Owned by the Biker: Desperados MC

by Ashley Hall

  It's not something meant to be mean or spiteful. That's just how the bikers are. It's how they say good luck and best of wishes.

  Gabe had been right; they're good people, but they aren't anything like what she's used to.

  Speaking of Gabe, he's standing up at the front of the bar next to the chaplain. Chico is standing at his side. They've both pulled out ill-fitting suits for the occasion.

  In no time at all, she finds herself at the altar. In a low drone, the clergyman begins his part. “Do you, Gabe, take this woman…”

  The rest of his words fade out into a buzz. Isabella can’t stop herself from staring at Gabe, who’s leaned forward slightly, hardly able to wait to avow that, yes, he will take her.

  His vows are short and sweet and everyone claps.

  Bethy wrote Isabella's vows. The young princess and soon-to-be mother stumbles over the words, promising to love and obey him. They make her skin crawl in all the best ways; they make her shudder with anticipation.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” says the clergyman, taking a single step backwards. “You may now kiss the bride.”

  And Gabe is upon her then, resting one hand on the small of Isabella's back and curling the other around her shoulders. His lips are firm, and the kiss is demanding, nothing like the sweet nothings they’ve shared in the past. This one is meant to be a promise.

  # # #

  The wedding party only cements Isabella's love for everyone in the Desperados. Oh, there's no end to the crude comments.

  “Look at those breasts. Hardly worth the time he spent on her.”

  “She’s a princess, isn’t she? I hear they’re supposed to be good bed partners. Real open, if you know what I mean. Real eager, too. My cousin had one of them once. Oh boy, let me tell you. Said he slipped right in without any slick at all.”

  “A pretty face like that, you can’t tell me she isn't going to drop Gabe when something better comes along.”

  “Can’t believe he’s waited this long for it. Old Gabe's really going soft. Why, I remember going out to the pub with him not that long ago and hearing all about how he ravished this pretty little thing from upstate.”

  On and on they go, but it's not the only thing. All of those comments are made in jest, and there are plenty of kind ones mixed in. They call Isabella pretty and lovely and the best catch around. Chico personally makes a toast to their marriage, wishing them many long years together.

  Isabella feels like she's on top of the world. And when the first dance comes on, it makes her heart flutter.

  She takes Gabe by the hand and leads him into the main section of the bar. For the first time in her life, she dances without restriction. For the first time in her life, she feels completely loved.

  Chapter Fifty

  Gabe and Isabella are still searching for a new apartment to rent. For their special night, they've managed to rent a hotel out on the nearby beach. As soon as the wedding party is over, the duo rush back to their hotel.

  She's pressed up against the wall before the door is even pushed shut all the way. Gabe keeps one hand on her waist and paws at Isabella with the other, fingers curling against her breasts even through the fabric of my wedding gown.

  There’s no denying that it feels good, and the spark of pleasure catches Isabella off guard. So do the teeth that dig into her lower lip and the tongue that slips into the cavern of Isabella's mouth. Gabe kisses Isabella hard and thorough, and his hands never quit roaming the expanse of her chest.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” he all but pants the words against Isabella's skin. “I’ve been waiting for this from the very first day I met you. Most people, you know, most people, they don’t bother with that, with me, with people like me. That's why the boys of the club are so supportive over this. I'm sorry they got sort of nasty out at the bar. They just… That's their way of showing support.”

  He continues, “Most of us don't get a happy ending like this.”

  Isabella laughs. “I never thought that I'd get a happy ending, either. I didn't think that this would ever happen to me. Gabe, I'm so happy. I've never been so happy!”

  “You are such a beautiful woman,” he tells Isabella, curling down just enough to slip one hand up and under the princess's skirt. The fabric bunches up on Isabella's waist, revealing the pair of sleek, silver panties that Bethy had given her to wear. They barely cover the swell of her ass, barely keep her wet pussy hidden from view.

  There’s a prominent bulge in the front of his black slacks. Isabella struggles for words. “Wait, Gabe. You said something, once. You said you wanted to do—this—in public. We could…we could…do this out beneath the palm trees.”

  “We could,” muses Gabe. His strong arms wrap around Isabella, scooping her up like he often does. Rather than simply spin the princess around, he presses her close against his chest. In Isabella's ear, he whispers, “But we’ve got a whole weekend just to ourselves. I’ve spent so much time thinking about you, about this and all the things that I want to do to that pretty little body of yours—the things that I’m going to do. You aren’t really going to make me wait longer, are you? We can go out to the beach tomorrow. Fuck, we can go out to the beach later tonight, if you want. I'll lay you down and spread you open and just say fuck to anyone that walks past.”

  A blush sits heavily upon Isabella's skin. Gabe deposits her onto the bed, with Isabella's light green skirt still rucked up on her hips. It takes Isabella a moment to realize that this isn't going as fast it usually does.

  Gabe takes great care in pulling her silver panties down. He takes great care in slipping Isabella out of her dress and then stepping out of his own suit. It doesn't take long before he's settled down on the bed, a tube of lubricant in one hand.

  “I know we've done this before,” says Isabella. “But it feels different now.”

  The ring is heavy on her hand. Isabella loves it, and she loves the man hovering over her, but she just can't find the words to say it. Gabe presses a line of kisses to the side of her throat, peppers them over her shoulders. “Does it?”

  “It feels different now that we're married. Is that silly?”

  “No, that's not silly. Nothing that you think is silly.”

  “You don't mean that. I know that I say a lot of silly things. I'm just unsure of a lot of stuff right now. There's a lot going on—”

  Gabe cuts her off with a vicious sort of kiss. His hands roam over Isabella's body, trying to touch every part of her, to grab her breasts and ribs. He wants to get close to her, as close as he could ever get.

  And then he's even closer—in her, slicked up with cold lubrication. Just like that, the tender touches are gone. Isabella hooks her legs around Gabe's hips and rocks up to meet every one of his powerful thrusts. It's a desperate, needy sort of thing—let him touch her, let him feel her. It's something that she's always wanted and never known how to voice.

  But right then, Isabella can voice it with no problems.

  Right then, she's in bed with her husband, and he's fucking her like it's going to be their last day on earth. The world pieces together with a startling sort of clarity. Heat devours her bones and turns her skin into molten gold.

  She moans and mewls under the assault, raising her voice when Gabe says, “Fuck, I love to hear you when you sound like this.”

  The sound of skin hitting skin fills the air. It's a startling symphony, the best sort of sound. Gabe pounds into her like a beast, and it might be the best thing that Isabella has ever felt.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  The motorcycle rips into the parking lot of the hospital. It's the only thing there that's still moving. Most of the cars are older. There are no actual spaces open. Thankfully, Gabe's bike doesn't need to get into a parking spot. He pulls it into one of the striped sections where there aren't any cars.

  An ambulance is going off. The sirens seem dull in comparison to the crashing of his own heart. Gabe almost knocks the bike down when he gets off it. His helmet�
�a recent addition to the outfit—hits the ground.

  Gabe's boots pound against the pavement. He races into the front lobby of the hospital. Herald General is a strange thing because it's too big compared to the other buildings around it. It's the only hospital in the tri county area, and the parking lot is always full. The waiting room is always packed.

  Right now, the front lobby seems crowded. The walls are white. The floor is white. It reeks of disinfectant, the sort of bitter clean that burns the back of Gabe's throat. A plump, older woman sits behind the counter. Her shirt is covered in kittens, and she has makeup plastered on her face that is three shades too dark.

  “Hello,” she says in a sickly sweet voice. “What can I do to help you young men?”

  Gabe puts both hands on the counter. “I'm looking for my wife, Isabella.”

  “Can I get a last name?”

  It's a horrible moment, to be so worked up that you can't even remember your last name. Gabe's mind has suddenly gone completely blank. He stares at the nurse like she's just asked him the answer to the world's greatest, most ridiculous question.

  The nurse gives him a smile. She has dark purple lipstick smeared over her front teeth. Her fingers are already click-clacking on the keyboard. “Just give me a second. What's she in here for? An accident?”

  “Fuck,” spits Gabe. “She's having a baby. She's having our baby!”

  This is the right hospital, isn't it? They were supposed to go to a different one, but their impromptu road trip changed things around.

  There's this dreadful moment of silence. It presses down on Gabe's shoulders. He leans onto the counter, even though he knows getting closer won't get him answers any quicker. “Please, just tell me where the maternity ward is!”

  “On the third floor,” answers the nurse. “Sign in there. Someone should be able to tell you what’s going on.”

  Gabe spits out a thank you, but he's already made it halfway across the room. The elevator takes too long and requires too much standing still. He races up three flights of stairs instead and bursts into the maternity ward as a huffing, puffing mess.

  Bethy greets him. She throws her arms around Gabe's neck and says, “I was worried you weren't going to make it!”

  “What did I miss? Is she doing okay?”

  “They say she's doing fine. Just—” Bethy is cut off by the nearby hospital door opening. It's a doctor. He's wearing a pair of green scrubs.

  The doctor asks, “Is there a Gabe in the room?”

  “That's me,” blurts Gabe, racing over to the man. “It's Isabella, right? Is she okay? Is my baby girl okay?”

  “Your baby girl?” The doctor laughs. “Sir, allow me to be the first to tell you that you're now the proud father of a strong, healthy baby boy.”

  “A boy,” echoes Gabe, suddenly feeling numb. The entire world crashes down around him. He looks over his shoulder. “It's a boy! It's a boy!”

  Bethy screeches. She jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “It's a boy! A boy! Go see him; go see both of them!”

  Gabe turns to the doctor. “Can I?”

  “Of course,” says the doctor. He escorts Gabe through a hall of closed doors. Finally, he pushes over one labeled twenty-seven.

  Inside, Isabella is stretched out on a bed. There's a white cotton sheet thrown over her body. Her face is still flushed, cheeks red. There's sweat matting her beautiful golden hair and a smile on her face that makes the entire world light up.

  And in her arms, there's a blue, swaddled baby boy. His cheeks are full. A few wisps of golden hair curl at the top of his head.

  Isabella says, “You made it. Look, sweetie, it's your father.”

  “Holy shit,” says Gabe. He walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge of it. Gabe brushes his fingers over Isabella's forehead, runs them down the side of her cheek. “We've got a baby boy.”

  “I know we only had girl names picked out. I waited to choose a name for certain until you got here.”

  “Thanks, sweet cheeks. Damn, you look so perfect right now.”

  Isabella laughs. “I look horrible, and I know it. Now, quit with your flattery! This little fellow needs a name.”

  Gabe asks, “Did you have something in mind?”

  “Yeah, actually. I was thinking William.”

  “William. That's pretty princely.”

  Isabella smiles. “My parents might have cut me off, but they never went through proper channels to disown me. Technically, this little fellow is a prince.”

  “Then William it is,” says Gabe agreeably. He picks up the baby, holding him against his chest. “Hey there, little guy. I'm your daddy. I'm your daddy, and you are so damn perfect.”

  # # #

  The thing about stories is just that. They aren't real. Fairytales have perfect endings because they have been crafted for the ears of the young, for the craving minds of the unexperienced. It's made to soothe the hearts of children and to give you something to look for.

  Isabella, she spent her entire life looking for her fairytale. In the end, she found something better than that. She found a biker boy and a family to fall back on.

  And maybe even more important than any of that, she found herself. But right then, in that moment, things are okay. Fairytale endings come with money and gold and dragons slain. But real life never truly ends. William is three years old when Isabella finally gets up the gumption to start up her own fashion design company.

  She takes all of the sketches that she's made over the years and gains an investor in the first week. Princess Isabella's line of clothing is a big hit; it's the ritzy look made on a cheap budget—thrift store prices and Paris-chic looks.

  She's so thrilled with herself, even though work is long. Today, for example, has Isabella working until almost eleven. She's the last one out of the building. Craig, the security guard, nods at her when she goes past. He says, “Have a good evening, ma'am.”

  “Thank you, Craig. You too. Enjoy the weekend.” Isabella smiles at him. She adjusts the strap on her art bag and heads for the car. Her heels clack against the pavement. There's no fear walking through here. There's nothing but steady comfort and a constant sort of peace. Bright lights leave the parking lot flooded.

  Isabella gets into the driver's side of her golden Prius and smiles. “It's been a good day.”

  Her feet hurt. She turns on the radio. It starts blaring some tune from a Disney show. It's a strange tune, but Isabella knows every word by heart. This is William's favorite station. The car smells like the McDonalds that they got earlier in the week, a reminder that she needs to clean it out soon.

  Three years, this sort of life is only starting to be normal. Three years of doing things for herself, which is only now becoming a comfort. There are no more dreams of the past, but there are memories.

  The note, for example.

  Isabella will never forget the note.

  # # #

  Alexandra has never gotten back in touch with Isabella. She's never met her grandson, never held him or spoken to him. It's sad, but only for the Queen. Times like this, on the long drive back to her apartment suite, Isabella almost pities her mother.

  Being such a cruel woman, it must have been difficult to never have any real friends, never have anyone to fall back on. Now that Isabella can think about the subject with a mostly clear head, she often finds herself wondering if the Queen had always been like that, or if it was a position of power that had driven her to such horrible lengths.

  Whatever the state, it was a fault that lay firmly on the shoulders of the older woman. She still sniffed in disdain whenever the news spoke about the Davarian royal family.

  And her father, well, he had never been a very outspoken man. It's no doubt why the couple have been able to mostly comfortably live together for all these years. They do what needs to be done, and he keeps his mouth shut, his gaze down.

  He's never spoken to his grandson either.

  At this point in her life, Isabella has come to terms w
ith the fact that they most likely never will.

  It takes almost an hour to pull into her own parking lot. This one is a little less brightly lit, but the security gate set up around it makes the comfort levels sky rocket. It's code activated, and the code changes every four months.

  Isabella pops in the numbers without even having to think. She parks her car and then, almost giddily, heads into the main lobby. While she still lives in an apartment building, this one is a much better step up from the one that she and Gabe used to share.

  The elevator works in this building. Someone is always sitting at the front lobby. Most importantly, the entire place doesn't look like it's about to come crumbling down at any given moment.