Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance

by Carter Steele

  I thought about the way the light had framed her nearly naked body in that tiny room. The curves of her tits, the hemline of her lacy panties, that purple scarf which seemed to glow in contrast to her fair skin, all of it was burned into my memory. For the first time in my life I wished I could draw just to drag that one moment out of my head.

  I wasn’t a good guy. I’d done tons of shit I regret now and I was sure I’d do tons more before I was through. The question plagued me for hours. I was just as excited as the other guys when the cattle call was sent out and all the girls came downstairs. So what the fuck happened?

  Why didn’t I fuck Sarah when she was throwing herself at me?

  Dunkin kicked Buck’s bunk again. Harder this time.

  “Fuck! OK! I’m up! I’m up! Christ,” Buck cried, realizing that he wasn’t getting back to sleep.

  “Wreck. You good?” Dunk asked, ignoring Buck’s protests and curses.

  I nodded to Dunk then clicked off the wall light. It was a handy little thing. Our trailer home really had everything we needed. We’d eventually move into a motel like we always did when we were on mission. The trailer was our home so we’d stash it somewhere safe so we’d always have a place to retreat to. We’d had too many firefights at motels because someone tailed us to ever make that mistake with the trailer. The only reason we weren’t already in a motel six or whatever was because we were broke as fuck after that last job.

  Today was going to change all that.

  I folded up the picture that Sarah had given me and put it in my vest’s breast pocket.

  It’d been two days since I’d seen her and I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. I spent another night just staring at the picture of the swallow in flight. After some online research I found that in some cultures the swallow represents freedom.

  I chalked up my interest in Sarah to my obsessive personality. Whatever I did, good or bad – more often bad –, I always did it one-hundred percent. But this time with her it was different. I didn’t know what to do exactly. She was obviously not in a good place, but she also told me to never come back to the laundromat. I’d been operating outside the law for long enough to know something was going on with that girl. For the first time in a long time I just didn’t know what to do.

  At least not yet.

  “Give em hell, guys!” Yoga smiled tiredly from his bunk and rolled back over. He stuck up a middle finger at everyone when they started yelling at him. Mac decided Yoga needed another few days off his leg so he was left to guard the trailer. Even if he wasn’t wounded, he didn’t have a bike anymore. After we got some jobs under our belt we’d fix that for him.

  Within the hour we were all riding to a local farmer’s coop run by some asshole named Salamander. Everyone in the game had a stupid nickname, but who was I to talk, really?

  Patrick’s plan was shit, he wanted us to go house by house of Salamander’s generals and kill them in their sleep. After Dreamer did some digging into Patrick’s rivals and the ways they operated we decided we were going to do things our way instead. That meant cutting out the bullshit and going straight for the head.

  The community farm thing was a front for a massive weed business. Salamander not only covered his tracks with sales of legitimate produce but also probably lumped his secret weed expenses into his tax write offs.

  Salamander’s plot of land was in the heart of an urban neighborhood that Patrick described as an enemy fortress. Aside from a fence and two guys watching the place it was child’s play, especially because both guys were stoned out of their minds.

  “Enemy fortress, huh?” I ribbed Buck after we dealt with both guards.

  “Hey don’t look at me, bro. That’s what he said. If we’re being honest, he’s shit at fantasy football, too, so I’d take most of what he says with a grain of salt.” Buck shrugged, then led the way to the second greenhouse, the one marked private.

  “More like shovel-full ‘o salt,” I said. “What’s your read on the whorehouse he’s running.”

  “Four stars on Yelp. They sucked my dick real good. Would recommend,” he replied sarcastically, then slid his knife out to deal with the deadbolt on the door.

  “That’s not what I meant, you fuckwit. You think they’re there against their will?”

  “Christ.” Buck stopped fucking with the deadbolt and put his forehead against the door in a sign of exasperation. “Don’t do this, man.”

  “Do what? I’m just asking the question.”

  “Who gives a shit? That’s not our problem. They’re whores, bro. They knew what they were signing up for.” He turned to me with an appealing tone. “Don’t fucking ruin this for us. In case you hadn’t noticed, we need that prick right now.”

  I kept quiet and let Buck get back to work and soon enough he popped the deadbolt. He slowly opened the door. The one guy inside woke up and reached for his gun but caught one of Buck’s knives in the chest and went down in a wheezing lump. There were two folding tables packed with weed that was wrapped in bricks and ready to transport. Mac stalked in a few minutes later with a backpack full of money he liberated from a wall safe in Salamander’s office.

  Patrick might’ve been a fucking chump about a lot of things but his intel was good about tonight being the right time to strike. We stole what we could and set fire to the rest. Dreamer strategically placed enough evidence to make it look like another gang was stepping up, not Patrick.

  Salamander would retaliate against The Sur Kings and spark a gang war. That would make it a hell of a lot easier for us to slip in and off each faction when they got weak enough.

  Destabilizing the hostile regions through guerilla warfare was all old hat for our pres, Dunkin. He was ex-special forces before he retired into his bike shop. All of this was his plan.

  Just before dawn we pulled into a motel a few miles outside of town and with the stolen money paid a week ahead for three double-bed rooms. The rooms weren’t anything fancy, but sleeping in a full sized bed was nice after so many days on the road.

  Later that day we all piled into Dunk and Mac’s room and called Patrick to come pick up the bricks of marijuana. He had a fence that could sell everything on the down low and with us getting seventy percent of the haul things were starting to look a little more comfortable.

  “Hey, Pres.” I called out to Dunk before he’d hung up with Patrick. “Our first job well done, what’ya say we celebrate? I’m thinking delivery and I’m sure as hell not talking about pizza.”

  The rest of the guys cheered in agreement and Dunkin only smirked and shrugged.

  “You heard the club,” Dunkin said to Patrick. “We’re going to be placing an order.”

  An hour later a Paddy’s Pick-Up laundry van arrived at our motel. A mix of familiar and new faces stepped out of the van. A few of the guys had preferences but the rest didn’t or wanted to try someone new. To his credit, Patrick managed to find a handsome, clean cut boy that was right up Yoga’s alley.

  “About damn time,” Yoga said walking up to the whore. His leg was still injured so he didn’t put much weight on it. Yoga threw his arm around the slim man for support and led him back to his room. “You’re going to nurse me back to health.”

  I found myself waiting anxiously to see her face. Sarah was the last one off the van. Our eyes caught and her face seemed to brighten a little. But before she could walk over Patrick grabbed her arm and whispered something into her ear. Sarah’s gaze fell to the pavement as she nodded gravely, only then did he let her go.

  Patrick didn’t seem to give the other whores nearly as much attention as he gave to Sarah. What the hell was going on between those two?

  Maybe Buck was right about whatever was going on not being our problem. The guys were still a little pissed at me for losing it on the cartel. The last thing I should do is stir up shit on the very next job we did. I was just going to fuck this girl because I thought she was cute, that was it. It’s none of my business. Besides, in two weeks we’ll be back on the
road and I’ll never see any of these people again. That’s how it worked in a nomad club.

  For once I was going to shut the fuck up and keep my head down.

  Sarah walked over wearing jeans, a blouse and a thick jacket to ward off the chill in the air. I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that she was gorgeous. She wore a different scarf this time but it was the same shade of purple.

  What was the deal with that scarf?

  With a slight smile that crept only one side of her face and a mousy demeanor she waved at me.

  “Hi,” I replied, then cocked my head toward my motel room.

  Placing an arm around her shoulders I led her away from the van, and away from Patrick. I glanced back at him as we walked. He’d watched us go, but immediately broke off his gaze when he saw me looking back at him.

  Creepy fuck.

  “My room’s right over here,” I told Sarah, pulling out the silly oversized room key they gave us. “It’s a little bigger than yours, but I share it with our VP…”

  When I opened the door we saw Dreamer with his pants already mostly off sitting on the edge of his bead. One of the blond girls that came over was on her knees in front of him, her head bobbing up and down over his cock.

  “Damn, man. You don’t waste any fucking time,” I said with a half chuckle.

  “Get busy livin’, bro. Or get busy dyin’” Dreamer laughed and tossed me a beer.

  I only laughed, popping open the can and draining half of it.

  We all lived on the road and in tight quarters most of the time. Seeing one of our brothers get down with some whore wasn’t uncommon. You couldn’t be embarrassed or squeamish living this lifestyle. Guys gotta fuck.

  I offered some beer to Sarah, but she just shook her head.

  “Don’t worry about Jezzy,” the blond said after smacking her lips off Dreamers cock, and sucking in a deep breath. “She hasn’t done any gangbangs or orgies but she’ll get used to it.”

  I looked down at Sarah who looked down at the floor, obviously uncomfortable with this but resigned to accept whatever happened to her. She had this way about her of looking smaller than she actually was. Must be some kind of defense mechanism. So our girl doesn’t drink or do group jobs, huh?

  Whoever named her Jezebel either didn’t know her at all or…knew her perfectly well and was just a cruel bastard.

  “We’re going to grab another room.” I announced, grabbing another beer and heading back for the door. “Dreamer makes the stupidest fucking faces when he’s about to come.”

  “You’re just jealous because my cock’s bigger than yours!” he yelled at me on our way out. By the time the door closed behind us Dreamer’s attention was fully back to his whore.

  “I got you for at least a few hours right?” I asked when we had a little privacy outside the room. I’d made sure to check for Patrick, but he and his van had already left.

  Sarah nodded, but gave me a skeptical curious look.

  She had no idea what I had in store for her.

  4

  Jezebel

  When he asked how long he had me I had a good idea what that meant.

  I followed Wreck down the outside corridor of the motel in our search for a private room to fuck in, and with each step I took an all-too-familiar numbness seeped into my gait and I became more and more disappointed.

  One way or another this was always how it went.

  As far as clients went Wreck was hot as hell and the more time I spent thinking about him these last few days the more my skin itself seemed to warm up to him. When I got really horny or embarrassed the skin on my chest and cheeks got redder than a sunburn. That was because of my pasty Irish heritage betraying me. It was only when touching myself last night while thinking of Wreck that I remembered my skin even did that.

  It’d been years since I got excited like that. Since before I started working for Patrick.

  Since before I became a whore.

  That’s why I was disappointed. I had been with countless men who never saw me at all and here was a man who’d admired my art and by extension the soul and passion in me that drew it, not to mention discovering my real name. That all ended when we had sex now. Regardless of how handsome and sexy he was I was still his whore, bought and paid for. Nothing more.

  Fucking me now would make him just another client and when the sex was through and he was satisfied he’d forget about me like everyone else had.

  “We’re here,” Wreck said, stopping abruptly beside a row of motorcycles.

  When I saw that he’d led me not to another room but into the parking lot, the haze around my mind and heart lifted and was quickly replaced by curiosity and a little concern.

  “What is this?” I wrote in my pad and showed it to him, then abruptly pulled it back when I realized the question was too vague. “I can't go anywhere. Patrick doesn't let me travel.”

  “He traveled you here didn't he?” Wreck replied. “Besides I'm not taking you to Europe.”

  “I really can't,” I wrote and underlined it. He didn't know what a control freak Patrick was.

  “Don’t worry I’ll have you back before Patrick gets here,” Wreck replied reading my facial expression. He pulled a helmet off the back of his bike and handed it to me. “I'm the client aren't I? The client always gets what he wants.”

  I thought about it for a moment, biting my lip. Patrick wouldn't be happy if he found out, but something in Wreck's smile made me want to trust him.

  “I promise you you’re going to want this.” His mahogany eyes seemed to steal the sunlight in the air and draw it into him.

  The thrill of potentially riding on the back of a motorcycle was incredibly exciting. Me, actually going somewhere for a few hours?

  It'd been years that I've been locked away in a small room constantly under Patrick’s supervision. For as cruel and ambitious as Patrick was he wasn’t crazy or adventurous enough to ever have any interest in a vehicle with less than four wheels . He drove me around in a van most times, motorcycles just weren’t something that existed in my world.

  Wreck might as well have been an astronaut who was inviting me to ride in his spaceship.

  “It’s easy,” Wreck said with a cocky smirk as he put the oversized helmet on me and tightened it as best he could. My eyes barely peeked out. I looked like a little kid in their parent’s clothes. Then with strong arms he easily lifted me onto the back of the bike. I had to pinch the seat with my thighs to keep from falling off. He tied a bandana over his long hair then mounted the bike as well. Before turning the key and starting the engine he added, “Hold onto me tight or else you’ll fly off and die.”

  Jesus Christ!

  With a lump in my throat I wrapped my arms around his broad chest and prayed. The bike roared to life and settled into a loud steady purr. The engine sent vibrations through my thighs and pussy giving me a thrill that I felt all the way up into my ribs. I didn’t expect just sitting on a bike like this was going to be so…engaging!

  Then we took off and the thrill was overwhelming.

  He took turns with so much speed and confidence. What was terrifying to me was comfortable – natural- to him. Wreck felt so connected to the bike that, with my eyes closed, it felt like they were one being. In the fairytales I read when I was young, I wondered what it would be like to ride a centaur – half man and half horse. This was the closest I was ever going to get to that I realized.

  I squeezed him tight, burying my head in his back and breathing in Wreck’s natural manly scent which now had notes of the bike- gas, oiled metal and singed rubber. I never thought I’d like that cocktail, but I couldn’t get enough of it. Everything was perfect at that moment. I didn’t even mind the stinging ends of his long hair occasionally nipping at my face. It all felt so real, so necessary, and so alive!

  I had been sleepwalking through life these past long years but now I was finally awake.

  I had no idea where we were going, but I knew it wasn’t another motel. We’d
already passed so many for that to be his final destination. If not to some grimy bed somewhere then where were we going?

  The disappointment from earlier had all but vanished. Who was this man?

  We rode for what felt like lifetimes and after awhile I let myself relax into him and enjoy all the strange and wonderful sensations. I even opened my eyes after awhile and saw the world in a way I never had before.

  A car, van, bus, train, etc, were all boxes – cages. A motorcycle was a set of wings. There was nothing in between us and the world. When we got on the highway and zipped passed all the people in four-wheeled cages I felt like I was flying.

  I felt like I was free.

  The ride was more intoxicating than most drugs I’d tried.

  The highway gave way to routes which gave way to back roads and soon enough we were driving through a part of the state I’d never been to. We weren’t in Baltimore anymore, here was far too green and serene for that. We made our way down a long driveway and into a mostly empty parking lot.

  Wreck glided to a smooth stop, put down the kickstand and killed the engine. He held a hand out for me to get off and when I did my legs nearly buckled from having to support me again. My whole body buzzed with a combination of residual vibrations from the bike and anxious excitement as to where we were exactly.

  The building was fairly large and had a small sign above the main entrance that read Memorial Aviary.

  Aviary…

  That word was painfully familiar despite knowing that I’d never heard it before. It was like faces in a dream- familiar, but irritatingly elusive when you tried to place who they were. I resolved that I didn’t know the word, but I was content to eventually find out. The building had a zoo-vibe to it and that alone gave me sparks of giddiness. But even still I didn’t dare to dream of actually going in.