WED TO THE BIKER

by Zoey Parker

  I need to taste her myself.

  We can do it the easy way or the hard way.

  But no matter what Katia chooses, she’s going to be mine by the end of the night.

  My sub.

  My woman.

  My wife.

  Chapter One

  Katia

  I yawned as I slid into the executive leather chair behind my new Parnian desk. My MacBook Air was opened, my emails were loading, and the scent of vanilla-caramel cappuccino wafted enticingly through the air. Closing my eyes, I put my hand out on the keyboard and listened.

  My lips curled into a smile as I heard exactly what I’d been waiting for. Nothing. That perfect silence was the most beautiful thing I could ever imagine.

  It was moments like this that convinced me everything had been worth it. All of the pageants, the posturing, and the endless dieting and starving to become the ideal, skinny, smiling doll had been worth it.

  Because now I was alone. Now I was living in a perfect, tastefully furnished condo that I’d paid for in cash. I was twenty-seven and living the life that most people don’t ever get to experience, or at least not until their retirement.

  Being a former beauty queen definitely had its perks, all right. Sure, I still had to make sure never to eat more than a thousand calories per day, five hundred if I was doing something public within the next week. But overall, I was proud of my success. I’d basically come from nothing, and I’d worked my way up, beauty pageant after beauty pageant. I guess a lot of people think that once you win Miss Homegrown Junior Dallas, you’re off to a world of success. God, if they only knew the truth.

  After reaching for my cappuccino, I blew on the milky steam floating on top of the espresso. Until my assistant, Anya, had told me that it was sugar-free, I never would have guessed. Taking a small sip, I let the delicious caffeine flood over my tongue and seep into my cells.

  “What do we have here?” I drawled quietly as I looked at the screen and set the mug down on a little coaster I’d picked up in London. It was antique green glass, with little threads of gold running through the material.

  Of all my successes, I was the proudest of my home. I’d decorated the whole thing from top to bottom, and I’d picked out each and every piece myself. No stylist could claim this , I thought smugly as I looked around the room. Every inch was perfectly designed by Ms. Katia Reynolds .

  My MacBook pinged, alerting me that I had mail. I groaned when I saw the little red number in the corner of my screen. Fifty-one unread emails, and that was all in the past three hours!

  I began to skim through them. There wasn’t a lot to read, really. Mostly advertisements from my favorite stores—Sephora, Bloomingdales, Barney’s New York. Lots of sales. After a few moments, I started wondering whether or not I should go shopping later in the day. It had been ages since I’d bought anything nice or new for myself—about two weeks.

  After going through the ads, I frowned. There was an email with an attachment from an address I didn’t recognize. By itself, this wasn’t particularly unusual. After all, I gave out cards to people I met containing my email address, just in case they wanted to hire me or book me for a gig. It hadn’t happened in a while, since I’d taken a little break from working, but I was interested all the same.

  The email address didn’t have a name as it was one of those anonymous ones with all letters and numbers in front of the stamp. I rolled my eyes. A Gmail address, for a professional inquiry? How amateur.

  Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

  “Eek!” I jumped at the sound of my phone vibrating across the wooden desk. “God,” I mumbled as I reached for my iPhone. “What the hell is wrong with you, girl? Spending too much time inside?” I asked myself as I swiped my finger across the screen and held the shiny phone up to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  There was no answer. I frowned. Maybe someone had called me by mistake? Like a butt dial? I tried to rationalize, but there wasn’t any of the accompanying static that I normally heard when I got one of those calls.

  “Hello?” I tried again. “Who is this?”

  Still no answer. Biting my lip, I rolled my eyes and hung up the phone. Seconds later, the phone rang again.

  “Hello?” I asked. Again, there was no answer and no static.

  “Look,” I said sharply, “you’re gonna have to say something and introduce yourself, okay? Who is this?”

  Silence. I pulled the phone away from my ear, put it on speaker, and looked at the screen for the number. When I realized it said unknown , I sighed and slammed the phone down on the table.

  “This isn’t funny,” I muttered through my teeth. “I’m hanging up now.”

  As I reached for the red cancel icon, there was a sound coming from the receiver. It wasn’t static, though; it was heavy, paced. Like someone breathing. With a cry of disgust, I hung up and threw the phone across the room.

  God, what a weird morning , I thought as I took another sip of my delicious, sugar-free cappuccino. People are so desperate and weird.

  Thinking about the email again reminded me to turn back to my computer. When I did, I saw a few sentences. They read:

  Hey, Katia! Just wanted to pass this along, thought you might enjoy . My company is interested in hiring you as our model. This is the preliminary sketch.

  That’s funny , I thought as I scanned the three lines over and over again. There was no signature or company logo in the email. I didn’t remember meeting anyone recently who could have sent this, but it wasn’t totally outside the realm of normality. After all, I was a pretty big name. Not quite celebrity status outside of L.A., but still, pretty big.

  I licked my lips. Everyone had always told me never to open an attachment from an unknown source. I knew that was how people got hacked and how computer viruses spread. But this MacBook was brand new, so I hadn’t saved any personal photos or data yet. And I couldn’t help it. I was so curious. Especially since I could tell that it was a picture. Maybe it’s the product or brand logo ? I clicked on the photo and waited for it to load.

  When I saw it, my jaw dropped, my cheeks burned, and my eyes began to sting, and I had no control over my reactions. It was like someone had taken over my body and made me mute.

  I slammed the lid of my laptop down, trying to forget what I’d just seen. It had been a drawing all right, a poorly drawn image of me . I was reclining on my back, legs spread, with a seductive look on my face.

  The delicious coffee taste in my mouth turned to bile as I stared at my desk, suddenly horrified and panicked. Anxiety was flooding my limbs, and my heart was pounding.

  Shit. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

  With shaky legs, I got up and walked into the kitchen. I had no idea what my first action should be. Obviously, I had someone who was just a little too interested in Katia Reynolds. Sometimes I had to deal with harassment both in the streets and online, but this just felt too creepy. How could someone like that have gotten my email address?

  I knew, right then and there, that I’d have to make a list of who I’d given my contact information to. My heart was still pounding as I opened the double doors to my fridge and took out a single-serve bottle of sparkling wine. As my fingers fumbled with the cap, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’d been practicing yoga for years, and my yogini, Arielle, was always telling me that I had to learn how to relax.

  “This is probably nothing,” I said out to loud myself as I inhaled deeply. “This is just a messy situation, and you’re creeped out. But your condo is secure—no one is going to find a way in. Just take deep breaths and have some wine and everything will be back to normal by the time you open your eyes.”

  If only I could have known how bad things were going to get.

  Chapter Two

  Dante

  “Come to fuckin’ order!” Our sergeant at arms, Tristan, banged his fist against the broad wooden table emblazoned with our emblem. The logo was a skull with flames around his head, holding a scythe. He wa
s grinning. Whenever I saw the emblem, I couldn’t help but grin, too.

  Growing the Heaven’s Veil was, so far, the biggest accomplishment of my life to date. I’d grown up in different towns around California. L.A. was nothing like them. It was a fantasy world. When I started Heaven’s Veil with a couple of kids I knew from around town, it made my life pretty fuckin’ fantastic.

  Tristan, Troy, and I had been friends for years. And then they really stepped up to the plate. Tristan was the best sergeant that I could think of, and I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else behind me than Troy. He was hard as nails and had a sharp mind. I may have been the leader of the Heaven’s Veil MC, but Troy had been the brains of the club from the beginning.

  “Y’all!” I yelled, looking out at my men. “Shut the fuck up. We’re here for a meeting, not a damn social hour!”

  Troy nodded. He glanced around the room, growling under his breath like an animal. Finally, his gaze came to rest on me. “What’s up, boss?”

  I sighed. “Took you long enough,” I shot back. “We’ve got some issues, folks.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my packet of cigarettes. As I lit one, I looked at each and every one of my men. They were good guys. Sometimes they’d stray a little too far from the beaten path, but overall, I knew I could trust them with my life.

  “What’s going on?” Troy leaned forward as I tossed the pack of smokes to him. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. “Something bad?”

  I sighed. “I didn’t wanna be the one to bring this up. I was really hoping that I’d have a chance to turn things ‘round before I had to mention it, but yeah, shit ain’t great right now, guys. The decision to cut back on the drugs and gunrunning is really hurting us. Right now, we’ve only got about two thousand in the bank after paying our bills this month, and that don’t count towards anything that might come up.” I paused and ran a hand through my unruly dark hair. “We gotta think of something.”

  “What about getting back into guns?” Tristan leaned over the table, his muscular arms bulging. “That was really sweet. Tons of money for not much work.”

  I nodded. “I’ve thought about that. But the cops are still cracking down hard on all the clubs around here. Shit, the Green Demons lost their leader and sergeant last week. Both are going to the big pen for years, probably five to ten at this point. We can’t take that risk right now.”

  Tristan snorted. Another one of the guys, Marlo, leaned close. “Boss, what if we do it real careful, y’know? Make sure we don’t get caught.” He chuckled deviously, and some of the other guys started snickering along.

  “I can’t take that risk,” I said. “We lost our contact over at the LAPD. Officer Beatty’s gone now, and we won’t be able to pull someone close like we did with him for a long-ass time. We gotta start taking care of ourselves, and that means putting the Bones first.”

  Troy nodded. “What about close-in work?”

  “You mean pushing drugs to those college kids?”

  Troy shook his head. “No,” he said patiently. “I mean body-work. Guarding, maybe a little protection.” He raised his eyebrows. “We’re in L.A. after all. Aren’t there tons of rich people who need that shit?”

  I sighed. “I wasn’t exactly imagining doing this kind of work at my age.” I grunted. “But if you think it’s a good idea.”

  Troy stared at me. “Dante, man, you’re the boss. If you don’t think it’s a good idea, we won’t do it. That’s all you had to fuckin’ say, man. Trust me, I won’t fight you on this.”

  I mulled it over in my head. Living in L.A. or La La Land as I called it, had its perks. There were always tons of gorgeous babes, kids who wanted to get high, or immigrants looking to buy guns, but sometimes, I felt like I’d had enough of all of it. Sometimes, I thought about what it would feel like if I sold everything I owned and moved into some little cabin up near Oregon, or some shit like that.

  I banged my gavel on the table and looked out at all of my men. They were waiting for me to answer with solemn looks on their faces.

  “Does anyone else have any ideas?”

  I waited in silence for one of the men to speak up. The room was so quiet I could have heard crickets outside, but the only sounds reaching my ears were the sounds of Troy puffing on his cigarette and Tristan stretching in his chair, making his leather chaps creak against the wooden seat.

  “No?” I asked, looking around again. “Y’all think getting into body-work is a good idea?”

  They nodded slowly. One of the new men, Pauly, nodded. “Yeah.” He grunted. “I think it’s a real fuckin’ fine idea. I wish some hot actress would hire me,” Pauly added with a smirk. He closed his eyes and growled. “I’d fuck her so good she wouldn’t even notice if anyone was trying to rob her blind.”

  “We gotta do this right,” I said firmly, slamming my fist down on the wooden table. The Heaven’s Veil symbol stared up at me, emotionless. “We can’t fuck this up. This is the kind of thing that could ruin our reputation if we let it, guys. We can’t let that happen. Not now.”

  “So, it’s a go?” Troy looked at me.

  I nodded. “It’s a go,” I said. “Y’all better start advertising your services. We’ll get someone to make a website, and we’ll put up cards in all the talent agencies around town. Figure we can each turn a profit on this. We’ll find someone who needs a big lug around to watch his or her back. I wouldn’t even say no to some freelance guard work at this time.” I glanced around the room and stubbed my cigarette out in the skull-shaped ashtray in front of me. “If any of y’all fancy working in a bank, or some shit, I bet that can be arranged.”

  Troy grinned. “Actually, boss, I already got someone for you.”

  I waited as he slid a manila envelope across the table towards me.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  “Someone you’re really gonna like. Trust me on this one,” Troy said as he grinned again.

  Chapter Three

  Katia

  My fingers were shaking as I went back into my office and looked around for my phone. I was already feeling a little calmer, not to mention embarrassed about having thrown my new phone at the wall, but deep down, I was still freaking out. I couldn’t believe that some creep had gotten my email address like that! And that I’d actually been stupid enough to open the damn thing!

  I grunted as I got down on my hands and knees and began crawling around the room, glancing under pieces of furniture and feeling around for the puffy pink case of my iPhone. Strands of my long, meticulously-waved blonde hair fell in front of my eyes, and I sighed and shoved my hand between the back of the pink sofa and the shag carpeting.

  Finally, the tips of my fingers made contact with my phone. I let out a squeak of approval, then strained and lunged until I could wrap my fingers around the cursed piece of technology and bring it closer.

  I was panting by the time I was done. A sharp feeling of panic washed over me again as I dialed my personal assistant, Anya. Anya had been working for me for a little over two years at this point, and we were almost as close as family. Sure, she didn’t understand a lot of the things I asked her to do, but she was overall really adaptable. I’d been called high-maintenance in the past, actually quite a lot, but Anya had always done whatever I asked with a smile. She never talked back, and she never said anything insulting.

  Before Anya, I’d had a personal assistant named Jeanine. She’d been a friend of mine when I was still doing the pageant circuit, but Jeanine never made it in the same way I had. When I’d offered her the job, she’d kind of sniffed and turned her nose up in the air, so it wasn’t much of a surprise a few weeks later when she started calling me spoiled. I’d fired her the day I’d been out driving my Land Rover Discovery and had gotten a flat tire.

  “Jeanine!” I’d barked sharply into the receiver. “Call some tire place; I need a new tire!”

  “Katia, I don’t think anywhere is open right now,” Jeanine had replied in this pointed, nasty voice. “It’s alm
ost midnight.”

  “I don’t fucking care what time it is,” I snapped. “I want a fucking tire! Get me a fucking tire, or you’re fired!”

  She’d hung up on me. That was actually how I’d gotten the phone I had currently. I’d been so angry at Jeanine that I’d thrown my phone out of the window and watched with satisfaction as it disappeared into the ravine at the side of the highway.

  “Anya? Pick up!” I snapped at my phone. It was still ringing. It must have rung over ten times before it went to voicemail. Growling, I punched Anya’s number a second time and held the phone up to my ear.

  This time, she answered on the second ring. “Katia! Oh my God,” Anya gushed. “I am so sorry! I was in the bathroom! What’s—”

  “I don’t care,” I said sharply. “There’s been an emergency. Some asshole is stalking me!”