by Carmen Faye
On top of that, the man couldn’t fight. She would have done better against the men who called him out. A lot better. Derrick took a beating each time. A hard beating.
It never stopped his mouth, though.
Cyn loved Daphne, however. She was a gorgeous blond, with laughing green eyes and a body she loved to show off. When Cyn first moved into Lakeside, she had no friends and knew of nowhere to go in the area. She and Daphne became friends, and Daphne was the one who brought her here to the club.
Cyn had tried the local tavern a few times, but there was just nothing to get into with the regulars there.
El Cajon was close, but it was filled with biker bars of the monstrous testosterone variety that she found more disturbing than alluring. And sure, she understood her place in the grand scheme of things, as a woman hanging around the men she chose to, and she felt good about it too. However, there was a line between her place and being a second-class citizen — a line that she wasn’t comfortable crossing, and certainly wasn’t going to cross by force or fright. A guy could lose his nuts trying to force her across that line. She didn’t carry the blade on her left hip for show. She’d use it if backed to a wall. Her father had taught her how to use that blade against stronger, taller, and more powerful adversaries. She was a quick study, too.
So, yes, she tried a few of the clubs in El Cajon, but she knew they weren’t going to work out, and a man who would get her fires burning wouldn’t spend much time in them either.
She had met Daphne in the laundry mat on a Sunday morning, and they had hit it off instantly. Daphne was fun and into the life. She had said her ol’man was a patch holder for the Steel Riders and that Cyn should ride back a patch into the rural background to look for a place called Knight’s. She wouldn’t miss it. It was two stories tall and long like a ranch house, painted white with blue trim, and there was a large sign out by the road. Daphne told her there were always bikes outside as well. On Fridays and Saturdays the bikes were parked three or four deep, making it hell to leave early.
“It is a nice country-style bar, but really it’s the club house. They’ve got over two hundred active members right now, with probably another hundred in various inactive states,” Daphne explained.
“Like moved out of the area, getting on in the age area —”
“Being down in the prison area,” Daphne cut in with a singsong tune in her voice, giving Cyn a light smile.
“So, are they all outlaws then?” Cyn asked.
“Not all. No, but none of them are angels or white on the inside. Even Larry has been known to dabble in drug trading and fencing, and he’s a lawyer.”
“What does Derrick, your ol’man, do?”
“Mostly a mechanic, and he’s a good one. He’s been wrenching for more than twenty years, to hear him say it, though he’s only thirty-two. His dad owned a shop near downtown, and Derrick started there. Not sure he started when he was twelve, but Derrick’s certain of it. He makes good money wrenching, but he’s always scheming and plotting something.”
“Sounds like a busy man,” Cyn offered.
“He’d be so busy I wouldn’t get the chance to suck him off between coming in and going out, if he did one-tenth of the heist jobs he came up with. So far, since he got out of Chino, he’s done nothing but wrench and talk. Which I don’t mind so much. I really didn’t enjoy him being down in the pen for two years.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound all that fun to me,” Cyn said.
“It’s not. The guys were good to me, though. Two or three would come by to visit sometimes. The girls would call and keep me up on things. Occasionally, one of the guys would take me on a club run, which was always fun. Knight, the president — and yeah, that’s really his name — he always asked how I was doing financially, and if I had the basics covered, which I did, after he let me waitress at the club during the weekends.”
So, Cyn agreed to meet up with Derrick and Daphne on a Wednesday evening, go to Knight’s tavern and grill, have dinner, and be introduced to Knight and probably Larry, Ben, and James as well. She liked what she saw and how she felt instantly.
Knight Walker, the president, was brown-eyed and gray-maned. His hair was full and wire thick. He looked like old Spaniard rancher mixed with Irish bootlegger. His smile didn’t always reach his eyes, but when it did, it made him a very attractive rogue. He talked with her for more than an hour about all kinds of things. She kept up for the most part, able to share knowledge if not experience.
Ben Tailor was a tall but stocky man with a brutish look and sharp hazel eyes Cyn didn’t believe missed much. He might have been forty, but she guess him to be closer to thirty-five — the brutishness gave him an older appearance. He didn’t talk much and didn’t smile often. He liked her tits and her long legs, even spent some time with her ass when she wasn’t using it to sit on the bar stool, but she didn’t get the feeling he liked her. Most likely it was her vocabulary, she decided. She possessed a large vocabulary, and she used it with thoughtless ease in conversation. Just to test this theory, she told the gathered group a seriously raunchy joke, using words like cunt and twat with the same ease she used more descriptive words, and Ben lightened up several notches.
She supposed that particular joke, coming out of her mouth, was a shock for Larry “the Lawyer” Anderson. He lost a mouthful of beer and laughed so hard he had to leave the bar and go outside to cool down.
“Jesus, Larry, get a grip,” James Rath called after him with a laugh.
James Rath was dark. A tall, sweet dark: he had long dark hair that fell straight and even, dark brows, and dark — nearly black — irises. His eyes were just sunken enough under the heavy brow that in the right light, they were concealed in shadow completely in a very alluring way. Dark, weathered tan skin covered his face and powerful arms and chest. Dark body hair whispered on his forearms and his exposed chest, which was framed by his open leather vest. His exposed chest was chiseled muscle all the way down, drawing her eyes several times to his belt line. He was a powerful man, the club’s sergeant at arms, and a passionate man for sure, the way he held himself. Also a man deeply in love with, and completely devoted to, his wife, Sally.
Shit.
As soon as Sally bounced in, and took his arm, Cyn could see the connection he had with his wife. It was physical and spiritual. He gave her everything he had to offer and probably felt he was short changing her on top of it. So, Cyn quit with the eyes and stopped letting them fondle his belt line, and she paid more attention to her food and beer.
The really fucked up thing was that Sally turned out to be a genuinely good person, and despite Cyn’s raging jealously, Cyn liked her, and they became close friends in a short time.
Knight walked over to her from behind the bar and said, “You appear to be very interesting, with good depth. What is it that you do?”
“I’m an editor for several writers. Basically, I’m freelance, but I’ve been working with these five writers for so long, I haven’t sought out a new client in years. Mostly I work at home, but I have a small office paid up until the end of the year in Spring Valley.”
“What brought you out to Lakeside?” he asked.
“I’ve always visualized myself happy in a rural setting, far away from traffic and city activity; a little house, colorful trees outside, ducks and horses, that sort of thing. And when I saw this place for rent on a ride I was taking up to Julian, it looked perfect. At least a perfect place to try out the vision, to see if I really do enjoy the quiet, country life.”
“How goes the experiment?” Knight asked, looking very interested.
“Honestly? Better now,” she told him. “I wasn’t finding any social connection in the area. Now, it looks like I found a second country home.”
“Well, good. I look forward to seeing you more often. Welcome,” he told her, and she felt deeply welcome.
That was nearly two months ago, and she didn’t mind that most of the riders were already taken or not very interesting for one
reason or another.
She came into the club, sat at the far corner of the bar with Larry, ordered a beer, and revisited the thoughts about how she wouldn’t mind Larry a little more. She was reaching the point that she just wanted a lover for a few nights.
And then a road god walked in the door.
She had never seen this man before. His dark hair was long and thickly curled into a full mane that came down just past his wide, thick, powerful shoulders. His long legs had a graceful but powerful stride that moved him into the room with purpose and roguish energy. She could see the glow of his green eyes from where she sat, and they were the eyes of a man who experienced a lot of miles and loved every adventure he found himself in. They were eyes filled with stories, and ones that saw everything — not like Ben’s eyes, which darted around noticing everything going on, but more like an eagle’s eyes, as if he saw everything at once.
Those eyes turned in her direction and she swore he saw her soul, and she experienced enough of a moment with him then to know she wanted a repeat session, often, and for hours. Yes, please.
God, why isn’t Daphne here!
Daphne had the scoop on everyone, but she and Derrick were gone for another few days north to visit her mother.
Cyn could see this new man was obviously a patch holder, since it was currently on his back. The leather jacket and chaps weren’t new by a long shot, but they were well cared for. Several heads nodded in his direction and some eyes followed intently as he passed by, his strides bringing him closer to her and Larry. So, she ascertained, he was well known and had a measure of infamy with at least some of the Riders.
She was about to ask Larry who this road god was when Larry answered the question for her without asking.
Noticing the man’s approach, Larry said, “Hey Hank, pull up a stool. This here is Cyn, a recent addition to our sisterhood. Knight’s with Ben, James, and Halo. Going to be a few minutes before interruptions will be welcome. Hungry?”
“I could eat,” Hank agreed with a low enough voice to make her nipples violently hard.
She was suddenly very glad she wore her laced up leather vest today, and not a baby-doll like she normally did. If had he said, right then, “I’d like to do you. Are you alright with leaning against the bar while I fuck the hell out of your ass?”, she would have answered by getting into position — but she didn’t want him knowing that!
She wasn’t above checking the blue jean patch framed by his leather chaps for signs of sexual interest, however, and she found at least a workable amount of interest making itself known.
“You two riding together?” Hank asked Larry.
“Us?” Larry answered with a chuckle. “No. Thanks for the complement, though. I’m a bit afraid I might die, actually, so I’ve kept things on a friendly level. What made you ask? If I might be so bold?”
“Her bike’s snuggled up with yours out in the lot, obviously parked by a thirty-year-old woman who likes you, that’s all,” Hank explained, and ordered a beer.
To her wide-eyed, silent question, when he turned to look at her, he confirmed, “Lowrider, red, right?”
“Um, yeah, but…”
“Pink garter belt, left handle bar. Dead giveaway, since you’re the only female rider in here,” Hank told her. Then, leaning closer to her, he said with a conspiratorially low voice, “And your license plate says ‘CYN 84’.”
While she felt her blush rising, Larry said, “He does that to everyone, don’t let it get to you. It is so fucking obvious when he explains how he knows, but it’s impossible to figure out until then. Really pisses me off.”
“Yeah, but why would you look that hard at my bike or bother doing the math?” Cyn asked.
He paid for his beer with a pile of bills, ready to pay for the next round, and took a long drink. Then he offered, “I like Larry. Like him a lot. If some little thirty-year-old rider’s going to start putting the make on him, I want to know who she is, and as much about her as I can.”
“Bullshit,” Larry snapped. “You saw a sweet looking redhead sitting beside me through the window, found her bike, and created one of your mysterious introductions to impress her.”
Hank pointed a defiant finger at Larry, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Then he leaned over to her, and in that same low voice admitted, “Actually, that’s true, and I really hate it when he does it.”
“A lot of hate going on between you two,” she mused, and took a pull from her own bottle.
Hank nodded. “True, and a lot of good miles together, even through dark times.”
Larry lifted his bottle in salute, clinking with Hank’s, and then took a drink with him. “Some serious dark times. I still owe you.”
“Bah! Owe me. Owe me what? How can you be owed something for just showing up and being a brother? Makes no sense,” Hank said, and then spent a bit of time checking out her legs, “With those legs, why a Lowrider? Hell, you could ride anything.”
“And I chose to ride a Lowrider,” she told him. “Got something against them?”
“No, I ride one too, just curious,” he answered.
“And it was a good excuses to ogle my legs right out here in public,” she added.
He looked up at her. “You’ve been hanging out with Larry too long. You may be too contaminated for a reasonable cure.”
“Who said I wanted something reasonable?” she asked, keeping her face as steady as she was able.
CHAPTER THREE
Coming back into town after being gone for close to eight months felt good to Hank. Taking the road east of Lakeside and gliding out to the club through rural roads was a trip down a memory lane filled with some very good times and several dark miles. But spying this cute little redhead through the window, sitting with Larry, was turning out to be better than all of it.
Well, she wasn’t all that little, was she? Probably five-eight, or nine. Had a fine athletic build to her, with just the right amount of breast to catch a man’s eye, and make him think sweet thoughts.
She wasn’t really cute, either. There was steel in those blue eyes, and a no-nonsense shape to her nose and lips. The fine lines of her cheek bones were the type to take Cute outside and stomp a mud hole in her ass. No, this woman didn’t chase unicorns and rainbows. She would much prefer an evening with Batman, the dark knight, over a glass of champagne with James Bond, though she could probably hold her own with either one.
They talked and flirted with parries and slashes, each drawing enough blood to keep themselves interested while finding the other still had depths to be plumbed. He had to adjust his position on the barstool because his cock was getting more interested with each passing minute. Also, despite what she might have thought about the safety from exposure that her leather vest provided, from the flush of her breasts she was getting more than a little excited herself.
Then Knight had to stick his gray-maned head over the railing upstairs and call down for him. Hank almost told the elder to fuck off, he was busy, but that would have been a bad choice of action.
“You going to be around later?” he asked Cyn.
“I was actually going to head home. I have some work that needs to be finished. But here’s my card. Maybe you could call me sometime and we can get together,” she told him, offering him a business card which said she was a freelance editor.
“You work from home, then?” he asked.
“Not as glorious as it sounds, and I do have a small office I use down in Spring Valley,” she told him.
“How about I call you after this thing with Knight, and we get some dinner — after your work is done, of course,” he said.
“Talk to you soon, then.” She smiled and got off her bar stool. “I better get down the road so it isn’t a really late dinner.” Over her shoulder, she said, “See you soon, Larry.”
“Oh, so you did remember I existed. Very nice of you. Safe wind,” Larry smiled, giving her a lazy wave.
Hank was fairly sure that every man in the building watched
her leave, not just Larry, Knight, and himself. He didn’t mind. Didn’t mind at all. There was plenty of leg being moved in confident strides by her alluring ass for everyone to enjoy.
“Hank?” Larry said from close behind him. “I love you, man, but I’ve grown fond of that gal, and I would take it as a personal slight to see her abused in any fashion.”
“So would I Larry. So would I,” Hank agreed, and then headed for the stairs.
The stairs led to a second floor. It was actually more of a balcony which covered a little more than half the width of the building, giving the place an open feel. Tables and chair sets were up there, and the noise levels from downstairs were greatly subdued. In fact, when live bands were playing downstairs, you could still have a normal conversation at a table up here, if you chose to, without feeling like you had left the party. On the weekends, waitresses also worked this floor, so it really was a nice addition to the country bar and grill downstairs.
