One Wild Ride
A Rock Star Biker Bad Boy Romance
Lauren Hawkeye
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
ONE WILD RIDE (A ROCK STAR BIKER BAD BOY ROMANCE)
First edition. June 8, 2014.
Copyright © 2014 Lauren Hawkeye.
ISBN: 978-1928068143
Written by Lauren Hawkeye.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One | —Two Weeks Later
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Epilogue
Prologue
MERCEDES
I was going to scream.
I was sitting at the dining room table in my family’s house, the house that I grew up in. The massive slab of mahogany that sat on four legs was set with pale blue wax tapers that were softening in the heat. The ‘nice’ dishes that we reserved for company, the ones with the little pink and yellow flowers around the edges, ringed the wooden oval.
The ‘company’ wasn’t really company, though—at least, not in my eyes. Daring a look at my sister Rachel, who was squirming irritably across the table from me, I cringed inwardly.
She looked like how I felt. Trapped, suffocated by the pot roast and parental guilt that hung heavily in the air. Her blonde hair, a darker version of my own, was back in a tidy ponytail for the event, but even as I watched, pieces came loose from the elastic that bound it back, like they knew that this wasn’t their proper state of being.
My hair¸ on the other hand, was smoothed back perfectly. A stupid metaphor, maybe, but so very true.
Rachel could escape after dinner—had escaped. Once we were done with this delightful meal of dry beef, mashed potatoes, and limp green beans, she would take her son, my nephew Hunter, out the door. She could take off the prim skirt and blouse that I knew she wouldn’t be caught dead in most days, the ones she wore just to keep the peace while Hunter got some time with his grandparents.
Me? I was the good daughter. The one who had followed in the wake of her older sister’s need to break free from the confines of our conservative family, the one left to make it all right.
The only one who was left to fulfill parental expectations. The one for whom smooth hair, prim clothing and a lack of room to breathe were realities, not something to be suffered through once a month.
“So what’s new with you, Mercedes?” Rachel asked me with every pretense of calm, though I could see the tension vibrating throughout her body as she watched, sidelong, as our mom and dad asked Hunter questions quietly—always quietly—about school. “Anything exciting?”
I rolled my eyes; I couldn’t help it.
“Just finished my last final exam. I’ll be starting the search for a job next week.” Invisible chains wrapped around me as I spoke, holding me in place with the press of cool steel.
I’d been in school non-stop for my entire life. Was graduating summa cum laude from a respectable school, where I had spent four years with my head stuck in a book, rather than drinking and dating, like most of my contemporaries.
Contemporaries—see? Who the hell even used that word, besides me I mean?
And my parents expected me to buckle down, to find a job right away. And no working at a coffee shop or as a lifeguard or anything frivolous like that, not even for the summer—the sooner I embarked upon an adult job—though they hadn’t seen the need for a degree in engineering physics—the sooner I could find a good husband, could settle down. Close to home, of course—couldn’t let that umbilical cord snap.
And then I’d give them grandchildren. Legitimate ones. Of course, they loved Hunter to bits. But after Rachel’s wild days of underage drinking, of pot smoking, bad boy boyfriends and later on, teenage pregnancy, I was their only chance left to show the world that they’d done something right.
“Fun,” Rachel drawled, letting her natural sarcasm show through, then darting a quick glance at my parents, to see if they’d heard.
If they had, they didn’t comment. No-one ever wanted to make a fuss at these monthly dinners. It upset my mother, made my dad, who was strong as an ox, feel an “attack” coming on.
And Rachel? She hadn’t changed, not one little bit. She loved her son, tried to do what she thought was right for him... but the girl really didn’t see the problem with her angry meathead boyfriends pounding on their door at three in the morning, with getting fired from her job as a hair stylist for needing one too many ‘sick days’.
But my parents helped her out financially, wanting their grandson to have some kind of stability. So she played nice, once evening a month.
I had to play nice all the time. Sometimes, sitting across from my older but way more immature sister at this stupid fancy table, I felt itchy all over, like if I scratched hard enough I could shed this me that lay on the surface, the way Rachel could shed that blouse and skirt, revealing the tattoos, the scars from the cutting she’d once done, the attitude.
Most of the time, I didn’t mind my life. I wasn’t as wild as Rachel was—I was smart, and I liked school. Was excited to get started in my chosen field. Was even excited to find the one... someday.
But what I really wanted, more than anything, was one summer, this last summer before I was officially an adult...
One summer in which to do something crazy. Anything.
Hell, I didn’t even need a summer.
A month.
A week.
One freaking day.
One day to live life the way Rachel did, doing whatever felt good without giving a damn about the consequences.
It wasn’t going to happen, and I knew it. I couldn’t be responsible for of my father’s “attacks”, the ones where he’d clutch his heart and stumble around like he was dying, miraculously recovering after he got his way.
But it would be just my luck to be the one who set off a real “attack”. I just couldn’t.
“That’s so lame, Mer.” After another look down the table at our parents, and Rachel smirked across the table at me. “Going straight to work? Seriously? I thought for sure that even you would want to take a little break.”
Grinding my teeth together, I stabbed a green bean with my fork and ignored her as best I could.
“Seriously, though,” she continued with another quick glance at our parents. “Even my uptight little sister can’t be a virgin when she graduates college. It’s embarrassing.”
Oh, hell no. Stunned that she had pushed it that far, I gaped across the table at her, trying really, really hard not to slap that smug little expression off of her face.
I behaved the way I did because she’d taken enough of a break for both of us.
“I’m not a virgin,” I hissed back, wondering what part of her body I might hit if I launched my fork at her.
“You don’t have to lie to your big sister.” The kicker was, I knew that Rachel actually thought she was being helpful. That she was being encouraging.
“Some of us have a sense of responsibility.” I didn’t bother keeping my voice down this time. “That’s why I have interviews lined up for Monday. Not because I’m uptight!”
“You can cancel those interviews.” This was my father, who finally tore his attention away from Hunter and the miracle that was beef on a plate. “I meant to tell you this morning, but was distracted.” His eyes shifted to Rachel as he said the latter, and he rubbed his hand over his heart.
Rachel barely refrained from rolling her eyes, and while I did so myself quite often, it pissed me off to see my sister do it—my sister, who got money from our parents every month. I might even have said something, but my attention had been caught by what
my dad had said.
“What do you mean?” Shifting in my chair, I looked my dad in the eye. The satisfaction I saw there made my stomach do a slow roll. “I can’t cancel. I worked really hard to get those interviews. I had to get recommendations from my professors and everything.”
“Yes, and we’re proud of you for that.” Dad’s voice was placating, and pissed me right off. “But we’ve found a great job for you. I’ve already accepted on your behalf, so you won’t need those interviews.”
“I beg your pardon?” Icicles formed in my blood. “What job is this?”
“You would be the recep—I mean, the office manager, at Scranton Oil Tech.” Dad smiled, clearly quite pleased with himself. “Just think—Ted could keep an eye on you. And you’d be able to get to know Cade better. You start on Tuesday.”
There was a loud crash, one that I realized belatedly had been caused by me. I’d stood abruptly, planted my hands on the table. Knocked my chair over. I stayed like that, frozen, for what could have been an hour, but was probably only a minute.
When I spoke again, I didn’t even recognize my own voice. “You want me to answer phones at your friend’s company?” Ted Knox was one of my dad’s golfing buddies—our families had known each other for years. He was also a perverted ass who liked to accidentally brush up against my breasts whenever he could—a tendency he’d passed on to his son Cade, who was three years older than me—Rachel’s age—and who my parents would have me married to already, if they could.
“Now, Mercedes. They have engineers at Oil Tech.” My mom leaned forward, rubbed her hand on my dad’s back soothingly.
“But you don’t want me to be one.” I was the one who needed soothing, as my world fell out from under me.
I’d thought, really thought that by following the rules, but doing what parents expected, that I would have won in the end.
But they still, even after all these years, didn’t factor my wants or needs into their plans—their plans for my life. They wanted me to take this job, one for which I was ridiculously overqualified and which didn’t appeal to me in the slightest, so I could cozy up to Cade Knox. They’d have us married off and have me knocked up within a year.
I looked at Rachel. Even my black sheep of a sister looked shocked. But as she fidgeted I caught a glimpse of one of her tattoos, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of her shirt.
“No.” I almost yelled, before I even realized that I was speaking.
I’d never wanted it before. Or at least, I’d never admitted that I’d wanted it.
But in that moment, I wanted what Rachel had. Wanted the freedom, even though it warred heavily with parental guilt.
“No, what, Mercedes?” My mom looked like a bird poised for flight as she regarded me curiously. Her expression was still smooth, empty of concern.
It would never occur to her that I wouldn’t do what I was told. I always had.
Mindful of Hunter, who was watching the scene with wide eyes, I sucked in a deep breath.
“No, I will not be working at Scranton Oil Tech.” My dad opened his mouth; I held up my hand in warning. “Don’t tell me that you’ve given your word. That’s your problem, because you shouldn’t have given it.”
“You’re upsetting your mother.” Dad glared at me, rubbing his hand over his chest absently. “I don’t feel so well.”
“You feel just fine, Dad.” I was on a roll now, grabbing the pins that held my hair in its smooth, neat braid, dropping them one by one to ping on the table. “You’re healthy as a horse. Don’t use that to get me to obey. Because I’m not going to. In fact, I’m leaving.”
My mom and dad both drew in horrified breaths; even Rachel let out a squeak. I transferred my stare to her, took in the panic on her face.
That’s right, big sis. I’m not going to be your buffer anymore.
“Deedee Mer mad?” Bewildered, Hunter looked from me to his mom, then back to me. He was what finally settled my mind.
If I was gone, Rachel was going to have a lot more structure in her life, real fast. And while it would be maddening for her, it could only be good for Hunter.
“No, baby. Auntie Mer is happy.” Leaning across the table, I planted a smacking kiss on his lips. “I’ll see you soon. Real soon.”
“If you walk out that door, you won’t be living here again.” My dad’s words were thunderous, and a bolt of panic almost split me in two when he rubbed at his chest again.
Did I really want to do this?
If I left, I could take some time to have one adventure, just one, before I got sucked back in. And I knew I’d come back, knew they’d take me back in.
Our relationship was dysfunctional, but it was how we were. They’d forgiven Rachel after far greater sins.
And now that I had a grip, however tenuous, on that simple taste of freedom, I wanted to take the risk. I’d always been responsible, had a savings account stuffed with every paycheque I’d earned since I was fourteen.
One wild ride. That’s all I needed.
“I don’t believe that.” I finally said calmly, stepping away from the table. Just that small movement was like I’d put down the mountain that I’d been carrying for all these years.
I was going to do it. “I’ll email or call every couple of days to let you know I’m okay.” I owed them that.
“Where are you going?” Rachel cried out as I turned and strode for the door. I knew she could see her own freedom galloping away as quickly as mine was rushing toward me.
Hand on the doorknob, I turned and grinned, feeling giddy.
“I have no idea,” I started, lips curving before I stared her down. “And for the record, Rach?”
“I’m not a virgin.”
Chapter One
—Two Weeks Later
LEVI
One of my best friends had his hand on another dude’s butt.
Twirling my sticks in between my fingers, I rocked back on my heels, trying not to watch as Dorian Marshall, our lead singer and one of my oldest mates, wrapped his arms around his new girlfriend Adele, while Adele’s other boyfriend Malachi embraced her from behind. Mal was kissing the nape of the redhead’s neck while Dorian claimed her mouth from the front. And...
Yep. Dorian’s hand was still on Mal’s butt.
At the moment, I didn’t care whose ass he was groping. He needed to get his head in the game. We were about to start our biggest gig ever, and he needed to focus on that, not on... whatever the hell it was he was doing.
Pursing my lips, I chucked one of my sticks at Dorian’s head. He barely flinched, and as it rebounded off of his thick skull he gave me the finger.
Maybe all that spiky hair of his had padded the blow.
“Dude. We’re on. Like, now.” Rolling my eyes, I hauled ass to retrieve my stick, then jogged to the wings of the stage... though “stage” was a loose term. Yeah, it was our biggest gig ever, in terms of the crowd... but the stage itself was a converted trailer. Lot a lot of room to move.
Not a lot of room to escape my blissfully happy mate and equally blissed out... triad?
I didn’t give a flying fuck whether Dorian was into men, or women, or both. It was the fact that he’d embarked on a relationship with one of each... together... that I was having trouble wrapping my head around.
I mean, good for them, if they were happy. But I knew Dorian, knew some of the shit in his past, and didn’t want to see him get hurt any further. And the fact was, our world was set up to run two by two. So while I wished them the best, I just didn’t see it working out.
Plus their little love-fests were seriously cock blocking the rest of us. The guys of Three Little Words—Dorian, Pax, Wyatt and myself—had been playing together since we were sixteen, a bunch of little idiots smoking pot behind our high school. We’d played together, partied together, even watched each other fuck, on occasion.
But with Dorian making schmoopy eyes at his new girlfriend and her other boyfriend, the girls that the rest of us brought backstage wer
e getting the wrong ideas. They were more inclined to comment on how sweet the new couple... er, trio... was, rather than diving into hot sex.
Okay. So I was a little pissed at Dorian for changing the dynamic of the group. Really, I just needed to get laid. Or go for a long ride on my Harley, feel the freedom of the wind on my face.
Deep down, I knew that wasn’t the extent of it, but I wasn’t ready to admit the rest.
As I settled myself behind my drums, I looked out over the massive crowd that was gathered in front of the stage... spilling around to the side of it. Thousands of people, some clad in torn denim and black leather, some in varying states of nudity, all of them with the chrome and wheels kind of transportation nearby.
The Ride or Die biker rally was the single biggest gig that Three Little Words had ever played. We’d only gotten in because I was really into bikes, and while I wasn’t an official member of any motorcycle club, I had friends in many.
“Where the fuck is Dorian?” Pax, our bass player, ran a hand through his short brown hair and glared around the stage. The crowd below us wasn’t paying much attention to us yet—they wouldn’t until the show started. But the show was scheduled to start now, seven o’clock, and though we liked to think we were all bad asses, we tried to be professional.
“He’s still sucking face with his... whatever they are.” Wyatt, who played keyboards and whatever other random shit we decided that we needed in our songs, made a face. “They’d better not be making goo-goo eyes backstage after the show, man. I want to bang a biker chick.”
I grinned in return, twirling my sticks again, throwing them in the air, then catching them. “Part of me thinks it would be really funny to let a real biker chick hear you say that. But ‘cause you’re my bro, I’ll tell you to keep your mouth shut while you’re trying to get laid. These women are strong. They’ll eat you alive.”
“Fuck off, Levi,” Wyatt shot back mildly, seating himself behind his keyboard. Casting an agitated glance towards the side of the stage, he opened his mouth, presumably to say something else about our MIA lead singer.
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