Contents
Beanie – Chokehold
For Gat, my rock.
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
LAURENT - DEVIL’S HAND
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© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014 - 2018
BEANIE
3
CHOKEHOLD
Steel Riders MC
Alice May Ball
Gat, my rock.
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Prologue
BEANIE’S CHUCKLE SENT A shiver through me. Close-shaved swirls of his dark hair rasped on the insides of my hot, clenching thighs. I pulled his head tighter in. I trembled and vibrated where his strong lips pressed into me.
In his hands, I felt my body completely possessed.
Face down beside me, Carlie moaned louder into the wet pillow. Priest’s knuckles whitened as his fingers tightened in her hair. He hauled her ass higher and pulled her thighs farther apart. She jolted as his hand thwacked on her ass. His breath speeded up and it scraped like a saw.
Beanie’s shoulders rolled beneath my calves and his big hands came up to explore. I squeezed my thighs together as another jet stream of sensation set my limbs quaking. His strong mouth, his wicked tongue propelled me.
Our four voices melted into a whirl of gasps and groans. Beanie’s hooded gray eyes gleamed from between my thighs. Carlie’s wet mouth stretched wide and she moaned. I shook at the sight of pleading eyes.
I touched her neck. My eyes clamped shut and my back arced.
This long, hot night, all of us were wild. We clutched and clawed for escape and release. I threw myself into the melting pot of flesh, to be swallowed up by the fire of need. Wrung out and worn out. Consumed in the short break from the battle.
The battle that I knew would resume, and soon.
Chapter 1
PRIEST’S ARMS WERE OUT straight to the short bars of his Harley. His hands in black, fingerless gloves made twists of the throttle, small snicks of the clutch and brake levers. The metal beast crackled and roared.
My thin shirt flapped and barely covered me. My short, tight denim skirt stretched wide as I gripped Priest’s hard ass with my thighs. His muscles moved like music to guide the bike.
Gray and purple desert wheeled below as the dusty pavement curved up the rocky mountainside. Six riders in black, plus me on the back. Hair and bandana knots trailed out behind them. All the men wore shades and leather cut-offs.
The men rode low on the roaring iron steeds, swept around the wide curve like the shadow of a dark wing. We arced upwards through the cool, thinning air toward the ridge.
I hung on tight to Priest’s broad back, taking his warmth on my stomach as the saddle throbbed beneath me. The bikes leaned, fanned out, gathered together, then spread again as they rose with the road. I hung on behind Priest. I felt out of place but privileged. Chosen.
Like a high school prom queen, abducted by passing barbarians.
I liked that image. The thought of being swept away, plucked out of every aspect of life that was familiar. There was nothing left in my life that was familiar and that I still wanted.
I’d happily make the trade just for the wind in my hair.
Beanie moved up alongside and inclined his head toward Priest. They were able to talk easily over the rasping howl of the bikes.
My ears weren’t adapted to it, so I had no clue what they said. Then they both laughed and Beanie peeled away and fell back.
As we crested the ridge, a couple of low and wide wood buildings rose into view. About a dozen Harleys were parked out front.
Over the door, a carved wooden sign announced that it was Thunderhead MC’s clubhouse.
Chapter 2
FROM THE PORCH, SMOKE clouds billowed off the glowing tip of a fat joint. Behind the haze, huge and hulking, black-haired with a thick bandito mustache, Hawk was out on the stoop. He squinted and raised the spliff as six Harleys crossed the dusty lot in a line toward him.
Priest was the last to cut his engine. He waited for me to climb off the back of the bike before he leaned the cycle onto its stand. Standing behind him, my breath skipped as he hauled his leg over the big bike.
Hawk’s head was sunken low into his big, round shoulders. His frame was drawn inward. His lips were tight, his feet shuffled, and his dark eyes were thin slits as he waited for Priest.
His face was all apprehension. The previous night at the club, Hawk had lost it in the worst way. He would have done some serious harm if Beanie hadn’t stopped him. Twice.
Hawk was mostly muscle and there was a lot of him. Beanie had shown skills as well as fast thinking.
It was definitely the best thing for Hawk. He had been a guest at the Steel Riders clubhouse. What he did could have had him killed, for sure.
When Priest asked him how he was feeling, Hawk’s face puckered with the look of a teenage boy caught stealing.
Priest extended a hand. His voice rumbled, low and soft, “Look, it's history, Hawk. No biggie, okay?”
Hawk’s jaw tensed, “Is that why six of you came to rip me a new asshole?”
“That isn’t why we're here.” Priest's voice was soft, almost gentle.
Hawk glowered over Priest’s shoulder at me. “And you brought the little sweetbutt to watch.” His dismissive sneer stung me.
Priest said, “Nothing like that, Hawk.”
Hawk looked at each of the six bikers. “Why the platoon, then?”
For a moment there was no sound in the desert hush except for the metal ticks of the bike engines as they cooled.
Priest said, “Are you having fun watching us bake in the dust out here,” he reached out to Hawk, “or are you going to pass that blunt and offer us a beer, bro?”
Chapter 3
TWO BIG BIKERS WITH heavy-duty beards turned slowly on their barstools as we stepped inside Thunderhead’s clubhouse. When they saw us, they both reached over the bar counter fast.
Big, round bears of men, I was surprised at how quick and agile they were. Metal buckles on their cutoff bike jackets scraped on the bar counter as they swung back to face us.
In the dark far corner, three figures, two men and a writhing girl, huddled around the pool table and stopped whatever they were doing to watch us come in.
Hawk lifted a palm toward the men at the bar. He said, “They come in peace, Crank.” The bigger of the two men cocked his head, but he turned with a pistol in his hand and a growl in his voice.
“That’s what they all say.” He held the gun with both hands, but he didn’t raise the barrel.
Priest carried an easy smile and his arms were out from his sides. His open palms faced forwards and his step was relaxed as he approached the biker.
He said, “Hey, Crank,” and he nodded a greeting to the other man, “Hambone.”
The two bikers at the bar stood shoulder to shoulder. Crank was the one with the gun. The other man hefted a baseball bat.
Priest said, “We ain’t armed. We came in part to see how Hawk was after last
night. He took a couple of hefty whacks.”
Hawk said, “Yeah, thanks for those, Beanie.”
Beanie’s feet shifted. Before he could speak, Priest said, “It was that or he’d have taken some hot lead.” He waited for that to settle. He told Hawk, “Beanie kept you him the game, bro.”
Hawk grunted, “I should buy him some flowers.”
Priest turned back to Crank and Hambone. “We also wanted to be sure that Thunderhead and the Steel Riders were good, or if something needed to be done.”
The other man, Hambone, nodded somberly. His voice was like a preacher’s. “As is righteous. We’ll take an account of Hawk’s line to assay our share of that. Hawk?”
Hawk said, “No, we’re good. I did something grievously dumb and Beanie was right to stop me.” Hambone nodded again and turned to Crank.
Crank’s voice thinned. “’Roid rage?” When Hawk nodded, Crank looked to Priest. “Was much damage involved?”
“None to speak of. Got a bit out of hand at the card table. Again in the ring later.”
Crank’s eyebrows lifted. “Out of hand in the ring?”
Priest told them, “The rage. You know?” Crank and Hambone looked toward each other as they considered that. Hambone’s bushy mustache and beard bristled as his lips pursed. He looked at Hawk as he nodded.
Priest said, “No lasting harm done.”
Hambone said, “If the Steel Riders are right with us then, the way I see it, bro, we’re justly right with you.”
When Priest nodded, Crank looked around the six Steel Riders and said, “Beer?”
The air in the room lightened immediately.
The Steel Riders crowded around the bar. Hambone was the Thunderhead’s club president, and Crank wore a patch that said Sergeant-at-Arms.
Talk spread, became louder and grew animated.
Over in the corner, the two men and a girl lost interest in us and resumed their interest in each other. The girl sat on the edge of the table and spread her legs wide.
One biker jammed himself up between her soft, milky thighs while the other fed and slurped on her long throat and her ample, bouncing breasts.
As the bikers talked and drank, I watched Beanie. He was quiet, ready to listen and slow to react. His ink and the scarified patterns shaved into his scalp somehow hid thoughtful, cautious Beanie.
The slow movements of his strong, careful fingers were sensual. The rim of his tongue pressed gently between his thick red lips and a small tremor ran up the insides of my thighs.
Hawk was like his opposite. Big and hot, he seemed to be primed and sprung, ready to laugh or to fight at any moment. Both men’s eyes twinkled with boyish sparks.
Priest was another story. His voice was strong and deep. He spoke quietly, but when he spoke, everyone listened. His eyes flashed with savage, ruthless sparks.
When his body moved under his jacket, especially under his denims, my breath fluttered. As the men talked, all of their eyes snook over my loose shirt and my short denim skirt.
When Priest looked at me, I felt it.
The girl on the pool table was up on all fours. A sturdy biker pumped at each end. Her face slid along one fat cock and her hands gripped the man’s round, clenching buttocks to pull him deeper into her gagging throat.
The biker behind spanked her ass as he reamed in between her widespread thighs. Her wet moans were muffled.
Watching with a heat of my own rising, I couldn’t decide whether she looked abandoned or consumed. My thoughts drifted until the sound of Priest’s name pulled me back.
Crank told him, “Priest, the Steel Riders have business in the drugs trade, just the same as we do.”
“That’s kind of the other piece of why we came here, Crank,” Priest said. “I thought maybe we might have a number of interests in common here.”
Hambone said, “Truly. It could behoove us to share knowledge and to take a reading of the situation together.”
Crank said, “My view, these damn ’roids are just going to be a source of heat. You may feel differently, in which case, fair enough. I’d like to hear about it.”
Priest said, “No, we’re against ’em, too, bro. You know the D.A. has a hard-on for them.” Crank and Hambone nodded. Priest went on, “We don’t allow trade in growth hormones or ’roids on Steel Riders club premises. Not around club business either.”
Crank said, “Like the opioids. You probably find, same as we do, labelled pharmaceuticals are more dangerous business right now than Mexican or Afghan heroin. Our members all know that we’d take a view on them selling the stuff, here or anywhere else.”
Priest nodded. “Just like you, we’ve got too much to lose from the extra attention.”
“Hawk’s a good man.” Crank turned to Hawk. “Look, I mean it, bro, you’re a good man, but the ’roids are going to run you off the road.”
The men drank and passed a joint around. Priest said, “Anyone have any ideas where the ’roids are coming from?”
Everyone looked at Hawk.
The girl in the corner moaned louder.
Chapter 4
BEFORE WE LEFT, CRANK wanted to show off Thunderhead MC’s new fight ring. Like the Steel Riders’, it was in a separate building from the clubhouse. The Thunderheads’ was long and low, metal-sided like an old hangar.
Inside, a few bikers sat around. Two men sparred with their hands taped. One, red-headed, bearded and bulky, was slow but powerful. The other was shorter, solid and fast.
Both of them big men, the sweat made it tough for them to wrestle. They kicked, hit, and barged each other until the redhead took a blow to the neck from the shorter man’s forearm.
As the redhead dropped down to one knee, he quickly found his neck in the crook of the shorter man’s arm. His arms flailed and his face reddened.
From the side, Hambone shouted, “Lay off the chokehold, Spark.” Meek as a lamb, he looked up and let go. The redhead slumped, gasping onto the mat. Hambone called out, “Sparring should not involve fatalities.”
Chapter 5
BACK AT THE STEEL Riders’ clubhouse, a gaudy, red, big-ass Seventies convertible was slumped in the lot out front. I had never seen it before, but as soon as I saw it I knew who’d brought it. Only Laurent would be enough of an ass to park a thing like that outside a biker bar.
I felt a powerful urge to run, but I had nowhere left to go. Out here in the middle of the desert, I had no money and nothing but my legs to run with.
My little drab Honda was rotting with no gas in front of the diner back in Peaceable. I had less than ninety bucks to my name and no place to go.
No, whatever kind of a scene Laurent had come here to play out, I would play it out with him. See it to the end.
Chapter 6
BEFORE I STEPPED INTO the clubhouse, I took a breath. In a very short time, this club had felt more like a home to me than anywhere else I’d ever been and the men and women here felt more like family than anyone I’d ever known. I wondered if that lying ass had come here to fuck all of that up for me.
Could he? I was sure that he could. Perched at the bar, Laurent looked somehow bigger than I remembered him. Bigger, and more intense.
Over the thin shades, his sapphire eyes peered hard at me. His thin black beard and mustache were neatly trimmed. The big collar stood tall on his gleaming white shirt, with the neck wide open.
Beanie: Chokehold – A reverse harem MC romance (Steel Riders Book 3) Page 1
