Being the Bikers' Old Lady

by Marla Monroe

  The Ghost Riders 5

  Being the Bikers’ Old Lady

  Delta vowed to leave the biker world behind but didn’t count on Butch and Walker’s determination. After growing up in the dangerous MC world where women rarely held any status outside of their men, Delta didn’t want that lifestyle now that she was an adult. She learned that sometimes expensive clothes and important careers aren’t indications that a man will be a good husband.

  When an ex-boyfriend needs her silenced over something she’d seen, Delta ends up under the protection of two sexy bikers as their old Lady. Things got complicated fast. These bikers weren’t like any biker MC she’d ever been around before. Suddenly being an old lady didn’t seem quite as bad as she’d thought, but was she just an obligation or did they have a future with her as their old lady?

  Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 55,555 words

  BEING THE BIKERS'

  OLD LADY

  The Ghost Riders 5

  Marla Monroe

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  BEING THE BIKERS' OLD LADY

  Copyright © 2015 by Marla Monroe

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-493-8

  First E-book Publication: July 2015

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  BEING THE BIKERS'

  OLD LADY

  The Ghost Riders 5

  MARLA MONROE

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  “What in the hell is that?” Rhodes asked, standing up from bending over the car he’d been working on.

  “Um, a reject from the fucking junk yard, I think,” Vernon said, shaking his head. “How many different colors could you possibly get on any one car, man?”

  “Hell, I’m not even sure it is a car.” Rhodes grabbed the grease rag from out of his back pocket and started wiping his hands.

  “What is that?” Walker had watched the junked-out car pull down the long gravel drive to stop about ten yards from the open garage and stopped to listen to his brothers’ comments.

  He strode across to where Rhodes and Vernon watched it shiver to a stop with the dust cloud from the drive catching up to it.

  Rhodes chuckled. “I asked the same damn thing.”

  The car hiccupped and sputtered, backfiring once as the driver’s side door finally opened once the dust had cleared. It continued its death throes even when a striking young woman emerged from its bowls and slammed the door with a good deal of force. Walker figured it took it in order to get the dang thing to shut. Even as he let his eyes do a slow perusal up and down the woman, he noted that the car was still coughing fumes out its rear end.

  The woman who’d stepped out of the car had long legs despite only looking to be about five inches past five feet tall. He figured she’d just about come up to his chin. Her well-rounded body with what he was sure was an ass to drool over had his cock instantly hardening in readiness despite the chances of Walker obliging it. But it was her hair that held his attention. Deep rich maroon hair with a slight curl at the end rested lightly on her shoulders. He’d never seen anything like it and knew it wasn’t her natural color when she removed the rhinestone-studded sunglasses that were shaped like cat’s eyes. Vivid green irises gave her slightly flushed skin an almost innocent appearance.

  “Fuck!” He and Butch were so screwed.

  Her walk would make a eunuch howl in appreciation. There was no exaggerated swing to her steps or her delectable ass he so wanted to see in full. It was just a natural rhythm developed over time to attract the male of the human species. There was no need for her to walk any farther than his bed as far as he was concerned. Hell! He’d pick her up now and carry her there himself.

  The monstrosity of a car finally died a much-needed death about the same time the object of his infatuation stopped in front of the three of them. She looked them over just as thoroughly as Walker had scoped her out seconds before. There was no question, the woman was different, and Walker liked different.

  “Looking for some help with your car, ma’am?” Vernon asked with a straight face.

  Walker had to fight to keep the grin off his mouth at Vernon’s attempt at being nice. They couldn’t help her with that piece of shit. She needed an entire new car.

  She smiled sweetly. “Why thank you for offering, but I can handle Josie just fine myself. I’ve kept her running all the way from Mississippi.”

  Walker couldn’t stop the choked laugh that escaped at that. She’d been working on that piece of junk? Looking at her standing there wearing a navy blu
e skirt just brushing her knees with a pretty, frilly-looking yellow blouse, Walker just couldn’t see her getting her hands dirty under the hood of that piece of shit car.

  Evidently she didn’t appreciate his humor at her expense. She stomped over to stand directly in front of him and frowned up at him. He got the distinct impression she was about to chew him up and spit him out, but it was too late to apologize now.

  “Listen here, Mr. Poor, Misunderstood Biker. Don’t judge me by what you see, and I won’t judge you by what I know. There’s dirt and grease under my nails just like yours. I just work harder than you do to get it out. See?” She held up her hands, palms out so he could see beneath her nails since the tops were painted a dark maroon color to match her hair.

  Sure enough, Walker could see that there was a hint of grease beneath the nails. The fact that she didn’t seem to be afraid of him or the others, and she was going toe-to-toe with him, a six-foot-two inch fairly muscular guy, openly wearing a gun and several knives said one of two things about her. She was either as crazy as a certified lunatic, or she was braver than the majority of the townsfolk of Reo, Texas, where they lived.

  And him? All he could come up with at that was to smile and stick his dirty shit kickers in his mouth.

  “I guess you clean up pretty good, ma’am. My name’s Walker. What can we do for you if you don’t want us to shoot that thing and put it out of our misery?” he asked, nodding in the direction of her car.

  She looked over at the car then back at Walker with a pout to her lips. “Don’t talk bad about her. I built her from the ground up.” Then she smiled again. “I need a job and was told you can always use a mechanic or a pair of guns as long as they’re legal. Mostly.”

  * * * *

  Delta loved the look of the man with the amazing hair full of different shades of light browns and blonds. Hell, there might even have been some red in it. She would love to sink her fingers in it and find out if it was soft or not. His hazel eyes held a little bit of mischief and a whole lot of heat. He was definitely someone to watch out for. He’d no doubt eat her up and spit her out, and she’d never know he’d used her. Nope. Not going to happen.

  Even as she marveled over the hunk of a man, her brain remained neutral, knowing full well how her emotions and libido could run amuck if it didn’t put on the breaks. Her brain sensed danger as well as confusion. The object of her baser half’s lustful cravings was looking at her like she’d told them she was a man. Well she sure as hell wasn’t.

  “Do I need to talk slower, guys? It’s not usually all that hard to understand me, or so I’ve been told. I don’t talk anything like my cousins from Naw’lins. I. Need. A. Job.” She frowned and crossed her arms, giving them an exasperated look while she tapped one foot against the concrete slab leading up to the garage door opening.

  “Look, lady,” Mr. Tall, Muscular, and Clueless began.

  “It’s Delta. Delta Dawn Castle. Now who do I talk to about a job?” she asked, looking from one set of muscled mountains to the next before resting back on the one with what looked like skulls tattooed as chains around one arm and flames around the other one. He’d said his name was Walker. She wasn’t sure if he’d meant his first name or his last.

  “Look, Delta. Whoever told you we needed help didn’t know what he was talking about. Why don’t you try the diner in town or maybe that department store across from the grocery store,” the streaked god suggested with an amused smile.

  Delta hated dropping names. Really, it was the lowest form of snobbishness she could think of in that moment, but she needed a job, and she needed it yesterday. It wouldn’t hurt that it might be among a gang of bikers. She gritted her teeth remembering what Cassidy’s husband kept reminding her about them. They didn’t like to be called gangs. They were clubs. Although she knew that from growing up around them, she deliberately called them gangs to annoy him.

  “Knuckles told me to talk to Dom or Reece if I had any trouble. Any of you guys Dominic or Reece?” she asked with a loud put-upon sigh.

  “Knuckles?” Walker asked with just a hint of recognition crossing his face before he covered it.

  “Who the hell is Knuckles?” Vernon asked, frowning.

  “How do you know Knuckles?” Walker asked with narrowed eyes.

  “He’s my sister’s man. Are you going to let me talk to Dom and Reece, or do I need to start screaming for them?” She couldn’t scream worth a damn, but they didn’t know that.

  “Just hold on a second. I’ll go see if they want to see you.” Walker turned to look at the other two. “Watch her until I get back.”

  Immediately the two men lost all trace of amusement they’d had and trained their focus entirely on her. Delta was used to it, but being on strange land and not at home made her a little antsy. She wished she hadn’t followed Knuckles’s directions to the tee and strapped on a knife at the least. Being without a weapon bothered her.

  It seemed like she stood there in the heat of a midsummer’s afternoon for over an hour, but it was probably less than twenty minutes before Walker returned with another man in tow. This one wasn’t as tall as the first man, but was bulky and had a pair of the coldest blue eyes she’d ever seen outside of Catfish, the president of the club that pretty much ruled parts of Mississippi and Alabama.

  The Dixie Devils had been around for as long as Delta could remember. They’d been a part of the club or one of their sister clubs all their lives. She and Cassidy had grown up on the edges of them, their mom refusing to let them get drawn in as she’d been. Once they’d turned eighteen, their mom had released her hold and after warning them again of what could happen among a group of bikers, sent them out to make their own way in life.

  Now, at thirty years old, Delta was back where she’d started albeit a different club. All of her good intentions to make something of herself and stay out of trouble had landed her where she was, penniless and nearly broken. All men were the same. The only difference in a biker and a banker was the clothes they wore and the colors they followed.

  The two men stopped less than a yard from her. The new biker had red hair buzz-cut the shortest she thought she’d ever seen without it being peach fuzz. His face was clean-shaven except for a two-inch goatee that said for sure his hair was red. Both men stared at her for a few seconds before Goatee held out his hand making her think he wanted to shake her hand. She started to do the same when he spoke in a gritty voice.

  “Weapons.”

  She blinked then shook her head. “I don’t have them on me. They’re in the car.”

  “Check her,” he told Walker without taking his eyes off of her.

  Walker didn’t say a word, just stepped into her personal space without the grin she’d gotten used to seeing on him. He quickly ran his hands over every part of her body without lingering at even one interesting spot. Then he walked around her and double-checked a few places before he nodded at the other guy.

  “She’s clean. No weapons and no wires,” he said.

  Wires? They thought I might be wearing a wire? What in the hell had Knuckles gotten her into?

  He and her sister had both sworn over the phone that The Ghost Riders were down-to-earth bikers. They skirted the line some like most clubs, but they were basically good guys. Of course the words “good” and “basically” really didn’t belong in the same sentence where a biker was involved. Still, she prayed she didn’t end up in the middle of some crazy biker war or DEA deal about to go down.

  “Follow me,” Mr. Goatee said.

  Delta fell into step behind the man noting that Walker kept close on her rear. And yes. He was checking her ass out. Holy hell. Men were all the same. She might be a cold-blooded killer or a DEA operative, but the man was still going to look—and more than likely jack off to daydreams of her round ass.

  The first man led her inside the garage to the back where a door led into the office area where a slightly older woman who was well-endowed in the breast department gave her a cold stare as they p
assed by. Inside the main building, a huge room full of couches and chairs with a big-screen TV seemed almost as large as her entire apartment back home. The women sitting on the couches were a lot healthier looking than most sweet butts she’d been around. She knew they weren’t ole ladies due to the lack of their men’s cuts.

  “This way,” the man in front of her said, snapping her attention back to him. She’d all but stopped while looking at the huge room.

  “If you’re going to be rude, the least you could do is tell me your name, so I know who to curse when I make my voodoo doll tonight,” she quipped before she could stop herself.

  Damn! My mouth is going to get me into trouble, yet. I’ve got to learn to keep things to myself if I want them to give me a job.

  Now he led her down a short hall and made a right turn. After a few more steps, he stopped outside of a door and knocked once before pushing it open.

  Mr. Goatee walked inside the room and waited on her to follow. She managed to make her feet walk into the room but couldn’t force herself to take one more step once she’d cleared the doorway. Walker, she presumed, squeezed in behind her and closed the door. She sure wished she knew what Goatee’s name was.

  “Come on in, Delta,” a voice from somewhere in front of her said. “Have a seat.”

  Just like magic, the tension level in the room dropped to near normal. She hadn’t even realized how much of her own fear and anxiety had been feeding off the anticipation and readiness of the men around her until it fell away like ice in a heatwave. She let out a breath and celebrated how open and normal her lungs felt compared to only seconds earlier.