by Lexy Timms
Alpha Biker
Alpha Bad Boy MC Trilogy
Book 1
By Lexy Timms
Copyright 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2015 by Lexy Timms
Description
Loyalties will be tested and lives will be lost.
Jace is a brother, now turned president, of the Cerberus Legends Motorcycle club. It wasn't by choice. The presidency came at the cost of his best friend's, Fork's, life. Fork was shot by a rival motorcycle gang, the Chiron Knights. Jace is forced to finish the job. It tears holes inside of him bigger than any bullet could do.
He finds comfort in the arms (and legs) of Classic, a bar dancer at the Iron Hog. Classic belongs to one of the Chiron Knight brothers and Jace must immediately choose bros before hoes.
When Classic is critically injured while riding her motorbike, it's clear the Chiron Knights tried to take her out of the picture. Disgusted by their ruthless antics, Jace declares war against the Knights.
Loyalties are tested and lives will be lost, all in the name of the brotherhood of the road.
Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Hades’ Spawn Motorcycle Club Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
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Chapter 1
Jace stared out the hospital window. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his thick reddish-brown hair. He could see the parking lot full of cars six stories below. It was a long drop if someone wanted to jump. No wonder the windows are sealed. In the distance, he saw the mountains, bare, bald brown testimony to the fires that had raged last summer in California. His leather jacket creaked like leather does when you twist and turn in it, but the black had greyed from his long excursions through the years.
He turned to look at his best friend, Fork. His eyes were closed; his head entirely covered by bandages, both his arms were in traction, along with his legs. Tubes went into his chest, his mouth, his stomach and the one important tube, the one that kept him breathing and alive came directly out of his neck, right in the middle of the mouth of his tatt of the Cerberus—the three-headed dog. Damn, Fork, why you? Remember Laconia? Remember Sturgis? We could go it again, Fork. We could. Damn it! Fuck it, Fork! You can't remember a friggin’ damn thing!
He heard the constant blowing of the oxygen tube, a noise like, ‘whooo, whooo, whooo’. It was the same sound as the question going through his own mind, Who had done this to his friend?
Jace clenched his fists and stood near the side of the hospital bed. He could smell the mixture of alcohol and antibiotics and hospital stale air. He looked up at his other friend, Mud, who stood motionless at the end of the bed. He swallowed and his Adam's apple slid up and down slowly. Jace dug his eyes into his friend's eyes. "Cut the pipe, Mud."
"What?" Mud ran his fingers over his black handlebar mustache. "What'd you say, Jace?"
Jace's voice was deep with a raw, almost an inhuman edge to it. "You heard me. I said cut the fuckin' air pipe." Jace stared down at the comatose face of his boyhood friend. He saw the long scar on Fork’s cheek that had been there since he was ten, from that time when they were playing cowboys and Indians and an arrow had accidently sliced right through his friend's cheek. Jace had stared at the blood spurting out in horror as Fork began jumping around screaming with the arrow stuck in his face and the red river pouring out everywhere, covering the front of his shirt and spilling onto his shoes and running in little streams in the dirt. Later, when they were older, they had laughed about it. Hell, they had laughed about it for years. 'Course he wasn't called Fork then. He was Francis, named after his dad. His parents didn't even have enough compassion to call him Frank; he had to go through school as Francis.
Jace almost chuckled, but the mirth caught in his throat and he coughed. He tried to reason with Mud, "Doc says he's dying anyway. The bullet hit his vitals." He moved closer to the bed and stared down at his friend's face. "Fork is beggin' me for mercy. I hear it in my heart. He doesn't wanna live like this."
Mud shook his head. "I can't do it, Jace. Don't ask me to kill 'em. I just can't do it. Not Fork. I just fuckin' can't do it." Mud lowered his head and placed both his hands on the cold metal footboard of the hospital bed, as he held up his own body.
Jace pulled back his faded black leather jacket and revealed a SOG Bowie leather sheath holding his Fatcat dual-tone titanium nitride bladed folder. The four point five-inch blade was ready with the double-thumb studs, which allowed him to use either of his hands. He held it loosely in his right hand, feeling the lightness of it. Jace had utilized it many times, with either of his hands, sometimes gutting a deer, sometimes slicing open a trout, or sometimes cutting a jugular vein, but this time he was on a mission of mercy. What he was doing was totally foreign to him. "Cerberus Legends don't let their brothers suffer," he stated bluntly, as the blade flashed across the front of Fork's body and slid through the plastic air tubing, as if the lifeline tube was made of soft butter.
Jace gave one last look at Fork and then turned toward Mud. "Let's get the hell outta here." He didn't stay to watch as Fork's chest heaved in its attempt to breathe.
Mud followed Jace down the hallway, through parking lot.
Jace swung his leg over the Bolt. At first he had missed his old ride, but this powerful 942cc V-Twin was his new freedom ride. He didn't look back to see if Mud was following, in part because he knew he would be, but mostly because he wanted to put as many miles between Fork and him as fast as he could. He couldn’t let his mind even THINK about living life without Fork in it.
The wind whipped his brown hair into his eyes and began to dry his lips. His helmet rattled on the back. He just kept thinking I can make the Oro Grande's Iron Hog before dark. The other guys will be there, they always are on a Friday night. The biker bar was on the National Trails Highway, the one more commonly known as Old Route 66, not far from the town of Victorville. From there he would meet up with the rest of the group. They would all decide how to avenge Fork's murder. Even as he thought it, he couldn't believe it. Fork was murdered. Shot in the gut like some fuckin' animal! Jace just had to focus long enough to get to the biker bar. He kept his front wheel on the white line, lane splitting all the way, easing between cars and trucks. Sometimes a driver would honk at him, or even swerve their car's front wheel at him in a game of chicken. Any other time buddy I would rip your fuckin' face off, but not today. Not on the day Fork died. Shit! Fork’s dead. The monotonous hum of his bike seemed to push any fighting thoughts out of his mind.
&n
bsp; Cars and trucks became a blur as he kept his hands on the bars, just moving straight ahead. Highway 15 was always clogged with traffic headed for Vegas. Friday nights were a helluva time to head east. But the guys would be there at the bar waiting, Wrangler would understand what he had to do, Quake and Earth might not as they were younger. For some reason, young people held on to their scruples and ideas better than older folks. Well, what the fuck! I'll just have to give them a lesson. Jace revved his engine as he swerved around one of those new square black ice cube cars going the obligatory 55 miles per hour! Damn it!
He didn't want it to happen, but it did. Just like it always did when he was on open road, those dang thoughts started to seep in and invade, getting in the way of his peace. Not now, no damn memories now. Yet there they were, flashbacks of Fork on his first bike. Damn, I was jealous! Candy apple red and hot! And that new girlfriend, what was her name with those sharp, pointed titties? Betty? Bella? No, it was Bantor. Who in the hell names their daughter Bantor? He shook his head remembering…
Fork grinned. "So what do you think of her, Jace?"
"Nice tits."
"No, damn it, my bike! Man, I love this sweet ride." Fork squeezed the waist of Bantor with one hand as he patted the leather seat of his new bike with his other. Bantor's huge cocoa eyes kept looking right at Jace, but Jace's eyes seemed to glue themselves to her ivory mounds peering over her tiny tank top and those sharp points poking out, just for him. She was definitely one of those trophy broads, the kind that you walk into a room and all the guys' tongues hang out and the damn janitor has to drag out the mop to clean up the drool. I want some of that, he thought, when he first saw her. He tried to concentrate as Fork told him all the cool aspects of his new bike, but he focused on her tits and that sweet tight ass of hers, and oh man, he just kept imagining her mouth around his dick. What kind of a sick fuck am I thinking about Fork's gal this way?
He managed to find his voice, "It’s really great you finally got the ride you want, Fork. It's really something. Candy apple and all. Down to those Hogpro spikes. Really boss, man."
"Bantor and I are going for a ride on Highway One, maybe clear into Malibu. Want to hang with us?"
"You're out of my league now buddy."
Fork laughed, a hearty warm laugh that seemed to roll around in his belly and then find its escape out of his mouth. "Well, one thing for sure, we’re arriving in style wherever we go, right Bantor?" He reached out and squeezed her tit in his hand.
Jace wanted to reach out and squeeze her other one. Man, she’s like illegally hot!
She tossed her head and the black curls seemed to ripple down her back like long winding spirals of jet-black licorice swirls. Fork leaned in and kissed her, sticking his tongue down her throat. Jace watched her hips lean into Fork's hips. Man she's hot! For a moment he imagined her straddled against his backside, her legs wide open and cradling him as she held on, pushing her little pussy against his butt, but it wasn't his ass she was opening her wings wide for, it was Fork's. Bantor slid in behind Fork and laid her head against his back. Fork couldn't see her big cocoa eyes looking into Jace's eyes. He couldn't see her pink tongue lick her soft lips as she blinked—looking right at Jace.
Maybe that was the moment the true rivalry started between us. If Fork got something, I wanted it, too. If he was screwing some gorgeous broad, I wanted to screw her, too. What a sick fuck I am! But I shared with him, too. It was bros sharing hoes. We didn't hog our pussy, that's for sure. We passed it around, like we passed around our booze and our beef jerky. But now he's dead. I fuckin' killed him. Jace's moment down 'memory lane' ended abruptly.
He turned the bike off 15 onto the Route 66 National Trails Highway. Won't be long now and I’ll have some of that ice cold beer tumbling over my tonsils so I can wash all these thoughts out of my head. Who needs fuckin' memories? He briefly wondered how many beers he would have to down before he could forget Fork was gone. Really gone. Ten, fifteen, twenty beers? How does one forget that you just killed your best friend? Even when he argued with himself that he had to do it, that his friend was brain dead, that Fork would never want to live life as vegetable soup, it didn't seem to console him in any way.
Fork was dead.
He tried to focus on Bantor's tits. It wasn't long after he met her that he took her into a broom closet and felt her up, and well, with that came the obvious—literally came the obvious. That had been Fork and his first real brawl, when Fork found them in the damn broom closet. Then of course, there was the time with Darcy. Jace grinned as the motorcycle made the smooth left turn onto the famous Route 66. He wasn’t even going to get his head around that story. He unconsciously ran his hand over his reddish-brown beard remembering the direct punch Fork landed on his face, breaking his jaw.
As he expected, the Iron Hog was packed with people. Motorcycles were lined up in the dirt parking lot outside. Must've been at least forty of them out there. The music blared the Highwaymen's It Is What It Is and spilled out the entrance of the bar. A couple was dancing in the dirt, clinging to each other, trying to stay standing up. They obviously had an early start to the drinks. Some guys stood outside leaning on their bikes talking, smoking, or sharing a joint. Others were inside. Jace slid off the bike seat and started for the door, feeling a presence behind him. He knew it was Mud.
Mud was like a friggin' shadow. You rarely heard him or saw him, but he was always there, especially if you needed him.
"Corona." Jace ordered his first beer. He heard an echo behind him.
"Corona." Mud pushed his elbow into him as he sat next to him on the barstool.
"I don't see anyone yet. D’you, Mud?"
Mud shook his head.
"You'd think that at least Quake would be here. He's always early."
Mud nodded silently as he took a gulp of his beer.
Jace's eyes crawled over the room. There were a few guys with jackets from other clubs, a sprinkling of wide-eyed tourists, but none of his guys were there. There was a gal hugging the brass dancer pole. She looked to be about eighteen, but he knew she had to be twenty-one or they would’ve kicked her ass out. She had her bare leg wrapped around the pole and a beer in one hand. Her eyes were crawling around the room, too. They spotted each other about the same time. She raised her mug in a salute. Is that a signal to come and join you, sweetie? His eyes inched up her naked leg to the shredded edge of her jeans shorts.
Jace swung both his legs around on the stool and rested his hand on Mud's shoulder. "I've some business to attend to, my friend. Wait here." Jace finished his beer in three gulps and banged the mug down on the bar. The bartender took it as a signal to fill it back up with his best ice cold tap, but Jace was already on the move toward the little gal cuddling the brass pole. Mud glanced at the full mug and slid it over toward himself.
"So, little lady, you alone in here?" Jace scratched at his beard trying to hide his nervousness.
"Looks to me like there's about fifty other people in here, so I hardly think so." She wrapped her arm around the pole and then slid it down so she could take a swig of her beer. "I haven't seen you in here before. Where you from?" She glanced at his faded jacket trying to read some of the patches. He turned his back toward her and she saw the logo of the three-headed dog and the words Cerberus Legends. "Oh, motorcycle club or gang? You never know these days."
He tilted his head back. "Depends."
"On what?"
"On if we are doing club business or if we’re doing…" He paused. "Other business."
"What's your name?" Her blue eyes made him think of Bantor. Okay, Bantor's eyes were cocoa brown, but they had that same wide-eyed look. Whatever, I'm a sucker for Bambi looks and tits. Damn, do I have to keep going down memory lane! Shit!
He didn't know why, but he growled, "Well, what's in a name? Didn't someone important say that?"
She rolled her head back and her lengthy glossy black hair dipped all the way to the waistband of her tiny jeans shorts. Her pink lips parted sligh
tly and then she said, "Shakespeare said that. Romeo and Juliet."
Jace grinned. "So you’re like Juliet, and I’m Romeo."
"It's a tragedy, you know. They both die." She slid back up the pole. "Let me tell you what I think cowboy. I think you’re fuckin' married, and you don't want your bitchy wife to know that you’re out here trolling for some strange meat, that's what I fuckin' think."
He threw his hands up in the air. "Whoa! Out of that pretty little pink mouth comes some nasty ol' stuff." Jace laughed. "You’re a bit cynical and a bit acerbic for such a kid."
She bit her lower lip and one of her eyes narrowed as it looked at him.
He decided right there on the spot that he loved it when she looked at him that way.
She leaned out from the pole. "Acerbic? What’re you? The new fuckin' Webster's?" She slid to the bottom of the pole again, balancing her beer mug perfectly on the way down. "My name’s Classic. I work here. My pole show's at ten."
Jace took the beer mug out of her hand. He didn't respond to her name, but he knew he would ask her about it later. Classic? I like the sound of that. "Name's Jace and no, I don't have an old lady. I'm just waiting for some friends to join me here."
"Friends? Part of your gang?" Her voice sounded coy.
His green eyes narrowed as he tried to figure her out. Is she teasing me or is she serious?
When he didn't answer right away she just delved in, "To tell the truth, cowboy, you don't look like a gang member or an outlaw, so maybe you’re a banker or something. We get lawyers, bankers, and weekend wannabes." She tilted her head to one side. "Maybe you're even a NARC. Are you a NARC guy, cowboy?" She never took her eyes off his. “Or maybe you're one of those guys who sometimes just hangs up their suits for a week to go to Sturgis, or maybe even Laconia." Her eyes scanned over his body. "I don't think you’re a real biker dude. That's what I really think, cowboy."
