Love, Loyalty & Mayhem: A Motorcycle Club Romance Anthology

by Ryan Michele

  I finally reach our seats and plop into it, completely rattled. Beau notices me fumbling with the seat belt, and helps me click it into the correct position.

  “Relax,” he whispers. “Happens all the time. You’re like a local celebrity now. Bet someone is going to tweet about us later.”

  “Are you serious?” I gasp.

  “Babe, it’s fine. Besides, we’re going to Vegas. The voyeur capital of the country. We’ll be fine.”

  “Fine my ass.” He chuckles beside me. This is not the time to laugh, and here he is just yucking it up, like I just told the world’s funniest joke.

  “Yes, your ass is fine, but what does that have to do with this?”

  “Are you trying to distract me again?”

  “Marry me,” he blurts out, and the world stills around me. Did he? Did he really just propose to me like that? Right now, after the bathroom? My brain nearly explodes from the puzzle. "Committee meeting over yet?" Beau leans over the seat, takes my hand in his, and grins at me. "Yes, I asked you to marry me. We're landing in Vegas. Why not?"

  “I can think of a thousand reasons why we shouldn’t get married. Namely, my brother.”

  “Fuck him,” he laughs. “And fuck your thousand reasons. I love you, and you love me, right?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  "Then why not? You want a big wedding? Fine. We can do that too, but I want this. Have since we first met online. Is the committee okay with that?" I elbow him hard, but I am considering his side of this. Both of our families are complicated. They live on the other sides of the country, coordinating would be a nightmare. I know that getting two clubs together is hard enough, but I don’t even know the red tape that would have to be discussed. Maybe Beau has a point. Even if it isn’t my dream wedding, I could have this and that all at the same time.

  “You know what. You’re right. Why not?”

  “That a yes?” He questions.

  “Yes.” Beau reaches across from me and kisses me hard. “Next question. Leia or Amidala?”

  “Come again?”

  “Who do you want to dress as, so I can match. Princess Leia or Queen Amidala. Though slave girl Leia would be good, too.”

  “Explain…” I state almost regretting to agree to this without first having asked all of his terms. I knew there had to be a catch.

  “That’s the best part. There’s a new Star Wars theme wedding chapel that just opened up. You’re gonna look so sexy dressed up, babe.”

  For better or worse, and in sickness and in a galaxy far, far away, right?

  Lord help me.

  Loved Voodoo Vows? Check out the rest of the series: HERE

  Want to learn more about Avelyn?

  Facebook

  Website

  Twitter

  Instagram

  Bookbub

  Sign-up for Avelyn's Monthly Newsletter

  The Arrangement by Bink Cummings

  SACRED SINNERS MC- MOTHER CHAPTER

  1

  Seated at my best friend’s kitchen island, half with it at this time of the morning, I double knock on the granite countertop. Jade’s got the coffee brewing and bagels toasting in the toaster. This is our weekday ritual and has been for the better part of a decade.

  Ya see Jade, my heavily tatted, curvalicious bestie, moved in next door eleven years ago with a toddler on her hip and little money to her name. We bonded on account of my social nature and single momdom. By social nature, I mean batshit crazy. Just ask my twenty-two-year-old son Josh, he’ll give ya the colorful version of his mother’s eccentricities. I’m a wild one, with wild hair and wild clothes, to go with my equally wild personality. Did ya catch all that?

  Padding on sleepy feet to the fridge, Jade grabs an armful of flavored creamers from the door for me to choose from as her half-dressed teenager lifts his chin in greeting before joining me at the island.

  “Mornin’, Hunter.” I smile at his tousled bed head. Bet mine doesn’t fare any better at this hour. There’s no use in getting dolled up before noon unless my fuck buddy slept over. Then, I might consider taming this curly mane and brush my teeth. A threadbare pair of tie-dyed cotton shorts and a fluorescent pink spaghetti tank with built-in bra will have to do, for now.

  “Mornin’, Loretta,” Hunter parrots, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “Josh gettin’ you today?” I ask.

  He nods the affirmative.

  “You gonna work at the garage?” By garage, I’m talking about the Sacred Sinner’s automotive shop. My son’s a patched member of their motorcycle club, known as White Boy. Dumb as hell nickname if ya ask me, but he likes it. Hunter hangs with them a lot, learning the ins and outs of engines and whatnot. It keeps him outta trouble, which gives Jade peace of mind when she works odd hours as a tattoo artist.

  Creamers are spread before us along with two silly printed coffee mugs filled with the drink of gods. Hunter takes his and I mine, as Jade smears our bagels with the ushe, then slides the plates over. I pour a healthy amount of Almond Joy into my cup. Hunter opts for the pumpkin spice. I’m tempted to give him shit about being a basic bitch, but think better of it. He ain’t a morning person, and I don’t wanna poke the teenage bear this early. Maybe later.

  Leaning her round badonkadonk against the counter, Jade takes a sip of her black coffee waiting on us to dig in. She’s doing that stupid keto diet to lose weight. I give her a week and she’ll be back to her normal self. Dunno why she’s gotta lose pounds anyhow. Her thickness suits her, just as my size three suits me. What I wouldn’t give to have beach ball tits like hers, though. Lucky bitch.

  “You gonna keep staring at my chest, or you gonna eat?” Jade arches an amused brow.

  I roll my eyes. It ain’t my fault she’s got a low-cut tank on and her nips are hard as diamonds. Can’t blame a woman for appreciating another’s assets.

  “Fuck off,” I tease, and Hunter snickers.

  “What are you getting yourself into tonight?” Jade asks.

  “I gotta work.” I’m a bartender at a local watering hole. The weekends, including Friday nights, are our busiest. Lots of tips to be made.

  “Then Blimp?” Jade smothers a smart-ass smirk and tucks a stray piece of onyx hair behind her ear. Hooker.

  Hunter chokes on his food. I slap his back to dislodge it before I take a bite of onion bagel smeared with butter and cream cheese. Because I want the nosy bitch to wait it out, I chew slowly. She snorts, knowing damn well I’m stalling. Blimp’s an older brother in my son’s motorcycle club and has been a friend for years. And by friend, I’m talking with benefits. Bow-chicka-wow-wow. We don’t feel the need to define whatever it is we’ve been doing since before Jade moved in. We have fun. Neither of us are relationship material. Not really.

  After Josh’s piece of shit father ran out when he was two, I gave up on all that rose-colored romancey crap. Now that I’m in my forties, I don’t have time for games. Fucking and a little cuddling is all this crazy broad needs. Blimp supplies that in spades. No use in complicating something that doesn’t need complicating. We fuck, do our thing and enjoy ourselves — end of story. Jade doesn’t see it that way, though, and has been giving me hell about our arrangement for, well... ten goddamn years. This, coming from a chick who hasn’t dated a soul in the same amount of time. Pretty sure her pussy has cobwebs. Damn thing needs a dusting.

  Once I finish half my bagel and half my coffee, I give up the goods, “Blimp said he'd drop by the bar at some point tonight.”

  Jade’s eyes round in surprise. “No club?”

  “No. I’m closing and he’s leaving Sunday on a run for however long. Don’t wanna waste time.” A.K.A. I wanna fuck right after work. When I’m not working the weekends, I go to the Sacred Sinner compound to fool around. We’ve been known to put on quite the show in the common room of their clubhouse on party nights. Blimp’s a fan of public displays of indecency and I’m a more than willing participant. Exhibitionism is hot. You should try it sometime. If that’s
not your thing, maybe you can watch Blimp and I go at it instead. Voyeurism can be sexy. In our case, you have to be down with a thick, long-bearded, mature biker who smells like maryjane, leather, and cologne. Who also rocks the cock of a thoroughbred stallion. His cum tastes like granny smith apples. True story, from my lips to God's ears. You’re welcome to taste it anytime. I don’t mind sharing.

  Hunter finishes his bagel before I’m done and shuffles back into his bedroom to get dressed. Once he’s out of earshot, I speak freely. There’s no need to scar the kid before he’s gotten his dick wet. We try to keep the sex talk to a minimum around him. Not that there’s always gotta be sex talk. I’m not that much of a hussy.

  Jade refills our cups and retakes her spot against the cupboards, ankles crossed.

  “You wanna drop by the bar tonight?” I prompt. She’ll say no. She always says no. This one’s a lightweight. Bet an infant could hold liquor better than this girl.

  Jade shakes her head, half a grin surfacing. “You know I gotta work, too.”

  “Only ‘til ten.”

  “Ten?” She gives me a droll, think twice bitch look. “It’s the first Friday of the month and there’s no club party.”

  Right. Duh. The brothers get ink into the wee hours of the morning. Her back will kill her tomorrow.

  “Who’s on the books?” I’m nosy.

  Her head cocks to the side. “Who do ya think?”

  I take a sip of my coffee, lip grazing the rim. “How the fuck should I know?”

  “Think long and hard about the brother who’s been turning his entire body into a suit of ink.”

  “Viper.” That fucker’s on a mission. The green hair and multiple piercings ain’t enough. He’s moved onto ink as far as the eye can see. Quality ink, since Jade’s been working it. Freehand, at that. He lets her go wild. No stencil. No preconceived thoughts. Just her and the machine. She’s our very own sexy, big-titted, born again tattoo wizard.

  She scratches a patch of colorful ink on her forearm. “Exactly. Viper. I’m the one who’s gotta endure his eight-hour sessions. Tonight, we’re working the neck. I’m gonna bring tears to his eyes.”

  Hell yeah, she will.

  I salute my mug , smiling. “Make the bitch cry. Post that shit on YouTube.”

  “You know I won’t do that.”

  She’s the nice one of this duo. I’m always tryin’ to corrupt her. Life is too short to stroll through it like it’s some boring, snooze fest. This lady needs to live a little. Get some dick. Any dick. Christ, I’d be over-the-moon if she used the sparkly dildo I gave her for her birthday to tickle her sleepy kitten. It’s collecting dust in her bedside drawer. I checked. ‘Cause boundaries don’t exist here. Well, mine don’t.

  “It’s a shame I’m workin’. ‘Cause I would post a vid of him cryin’. Of his dick. Of his ass.” I groan, picturing that biteable rump in my mind. “Have you seen that fine ass?”

  She chuckles. “I know you would. And yes, I have.”

  The front door opens and slams shut without so much as a knock. There’s only one person who’d welcome themselves into this humble abode without a proper invitation—my son. Like mother, like offspring.

  Jade watches him enter her remodeled kitchen before I do and nods a hello.

  “Beautiful,” he greets, blowing her a sugary kiss that she catches midair and smacks to her juicy booty.

  Josh snorts his approval. I roll my eyes so far back they might get stuck. You think I’m weird? These two… They’re… I dunno what they are. Friends? Besties? Which doesn’t work; she’s my BFF. I claimed her when he was still in elementary school. No take backs.

  My beautiful boy dressed in torn jeans, his Sacred Sinner cut, and a tight Harley t-shirt takes Hunter’s vacated stool, then kisses my cheek as Jade sets his mug of black tar in front of him. Mr. I’m-The-Greatest has a special cup. The only mug in the house dedicated to one drinker. He bought it for Jade around Christmas when he was sixteen. It says I’m not crazy. I just love cock… a lot. There’s a picture of a rooster beneath the plain black lettering. Now she makes him drink from it every time he’s here. It gives her some sort of sick satisfaction. My son, he’ll do just about anything to make her happy. He’s a good man. I’m a proud mama.

  “You workin’ at the shop with Hunter today?” I nudge his shoulder with mine.

  Josh combs fingers through his blond, windblown hair, an elbow resting on the counter. “No. Deke’s gonna be there. We’re prepping for a run. All hands on deck.”

  Guess that works. Deke’s a decent brother. Better than some.

  For the next however long we lapse into comfortable banter as Josh waits for Hunter to get his butt in gear. It’s summertime, we’re lucky the teen’s up before lunch. If it weren’t for the gearhead in him, he wouldn’t be. Jade’s got a fine kid on her hands. Just as I got mine, who’s now grown and living on the Sacred Sinner compound in a clubhouse bedroom. It ain’t nothing to write home about, but he’s a biker through and through. Doesn’t take much to make him happy. Some mothers might be put-off by the lifestyle he’s leading. Me, not so much. I’ve been a club whore since before I was legal. Bangin’ men in their leather cuts has always been my thing. It takes a special kind of woman to embrace sluthood. Just slap my ass and call me Whore. I’m ready for the ride and always prepared for the wet slide.

  2

  Blimp

  Booted feet flat on the ground, straddlin’ my Harley outside Clove’s Bar, I take a long hit from my blunt. The smooth smoke fills my lungs as my eyes slide closed in high bliss. Enjoyin’ myself, my head tips back and I hold in the quality stuff for the count of five before blowing it to the heavens. A set of nearby footsteps refocuses my surroundings. Two regulars lift their hands in greeting as they pull open a metal door to enter the bar. I jerk my chin in acknowledgment, knowin’ not a person around will give a fuck I light up in the parking lot before I see my girl. Truth, nobody in this town cares. And if they do, they don’t say shit. The patch on my back is a deterrent for opinionated dumbfucks, unless they’re lookin’ for a fist to the face. I’m a chill guy 99% of the time. I don’t do drama. You want to drink, then drink. You wanna smoke, then smoke. You wanna fuck, then fuck. That’s on you. I’m too damn old to give a rat’s scrawny ass about your life choices. We on the same page? I sure hope so.

  Not lettin’ my weed to go to waste, I snuff out the blunt and return it to my inner pocket just as my phone vibrates with an incoming text. It vibrates a second time when I retrieve it from my jeans pocket.

  Shoulda guessed… It’s Viper spouting off in our group text. First, there’s a selfie of his new neck ink. It looks badass, but swollen as fuck. Jade’s got her purple gun next to his Adam's apple, doin’ what she does best. Below, is a ridiculous message I’m sure will have all the brothers salivating to see. ‘Cept me.

  You gotta stop by. Jade’s tits are practically in my face. If it wouldn’t fuck up my neck, I’d motorboat those juicy melons. You’re missing out brothers.

  The chorus of raunchy replies flood in. If I were in the mood to joke, I would. But I’ve got better things to do than carry on about a woman’s jugs. Especially Loretta’s best friend. I respect them both enough not to participate.

  Turning my phone off, I put it away, comb my beard with my fingers to look presentable and dismount my bike with an old man grunt. Making sure I’m not showin’ off my gut, I double check my shirt placement and belt before I stroll into Clover’s to see my favorite gal.

  Three steps in the door and I’ve got a biker groupie hangin’ from my neck. This chick is smashed and old enough to be my kid. Not that I discriminate against age. I’ll fuck twentysomethings. I’m no saint. But I don’t fuck drunk biker groupies outside the Sacred Sinner’s compound. That’s cause for drama I don’t have time for.

  “Heyyy.” She rubs her perky tits against my stomach, batting a set of green eyes up at me with the prettiest cock suckin’ lips painted in shiny gloss. She’s gorgeous, I’ll give her tha
t. Red hair and curves for days. My dick ain’t picky. But… like I said, she’s drunk, and I don’t do drunk bitches. Maybe if I was twenty again, I’d consider it. Fifties give ya a whole new perspective. Clingy groupies, I’ll pass.

  I politely detach her arms from around my neck and take a step back. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

  Her bottom lip juts into a pout.

  “Court-ney,” her less-than-pretty friend scolds as she stomps over, gives me a dirty look, and drags Courtney away by the hand. I get it. Biker dick is foreign dick. You see a patch and you wanna go for a ride. We live it all the time. It doesn’t hurt I’m a regular when Loretta’s workin’. People see me and think I’m down to pound. When the brothers come along for some fun, they are. Where else do ya think they pick up new club whores? They’re recruited from here, with Loretta’s expert help. If it weren’t for her, Dixie wouldn’t have met my club brother Brew.

  Staying away from the flirty redhead and her gang of friends, I lumber to my seat at the far end of the bar. This place ain’t much more than beer posters, fluorescent signs, dingy black walls, a couple of pool tables, and a large wrap around bar with stools covered in cracked, black vinyl doctored with duct tape. Not the classiest place, but the liquor’s cheap, clientele’s varied, and the music is classic rock all night, all the time. Clove's is the only bar in thirty miles you’ll never get stuck listening to that wannabe trash millennials love. Anything after 95’ is pure junk. You don’t have to agree with me. Not my problem you don't have good taste in music; different strokes and all that PC horseshit.