Outlaw Road (A MC Romance)

by Flite, Nora

  OUTLAW ROAD

  A MC Romance Novel

  FROM USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Nora Flite

  &

  Adair Rymer

  Copyright © 2015 Nora Flite/Adair Rymer

  All rights reserved. Outlaw Road is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  More books from Nora Flite:

  Exposing the Bad Boy

  Last of the Bad Boys

  Only Pretend

  For the Thrill

  For the Fight

  For the Bond

  Hard Body Rock

  Slow Body Rock

  Flawed Body Rock

  True Body Rock

  Watch Me Fall

  More books from Adair Rymer:

  Too Rough for Love

  Too Wild to Ride

  Too Fast for Hope

  Riding for Her

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Connect with Nora!

  Connect with Adair!

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Connect with Nora!

  www.NoraFlite.com

  Facebook- www.facebook.com/NoraFliteAuthor

  Goodreads- www.goodreads.com/noraflite

  Amazon- www.amazon.com/author/norafliteauthor

  Connect with Adair!

  Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/Adairrymer

  Goodreads- https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8990152.Adair_Rymer

  Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00P5PQ4GE

  Prologue

  Ronin

  “What's your name, hon?”

  The speaker—a bored Irish girl in a buttoned up leather halter top and tight, cut-off denim shorts—slipped into the seat next to me with practiced ease. She propped her head up to look at me, diluted emerald eyes fluttering. It was an expression that was just flirty enough, keeping this interaction from feeling too forced.

  I knew immediately that she was an old lady—a girl claimed by one of the much older Road Devils club members sitting across the room. They'd sent her over to feel me out; to see if I was a cop, a part of a rival MC, or just some stupid fuck that had lost his way.

  This charming dove was a warning shot. They wanted me to know they were watching and that I should vacate the bar while I still had use of my legs enough to walk out of here.

  Otherwise, I'd end up leaving in a black body bag.

  “Trouble, to most,” I said with an easy smile. A spark of interest flashed across her eyes. Maybe I was looking for a black bag my size. It would certainly explain my compulsion for shitty bars like these.

  Nah, I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. Living, to me, wasn't the same as just being alive. It was why I chose the nomad MC lifestyle instead of falling in with any one chapter. Freedom within a free institution. Nowhere else on earth could I have what I had now.

  “Buy me beer,” I said, reveling in the confusion that marred her fair features. The comment took her off guard. If I were a betting man, I'd say that this was the first time she'd ever been on the other side of such an instruction.

  And I was sure as hell a betting man.

  I disregarded her, calling out to the bartender. “Killians, if you have it.” Then I leaned in and breathed in the fruity satin tang of her cheap perfume. “What's your name, love?”

  She eyed me cautiously. “Tash.” It was said with a bit of reluctance. She freed a pack of smokes from her small purse.

  The surly bartender popped the bottle cap and poured the heady, dark auburn brew into the glass that he'd set down in front of me. “Four-fifty,” he said, eying me suspiciously.

  “Put it on Tash's tab.” I shifted my gaze to the girl with a smirk, daring her to say otherwise. The bartender followed suit and looked at her, his brows furrowing.

  Tash regarded each of us in turn. “It's alright, Pete.” Her voice was silky with curiosity.

  I had her now.

  The bartender disappeared to wait on another member. Tash's full lips trapped a hanging cigarette as she brought her lighter to it. She pulled the smoke in, long and slow, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure me out. “That was ballsy for man who knows where he is.” She blew a long line of ghostly white out of the far side of her mouth “Who are you?”

  It was the second time she'd asked me. Answering her only seemed right. “Your old man can call me Ronin.” I brushed a hanging strand of her hair behind her ear, then closed the gap between us. I was close enough for her to feel the heat of my breath on her cheek. I looked past her at the fifteen grizzled bikers, all of whom were staring at me. “Now run along, Love. Before I find something thicker for those pink lips to wrap themselves around.”

  My audacity left her wide eyed. The corner of her agape mouth betrayed her by wrinkling into the edges of a startled smile. “Are you crazy? They're gonna kill you.” She slipped easily off the stool. Her night had just got a lot more exciting.

  “They can try.” I smiled and nodded for her to go.

  I was just getting started.

  She looked me over, biting the creased side of her lip to stifle a smile before she turned back toward her Devils. She was flirting with danger. I could tell that she was the kind of girl that loved to be the center of attention.

  The thought of a man beaten to death for coming on to her must've really gotten her juices flowing.

  The Road Devils were a small MC, just west of my club's territory. They weren't openly hostile to us but that was only because they didn't have the members or the firepower to challenge any of our chapters. They were relegated to being just another dwindling remnant of the violent, mid-eighties biker wars. In twenty years, no one would even remember their name.

  They knew they were on their way out, too. The Devils were relics of the badass bikers of old. They didn't even try to blend with their community, instead they lived out the old days as fast and as often as they could, waiting for the end. Spiteful, racist and pissed off at the 'perversion' of the old ways; the Road Devils had cultivated a deadly reputation for dealing with anyone foolish enough to cross their path.

  I was very much looking forward to meeting them.

  Tash sat on the lap of her old man and relayed what had happened during our talk; her opinions of me, whatever they were. The old man, who looked to be almost three times her age, nodded, never breaking eye contact with me. He was a gnarly-looking, bearded, long haired man that had gone completely gray. He was obviously their president.

  Had the old man thought I was a just reckless nobody, they'd have rushed over to stomp me the second I leaned in to get a taste of Tash's perfume. The table he and three other members sat around was bigger and nicer than the rest. They probably used it as their meeting place when they called church, deciding things on behalf of the club.

  Tash was pushed off onto her own chair while the men discussed how they wanted to handle me. She beckoned me with sultry glances, daring
me to be suicidally brave enough to pursue her. Lucky for her, I was in a brave mood. I was only in that bar to get my dick sucked and to win some money. I didn't care which came first, as long as I came eventually.

  Those two things would only happen if I went to church and sat down with the Devils. I stood up, downed the rest of my beer and slowly made my way across the smokey room toward them. No one approached an outlaw biker gang on their home turf without being invited first.

  I wasn't no one, and I was done waiting around for them to fucking deliberate.

  Hang-arounds—friends of the Devils MC and patrons who understood the pecking order in the bar—gave me the wide berth of a plague victim. They saw me as an oblivious dead man out for a casual stroll along the green mile, every foot fall bringing me one step closer to execution.

  They didn't know if it was courage or stupidity that guided me to the ominous table that was meant only for patch holders, but whatever it was, they knew it was contagious in the eyes of the brutal Road Devils, and they sure as hell didn't want to be standing next to me when shit got really ugly.

  There were no free seats where the bikers were, so I grabbed the back of a chair from a nearby table. The man sitting in it quickly shot up to let me have it. I cocked my head towards him in thanks. Not a step away, I realized that I was still thirsty and the bartender wasn't going to be coming over unless the Devils called on him. I doubted they'd do that just for me. Left without a drink, I took the generous man's beer off of him as well before parking the chair next to Tash at the Devils' table.

  “Greetings, friends.” I swept my mid-length, wavy hair back, taking a sip of the stolen beer as I sat down.

  “The name Ronin supposed to mean something to us, friend?” It was their President who had asked.

  “Guess not.” I shrugged, took another sip and pulled out a small wad of bills. “Deal me in, maybe I'll tell you another name that will.”

  “How 'bout we just stab you in the fucking face and take your money instead,” said a large, surly man with a bush for a mustache.

  I chuckled. “You don't think you're good enough to win it from me? If you come over here, you're liable to bust your hip, old man. I’m guessing you're not as spry as you used to be.”

  “You motherfucker!” The big, mustachioed biker stood up, pulling out his gun and pointing it at me. “The only thing I'm gonna be bustin' is your ass!”

  The room hushed. People behind my chair moved out of the line of fire. Others just straight up left, not wanting any part of the coming bloodshed.

  I put my elbows on the table and leaned toward the biker's gun. Then I out stretched my hand in a motion that said oh well, before clasping them back together. I met the eyes of the other four guys. “Seems the old man is out, who else wants to win some money?”

  Impressed, or entertained at my carefree demeanor, the other guys just laughed.

  “Sit down, Jerry,” Tash's old man chuckled. “We'll kill him after the game.”

  I smiled, snapped up the cards and started shuffling. “Five-card?”

  They nodded.

  I dealt out the poker hands to all four members, even the mustachioed behemoth—Jerry. He snarled at me before reluctantly picking them up.

  Five-card draw was the simplest variation of poker, easiest rules to remember when you've been drinking, so it was the game I tended to play the most. I've done the rounds enough in shitty bars like this to be scary at darts, pool and craps, but poker...

  Poker was my first love.

  I was downright deadly in a game of poker. These assholes had no idea what was in store for them.

  The first few hands were butter, I was just lubing them up to get fucked down the line. I lost more games than I won, which was all part of the plan. If you want to run a table and make real money, you have to throw a few hands, lull them into a false sense of superiority. Play smart first, then, when they feel like they have you beat, you play mean.

  The stack of cash in front of me grew like cancer. Three-four-five hundred... Tonight would be a nice haul. Honestly, I wasn't here for just that. I wanted to see how far I could push it. Every dangerous situation had a hard line that, when crossed, there was no coming back from. It was just bullets and bodies. The thrill for me was finding that razor's edge and seeing how far I could stroll down it without falling off.

  “Another beer, Wrex?” Tash asked her old man. He grunted in affirmation, not paying her any real heed while sliding the glass towards her. Wrex had stopped telling stories when he realized how much money he was down and started really focusing on the game. The other three bullshitted everything and anything. I could see Wrex's frayed, edgy disposition finally surface. He was getting tired of losing money.

  Tash looked me over again. “You want something, stranger?” The girl was as subtle as a sledgehammer, not that any of the other bikers cared enough to notice. They all had their own girls hovering around. Tash was unfulfilled and hungry. Her eyes damn near screamed for some actual excitement. That was probably how she'd gotten mixed up with these rabid, old dogs to begin with.

  I downed the last sip from my glass and matched her heavy glance. “Always.” I slid my cup away from her as she reached for it, forcing her to stretch across my body to grab it. When her perky tits hung like small water balloons a few inches from my face, I stopped pulling away and let her grab the the glass.

  I didn't let it go. Amusement melted into playful disbelief, her eyes giving me an Oh really glare. She was close enough that I was able to whisper, “Bathroom. Five minutes.” Then I released the glass without so much as a cracked grin. My cock swelled at the sight of the spike in her breathing, it made her tits heave. I knew she'd heard me.

  Tash slipped away, doing the best she could to conceal a mischievous smile from the other bikers.

  “All in,” Wrex loudly declared, tossing his remaining few twenties onto the pot in the middle of the table. The pot, which was the collective bets of each player this round of the game, was the biggest yet, coming in at just over five hundred.

  Two other members folded. Whatever play Wrex had was too rich for their blood, they couldn't meet his bet without bankrupting themselves. Me and Jerry hung in there, ponying up enough money to play it through.

  There was no quicker way to find that hard line in a situation like this then when a lot of money was at stake. One way or another, this would be the last game of poker tonight.

  “Call,” Jerry barked through his cigar. With a big shit-eating grin, he slapped down three queens. A high three-of-a-kind was such a good hand that he hadn't even bothered flipping over his other two cards.

  “Goddammit!” Wrex shouted before going ghostly quiet. Hushed tones and furtive glances from the remaining patrons cautiously darted Wrex's way. He palmed his cards into his forehead in frustration, then abruptly whipped them at Jerry. His voice, cool enough at first, escalated in both momentum and volume until by the end he was standing up and spit-screaming the words. “I hope you fucking choke on them and you die you dirty, fucking, son of a bitch!”

  Wrex was out, he'd just lost a lot of money.

  “What about you, kid? You got something with teeth?” Jerry addressed me, leaning back on his chair, basking in his victory. His big, dumb grin gleamed through that ridiculous unkempt beaver he kept on his upper lip.

  Tash came back with beers and divvied them out. I winked at her when she put mine down. “And what if I do?” I asked, taking a slow sip. I lightly tapped my fingers on my face down cards, shifting my gaze to stare directly at Jerry.

  His smile dimmed, doubt crept along his face. It was beautifully tense. I set my beer down and laid the cards out one by one. Each card I revealed carved another set of lines into the old man's already wrinkled face. A pair of fours were flipped first, then, like nails in a coffin, my three sixes hit the table. It was a full house and that trumped his three of a kind.

  I had won.

  There was a cutting silence at the table and throughout the enti
re bar. I scanned each biker to see who was twitchy. There was always at least one, someone that couldn't let a stranger come into their house and walk out with everything. I was fairly certain it would be Jerry.

  “Were you sandbagging me, you motherfucker?” Jerry fumed, his entire face seeming to crumple into his flared mustache.

  He wasn't wrong. I'd been soft-playing those last few hands, betting small and folding early. The other guys had won some money and begun to feel overconfident, thus betting more. The more they bet, the larger the pot was each game, and the bigger the overall score for me at the end of the night.

  I'd also been counting cards, a practice that wasn't technically illegal but heavily frowned upon. It would get your ass kicked out of a casino, but this wasn't a casino.

  They'd just kill me here.

  Tash's eyes went wide, she was enraptured by what might happen. I tossed her a half smile and cocked my head for her to leave. She licked and bit her bottom lip, then dragged a hand around Wrex's shoulder as she made her way towards the bathroom. Wrex hardly noticed. He seemed to treat Tash like furniture that he could stick his dick into occasionally.

  “Looks like the Devil lives in a full house, after all,” I remarked casually, eying Jerry.

  Over two thousand dollars sat in the middle of that table. All I had to do was take it.

  I stood up and reached out with my off hand. Jerry was quicker than I thought with his knife, but I pulled my hand back in time. He'd only managed to impale the money and the table.

  Before he could even begin to threaten me, I had my gun out and pointed at him.

  Everyone else followed suit. Before long I had three other guns aimed right at my head. The corner of my mouth curled into a smile. Now we were having some fun!

  “You put that shit away before I litter my bar with your fucking brains,” Wrex growled at me.

  “Kindly remove your toothpick from my money, Jerry,” I requested.

  “Fuck you,” he replied.

  “I'm down for a mustache ride, but I gotta know, does it tickle the cock?” I asked thoughtfully.

  “I'll fucking kill you!” Jerry jerked the knife from the table and slashed at me. I leaned back, safely out of his reach, putting my hands up. I let my gun swivel harmlessly on one fingertip, making sure I wasn't perceived as a threat to those with itchier trigger fingers.