Slow Ride: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 18)

by Ruby Dixon

  SLOW RIDE

  RUBY DIXON

  • • •

  ONE OF THE BOYS

  Lucky’s the first woman to ever be patched in the Bedlam Butchers, and she’s still trying to figure out where she stands. The guys keep protecting her from the worst club business, and well, treating her like a girl. To make matters worse? She’s pregnant. How’s she supposed to be a tough biker if she’s got a baby on the way?

  HIS LADY ALONE

  Solo can’t figure out why Lucky’s pulling away from him. Every time he tries to make her happy, it blows up in his face. But when Lucky gets in over her head, can he save her? Or does his girl need to save herself?

  THE MOTORCYCLE CLUBS #18 • THE BEDLAM BUTCHERS #6

  The Motorcycle Clubs Series

  His Wild Desire by Ella Goode

  Off Limits by Ruby Dixon

  Wanting It All by Kati Wilde

  Her Secret Pleasure by Ella Goode

  Packing Double by Ruby Dixon

  Taking It All by Kati Wilde

  Their Secret Need by Ella Goode

  Double Trouble by Ruby Dixon

  Having It All by Kati Wilde

  Their Fierce Need by Ella Goode

  Betting It All by Kati Wilde

  Double Down by Ruby Dixon

  Their Lasting Claim by Ella Goode

  Risking It All by Kati Wilde

  Double or Nothing by Ruby Dixon

  Burning It All by Kati Wilde

  His Mad Passion by Ella Goode

  Slow Ride by Ruby Dixon

  Coming Next

  His Bold Heart by Ella Goode

  Newsletter

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  Click here to purchase or borrow Slow Ride at Amazon.com.

  Chapter One

  Lucky

  I stare down at the pregnancy test in my hand, willing it to remain at one line.

  One line. One line. Come on, you little bastard of a pee stick. One line.

  A second pink line slowly morphs into view in front of my disbelieving eyes.

  Ugh.

  I toss the pregnancy test into the wastebasket and shove the box under the counter. That’s the fifth test I’ve taken in as many days, and they all show the same damn thing.

  Pregnant.

  God. I can’t be pregnant. I can’t. The timing could not be worse. Solo and I have been so careful. We use condoms every time. I mean, sure, we fuck like bunnies, but we always make sure he’s wearing a glove. Maybe he has super sperm that dissolves condoms or something. I don’t know. I just know that those two lines aren’t going away.

  I’m pretty sure Solo’s not interested in starting a family.

  I’m also pretty sure I’m fucked. Once again, Lucky lives up to her horrible, horrible nickname.

  Thing is, Solo and I just got together a month or so ago. Things are wonderful. We’re in love. At least, I am. Crazily, magically, head-over-heels, orgasm after orgasm in love. Solo’s less vocal about the way he feels. He’s only told me he loved me once, but it’s obvious in the way he treats me. The way he always has my favorite ice cream in the fridge, the way he rubs my feet after a long day at the office, the way he touches me and stakes his claim whenever possible. We moved in together right away, and we’re each other’s ride partner.

  The Bedlam Butchers are kind of a different sort of motorcycle club. We fuck together, we fight together, and we go nowhere without a partner. It’s always been our thing. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the club is dicks, of course. I’m the only pussy.

  And I was just patched in a month ago, in a super narrow vote. Gemini, my brother, is one of the co-presidents of the club. He and his ride partner Domino don’t have a problem with a lady Butcher. It’s like everyone says - I’m too respected to be club butt, not quite the right gender for ride-alongs. But I got patched in despite a few protests, and while some of the guys still give me shit, things seem to be settling down a little.

  Or were. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with a big pregnant belly. Hard enough to get people to take a lady Butcher seriously. I always get the crack about how Butchers do everything in pairs, and do I have two leather daddies? And that’s not even from the Butchers. From them, I just get a lot of ribbing and dick-sucking gestures….but only if Solo’s not around. He’d kick their asses if he was.

  My brother Gem doesn’t protect me from the ribbing. He never joins in, but he doesn’t shield me, either. I know it’s because the guys are brutal to each other, and I’m expected to take my good-natured share of the bullshit. Clubs are tough and if you show weakness, it’s just like feeding chum to sharks.

  Me with a baby belly? And then a baby? Yeah, I can pretty much kiss any sort of respect I’m going to get goodbye.

  Which sucks.

  It’s not that I don’t want Solo’s baby. I do. It’s just that I could have waited five years or so to get settled in to my spot with the Butchers.

  Not only am I the only lady Butcher, Solo’s the treasurer, which automatically makes me treasurer, too. Doesn’t matter that I’ve done the books and tons of accounting grunt work for the club for ages. People hear I have a vagina and a promotion, and suddenly they feel threatened.

  I wash my hands, lost in thought, and then head out of the bathroom and into the Meat Locker. It’s the club’s unofficial headquarters and Gem’s personal business. I have an office in the back, but I prefer my seat tucked away on a corner of the main floor so I can watch my man work out. Solo’s at the punching bag right now, hitting it with an almost calm, hypnotic beat, his sweat-soaked biceps bulging.

  I sigh at the sight of it.

  Truth is, I’m unlucky in all parts of my life except for one. Solo, aka Eric Taggert. He’s an ex-soldier back from Afghanistan about a year now. His cover is that he’s a personal trainer for the Meat Locker, if anyone asks. Everyone in the club knows he’s the treasurer, and the one that handles the money. He makes sure the boys pay, and I handle the books. We’re a good team.

  And unlike the rest of the Butchers, we don’t share. It works out that I’m the only patched-in girl, because Solo was reluctant to take a partner. His old one’s long gone, but that’s good. It means I get him all to myself. I admire his muscles as they move, daydreaming of Solo. Solo’s arms around me. Solo’s mouth between my legs, which is how he woke me up this morning.

  Solo’s arms trying to stretch around my waist from behind. Me, rounded with his baby, my stomach sticking out of my cut.

  That kills the sexy fantasies I’m having right away, and I open the club’s logbooks. Time to do some accounting before I have to run to the airport and pick up my little sister. Becka’s coming home for the summer, and I can’t wait for her to meet Solo. She’s going to stay with me and Eric before she heads back to college.

  I’d say that’d put a damper on our sex life, but yeah right. I’m not about to give up my private time with my guy.

  “Hey, baby,” Solo says, and I look up. He’s left the punching bag and is now heading over to my desk. “You go to the gun range this morning?”

  I always come in to work a little later than him. He’s got some clients that like to be in at 5:00 a.m. for training, and I like to sleep late. I really like to sleep in lately. Guess I know why, now. “Not today. I have to pick up Becka from the airport, and I just got in last Friday night’s books, and—”

  His frown is dark, and he crosses his sweaty arms over his chest. And he waits for my excuses to run out. />
  “Real busy,” I continue, then give him my most innocent look. “I’ll do double tomorrow.”

  “Get your bag,” he says. “We’re going to the gun range.” He throws a towel over his shoulder and heads to the locker room. “I’ll be five minutes. Be ready.”

  Ooh. “You’re going with me?”

  “Looks like I am,” he says, and heads off to get dressed.

  I’m not disappointed about this. In fact, I’m a little gleeful. I mean, going to the gun range isn’t all that fun. I’m a good shot, but I don’t intend on ever shooting anyone. He wants me to go every day and practice. It’s boring to me, but Solo thinks I need to know how to handle myself. That there will come a time that I’m going to need to be on the business end of a gun. I sincerely hope not, but I don’t mind the side-effects of going to the gun range.

  Because going to the gun range with Solo? It makes me incredibly aroused.

  • • •

  Epic snickers when he sees me and Solo enter the gun range. “Well, if it isn’t Horny Bonnie and Clyde.”

  I flip him the bird as we enter. Solo just gives him a fist-bump and heads to the locker where we keep our shit. Epic grins from ear to ear as if we’ve improved his day vastly just by showing up. I ignore him as if he’s not worthy of my time. Epic recently got patched to the Butchers, but he’s still just one step up from a prospect in my eyes. The boys all love that he owns a gun range. Courtesy of his old man, I believe. The guy died and left Epic a crap ton of money and the kid (who can’t be more than twenty-three) bought himself a gun range. I guess it could be worse. It could be a mini golf course.

  Anyhow, Epic Aim and Fire is the Butcher’s official practice ground now that Epic’s one of us. He’s not my favorite guy. Maybe because he caught Solo nailing me in the shooting booth the last time we were here.

  Like I said, shooting makes me aroused.

  Epic leans on the counter and looks expectantly at me while a TV plays behind him. We’re the only ones at the range this morning, since it’s early.

  “Don’t you have something to do?” I ask him.

  “Nope.” He grins at me speculatively. “Do I need to stay behind the counter again this time?”

  “Yes,” I bite out. If he stays behind the counter, he might hear us, but he won’t see much.

  He just snickers again. “Try not to make too much of a mess. Takes forever to mop this place.”

  “Shut up.”

  He tilts his head and studies me. “Hey, so anyone seen Handlebar or Crash today?”

  “I haven’t, why?”

  Epic shrugs. “Handlebar was supposed to help me with my bike. Wanted to put some new ape-hangers on it. I think he’s blowing me off.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone doing that,” I say sarcastically.

  He just grins. That’s the thing with Epic. He’s like a puppy with a lot of hot air, but he never takes shit personally. It’s hard not to like him just on that aspect.

  Solo pulls our guns out of the locker and begins to check magazines and ammo. He loads mine as I put on ear mufflers and safety goggles. I’m already getting aroused, and I haven’t even touched my gun yet. I don’t know what it is about this place that gets me all hot and bothered. Maybe it’s Solo showing me how to shoot, and the power in his arms as he holds the gun. Maybe it’s the fact that he has to lean over me with his body pressed against mine when he shows me how to grip.

  Maybe it’s just the power in my hands when I shoot. Whatever it is, it makes my panties want to fly off. It’s probably why Solo normally doesn’t come to the range with me. Every time he has, I’ve attacked him with lust. He wants me to concentrate on guns.

  I want to concentrate on sex and skin and licking.

  I do think about Handlebar, though. He’s one of the VPs of the club, and it’s not like him and Crash to not show up for days on end. I haven’t seen them in over a week. They probably found some pussy the next town over and are making themselves scarce here so they can spend more time there. It happens. Occasionally one of the guys finds a girl he doesn’t want to share with his ride partner, and then we don’t see him for weeks.

  We usually see the partner, though, and it’s strange that Crash hasn’t been around either.

  But then Solo hands me my gun, and his hand goes to the small of my back, and he leads me to the shooting booth at the farthest end of the range. He’s all business as he clips the target to the wire and then runs it back. Then he looks at me and gestures at the target.

  I step forward, hold my gun up, and deliberately aim to the left of the target.

  I’m a good shot. Heck, I might even be a natural. But when I suck at it, Solo takes charge and starts to train me. And I like that way too much for my own good. My gun’s a Glock 19, the Gen4 variant so I don’t have a huge recoil. And I use the big magazine, so I can shoot several bullets without having to reload. So I shoot over and over, deliberately missing. When I stop and look over at Solo, his gorgeous mouth is pressed into a hard line as he looks at my shitty target.

  My panties just get wetter.

  “I know you can shoot better than that, baby.” Solo’s voice is a dark, delicious drawl as he moves behind me. I switch out magazines, and then he puts a hand on my waist, and his other hand goes to cup mine as I’m holding the gun. I can feel his big muscles behind me, feel his breath on my neck.

  God, and he wonders why I get turned on at the shooting range?

  My breath is quickening as he aims the gun for me. “Remember what I told you, Lucky. You want to shoot for the arm. You’re still shooting for the head.”

  “That’s because I want to stop whoever’s coming for me.”

  He gives me that look. Points the gun at the head. “You shoot someone there, you’re getting life in prison. Maybe the death penalty if you’re in Texas.”

  “Ha, ha.” Not funny.

  He angles the gun down to the leg of the paper target. “You shoot here, he can still shoot you. Also, there’s a lot more arteries in the leg. Make him bleed too much, and he might have to go to the hospital. Again, you go to prison.” He points the gun back up at the target and moves it carefully to the side, to where it’s pointing at the arm. “The arm tells people you mean business. No one goes to the hospital for an arm wound. They fucking suck it up and have their old ladies stitch them up. But you still get your point across, and no one is going to prison. You got me?”

  “The arm,” I say with a nod. “Wing ’em.”

  “That’s right, baby. You need me to guide your hand?”

  “No, I’ll do it.” I squint and this time I really and truly aim at my target. Blam. Blam. Blam.

  When the paper flutters forward, I’ve nailed my target in the shoulder and the arm every time except once. Solo grunts appreciatively. “You’re just pretending to be bad at this, aren’t you?”

  “Little ol’ me?” I give him my best southern drawl. “Can I help it if I need a big strong man to show me how to handle a weapon?”

  Solo narrows his eyes at me. “You’re patched, Lucky. You don’t need anyone’s help.” He leans in and pushes me up against the counter, his hips pressing against mine. “But if you wanna fuck, baby, all you have to do is say so.”

  I moan, and my empty gun goes down on the counter. I push my ass back, grinding against his cock. “I want you to fuck me, Solo.”

  “You all hot and bothered by the shooting, babe?” His hand moves around my waist, and he tugs me against him, nibbling on my neck from behind. “You need to take this shit seriously. You know the Hard Nine are just looking for a chance to get revenge on us. I’m making you do this because I want to make sure you can handle yourself.”

  I stiffen at the mention of the Hard Nine. Here I thought we have enough to deal with when the Eighty-Eight Henchmen roll through Albuquerque. They’re a bunch of white supremacists who call themselves a club. But the Hard Nine are taking over in Arizona, and they play nasty. They already tried to blackmail one of ours before we nipped it
in the bud. And we stopped them from buying huge shipments of guns in our territory, which is only adding fuel to the flame. Everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  Then war. Ugh. I don’t like to think about that.

  “I promise, I’ll keep practicing,” I tell him. I worry about what’s going to happen if there’s all-out war between the clubs. As one of the officers for the Butchers, Solo’s going to be on the front lines.

  We. We’re going to be on the front lines. Since I’m co-treasurer. Shit. No wonder he keeps insisting I practice.

  “Good,” he says, and his hand caresses my ass through my jeans. “Good girls get rewarded, you know.”

  “Oh? I like rewards,” I say, and wiggle against his hand.

  His other hand slides to the front of my jeans and he undoes the button and then the zipper. Then his hand goes into my panties, and his breath hisses out of him. “Fuck, you are wet as hell, baby.”

  “Being here with you does that to me,” I tell him softly, and rock my hips so his fingers can rub against all my favorite spots.

  Solo’s big fingers slide over my clit and I whimper, leaning against him. With one hand down my pants, his other moves under my shirt and cups my breast, rolling the nipple against his fingers. I moan, the friction of his fingers through the fabric of my bra making me crazy. “Pull my pants down,” I demand, panting. “Fuck me right here.”

  “Push you against the counter?” Solo murmurs, doing just that. “Slide my cock into that soaking wet pussy of yours?”

  “Yes!”

  But he doesn’t. He only fingers me faster, two fingers pushed together and rubbing over my clit. Back and forth, slow and patient. Rubbing my juices all over my clit and then dragging his fingers back to my core and dipping them in for more slickness. He pinches my nipple, which makes me jump, and then I start whimpering all over again. I’m utterly shameless. I don’t care how loud I am, just as long as I get relief. Epic knows we fuck. I don’t care if he hears it.

  In the background, I hear music go off. Someone’s ringtone. Epic, probably. I don’t care. I’m lost in Solo’s grip, in his touch.