fight a smile. The way he is looking at me, his eyes are so intense and his smile even more so. He is dangerously hot, and I don’t have to be an expert to know he is probably in the club, too. All the rumors are telling me to stay far away, but my mind is refusing to remember them right now. Even his cologne is swarming the small space of the window and it’s warm like the weather, yet cold like the sharp scent of pine.

  “I’m sorry. I was working all day and then I came here last minute. Can I just drop it off and come back tomorrow?” I ask. If I drive it back with me, I’ll have to come all the way back and I don’t think the engine will last that long. He seems to be contemplating like he isn’t sure.

  “I know exactly what’s wrong with it, my dad restored it a long time ago, but it bottomed out again. It needs a new transmission and muffler.” I tell him.

  To that, he widens his eyes in shock. I guess me knowing what to do surprised him.

  “I mean, I’d do it myself, but I don’t have the right tools.” I add. Plus, factoring in parts shipments and all that, I can’t dedicate the time to it. This is the only thing my dad has ever asked me for, and I don’t want to let him down.

  “Well, I was about to close up, and I don’t really come here on Saturdays.” He answers.

  I frown a bit and slump in the seat, it’s the old fashioned one where the front row is just one long red seat.

  “Okay…” I relent.

  He licks his lips and then crosses his arms on the dash of the window. I tense up a bit, he is a stranger after all, but he doesn’t really look that way, or feel that way. I haven’t been this immediately attracted to a guy in a long time, if ever. But my past relationships were short lived, and I never cared much for a connection beyond a few fun nights, the way my life is, it’s much easier that way.

  “What’s your name?” He asks me.

  “What does that have to do with my car?” I retort. He chuckles, a delicious deep sound that I find myself hanging off of.

  “Nothing babe, just asking. I’m Kit.” He holds out his hand, half stained with grease that he tried to wipe off.

  “Emily.” I answer. I find him endearing and he has this distinct quality about him, I can already tell he might be a major playboy but that makes me feel slightly better at looking at him like he is a piece of meat.

  “Nice to meet you. Even though you’re making my life harder than it needs to be.” He jokes and I manage a giggle.

  “Look, I can park it in the garage tonight and come back Monday. As long as it’s safe.” I suggest making things easier on him. It was kind of shitty for me to come so late anyway, but the car wouldn’t have lasted another long trip, or anything more than two minutes.

  “That’s okay. You can park it tonight and I’ll take a look tomorrow… under one condition.” He adds.

  I give him a funny look and can only imagine what that might be.

  “Have a drink with me, Emily.” He grins, and I can tell he is laying on some full charm right now.

  “A drink?” I repeat as if in shock. He chuckles and nods.

  “Yeah babe, a drink. The bar is still open, unlike my garage here.”

  “Your garage?” I look him over and he really doesn’t seem like the mechanic type.

  “Yep, this is my place. So, honestly it’s up to me whether or not your car here gets fixed.” He licks his lips.

  “That would be pretty shitty for you to leave me stranded.”

  “Not if you have a drink with me.”

  “So, I’m paying you with my company?”

  “No, you’re still gonna pay me money to fix your ride.” He laughs. I smirk and chew on my lip for a moment.

  He doesn’t seem like a creep or anything, and we would be in a public place inside the bar. Plus, he is stupid hot.

  “Okay. Sure.” I agree, without any reluctance at all. The last thing I expected was to run into a guy like Kit, I hope that’s a nickname but there are other pressing matters to attend to.

  He tells me where to pull it into the garage, the engine has some trouble starting back up and I’m glad I came tonight. I’ll probably take a cab back home or something. After I park it and get out, I see firsthand how tall he is. Maybe it is because I’m barely over five feet, but he towers over me, and his body is so wide that I could hide right in front of him.

  “It’s a nice car.” He comments as we walk in.

  I smile to myself but don’t tell him the whole story.

  “Yeah, it’s my dad’s. I’m fixing it up for him.” I tell him.

  “That’s sweet.” He grins down at me. I half smile and tug my purse tight to my chest. I suddenly feel exposed in my tank top, it’s low cut and everything fits tight on me because of how I’m built. It’s just so damn hot in the summer that I don’t have much of a choice.

  He leads me inside, and I’m hit with the sound of soft rock music, slight smoke in the air, and the smell of leather and alcohol. I was right about the MC, they all have leather jackets on, well most of them do. And some of the women are actually with the guys and not trying to hook up.

  “What do you like?” He pulls out a stool for me and I sit down.

  “Anything.” I tell him.

  He smirks and then flags down a guy at the bar, who also looks like a male model. I wonder if that’s a requirement to join.

  “So, you’re in this motorcycle possy thing.” I conclude, smirking over my beer at Kit. He grins and shakes his head at me.

  “I mean, that’s not what I prefer to call it.” He sits on the stool and his legs are splayed open in my direction, the tight denim wraps his muscular thighs and his gray shirt does the same to his muscles. He went to wash his hands and then came back; the greasy mechanic look long gone. Either is fine with me.

  “It’s a club.” He adds.

  I nod once and drink my beer. I’m tired and hungry from the long day, but soon the beer starts to fill me up a little.

  “And you’re a mechanic.” I ask him.

  “By trade.” He leans forward and I get lost in his deep eyes, the way his gaze kind of sets me aflame. My whole body is leaning toward his, my lips tingling. Whoever this guy is, I want him.

  “What do you say we get out of here?”

  3

  Kit

  “I say that’s a great idea.” I smirk at Emily, whose bright blue eyes stare into mine intensely and I know she wants this as much as I do. The thought sends all the blood in my body to one particular place, that’s been dying to have her since I saw her sitting in that car.

  “Let me finish my beer first.” She giggles and I shake my head at her, knowing she is doing that on purpose. I come across a lot of women who are hot for the kill, to be with an MC guy, and are in a rush to get me into bed. I’m used to that. But Emily wanting to slow things down drives me crazy and more excited all at the same time.

  “Fine.” I pull back slightly and take another swig of mine.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her full lips curl around the bottle as she drinks. What gets me is that she isn’t even trying to be sexy, she just is.

  “Your place or mine?” Emily stands up, tugging on her jeans before she grabs her purse. I’m half distracted by her rounded tits pressing the fabric of her tank before I get my head screwed back on right.

  “Mine.” I say. And I don’t e
ven know why I say that, but it just felt natural when it came out. Amy might just kill me but that’s the last thing I care about right now.

  I pay for our beer and then walk her out, knowing if any of the guys saw me, they would have a ton of shit to say tomorrow. Not because I’m leaving with a woman, but because Emily doesn’t look like my usual type. I tend to end up with the blondes, or even a red head here and there. But something about her warm brown hair has my brain spinning, along with the rest of her.

  She glances up at me as we walk out and I slip my hand around her waist, keeping her close. The night air is cooler now, light from the moon casting over all the chrome in the parking lot.

  “Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?” I ask her, once I round the corner and reach where I parked my bike in the back.

  “Oh god no.” Emily laughs to herself. I grin at her and grab the helmet from under the seat that I never use.

  “Don’t worry. I’m an expert at it. Just hold on tight and you won’t fall off.” I smirk at her and she bites on her bottom lip as she looks up at me.

  “Wouldn’t you like that.” She murmurs. I get the helmet situated on her and she swings her purse over her shoulder, the strap against her plush tits. I may not even make it home.

  “So, is this a thing you do often?” She asks me. I jingle my keys in my hand and give her a funny look.

  “What?”

  “This. The curtailing of women on your bike.” She giggles. I smile but it doesn’t reach because I realize at the same time that I’ve never let a woman on my bike, along with never bringing one to my house either. I’m sure it should be weird, or at least feel like that, but it doesn’t for some reason. Maybe I’m becoming less of an ass. Or Emily is just different. Either one doesn’t sound like they would end very well. So, I just shrug it off.

  “Are you asking if I’m a man-whore?”

  She laughs aloud, her cute little nose scrunching up. “Not really.”