OUTLAW: Hell’s Seven MC Biker Romance

by Jolie Day

  “You are ridiculous,” Regina laughed. “Why was my mother ever friends with you?”

  “Because I’m a lot of fun,” Pauline giggled. “Now, seriously, tell me who put that smile on your face.”

  “If you must know,” Regina said, gaining all of Pauline’s attention; “it was me. I put this smile on my face, thank you very much.”

  “Oh that is such a spinster thing to say, Regina!” Pauline scoffed.

  “I’m too young to be a spinster.”

  “You’re getting up there.” Regina flipped her off and Pauline cackled. “But, seriously, she said, “are you really not going to tell me who it is?”

  “No,” Regina said, “because it’s nobody.”

  Pauline narrowed her eyes on Regina’s face and leaned forward. “Oh, I know,” she said. “You slept with that hot biker that’s been staying upstairs, didn’t you?” Regina didn’t respond. “Oh, Regina! You promised him to me!”

  “Well, first of all, I don’t have the authority to promise him to anybody—I’m not his mother—and, secondly, you’re way off.”

  “Oh please!” Pauline snorted, picking up her glass. “You always sleep with the drifters.”

  “No I do not!” Regina huffed in return, giving her an affronted look.

  “Oh, don’t look so scandalized!” Pauline laughed. “You and I both know that you’ve always secretly preferred the drifters, because it’s always just sex and no commitment. To be honest, I prefer drifters to my husband, too.”

  “Wow, what a shock,” Regina deadpanned. “By the way, you were never going to get this drifter because he’s the kind that actually cares that you’re married. Sorry.”

  “What a bummer,” Pauline said, taking a sip of her drink. “Well, then I guess he’s all yours. But I’ve got the next one.”

  “Noted,” Regina said. “But I’m not sleeping with Max Stormwell. I’ve barely even seen him these last couple of days. He’s like a ghost.” The lies were getting deeper and more complicated. Regina hoped she’d be able to remember them the next time Pauline asked.

  “Whatever you say, baby,” Pauline sighed, draining her glass. “Can I get another one of these?”

  “Coming right up.”

  She poured Pauline another martini from the tumbler and looked up just in time to see Max approaching, a question in his eyes. She prayed that he was there to speak to Pauline—perhaps ask her to dance—and not to prove the woman right as her eyes seemed to twinkle watching him walk towards them.

  Max leaned over the bar, putting his face right next to her ear so that she could hear him over the voices and music that surrounded them. She expected him to ask her to meet him in his room later, for another round. Or for him to say something equally dirty and make that wet spot reappear in her panties.

  Instead, he completely surprised her with the question he whispered into her ear.

  “What do you know about a man named Jimmy?”

  *****

  Max

  “Jimmy?” Regina asked, backing away to look him in the eye. Her gaze flickered to the left, then back to Max’s. “What do you want with him?”

  “He might have information,” Max informed her, keeping his voice low enough so that he was sure only she could hear, “about the Hell’s Sevens. He might know where Caesar is. Where is he?”

  Regina furrowed her brow at him, then sighed, motioning to the left. “He’s over there,” she said. “But don’t hurt him. He’s one of my best patrons. He was a friend of my father’s.” Max started to pull away, but Regina grabbed his arm, keeping him there. “He’s a good man, Max,” she insisted.

  “I won’t hurt him,” Max promised. “I just want to talk.”

  Regina nodded and released him, allowing him to travel down the bar and sit down next to the middle-aged man with the potbelly. Jimmy turned to him and gave him a sloppy smile, raising his drink. “How’s it going?” he asked, with a slight hiccup.

  “Pretty good,” Max replied. “Can’t complain.” Jimmy nodded and made a sound that was kind of like an affirmation, but Max couldn’t really decipher it. So he just nodded in return.

  They sat there for a long moment, just sipping their respective drinks and listening to the sounds of the bar around them. Max glanced over from time to time, peeking at the older man’s face. He had a lazy smile that spread his lips wide and his eyes were a bit glossy. Every now and then, he reached for the bowl of peanuts about a foot away, plucked a single one and popped it into his mouth. Then he took a nice, long sip of his whiskey and let out a soft belch.

  Max watched him in awe. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought that this Jimmy character was some kind of robot, repeating the same motions again and again, every other minute. But then Regina showed up and Jimmy called her some variation of “sweetie” or “honey” or “sweet thing” and she huffed and rolled her eyes, refilling his drink, before glancing to Max and obviously trying to hide her grin as she walked away.

  Max found himself watching her leave, once, and received a pat on the shoulder from the man on the stool next to him. “She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” he said, his voice a veritable growl. “Just like her mother.”

  “Her mother?” Max asked, turning to look at the man. Small talk would be a good way to extract information, but he was also incredibly interested in learning more about Regina’s family. He already knew all about her father, but her mother was another mystery he itched to solve. “You knew her?”

  “Oh, yes,” Jimmy said, nodding too enthusiastically. “Biblically, once.” He nudged Max and guffawed. Then his face turned sober. “But Pam wasn’t as fond of me as I was of her. She preferred Daniel Carlisle.” He huffed and took another sip of his whiskey. “And he got her. Married her and had their baby girl all in the same year. But I’m not bitter.”

  “No?” Max chuckled.

  “Nah.” Jimmy shook his head. “Daniel was still a good friend of mine, until his last breath. My first drink has always been on the house and Pam was always the one that delivered it.” He swallowed thickly. “They were good people.” Another sip of whiskey. “And, lord help them, they welcomed me into their home multiple times, despite…” he trailed off, reaching for another peanut.

  Max waited, patiently, as he popped it into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and chased it down with another long sip of whiskey. When he didn’t finish his thought, Max nudged him. “Despite what?” he asked.

  “Despite my involvement,” Jimmy slurred, “in a little gang known as the Hell’s Sevens. They used to run shit in this town.” He snorted. “Until their front man, Caesar Alvarez, got sick and handed it off to his eldest son, CJ.”

  Max’s eyes widened. “CJ?” He’d known about CJ, the eldest of ten Alvarez children. Caesar Junior was a punk 15 year old last time Max had seen him. He was reckless and meaner than his father in a lot of ways, but he never seemed to be the kind of person that could run a biker gang all by himself. He’d still been following his mother around and Max had scoffed at his attempts to seem like a big man.

  Perhaps things had changed.

  “The kid doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Jimmy grumbled.

  Perhaps not.

  “What do you mean by that?” Max asked, signaling Regina for another round when he noticed that Jimmy was running a little low again.

  “Well, the boy’s an ass,” Jimmy said. “He cut ties with as much of the older members as he could get away with. Said he wasn’t running a nursing home. Ha!” He scoffed and drained his glass. “So I paid my dues and I got the hell out of there. I wasn’t about to get spoken down to by some tiny punk and his kindergarten cronies.” He shook his head. “But a few of my buddies couldn’t pay their way out like I could, ya know? So they stayed and that little shit got them all killed on some bad information. Wiped out the majority of his father’s original gang members and what does Caesar Sr. do? He congratulates his son on a job well done. He doesn’t even care that most of these guys had families of their
own; kids, wives, grandchildren even. He just built that boy’s ego and helped him plan more raids, putting his own men’s lives in danger.” Jimmy’s deep frown turned up as Regina placed their drinks in front of them. “Thanks, love.”

  “You’re welcome, Jim,” she replied, then turned her attention to Max. “You’re paying for this one.”

  “Understood,” he said, grinning. He raised his whiskey sour at her and she rolled her eyes, sauntering away. He could swear he saw a blush on her face, though. “So,” he said, turning back to Jimmy. “Do you happen to know where I can find this CJ Alvarez?”

  “He has a house over on Sycamore, last I heard. He’s got a few brats of his own by now, and two girls to raise them.” He huffed and shook his head. “Animal. I don’t think he’s in town right now, though.”

  “Why do you say that?” Max asked.

  “One of the old recruits, Cobra, skipped town a few weeks back and they’re out looking for him. Gonna bring him back dead or alive.”

  Max frowned, but he couldn’t help the relief that swept through him. If CJ’s cronies were already out looking for Tamblyn, that meant they wouldn’t bother with his ex-wife and step-kids. They were safe.

  “What about Caesar? Where’s he?”

  “Hell if I know,” Jimmy huffed. “After he got sick, the man all but disappeared. He rarely shows up in town, worried about enemies trying to take him out.” Jimmy’s brows furrowed. “Hey, you’re not like that, are ya?”

  “Would you really care if I was?” Max asked, taking a sip of his drink.

  “Nah, I guess not,” Jimmy conceded. “Just be careful. Caesar’s weak, but he’s got plenty of people willing to protect him. Including his own son. CJ’s an asshole, but he still knows how to use a gun, you know what I mean?”

  Max nodded. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said, taking another sip. “Now, I don’t suppose you’d know the names of any other current members of the Hell’s Sevens?”

  Chapter Eight

  Regina

  The very last customer trickled out at a quarter past two in the morning and Regina took the chance to close up early, locking the doors and reaching for the broom. Brandy, still on the clock, helped her wipe down the bar and tables and picked up the chairs as Regina swept underneath them. There were still a few pieces of glass scattered by the pool table and she got it right into the dustpan, sighing as her lower back and feet began to ache the longer she stayed standing.

  “You feeling okay, Regina?” Brandy asked as she cleaned the used glasses in the sink and placed them on the drying rack.

  “Hmm?” Regina sighed, turning back to her. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she assured the younger woman. “Just tired. This day feels like it stretches on forever and I just…I wanna go to bed, you know?”

  “I hear ya,” Brandy agreed. “Tonight has been…yeah.” She chuckled and looked around. “Well, I think we’ve got everything pretty much handled, don’t you? Floor is clean, the chairs are up, the dishes are washed; I think we can call it a night.”

  “I agree,” Regina said. “Go on home, sweetie. I’m just gonna take the laundry upstairs to the linen closet.”

  “Okay,” Brandy said, grabbing her bag from under the bar. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Reg.”

  “Bye.” Regina gave her a small wave as Brandy disappeared out the back door. She made her way into the laundry room, grabbing a basket and placing in the freshly folded bedsheets and pillowcases, before holding it against her hip and carrying it upstairs to the second floor.

  It didn’t usually take too long to stock the closet, but Regina found herself lingering, her gaze traveling to the door to the right, where she imagined Max lay, sprawled out, on his bed. He was probably asleep already, she thought. He’d gone upstairs hours ago, after his talk with Jimmy, leaving too much money to cover his bill and shooting Regina a soft smile as he headed toward the stairs. She’d barely had enough time to shoot one back before he was disappearing and she breathed a deep sigh, leaning against the bar with a forlorn sigh and attempting to ignore the knowing smile Pauline sent her way.

  Now, she stood there, staring at his door with that same forlorn expression on her face, butterflies in her stomach, and a lump in her throat. She wanted so much to walk the few steps forward and knock on the door. Maybe he was still awake. Maybe she could entice him to spend one more night together. Maybe she could pretend that it was just sex.

  The doorknob turned and Regina jumped, turning away to close the door to the linen closet and pick up the now empty basket, placing it against her stomach as she turned toward the stairs. The door opened and a sleep-rumpled Max Stormwell stepped out, leaning against the door, his gaze resting on her form. Regina paused, pretending that she didn’t even notice him, and gave him a soft smile, standing at the top of the stairs.

  “Hey,” she greeted. “Sorry, was I making too much noise? I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep.”

  “You didn’t,” Max assured her. “I wasn’t sleeping.” His chest was bare and his bottom half was encased only in a pair of dark blue boxers. Regina felt all the air leave her lungs and she swallowed thickly, feeling her face start to flush in response.

  “Is that so?” she asked, taking a small step towards him.

  “Yeah,” Max confirmed. “I couldn’t sleep, actually.” He didn’t budge but Regina could swear he was getting closer.

  “Oh no?” she asked, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Why is that?”

  “Beats me,” Max replied, flirtingly. “Maybe it’s too cold out tonight.”

  “Maybe I should turn up the furnace,” Regina replied, realizing, as she spoke, that she was the one taking steps towards him.

  “Maybe my bed is just too big,” Max suggested.

  “Maybe I can find you something that will make it seem smaller,” Regina said.

  “Maybe I just don’t like being alone.”

  “Maybe I can remedy that.” Regina dropped the basket, allowing it to fall to the side as she stepped forward, into Max’s arms and accepted the hot, earth-shattering kiss he placed against her lips. She allowed him to practically pick her up, spinning her so that she was now inside the room. He pushed her towards his bed, lowering her onto the soft mattress, his lips never leaving hers. She allowed him to climb up over her, straddling her thighs as his hands traveled over her entire body, leaving heat in their wake.

  It was better than she had imagined.

  *****

  Max

  He awoke in almost the same position as the previous morning; sprawled out on the covers, his bottom half covered by a thin white sheet, his top half bare. The only difference was the body that was still pressed against his side, the pile of dark hair tickling his chin, the small hand that curled against his chest, the leg that was slung over his thigh.

  Regina’s bare chest moved against him as she breathed slow and easy in her slumber, her lips upturned in a soft, sleepy smile. Max’s arm was wrapped around her waist, his hand on her hip, his thumb absently rubbing the soft skin there as he slowly regained consciousness. He grinned down at the woman resting against him, leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead and closed his eyes again with a sigh.

  “What time is it?” Regina’s voice was soft and gravelly in the morning and Max couldn’t help but grin as she tried to clear the scratch out of her throat. He turned his head, reaching for the phone on his end table, bringing it to his eyes and squinting into the bright light. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

  “About half past ten,” he informed her, turning back to lay on his side, shifting their bodies so that they were now facing each other, their heads sharing the same pillow, their noses brushing and legs intertwined. “Why? You have somewhere to be?” He tried not to hope so much that she would say no, that she would stay in bed with him for the rest of the day, pub be damned.

  “I have to work,” she groaned.

  “Bar doesn’t open up until four,” he pointed out.

  “Trash has t
o go out by eleven,” she retorted.

  “Just leave it,” he grumbled, pulling her closer to his body. “You can take care of it later.”

  “No,” Regina moaned. “There’s too much of it. It smells. It’s gonna make my bar smell.”

  Max growled and tightened his arms around her body. Regina laughed and pressed a kiss to his lips.

  “It’ll take me a minute,” she said, starting to untangle herself from his embrace. Max only tightened his arms around her, keeping her still. “Max,” she laughed. “I’ll be right back, I swear.”

  “No,” he said. “Let me do it. You rest.”

  Regina looked like she wanted to argue but he gave her a look that said not to even try it and slipped out of the bed, stretching and kicking the sheets off as he reached for his boxers and jeans, slipping into them and tugging on his shirt. He could feel Regina’s eyes trailing him as he slipped on his boots and headed out the door, running his hand through his hair. He heard her sigh just before he closed the door behind and couldn’t suppress a tiny grin.

  The trash bin was under the sink behind the bar and he quickly got it tied and hefted it over his back, before propping the alley door open and tossing it in a nearby dumpster, just as the garbage truck pulled up. He waved as the trash collector hopped off and headed toward him.

  Max was about to go inside when he noticed something on the younger man’s arm and he paused, blinking down at what was most certainly a Hell’s Seven tattoo (he should know; he had one as well, though his was hidden by his shirt sleeve). He glanced up at the man, who had tan skin and dark scruff on his chin. He looked familiar, but Max couldn’t really place him.

  “Nice tattoo,” he said.

  The man glanced at him, then down at his arm as if he’d forgotten that the body art was actually there. He grinned. “Thanks, man,” he said, flexing slightly. “Just got it about a month ago.”

  “Is that so?” Max asked, chuckling slightly. “Does it have any kind of significance?”