Priscilla, that stupid citizen, kept standing there with her hand out.
I grabbed her wrist and yanked her to the floor, throwing my body on top of hers.
There was no way I’d let a citizen get shot on my behalf.
Chapter Four
Priss
Thunder crashed on top of me with a solid woomph, knocking the air out of my lungs. Like most muscled guys, Thunder was heavier than he looked. His thick weight pinned me down.
People were screaming. Was that gunfire? No, it couldn’t be. Someone was shooting firecrackers off indoors. The blare was deafening, and I could smell the acrid smoke of explosives. There were flashes of light out of time with the strobe. I peeked at the entrance. Oh my God! The guy at the door was shooting a gun!
“Come on, Thunder. I’m going to shoot you and your girlfriend too!”
Girlfriend? I had to tell the shooter I wasn’t Thunder’s girlfriend.
The gunfire stopped, and I saw a clip fall from the shooter’s gun hand.
“Now!” Thunder yelled.
Relief bled through me once Thunder leapt up. I could breathe again. Thunder yanked me to my feet and pulled me through the Slot Machine. We headed away from the gunman, who was reloading. I trailed behind Thunder, my arm in his death grip.
Shots zinged past us as we reached the fire door. Once outside, Gerbil and one of the other bikers shouldered a Dumpster over, blocking the fire door. I could hear the shooter curse from inside the Slot Machine.
“Get on!” Thunder barked at me. He was pointing to his Harley. I hopped on, sidesaddle. There was no way I could straddle his bike in my skirt. He looked at me with utter contempt.
“Are you kidding me?” Thunder roared. He grabbed me off the bike. His thick fingers shot inside the top of my skirt. I hadn’t let a man reach inside my skirt in almost a year, but Thunder wasn’t asking permission. Was this animal going to rape me? Stupid thought, but that’s what ran through my mind. An armed man was in hot pursuit. Thunder wasn’t going to rape me, but my heart pounded as if he might. Was I excited by that thought? Whatever. Someone was shooting at us. I wasn’t responsible for my thoughts.
My eyes remained glued on the fire door while Thunder’s hands pressed an urgent hold inside skirt, pulling my waist to him. The top of the skirt dug into my back, at the narrow taper above my hips. Thunder’s powerful forearms surged. Adrenaline coursed through me. Thunder shredded my skirt with his strong hands. I gasped. My skirt, rent at the seams, fell in tatters to the ground. Panic set in as I realized Thunder might be setting me up as some naked distraction for the gunman. I felt like a slave girl about to go on the auction block.
The fire door was almost open, and the Dumpster lurched with each shove from the inside. Thunder lifted me into the air with ease, and he dropped me down on his bike, my stocking-clad legs straddling it. He hopped on in front of me, and the beast roared to life between my legs. “Hold on tight,” he said over his shoulder. The fire door sprang open.
I wrapped my arms around Thunder and squeezed as hard as I could, shutting my eyes, not wanting to witness my own death.
We roared off into the night, bullets whizzing past our heads.
Chapter Five
Thunder
Our hogs obliterated all other noise on the streets of AC. We ignored traffic lights and even one-way signs. I hadn’t seen any hogs out back, behind the Slot Machine, so Freddy Mac and his crew had to take some time to get mounted and get on our trail.
None of that would help us if they already blocked the bridges.
The Albany Avenue Bridge was the closest, and most obvious, so I led my crew to the turnpike bridge. This citizen chick had her arms wrapped around me in a death grip—there was no way she was falling off this bike unless I fell off. Dammit. How did I end up saddled with her? Why did I grab her hand? What kind of sucker was I?
I knew why I’d grabbed her hand. Freddy Mac had referred to her as my girlfriend. He might have taken her hostage, or perforated her, just to get at me. I didn’t owe this Priscilla anything, but I wasn’t going to have a dead citizen on my conscience. Priscilla had no idea of the danger she was in.
Gerbil, Shanks, and Killjoy rode with me, in tight formation. Sweets was nowhere to be seen. That wasn’t surprising. He’d disappeared before the shooting started. The next time I ran into Sweets, if he was still alive, then I’d know for sure he’d betrayed us.
The turnpike bridge had no sign of Freddy Mac’s crew in sight. Our luck was going good. No bullet holes in us, and what looked to be an open road between us and Palisades Ridge, our hometown.
My only bit of bad luck was this hot-bodied citizen clinging to me like I was the last flotation device on the Titanic.
I wondered where I should ditch her.
Chapter Six
Priss
For the rest of my life, the smell of leather, tar, and man would mean salvation for me. I buried my face into the back of Thunder’s leather vest. My thighs pressed against his hips, gripping him tightly. I could feel my body heave, as if I might vomit, but I kept it down. With a gunman in pursuit, stopping to throw up might mean death.
Death. I hadn’t thought of it at first, when the bullets started flying, and Thunder fell on top of me. The whole scene was so alien to me that it took some time to process. Now, on our long ride up Route 9, I had time to think. My body pounded, with adrenaline and blood rush. The hog between my legs rumbled with power.
It all kept playing over and over in my head: Thunder pulling me out of harm’s way; Thunder shielding me with his body; Thunder ripping my skirt off; Thunder carrying me away on his Harley.
Thunder saved my life.
No man had ever done so much for me—ever—and I barely knew him.
My arms wrapped around Thunder’s torso, I slid my fingers inside his vest. Thunder had hard abs, as tight as any dance partner’s I’d ever had. My fingers dug into his ridges. His leather vest, tight against my face, reeked of oil and road tar and leather and Thunder. As I sobbed in exultation at being alive, that mélange filled my nostrils. It was the scent of safety. It was the scent of Thunder.
I worried that squeezing Thunder so tightly with my legs might interfere with his riding. I’d never been on a motorcycle, so I didn’t know. I squeezed him anyway. Thunder didn’t feel fragile at all. He felt mighty. I snuggled as close to him as I could. I wanted to be right inside his aegis of mightiness, basking in his protection. My legs didn’t let up. I was his female carapace, the shell on the tortoise’s back. Part of him.
A giggle seized me as I remembered an after-party for the Rockettes Christmas show. There was a contest going on, and I’d won it. All I’d had to do was crack a walnut between my knees. I did it on the first try.
My knees clenched around Thunder. I didn’t think I’d crack him.
The wind whipped at my stocking-clad legs—the only portion of me not shielded by Thunder’s strong form—and I pressed my hips against Thunder’s butt. A lot of women might have felt self-conscious, having had their skirt torn off, but I wasn’t. Thirty-second costume changes in the wings of a theater tended to do away with self-consciousness about ones body. Heck, far more men had seen me naked than had slept with me, like fifty times as many. I still had my shirt, stockings, and shoes on. I’d danced in skimpier costumes on stage before.
On the highway, I didn’t have to cling as tight, but I did. However, I let my hands roam up and down the front of Thunder’s body, along his ribbed abs, and up to his tight pecs. Stripped of my skirt, I felt like pirate’s booty, and Thunder was my corsair, taking me to his hidden lair.
I pressed my cheek against his back, and drank in the scent of oil, tar, leather, and Thunder. I’d always think of that smell as the scent of safety.
Chapter Seven
Thunder
By the time we got to Palisades Ridge, our hometown, it was almost three in the morning. Our own strip club, Trouble, was closed for the night. Out behind it, back by about two hundred yards,
was the old motel that served as our headquarters. It didn’t look like much. Before they built the interstate, it had done a thriving business, but that was before Eisenhower was president. Yeah, it didn’t look like much but the club owned it free and clear. It wasn’t a motel anymore. It was base-ops for the Lords of Lucifer.
We dismounted.
“What the fuck was that?” Gerbil asked.
“Where is Sweets?” Shanks said.
I didn’t want to tell the crew what I thought—that Sweets had betrayed us. A member didn’t accuse another of betrayal without solid proof, and I still only had my suppositions and suspicions.
“We’ll talk about that later,” I said. “Killjoy, arm yourself and ride down to the road. Take a walkie-talkie. You have first watch. Everyone else should grab some iron, too. We don’t know if they’ll come for us.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Gerbil said. “What about her?”
Gerbil gestured to Priscilla, who clung to my side like a barnacle. Except barnacles are ugly, and she was friggin’ hot.
“She’ll sleep in my quarters.”
The amber floodlight lit the courtyard up pretty well, so I had no problem catching Gerbil’s eyes as they trailed down Priscilla’s body. For some unknown reason, that didn’t sit well with me.
“Hey,” Gerbil said, “she can sleep in my quarters.”
The Lords of Lucifer have a strict code regarding laying hands on another member—don’t fucking do it. If the member who’s been hit lodges a complaint, it has to go before the Council. It could be a big problem, and maybe get a member tossed out, with his ink burned off. It was a big deal.
I punched Gerbil in the chest, shoving him back.
“She’s off limits,” I growled. “She’s a bystander. A citizen, for crying out loud. You got me Gerbil? Off limits.”
“Geez, Thunder,” Gerbil said. “Just joking. Christ. Lighten up. A joker shooting at you really saps your sense of humor. Freddy Mac wasn’t even that good a shot.
My ire faded a bit, and I regretted hitting Gerbs. “LOL brutha,” I said, throwing him a fist bump. We tapped knucks, and Gerbil went off to grab his guns.
The barnacle clung to my arm with both hands. Usually a woman didn’t get this needy with me until after I’d banged her. Of course, I dropped them like hot potatoes at that point. But there was something different about Priscilla. It might have to do with how she clung to me during our ride, or it might be how she gazed at me with those bunny eyes. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew I needed to protect this citizen from harm.
“Come on,” I said, which was pointless. She clung so tightly to me, she was coming wherever I went. As I unlocked my door, her head pressed against my shoulder. “Time to get some shuteye,” I said. “Time for bed.”
Chapter Eight
Priss
As if covering me with his body when the bullets started flying wasn’t enough, when Thunder made Gerbil back down I became thoroughly convinced that I wanted to give myself to Thunder, completely.
This abandoned motel that served as the Lords of Lucifer’s headquarters was no Mount Airy Lodge, true enough, but then again, Thunder was no Daniel, either. Daniel seemed like an effete courtesan next to the primal force that was Thunder. No man had ever protected my life the way Thunder had, shielding me from bullets and whisking me to safety. No man had ever protected my virtue the way Thunder had, making Gerbil back down like that. I’d never even had men fight over me.
There was only one bed in Thunder’s room.
Thunder had just latched the door when I stretched up on my toes and kissed his lips. Tracing my fingers along his strong jaw, my other palm rode along his chest. “Thanks for saving me,” I whispered huskily, pressing my body against his. Thunder ran a hand through my hair, cupping the back of my head. I felt his fingers entangle with my tresses, and as he eased my head back, my mouth drew open, and…
He hauled back on my hair and threw me to the floor!
“Not now,” he growled. “Get some sleep.”
Crumpled on the soiled carpet, I peered up at Thunder. He looked like a mythic statue from down there. Without ceremony, he picked up a walkie-talkie from its desktop unit on the bureau, unlocked the door, and left the room. He locked me in.
What the heck?
I jumped with a start when the walkie-talkie desktop unit crackled with life. “All clear on the road,” Killjoy said.
“Roger,” Thunder replied. “Keep us posted. We’re ready for anything.”
Well, that was an overstatement. Clearly, Thunder wasn’t ready for me to kiss him.
But he didn’t say never. He said not now.
I smiled as I got up from the floor. To me, “not now” meant “later.”
So be it. To later, then!
I kicked off my shoes and padded into the bathroom. Not the cleanest of bathrooms, by far. Thunder clearly needed a woman in his life. Normally such a mess of a bathroom would have me running for the hills and seeking a tetanus shot, but for some reason I didn’t mind it.
There was only one toothbrush, obviously Thunder’s, and I used it. That was outside the norm for me, too, but it didn’t seem icky. It seemed a way to be closer to him.
Thunder had to come back into the room eventually, and when he did, I planned to be naked in his bed. I pulled off my clothes and folded them neatly, placing them on top of my shoes on the unit’s only chair. My head buzzed with the thrill of being naked in Thunder’s sanctum.
As was my nightly ritual, I dropped to the floor and stretched out my legs, open. Extending my toes, I stretched my calves. Leaning forward, I rolled my hips, pressing my bald privates on the dingy carpet. My breasts brushed along the harsh fibers—my nipples were super sensitive! One of the best things about resigning from dancing on Broadway was that I had a normal diet now, and my breasts had swelled back to normal. My hips had filled out too, although most women would still describe me as skinny.
Thunder didn’t seem to mind. During our ride, my hand had slipped down, and I brushed against his excitement. His excitement fed my own.
I spotted a balled-up shirt under the bed. Stretching forward, my flat tummy rested on the carpet, and my naked butt stared at the ceiling. I felt so deliciously decadent.
Umm, the shirt smelled like Thunder. I loved it. Wait! I wouldn’t be naked in his bed. I’d be wearing his shirt. I wanted Thunder to know at a glance that I was his, and what better way than to be wearing his shirt. Popping my knees up under me, I floated to my feet with a grace that I thought was elegant, but apparently Broadway producers found inadequate. Screw them.
I yanked the musty shirt over my head and drank in the pungent smell of Thunder—the scent of safety. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but laugh.
A Billy Joel concert tee! Really?
Like everything else about Thunder, I loved that too.
Chapter Nine
Thunder
Son of a bitch! Why did she have to kiss me? What was it about this skirt? This…Priscilla? The damn citizen was all up in my head. The way she clung to me while we were riding…the bitch made me so hard I could have burst. And those sweet little bunny eyes, looking all you’re-my-hero—how annoying. Never mind her smoking bod. Big distraction. I had to get Priscilla out of my thoughts. She was a distraction I couldn’t afford.
Freddy Mac might be on his way. I doubted he’d attack us at home, but then again, two months ago I never would have thought Sweets would betray us.
Crap! Sweets knew about the back way, over the mountain. I picked up the walkie-talkie. “Shanks, you copy?” I said.
“Here brutha.”
“Take a full complement of arms and head out over to Kettlehole Road. I don’t want Freddy Mac sneaking up on us.”
“How would he know the back way?” Shanks asked.
Sweets—that’s how. But I didn’t want to say it. “Just being cautious,” I said. “Any word from Sweets?” I threw in that last bit because I realized I shoul
d have asked that earlier. Maybe the fact that no one else asked it meant that the rest of the members had their suspicions too.
“Do you think they got Sweets?” Killjoy asked.
Yeah, I did. Either with a bullet or a bribe, they got Sweets.
“Too soon to tell,” I said. “We’ll have to worry about that later.”
“Bruthas,” Shanks broke in. “We got a car coming.”
I grabbed my Glock, which I’d taken out of the office safe, and looked out at the road. I could barely make out the headlights, beyond our strip club Trouble’s parking lot.
“What’s the make and model?” I asked. “Can you spot a plate?”
The radio silence was aggravating. I was wondering if Killjoy had heard me. I should have positioned Shanks out back sooner. We could be in a pinching maneuver already. Some leader I was.
“It’s a cop car, Thunder,” Killjoy said. “Atlantic City.”
What was an Atlantic City cop car doing up here?
“Let him pass,” I said. “Keep an eye out behind him. The cops might be in on it.”
The squad car stopped in Trouble’s parking lot. Its handheld flood bathed the premises in white light. Once he was sure there was no one around, except maybe inside the club, the cop drove the squad car my way.
I kept my hand on my Glock, but tucked it behind my back.
The squad car pulled into the lot. There was only one officer, but how was I to know there weren’t guys crouched down in the rear seat?
“You there!” the cop called out to me from his rolled down window. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“This isn’t your jurisdiction,” I shouted. “Are you alone?”
“No, it’s not. Yes, I am alone. I only want one thing.”
MOTORCYCLE CLUB: Rebel Riders (Billionaire MC Romance) (Biker With A Cause Book 1) Page 19
