Locked: Reckless MC Opey Texas Chapter

by KB Winters

  “You’re tapping your hands like you’re a nervous wreck. Is everything all right?” As soon as the question was out, his hands stopped, and he gripped the wheel hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

  He turned back to me with a wide, sweet smile. It was the smile that made me say yes to a second date, equal parts charming and earnest. “You’re the best, babe,” he said. “You know that? Thanks for asking about my day.”

  “Of course. So?”

  Ken was always vague about his work, but we lived in a nice apartment. I didn’t have to dip into my trust fund to pay for it, which was probably the only reason my daddy hadn’t strung him up by his ankles yet. Ken worked from home, taking business calls at all hours. Some days I thought maybe he was a lawyer or accountant for the mob, but Ken wasn’t that kind of man. He was more J. Crew than henchmen, but sometimes…I wondered.

  “Just some bullshit at work. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.” His grin was condescending, but I let him get away with it for now because it was easier than fighting.

  And then going inside a sex club. That was a recipe for bad decisions and deep regrets. “If you say so.”

  “I do, babe.” He reached out and ran his thumb along the line of my jaw in what was supposed to be a soothing gesture, but it just made me feel like a child.

  I jerked out of his touch and turned to face him. It was time for the talk before we got to the club. “We should set some boundaries for tonight.”

  He gave me some serious side-eye and laughed. “Boundaries? Babe, we’re going to a sex club. The whole point is no boundaries.”

  I wasn’t even surprised at his response. Annoyed for sure, but not surprised. “So you’re all right with me taking two guys at once even if neither of them is you?”

  “You wouldn’t do that, Aspen. You never even let me in your back door.” He licked his lips and ground his hips with a groan. “No matter how much I beg.”

  “I already told you I would.”

  He snorted. Derisively. “Yeah, if I lick your pussy. You know I don’t do that.”

  “And you know that I do.”

  It was an argument we’d been having since our fourth date. I’d given him a world-class blow job, the kind that makes a man do that nervous laughter thing uncontrollably, and he’d slipped inside of me and come in two minutes.

  “So…what I’m hearing is that you’ll do what you want and I’ll do the same?” I said.

  I didn’t want to have sex with another man, but maybe that was what this relationship needed. Maybe it was the reminder I needed to figure out what to do and where to go next.

  “What I’m saying is we should both do what feels right.” He gave me a smug grin that almost made my skin crawl.

  He’d probably try to push me into some girl on girl action for his viewing pleasure. I wasn’t opposed to having a little fun with another woman. I experimented in college, just like everybody else, but it was the pressure I objected to. Some days I dreamed about leaving him for a woman just to piss him off.

  “Good,” I said, ending the talk. “I think so, too.”

  In fact, the more I thought about it, the more that sounded like an excellent idea.

  ***

  The Barn Door wasn’t so bad. It didn’t look like a sex dungeon or any weird shit, well if you didn’t include all the people in various states of undress. I was probably overdressed given all the women bouncing around in nothing but lingerie, mostly leather and lace. A few brave women wore a combination of both, giving off the perfect Madonna-whore vibe.

  The music was loud, pulsing, throbbing. Sexy as hell, in fact. The lighting was dim enough to lower my inhibitions without being creepy or making me feel unsafe. Actually, it was kind of fancy.

  So far, I wasn’t regretting the decision to check out The Barn Door, then again Ken left to go to the bathroom as soon as we got here. I knew public restroom lines could be insane, but this was ridiculous.

  But I refused to be one of those girlfriends. Not tonight, damn him. So I strolled over to the long wooden bar up front because it had beautiful brass embellishments and a big burly bartender who looked like he wouldn’t take any shit. That was exactly who I wanted nearby in case any of these horny men got the wrong idea.

  Five minutes later, I managed to slide up to the bar. And waited. And waited. The petite, dark-haired woman laughed and bantered while she mixed drinks for a middle-aged foursome. The big burly guy had his head down as he pulled a handle on a draft.

  “What can I get ya?” he asked, his voice deep and alluring with a touch of gruff.

  “I’ll have a cosmopolitan and a Jameson, neat.”

  A smart woman would make Ken get his own damn drink for leaving me alone like this.

  “A Cosmo,” he grumbled and looked up with a smile that was more of a grimace as he handed two beers to a young couple. “Of course. Comin’ right up.”

  The good looking ones were always assholes, and I already had one of those, but there was something about the big man that wasn’t just appealing. He was familiar. Vaguely familiar, like maybe we crossed paths at a bar or coffee shop.

  He was tall, well over six feet with broad shoulders that tapered down to a very slim waist. Even though his chambray was half un-tucked, the big man moved like he was well-built, like he used his body to earn a living. An athlete maybe, though in these parts it was more likely he was a cowboy.

  I gave up cowboys a long time ago, yet in a strange twist of irony, ended up a stone’s throw away from hometown. “What’s wrong with a Cosmo?”

  Still, he didn’t look up, just mixed the drinks and slid them across the bar.

  “Nothin’ at all. Cash or tab?”

  It took a moment for his words to register, and even when they did, I didn’t understand. “Excuse me?”

  “Are you paying cash or putting it on your member’s tab?” His tone was annoyed and when I looked up, and up, and up, it was into a pair of dark, sapphire blue eyes that looked more than a little familiar. Especially when they were filled with intense emotion like they were now. His nostrils flared. “Well?”

  “Um, cash, I guess.” I didn’t even know if Ken had a membership here. I wondered how he got us in here in the first place.

  My dress contained one little pocket that was just big enough for ID and three fifty-dollar bills. Not even lip gloss. “Just a second.”

  “Hazel. Cash.” That was it, just two barked words, and he walked to the other end of the bar, leaving the brunette to finish my transaction.

  “Sorry about that.”

  The girl named Hazel said, “No worries. A dress that gorgeous shouldn’t have to deal with messy lines.” She winked and quickly made change, leaning in close as she handed me the change. “First timer? Take one big sip and then start walking around. Every time you feel overwhelmed, take another sip until you relax. You don’t have to join, just watch the action around you. And have fun.” She smiled and turned to take care of the next customer.

  I thought about what the woman the big guy called Hazel said as I headed in the direction of our booth with two drinks in my hands, at the mercy of every set of hands kind enough, and horny enough, to offer assistance. Maybe she was right. I should take a look around.

  Stopping and changing directions wasn’t easy with the crush of people inside the main room, luckily there were mostly naked men and women dancing in human-sized bird cages above. It was a nice distraction. So was Ken’s Jameson, which I sucked down quickly and left the glass on the first flat surface I found.

  One sip down, at least four more to go.

  I found a stairwell between the front room and the back room, which seemed to be even more crowded. And loud. So I opted for the staircase, finding a near-exact replica of a horror movie dungeon.

  “Not creepy, sexy,” I tried to remind myself and took a sip of my Cosmo.

  Inside the first room, I saw a man with two women. One rode his face while the other rode his cock, and even though I c
ouldn’t see his face, his hands said he was a happy man. They searched and touched, pinched, caressed and squeezed, eager to touch any of the soft flesh at his access. The women had their heads tossed back in ecstasy, eagerly taking their pleasure from the man.

  This was hot, but I wasn’t sure I could have sex with someone while strangers watched.

  The next room was a mix of couples and groups, draped across jewel-toned cushions. Some kissed and touched like teenagers. One girl was backed into a corner with both legs tossed over wide, dark brown shoulders, a man’s head moving to the rhythm of pleasure. A bigger woman was licking a cock like it was her favorite flavor of ice cream while a buff Hispanic-looking man licked her asshole.

  My own asshole twitched at that, and I wondered what it would feel like. I stared for a few minutes and found Hazel was right. Even just watching was a thrill. I moved on to the next room, where I got my first surprise of the evening.

  There was Ken, shoving his cock into a redhead dressed like a cheerleader, bent over a leather stool while a petite blonde knelt behind him, sliding her tongue in and out of his asshole.

  Again, I wasn’t surprised. I was annoyed but not surprised.

  Stepping inside the small dark room that smelled like sex, sweat, and a blend of perfumes, I let out a deep breath. “Wow, that must have been a really long line in the bathroom.”

  Ken froze at the sound of my voice but made no move to slide out of the pussy. Or away from the tongue licking him to an ass-gasm. “Aspen, babe. No boundaries, remember?”

  No boundaries. “Fuck you, Ken.”

  “Aw, babe. Don’t be like that. It’s just a little fun.”

  A little fun sounded like exactly what I needed right now, and I smiled. “You’re right, Ken. No boundaries.” I turned away from him, proud of myself for leaving without causing a scene.

  And I went in search of my own fun for the night.

  Chapter Three

  Holden

  “You know Holden, this whole brooding cowboy thing only works in romance novels. And movies featuring Meryl Streep.” Hazel had the nerve to reach up and pat my jaw gently, before laughing right in my face.

  “I’m not brooding. I’m just bein’ me.”

  That much was true. I wasn’t a bartender by trade or by passion because I would never—if given a choice—choose to deal with people. Animals, they were much easier than people. Hell, weapons were easier, too.

  “I know, and you’re great, but maybe a little less brooding and bit more sexy cowboy with a twang. Yes, ma’am and all that shit, yeah?”

  My frown deepened. “You’re lucky I like you.”

  She flashed a saucy grin that was underscored by the blush that stained her cheeks. “I like you too, Holden. That’s why I’m asking you to stop scaring away the customers.”

  “I’m not,” I insisted. Sure, I didn’t want to be here, wanted to be anywhere but here, but I gave Gunnar my word that I’d show up and work my shift. Plus, Saint asked me to keep an eye on his woman. Of course, I said yeah, so here I was, helping out, reluctantly, though.

  “You are. Men buy the drinks, and you’re scaring them off, which means you’re fucking with my tips.” Hazel put her hands on her hips and let her smile fade just enough to let me know she was serious.

  “Okay, fine. Sorry about the mix-up, ma’am.” I tipped an imaginary hat her way, and she laughed.

  “Perfect. More of that. Thanks.”

  “Sure.” It would’ve been easier to wear a smile if I hadn’t been smacked with a blast from my fuckin’ past in the form of Aspen Holt. She was still blonde and still as beautiful as I remembered her. Blue eyes still as pale as the perfect cloudless sky. She’d aged a bit, hell we all had, but she looked good. Better than good.

  She was my dream girl all through junior high and high school and totally out of my fucking league. I didn’t realize at the time how much money mattered in the world. Her daddy owned one of the biggest spreads in all of Texas and the biggest cattle ranch by a mile in the small town of Vance, not a hundred miles east of Opey. Compared to my family’s thirty cattle operation, they were royalty. But with the naivete and bravado of the young, I didn’t let any of that sway me. I wanted Aspen, and I convinced myself she’d want me too if she gave me a shot.

  What a stupid fucking kid I’d been. Eighteen with more cock than intelligence, I strolled up to her right after graduation. I smiled with my chest all puffed out as I asked her out. She and her friends laughed in my face. “Not even if we were the last two people on earth, Holden!”

  Bitch.

  I reached up for the good tequila and poured a shot, pounding it quickly to wash away the memory of her laughing, cruel face. She was the reason I’d left Vance and never looked back, not even after I lost everything in the military. Instead, I came to Opey, worked a few ranches, and built a new life here.

  Away from her.

  Yet, here she was. I downed another shot of tequila and smacked my lips as the liquid burned its way down. Aspen fucking Holt was here. In Opey.

  A hundred bucks said she was with some rich fuckin’ douchebag who treated her like shit. She’d favored the type in high school and probably still did.

  Not that I gave a damn, because I didn’t. I was just shocked at seeing her.

  Another shot down, and it burned a little less than the last one.

  The next time I looked up, my gaze found Aspen at the top of the stairs, looking gorgeous and pissed off and determined. Pale blue eyes scanned inside both rooms, trying to decide where to exact her revenge would be my guess. It happened a lot inside the walls of The Barn Door. Women who weren’t wired for this kind of sexual deviancy convinced themselves they were. She probably found her douchebag with another woman, maybe more than one, and now was in search of her own bad decision.

  It was a recipe for disaster. I picked up the phone to call Ford, our handler. “Possible screeching owl situation,” I told him, using our code for this exact problem. “Stacked blonde in a tight, black lacy thing.”

  Having done my good deed for the day, I rewarded myself with another shot of tequila.

  ***

  Dreams were a motherfucker, and I envied men like Wheeler who could lay their head on a pillow and fall into a dreamless sleep that didn’t contain the memories of ghosts.

  Tonight that ghost came in the form of Ria Santos, a gorgeous Army medic with honey brown skin and dancing hazel eyes. We met on my second tour when I took a bullet to the side. She’d arrived with the chopper to dress me and get me to a nearby care facility. Her dimpled smile had knocked me on my ass, and then she’d given me shit about getting shot.

  “You’re supposed to duck,” she told me with a laugh, shaking her head with a rueful smile.

  “Yeah, I did. Just wasn’t quick enough, I suppose.”

  She laughed as if I’d just told the funniest joke around and bam! I was hooked. We spent every free moment we could find together. We took leave together, visiting parts of Europe doing the tourist thing. I even met her old man on a trip to Barcelona. He didn’t hold it against her—or me—for choosing the Army instead of his Navy, and I didn’t hold it against him that he was a Giants fan.

  Every night, memories of Ria and our time together came to me, flashed like little snapshots of the short time we had together. Usually, the exhaustion of a long day on the ranch meant I was fast asleep before any more of our relationship could play out. But it turned out that too many shots of tequila and eight hours of tending bar weren’t quite the equivalent of ranch work.

  And it all came back to me. Not just the good parts, where we were laughing and exploring some ancient city, kissing in front of world-famous monuments, or even better, sneaking kisses when we were on duty, out of view of any superior officers. Of course. No, thanks to the tequila and very likely the appearance of someone from my past, I remembered that fucking day like it was yesterday. To me, every damn day was that day.

  We were on a routine security sweep of the area. All
intel indicated there were no un-friendlies in the area. We were out to make sure it stayed that way. Like men tend to do, we were bullshitting. The guys were giving me shit about my not-so-secret relationship with Ria, mocking Jones for being pussy-whipped over his beauty pageant wife and razzing the two single guys for being in serious relationships with their left or right hands.

  It was dumb guy shit, a way to pass the time while we were in a literal and figurative hell. One hundred and twenty degrees in the shade, enemies under every possible rock, and a constant state of anxiety. Dirty jokes and bullshit was how we got through it.

  Then the whizz of a bullet flew parallel on the left side of the vehicle. And then all hell broke loose. Bullets fired from automatic weapons came from the left and the right—fucking canyons—and we had to scramble to respond. It was a quick firefight, maybe fifteen minutes, but Markhof took a bullet in the shoulder, just shy of his vest. It bled like a son of a bitch and Jones, rightfully, called for a medic. The fight was well over, most of the men lying dead or dying as their bodies tumbled down the hills.

  The chopper landed, and Ria hopped out, looking beautiful and alive with a focused look on her face. Medic bag in one hand, she ran towards Markhof. “Forget to duck, Marky Mark?”

  He grinned through the pain, his face a ghostly white. “Fucker was faster than me this time.”

  “Well, I’ll stop the bleeding and then we’ll make sure you a get a scar to impress the women who should know better.”

  Near unconscious, he gave her a thumbs up and closed his eyes. True to her word, Ria stanched the bleeding, and they got him into the chopper.

  She gave me a wink and a smile, and said, “Stay safe, Texas Holden.” She hopped back in and turned her focus back to Markhof as the chopper took off.

  Twenty, maybe twenty-five seconds later, an RPG came from the hill to the right and hit its target. I watched as every piece fell to the ground. Every. Fucking. Piece.

  They made us wait five hours to go in search of survivors, knowing there were none. Markhof, Ria, and the pilot, Randy, were nothing more than smoldering bits of carnage.