BIKER DADDY_The Chain Gang MC

by Claire St. Rose

  Zoya was impressed by his line of thinking and flattered at the lengths he was taking to accommodate her parents without them even knowing. Her eyebrows knit over her nose in slight confusion. She really couldn’t see anything about the man that her parents wouldn’t love—except that he wasn’t Muslim. “You know what I think?” she murmured in wonder, laying her head on his shoulder. “I think I might fall in love with you.”

  “Might?” he chuckled. “Damn, I think I’m already there.”

  ***

  Micah arrived at home earlier than he had intended, having dropped Zoya off at her place around seven to finish something for class. He walked into his ranch house and dug out his cellphone. He had a few missed calls. As a man who found it impolite for a person to entertain an electronic device more than his date, Micah made a habit of turning his off when he was out with Zoya.

  But, as he scrolled through the list, he noticed Quinn had called him numerous times over the course of the evening. Micah quickly hit the redial button to call him back. “Wassup, man?” he responded at the sound of Quinn’s hurried hello.

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all evening. Man, Chop got arrested. Cop said his bike was stolen.”

  “I thought that chick, Gabriele, bought it for him.” Micah reached for his keys and headed back out the door.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. According to Anime, turns out him and Chop won it in a race against some knucklehead who turned around and reported it stolen.”

  “I’m on my way to you now.”

  CHAPTER 16 It was a hot, sticky night, but the breeze felt terrific from the back of a motorcycle, and Micah and the rest of The Hangman’s Crows, minus Chop, descended on the Asphalt Angel’s compound, preceded by the sound of their bikes. Micah skidded in the dust outside the hangar tucked to the side of a rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. It was bad business taking the fight to the enemy’s turf, and he knew that, but he didn’t have time to follow proper protocol.

  Micah hopped from the back of his ride as soon as he slid to a halt and put it in park, stomping angrily up to the hangar doors. He banged on the metal with his fist. “Dorin!” he yelled out. Pinwheel joined him as the doors swung open and light fell upon them from inside. The Asphalt Angels was a ladies’ motorcycle club, and Pinwheel was gearing up for a cat fight.

  The leader of the rival gang stood at the threshold with her manicured nails digging into thick hips, her tight jean shorts encasing muscular thighs. Wearing nothing but a bra under a brown bomber jacket, her tousled blond hair fell around her sharp face in ripples of gold. She let out a fierce cat call, echoed by the five other women inside the hangar, and smiled at Micah, eyebrow lifted. “We got a live one, girls!”

  Quinn stepped forward, dark eyes on the vixen in leather and high heel brown boots. “This ain’t a leisure call,” he replied coldly. “Where’s Gabriele?”

  The biker chick circled Quinn warily, her green eyes skating from the big burly black guy to his accomplices. Dorin had history with Quinn, but she was sure his crew wasn’t aware of that. She grinned and flicked her pink tongue along her coral lips. “Gabriele,” she said. A raven haired beauty with doe-like eyes and a coke bottle figure poured into skintight jeans and a ripped muscle shirt stepped forward and ambled toward the brewing conflict, a knowing look on her face.

  “Apparently you got something these fellas want. You know anything about it?” Dorin asked lightly.

  “Aw, honey, everybody wants a stab at the G-spot, don’t they?” Gabriele put her arm around Dorin’s waist. Dragging the statuesque blonde closer, she tongue-kissed her seductively with a throaty groan, both women aware of Dante and Quinn staring with reserved interest. Dorin cooed and slipped a hand up under Gabriele’s shirt. She squeezed her possessively.

  “You raced against one of my crew and lost,” Micah spat, pushing forward. He wasn’t in the mood for games or beating around the bush. Chop had a solid future ahead of him that a criminal record might mangle irreparably, and Micah wasn’t about to let that happen on his watch. He crooked his fingers and beckoned to Gabriele. “I think you and I need to have a little talk with the sheriff and let him know that the police report saying the bike was stolen was a little error on your part, sweetheart.”

  Gabriele chuckled and tossed her black hair over her shoulder. “That kid fucked with the wrong bitch, baby, and he’s the one that got screwed. I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you. Ain’t that right, mama?” She patted Dorin on the ass.

  Dorin shrugged, pulling away from the sultry seductress to look back at Micah. “She said she ain’t going.”

  Quinn stepped forward insistently. “Dorin…”

  “Careful, Q-Ball.” She put a finger to his chest and pushed him back. “I bite.”

  Pinwheel pointed her gun at Dorin’s face. Quinn pushed her arm down. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Look, all we want is for the girl to come down to the precinct and help us get Chop out. He’s a damn idiot kid. You feel like he overstepped his boundaries? Cool. He might have. But, we’re not leaving until we get what we came here to get. Comprende? Gabriele! Get your shit and come on.”

  Micah shook his head in frustration and dug into his pocket for his wallet. “How much was the bike worth?” He knew they would inflate the cost, and he knew he’d pay an arm and an ass for something probably not worth spit, but he was willing if it meant they could get the fuck out of dodge. The tension in the air was palpable. Pinwheel seemed to have a grudge, and she was trigger happy.

  Eyes lit up at the sight of money about to exchange hands. “We’re not paying them for shit,” Pinwheel growled. Even Dante looked at him in askance.

  Quinn whispered out of the side of his mouth, “This shit will run like wildfire.”

  “I got ten thousand says I can take any one of you in here right now, right out there. If I lose, you get to keep the money. But, if I win, Gabriele comes with us.” He stood his ground. Q was right. If he paid them off, their reputation would suffer, and every biker with a bad attitude would try their luck at strong-arming The Hangman’s Crows for more easy money. But, if they had a fair race, it would look better for his crew.

  “Show us the money,” Dorin challenged. Micah didn’t walk around with ten thousand in cash. He did, however, wear an exquisite Movado watch he put up as collateral with the money he did have on hand. Dorin shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  The lady bikers conferred privately while The Hangman’s Crows waited impatiently for them to pick their rider. When Dorin turned back, she had a smile on her face that made Micah uncomfortable. “We’re down for a race,” she said. “But, not against you. Woman to woman, and it looks like that only leaves you with one potential rider.”

  Her glittering green eyes slid to Pinwheel. The flame-haired Frenchwoman bared her teeth, and Dorin grinned, whistling low.

  “I’ve got this, Micah,” said Pinwheel, as she strutted out to check her bike while Quinn, Dante, and Micah shared looks. Pinwheel was good, but a gamble.

  “This isn’t what we originally agreed to,” Micah countered. “I race or no one races, and we still don’t leave until Gabriele comes with us.”

  “Well, lock up for us boys, and I hope you don’t get lonely waiting. Cause we’re riding out in a few,” Dorin chuckled.

  Pinwheel stood back, pissed as a rattlesnake that Micah would publicly question her ability to win. She pointed her pistol in the air and fired off an explosive round that thundered through the quiet night, drawing everyone’s attention. Micah flinched and scowled at her. “I said I’ve got this, Micah,” she reiterated.

  Dorin replied, “Ooh, I like a lady who speaks her mind.” She sauntered past Micah, leaving the boys to stare in disbelief as Pinwheel took control of the situation.

  The start and finish lines were quietly and quickly negotiated, Micah and Dorin haggling for the advantage. Micah knew Pinwheel’s bike could handle speed if given enough distance to kick into high gear, but Dorin wanted a short race
. It was finally decided by a coin toss.

  Quinn threw a quarter in the air. When he looked down, he shook his head and swore. “It’s in Dorin’s favor.”

  Micah bristled, but let it ride. He pulled aside Pinwheel to give her some pointers, but before he could open his mouth, she jabbed his in his chest. “No, you listen to me. Don’t you ever put me out like that again! You made me look like shit, Micah!”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve raced against her before, and she’s really good, Pinwheel. This isn’t about you. This is about Chop.”

  She grinned and nodded. “Baby, it’s always about winning, no matter what else it’s about.”

  She moved to the starting line on her Indian Chief Classic. It was fire engine red, the same shade as her hair. It was sleek and sexy with chrome innards. On her bike, Pinwheel was in charge. One thing about being a part of an otherwise male biker club was that they always underestimated her. It was time to prove herself once and for all.

  The rest of the Asphalt Angels and the gang with The Hangman’s Crows spread out along the roadside in front of the compound. It was a hideaway, and there wasn’t much traffic on the road. It was the perfect place for a race.

  Quinn held the pistol up in the air and counted down the start, and when the blast fired, the motorcycles shot off like meteors from God’s slingshot, leaving the ripe smell of burnt rubber in their wake. There was a point where Pinwheel lagged far behind the seasoned racer, but they had to get to the finish line and back. That was where the red haired fighter met her stride. Micah let out a yelp of encouragement, Dante and Quinn yelling for her to keep at it, even as Dorin counter-steered and tried to run her off the road.

  Pinwheel’s bike was made for stability more so than speed. There was no unseating Pinwheel. In a blur, both bikes rushed past the finish line, but The Hangman’s Crows mistress was in first place. She cut her wheel to the side and easily coasted to a halt next to the boys.

  “Now, what was that about her being really good and all that caca?” she asked, smiling.

  “Fuck!” Gabriele shouted.

  Dorin pulled up on the opposite side, yanking off her helmet and shaking her golden mane in frustration. She cast a glance at Quinn, and he smiled and put his head down, knowing damn well she could’ve beat Pinwheel. Dorin was doing him a favor. He’d pay for it later.

  “Looks like you won,” Dorin replied. “Gabriele?”

  They left the place in a hurry. It was time to get Chop out of jail.

  ***

  It wasn’t until after the paperwork and legalities were squared away that Micah finally got to pull his right hand man aside and ask a few pointed questions. They sat in Micah’s living room, having drinks.

  “So, what happened back there? I got the sense you and Dorin had an unspoken conversation going on that whole time the rest of us weren’t privy to.” Micah drew on a Cuban cigar from his friend, the investment banker by day.

  “What do you mean?” Quinn feigned ignorance. He chuckled ruefully, knowing he couldn’t keep a secret from his friend. He tossed back his dreadlocks and shrugged casually.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” said Micah, pointing at him with the hand in which he held a tumbler of whiskey. “You two had something going on.”

  “Well…let’s just say that little chat me and you had a while back was coming from personal experience,” Quinn conceded. “Some of us are built for this life, and some of us aren’t. I told you I’m starting to feel like I’m too old for this shit.”

  “Then, why would you tell me to give up Zoya, knowing you have something like that to go home to? Not that I was looking, but…“—Micah grinned—“…she’s a looker.”

  Quinn fired back with more emotion than he intended. “Because, Micah! Some of us are built for this life, and Dorin is . I’m the Zoya in this case, you understand? I know what it’s like worrying about the person you love. I know what it’s like to want to see her when I wake up and when I go to bed, to not have to worry about races and the dark underbelly of biker gangs. I want a normal fucking life, man. How the hell can anybody living faster than the speed of life have that?”

  The question stayed with Micah deep into the night, long after his friend was gone. There was so much more at stake than Zoya losing her family by staying with him. He wasn’t prepared to give up the motorcycle club. What if, like Quinn, she needed that from him?

  CHAPTER 17 She slid between the sheets, a rose pressed between the pages of a book. She was naked and fragrant from a long soak in bath salts and bath oils, hairless below the neck from carefully removing any unsightly body hair and oiled to a slick golden sheen with sweet coconut oil. Her lustrous brown hair floated down to the pillow as she laid on her side and studied his face.

  Micah slumbered peacefully, undisturbed. Zoya was sneaking. In his attempt to shield her from spiritual condemnation, he had kept himself from her. She was awed by the reserve required to be chaste in each other’s company for the several weeks since they had renewed their connection, but her restraint was growing thin. She knew her birth control would now be effective.

  When it came to her morals, try as she might, Zoya couldn’t see anything wrong with making love to the man she loved. True, they weren’t married, but what was marriage other than a meeting of the minds and agreement of souls? She was sure she was made for him, and he was made for her. It was starting to make less and less sense to stay away from each other.

  Wanting him was an ache that made her tongue thick with thirst for the quenching shower of his kisses. Her skin tingled to be touched, and her womanhood threatened to blossom each and every time he drew close enough to stir her. His scent was encoded in her memory. She inhaled, reveling in the smell of his sheets and comforter, his skin, and his body. The need was fierce.

  Zoya reached a slender hand to his shoulder and smoothed it slowly down his arm. She drew her fingers back and started over at the base of his neck, moving them down his chest. She ran her fingertips through the silky curls covering his stomach. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only flannel pants, and his nudity thrilled her. His body was feverishly hot from being beneath the covers. The satiny skin beneath the pads of her fingers made her heart race in anticipation.

  She slid her thighs together, hiding the pearl between her legs that was rigid and swollen with lust. Her petals were dewy with desire. Her nipples beaded, and her stomach quivered. Each breath was shallow and rapid. Her eyelids fluttered as she closed her eyes and imagined them making love. Zoya suppressed a throaty groan, repositioning herself on her back.

  Rousing him from sleep was tempting, but she refrained. She wanted to enjoy the view, the clandestine courtship of her upper thigh brushing teasingly against his crotch, before he opened his eyes with reason and sense and told her to go back to the guest room. She pushed her hands down her naked stomach to the V between her legs. She had tried to do this in her room, but there was no way she could stay away with him so close. A wall of separation wasn’t enough. Spending the weekend at Micah’s house had probably been a bad idea.

  She clenched her eyes shut and touched herself. Her fingers quested inquisitively into the folds of her rosebud, carefully caressing the sensitive skin of her secret. She pressed her fingertip into the slit and touched deeper, and the tips came away slick and wet. She rolled the moisture over the nub of her clitoris, sucking in a breath in erotic pleasure. Zoya opened her eyes and stared into Micah’s face.

  She shuddered deliciously as she stroked around and around in circles of dizzying pleasure. Her beating heart was thunderous, and her ears were clouded by the whoosh of blood through her veins. Biting her bottom lip, her head lolled back and her legs spread wider, accepting the eager penetration of her fingers. Slow strokes in and out, she met the inward thrusts with rising hips and trembling legs. A soft sigh and moan erupted, unbidden, and Zoya squeezed her eyes closed, frozen still…

  He didn’t stir. She waited the space of a few deep breaths, steadying herself. It didn’t do
to rush the excitement. She wanted to revel in the fantasy. As she continued her masturbation, she held Micah in her thoughts, remembering the way he had masterfully taken her. His thrusts, powerful and sure, had caressed her recess with exquisite talent and skill, skating over erogenous zones and penetrating to her core. The memory coaxed more wetness from her folds to soak her aroused womanhood, and perspiration began to bead along her skin.

  She needed. She pushed her finger deep inside herself, circling faster with her thumb around her clit, and her breaths grew more manic as she moved closer to culmination. Try as she might, she couldn’t slow the swift ecstasy that threatened to take her over the edge. She had to stop touching herself before she exploded. She had to calm her body. She couldn’t wake him.

  Except he was already awake. Micah, unmoving, felt the woman beside him as her ministrations made the bed move restlessly with each stroke and swirl of her fingers, and it took everything in him not to rise above her and finish the job. He held back a sigh as his cock slowly but surely grew to life, massively erect. He wasn’t sure if she could feel it against her upper outer thigh, if she was even of the presence of mind to notice, but he hoped she would continue. When she held still again, trying to lower the arousal level, he waited with baited breath for her to keep going.