Through his tinted sunglasses, Leo noticed a familiar green exit sign looming in the distance. It announced that the small town of Desert Shore was just a few miles ahead. It was where Leo went when he wanted to escape the hustle and bustle of the city. A town with southern charm despite its close proximity to Los Angeles.
After the week Leo had experienced, he couldn't wait to hop on his bike and head for the one place that felt the most like home. The Galewood – a saloon style bar located in Desert Shore that served the best whiskey Leo had ever tasted.
He was tired, battered, and lonely and a few shots of that whiskey always had a way of changing that. He released the throttle ever so slightly, slowing down as he drove off of the highway, taking the exit for Desert Shore. The town lived up to its name. It was isolated and dusty, with a nonexistent population and very few things to do for fun.
Aside from the Galewood, the town had two gas stations, a grocery store, a police station, a roadhouse and a hotel. Everything else was residential and if the town’s residents wanted to see a movie or go shopping, they were forced to make the thirty mile trek into Los Angeles. Leo, however, never really seemed to mind the trip. He chuckled to himself as he pulled to a stop in front of the dimly lit bar, removing his helmet and shaking out his shiny black hair.
I must be one of the town’s only regular visitors, he thought to himself.
Everyone else in Desert Shore, it seemed, had been born there.
Parched and dying for a drink or three, Leo walked through the swinging front doors, Classic Rock filling his ears. The inside was smoky and outdated but Leo had never been one to care much about appearances. He slid into a vinyl barstool in the front of the bar and smiled at the familiar young blonde who took his order – three shots of the Galewood’s famous whiskey on the rocks.
Then, he took in his surroundings while he waited for his drinks. There was a small stage near the counter and an antique jukebox sat beside it, a Soft Rock song playing from it, one Leo hadn’t heard in years. There were two dusty pool tables in the back of the room, illuminated by the glare of a small outdated television set. A local news station played on mute. Leo turned his attention to a large poster on the brick wall in front of him.
One of his favorite cover bands was playing in an hour. What they were doing performing in such a small town, Leo couldn’t quite figure out, but he settled into his seat, bracing himself for the crowd of people that was sure to pour in at any minute. If Leo knew anything about Desert Shore – and he liked to think he did – it was that the people who lived there took any form of entertainment they could get.
Out of the corner of his eye, Leo could see the only other two occupants inside the bar staring at him, taking in his rugged appearance with wide eyes. He ignored them, downing each one of his shots and ordering another round.
At eight o'clock sharp, just as expected, the bar began to fill up with people. Women dressed in all different types of scanty attire poured through the doors, laughing and gossiping amongst each other. Some were quite striking but none of them grabbed Leo's attention.
As the bar reached full capacity, the band finally took the stage, announcing themselves and easing the crowd into the night with a song everyone was sure to know. Don't Stop Believing by the Journeys.
"Hold on to that feelin!" the crowd roared in a drunken stupor, beers clanking.
Leo sat in silence, taking in the performance from his seat at the bar. He had been drinking himself under the table since he had arrived and as a result, he had grown quite bored.
The he saw her.
She pushed her way through the crowd, standing on her tip-toes to lean over the counter, waving frantically at the bartender who had took Leo's drink order.
Leo had seen a lot of beautiful women in his life but the little redhead in front of him took the cake. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He watched as she slid into an empty bar stool just a few seats away from him, smiling at the bartender as a bright pink drink was set down in front of her. She took a sip, a deep sigh escaping her lips. It was clear to Leo that she didn’t know she was being watched. He swallowed hard. She wasn’t his usual type, but there was something about her that he couldn’t help but find enticing. Something captivating.
She was petite yet voluptuous with curves in all the right places. Her hair was honey red and curled around her heart shaped face. Her lips were full and pink, offset by a button nose, high cheek bones and large hazel eyes. She also had the largest rack Leo had seen in years, her cleavage pouring forward from her V-neck blouse as she leaned against the counter to sip her drink.
It didn’t take her long to catch Leo staring and when she did, they met eyes. There was a glimmer deep inside them that Leo recognized as flirtation. On her tan body, she wore a tight fitting black pencil skirt that brought out the curve of her backside, topped off by a fuchsia colored silk blouse, tan stockings and kitten heels. She looked like a secretary or maybe a school teacher, but there was something about the look that Leo found sexy. If ever there had been a clear embodiment of classic Hollywood beauty – this woman was it.
Leo watched as she finished the last of her drink, pausing to suck on the cherry in the bottom of her glass. Her lips wrapped around it like a pro and Leo could feel his cock stirring in his pants. When the stem was finally clean, she turned to look at Leo. She tilted her head, her lips pursed up into a grin.
"Hi there," she said, her eyes glimmering as she extended her hand to him, “Mily.”
Leo took it, not missing a beat.
“Leo.”
He held onto her small palm for just a second too long and she raised an eyebrow. Leo blushed like a teenager. He pulled away from her just as the bartender set down another round of whiskey in front of him. He downed one shot, offering one to Mily, who nodded her head and swallowed the bitter liquid in one sip, her dark pink lipstick leaving a mark on the glass. Leo slid off his sunglasses, revealing his handsome chiseled face as he tossed back another shot, followed by another.
He wasn’t sure what to say to her. She was younger than him by at least four or five years and a hell of a lot more classy, but that didn’t seem to matter much to Mily. She was enamored by the mysterious looking biker beside her. He was a conquest, a game to be played and won.
The next hour passed in a drunken haze. Leo and Mily talked for what felt like an eternity. She told him that she was passing through Desert Shore on business. Technically, it wasn’t the truth, but it was easier than having to explain the logistics of her lifestyle to every attractive stranger she met.
Mily had stopped into the bar for a drink after spending the day with a particularly clingy client. It started years ago, after she had realized there was no future for herself in acting. It paid the bills and offered her enough money and time to do the things she wanted to do. The problem, of course, was ethics. Sleeping with wealthy business men and making house calls out to men whose wives were out of town was hardly the kind of job a woman could take pride in. At least not someone shy and unconvincing like Mily.
No – she kept her lifestyle a secret and when people would ask her why she traveled so much and so often, she'd say the same thing every time. A story she had spent hours perfectly crafting.
“I’m a Pharmaceutical Sales Rep,” she said to Leo, taking a sip of her beer.
It explained everything she ever needed to explain to people. Why she traveled, how she could afford such lavish luxuries and why she never seemed to be available on the weekends. It was the perfect cover up, one nobody ever questioned her about. Not even her parents.
“Tell me about you.” Mily said to Leo over the music, changing the subject. Leo nodded.
He explained to her that he was a biker, President of the Disciple’s – a Motorcycle Club based out of Los Angeles – and that he was visiting Desert Shore for pleasure rather than business. When Mily asked what he meant, Leo shrugged. He told her that even though the town was small and dingy, it offered a certain isolation he
couldn’t quite find in LA.
“There’s something spiritual about this place,” he said.
After a few more beers, he went onto tell Mily, who listened with wide eyes, about the very first time he ever straddled the seat of a bike. It was a sunny Saturday in 1986 and Leo had just turned eighteen. He loved everything about riding even though he hadn’t done it yet. The power of the engine. The way the throttle shook and sputtered. The strength of the frames and the breathtaking speed. There wasn't a single thing about bikes that didn't give Leo a high – and in those days, all he did was work on them. He was employed part time at a Mechanic Shop that specialized in bike repair and he loved every minute of it.
A good bike reminded Leo of the graceful predators that lurked out in the wild. Unstoppable. That was exactly how he felt when he finally rode. As though nothing and no one could touch him. He had spent a countless number of hours daydreaming about the kind of bike he'd one day buy for himself, imagining what it would feel like to sit on. To take off into the night – far away from the trials and tribulations that had become his life.
Leo's family was perfect on the surface but what lurked beneath was far darker than anyone could have imagined. The moment Leo was of legal age, he took off to LA, a decision that would ultimately go on to become one of the smartest he had ever made. Not long after Leo had found a place to live and a job, he was offered the bike of his dreams by his boss, a husky tattoo covered guy named Richie. He had inherited his repair shop from his father after his death. In it were a few abandoned bikes that had been dropped off for repairs by customers and never claimed. Richie had sold most of them at auction, but there was one he held onto
The Yahma SR40. It needed work, but he never could quite bring himself to sell it.
“I want you to have it,” he told Leo one day after they had closed up shop, nodding at the dusty bike in the corner. Leo had been staring at it longingly for months. He had even considered asking Richie if he could buy it off of him, but he never could quite work up the courage.
Leo couldn’t believe his ears.
“Jesus man,” he breathed, “are you serious?”
Richie nodded.
“Every biker needs a ride,” he said simply.
RUSH
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
Past
Leo could live a thousand years and he’d never forget the very first moment he eased himself down on the leather seat. It was as though it had been crafted just for him. At first, he was surprised by how low the handlebars sat, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t adjust to. What surprised him the most was the change of perspective. Riding that first beauty of a motorcycle was nothing like sitting in the seat of a car. Detached somewhere beneath the revving machine, the loud engine vibrated against Leo’s body, acting as the bikes heart and lungs.
Riding it made Leo feel like he was home. He reached down, caressing it softly, the way some men might have touched a new lover, but to say it had a mind of its own would have been an understatement. It reacted like a stallion the first time he drove it through dense LA traffic. But with Richie’s guidance, Leo began to learn how to control it. It required more attention than most of the bikes he was used to working on, but he loved it too much to care.
He made himself a promise then. One he was determined to keep.
He told himself he'd make riding an unforgettable experience for himself. That more than anything, he'd enjoy it. In essence, the hunk of metal was Leo’s first love. There was something about the bikes reaction time that seemed deliberate. She would often struggle against his movements, like a wild animal in heat, but it was deeper than that.
It was more like Leo's senses had developed in a way that made him feel for the motorcycle. It was like a living entity to him. The force of the wheels against the road. The way they would spin to a stop as he slowed. The high frequency sound the engine made as it vibrated against his body. Everything about it – the entire experienced – made Leo feel as like he found his calling.
“Wow,” Mily said, letting out a deep breath, “I think I know that feeling.”
As bad as it might have sounded, the way Leo described his love of bikes was precisely how she felt about money and the things it could provide her.
Mily thought back to the dingy hotel room she had been in just a few hours before.
The man she had been lying beside was one of her least favorite clients. Stephen, an unhappily married plastic surgeon from Orange County. He was nice enough, but Mily couldn’t help but hate him. Not wanting to disturb him while he slept, she had attempted to crawl out of the tangled sheets to leave, flinching as his arm tightened roughly around her waist. He buried his head deeper into the crook of her neck, exhaling deeply. Mily sighed, collapsing back down on the bed beside him. It was then that she began to consider the fact that maybe she didn’t hate him at all. From what she could tell, aside from partaking in adultery, Stephen was a decent enough guy. Sweet even, and he tipped well.
Regardless, what they had together – if they had anything – was nothing more than sex. Paid sex, at that. Every other Saturday at four PM sharp, they would meet in the parking lot of a small hotel located in the isolated town of Desert Shore, “where no one can find us” Stephen had said. It became their routine but it was one with no strings attached. They didn't call each other pet names or partake in endless conversation. He never sent her flowers, bought her diamonds, or called her just to hear her voice.
Mily finally managed to slide out of Stephens grasp, turning her attention to the large wad of money that sat on the dresser. She had been doing it for three years but she still found it all so peculiar. Being paid to have sex. It was the easiest thing in the world and even though she’d never admit it out loud, it made her feel empowered.
How had it gotten to this? She wondered.
In Los Angeles, there were two different kinds of hookers. The kind that roamed the Sunset strip in stiletto pumps and blue eye shadow and the kind who discreetly courted men who were too shy or ashamed to admit they enjoyed paying for sex. Mily had been the latter and she took pride in holding herself well. In many ways, she looked more like a piano teacher than a call girl and that was the way she wanted it.
Maybe what drew Mily to her career choice was the fact that her mother had always been so vehemently against women expressing their sexuality. Once she had started to accuse her daughter of being sexually promiscuous, her assumptions slowly but surely became a reality. Mily laughed to herself under her breath, picking up her clothing from the ground and pulling everything on as quietly as she could manage. She glanced out the window of Stephens’s gaudily decorated master suite. There’s something beautiful about this city at night, she thought. Something Los Angeles couldn’t quite offer.
She grabbed her heels, sliding them on as she examined the wad of money in her hand. It didn't matter how long she had been doing it, every time it came time for her to take the money, she’d hesitate for a moment before stuffing it deep inside the pocket of her designer trench coat – a gift from one of her wealthier clients.
As Mily tip-toed towards the door, she stopped to take a long steady look at Stephen as he slept – stretched out and tangled in the sheets. He stirred awake, reaching for Mily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Shit,” Mily whispered under her breath.
"Em?" Stephen called out, his voice hoarse and heavy.
Mily sighed. As usual, she had just barely managed to slip through the door.
"Yeah?" she asked him, leaning over his naked body.
"C'mon," he begged, reaching for her hand, "just stay"
Mily shook her head. They had been through this before. That wasn’t part of her job description.
"You know I never do Stephen." she said, reaching over to let him momentarily hold her hand.
"I know, I know," he managed, rubbing his furrowed brows.
Finally, he let go of Mily's hand, smiling at her softly as she straightened herself up and ex
ited his room. She made her way to the elevator, stepping inside and pressing the button for the lobby. Once at the bottom, the doors opened and she stepped out, smiling at the man behind the front desk. His name was Louie and Mily had gotten to know him quite well. He was always so kind to her despite knowing why she came and went so often.
"Let me call you a cab,” he said to Mily with a slight smile.
She shook her head.
"No thanks," she said sweetly, "I'm actually going to walk. I’m headed to the Galewood."
"How is your wife?" she asked, changing the subject.
Louie smiled softly. He had told Mily two weeks ago that his wife was undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer. The fact that she had remembered touched him, but that was just the type of woman she was.
"She's getting better, thanks for asking."
Mily smiled, patting his arm lightly.
"Have a great night." she told him, walking off into the distance.
"Be safe!" he called after her.
It was an unusually cold night for California but Mily didn't mind. The cold air nipped at her face and hands – but in an odd way, it made her feel alive. She stuffed her hands in the deep pockets of her trench coat, caressing the wad of money. Two thousand dollars. A month’s rent in exchange for her time, body and companionship.
Seems like a fair trade, Mily thought to herself as she walked towards the dimly lit bar in the distance, pondering everything she could buy with the money. The first time she had slept with her very first client, she was taken aback when he offered her money. The truth was – Mily had thought they were on a date.
Save Me (Disciples MC #1) Page 3
