Faithfully Devoted: Rage Ryders Templeton

by Liberty Parker

  When I open it up and see the Author’s Notes I burst out into laughter.

  To my readers,

  I want you all aware that this is a fictional romance book. This is my version of how they meet, fall in love and get their HEA…it means happily ever after… Real life versions of these men are not as I’ve described them. Please do not attempt to go out and search for your own biker. Most likely, since this is a make-believe world, you will not find what you are searching for.

  If she only knew! I have that and more. I know that my reality is more like a fantasy, but there are really men like that out there…at least there is for me. I know there are some mean men and clubs, but I was lucky to get into the one I have. I’ve heard stories of death, destruction, and mayhem that is in our world. Hopefully, that never touches me or the ones I’ve come to care for, especially my Justice, but I’m a realist, and I know that something may one day happen to him.

  For now, I’m going to live in my happy little bubble, and enjoy each day as it comes. I bury myself deep into the comforter, and put an extra pillow under my head to prop me up. I start to read, and when I get to a torture scene, I lay the book down. “They don’t really do these things do they?” I question myself out loud.

  “Do what?” I hear asked, causing me to jump due to being lost in my own thoughts.

  “Nothing? Just something that I was reading in my new book I recently ordered. What are you up to?” I ask, breaking the ice and turning the conversation in a different direction.

  “Have some paperwork in the lock box that I put in the closet. I need to grab it really quick to finish up my phone call. I promise, I shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “No rush, Justice. I’m just laying here enjoying this book.”

  He goes into the closet then comes back out with a folder. I can see it jam packed with papers that look as if they’re beginning to bend from being crammed into one single folder. Coming over to me he whispers in my ear, “You’re gonna have to tell me more about this book that has you so enraptured.” He nips my ear lobe, then saunters back out of the room.

  I watch his backside, once again admiring the view.

  Justice

  “Got it,” I express to Riptide as I walk out of the clubhouse and head over to one of the picnic benches. I grab my smokes, flick my lighter, and inhale. This is just what my lungs were begging for. I know it’s not healthy, and Lizzie has recommended me quitting on several occasions, but that is easier said than done. When I’m stressed I could go through a pack and a half a day. That’s thirty-five smokes.

  Sometimes my lungs burn from smoking so many in a row, but I deal with it, and sometimes continue lighting another one. Just depends on the day and all I’m dealing with. My habit is what has kept many alive in my day. I’ve wanted to blow my top, but I’ll pull out a cigarette and my mood changes, sometimes.

  “Read me the report,” he all but demands of me.

  “Chill out, let me get situated.” Everyone around me seems to be demanding shit from me instead of asking—nicely. Don’t they know you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar? Then I roll my eyes, because I highly doubt any of these guys have ever been nice in their lifetime. I get settled down, open the folder, and read him what I have so far on our new-found enemy. He grunts through some of the parts and whistles at others.

  “That’s a load of shit, brother. Can’t wait to get my hands dirty, I’ll be out on the next flight. I’ll text you the landing information, pick me up personally.” With that, he disconnects the call. Fuck, I still have four more calls to get through. I’ve already asked for help, now I need to give them all of the details. This is going to be one long evening. All I wanna do is get upstairs, crawl into bed, and enjoy my woman’s body. There’s no place better on this earth to be.

  Looks like that may not be in the cards for me tonight after all.

  Hours later—four to be exact, I finally make it to my room. The guys aren’t usually so long-winded, but for some reason tonight, they were full of questions. Some of which I had answers to, and some of them I didn’t. Which didn’t particularly please them…at all.

  I quietly slip into the bedroom, brush my teeth, and take off my clothes. I slide in under the sheets and pull my snoring woman into my arms. It’s nice to know she’s content enough, and feels safe enough, to fall asleep if I’m not here next to her. She’s going to need to be able to do this in the next few weeks. I have a feeling I’ll be gone more than I’ll be here.

  Which is fine, it’s my job to protect the club and take out any threats.

  I fall asleep, wrapped around her. Now this, this right here, this is what I’m talking about…paradise. That’s how I feel when I’m with her.

  I wake up bright and early to an empty bed. I hate it when she leaves and doesn’t wake me up first. I crawl out of bed and dress for the day. I walk down the stairs, and find her making two mugs of coffee. I nearly laugh when I see two bowls of cereal made and sitting on a tray. She doesn’t cook, doesn’t know how to according to her, but she helps wherever she can.

  She burned noodles for macaroni and cheese the other night, so she was kindly escorted from the kitchen and asked to get a head count. Even though they didn’t actually need one. They make enough food to feed an army, morning, noon, and night. They have to with how much this brood eats. “What’cha doin’?”

  She jumps, and coffee splashes out of the mug and lands on her hand and wrist. “Fuck,” she drops the mugs in the sink and I quickly make my way to her. I turn on the cold water and place her wrist under the faucet.

  “Keep it there,” I command her, “I’ll go get the burn cream from behind the bar. Just don’t move!” I say, walking out the door, looking over my shoulder to make sure she’s doing as I told her to. She’s still in the same position, so I hurry out of the door and walk into the common room and step behind the bar.

  “What’cha doin’ back there?” Ryder asks, coming over and leaning over the bar.

  “Lizzie burned herself. I snuck up on her and she jumped causing her to slosh her coffee over the rim of her mug,” I inform him.

  “Damn, that woman of yours is a hazard to not only herself, but to food in the kitchen. May wanna keep her on a lock and chain to protect her.”

  “You aren’t lyin’,” I mumble under my breath. I grab the first aid kit and walk back into the kitchen. I grab a towel, and wipe away the drops of water from her skin.

  “Ouch! That hurts,” she says.

  “I’m sure it does,” I utter, blowing on it to help cool it. I pull out the burn cream and begin applying it.

  “Shit! That’s making it burn more!”

  “Give it a chance to work, stop moving around like a jumpin’ bean!” She’s going to hurt herself worse than she already has if she doesn’t stop jerking herself around.

  “I can’t help it,” she whines. I take her arm and force it still. I blow on it, but it seems to have the opposite affect than what I was going for. “No more, please just leave it alone,” she begs with tears welling up in her eyes.

  “Fine, no more cooking for you though. Stick to making toast and coffee. The other women will handle all of the cooking and coffee making from now on.” She sticks her bottom lip out and says something I can’t decipher. “Say that again?” I request.

  “But I wanted to make something for my husband. It’s my duty to care for all of your needs,” she steadily pouts. But wasn’t she just making coffee? Well, let’s just nip the whole kitchen duties in the bud. I’d rather she not try to do anything that deals with heat. Ever. It’s not safe for her or anyone around her.

  “Then make me a bowl of cereal. I don’t need anything fancy and shit. I’m a simple man with simple needs.”

  “You have a voracious appetite, I thought that meant outside of the bedroom too.” She’s too motherfuckin’ cute.

  “Oh baby, I do.” I wiggle my eye brows causing her to giggle. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” I say to her, rubbing my t
humb across her bottom lip. “There you go, all cleaned up and just as beautiful as ever.”

  “You and your golden tongue,” she chuckles.

  “I happen to know you worship this tongue of mine, golden and all.”

  “This is true,” she agrees.

  “Damn straight, now…what kind of cereal do they have here?” I stand up and walk over to the walk-in pantry and open the door. I start calling out all the different brands we’ve got and find my favorite. “Got mine, which one do you want?” I know she already had cereal made earlier, but it’s some brand O’wheat something or other and ain’t no way in hell that shit’s going in my mouth. Riley must’ve left that shit sitting on the counter or something, she’s the only one I know who eats that god awful shit around here.

  “Let me look, some of the brands don’t sound familiar to me,” I move out of the way and start making my bowl. “They make cereal with marshmallows!” she exclaims, and once again I’m reminded of how deprived my Ol’ lady really is.

  “Yep, remind me to take you to the grocery store so you can see all the different types there are,” I say, pouring milk into my bowl. “You want whole milk or that watered-down shit?”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I can see that we need a day of trying different foods and drinks.” I make a mental note to talk to the Ol’ ladies and have them step in to help out with some of this. I don’t want her embarrassed, but she needs to know there’s more than a couple of choices out there for her.

  “Sounds intriguing, I’ve never had a day of taste testing. Can we try some things out in the bedroom too?” She sounds so innocent asking this question, but at the same time it’s seductive as fuck! Damn, I’m hard as a steel rod and if I didn’t have to head out in thirty minutes I’d take her up to the bedroom and show her how to use some chocolate syrup.

  “We’ll need more than just a day for that adventure, beautiful.”

  “Yippee,” she excitedly bounces on the balls of her feet and claps her hands. “Shit!” she exclaims, holding onto her injured one. “Guess I need to remember not to do that until I’m all healed up, huh?”

  “Might be a wise idea,” I joke with her.

  “What are your plans for the day?” she inquires.

  “I’m picking some buddies up from the airport. They’re coming in at different times and on different airlines so I’m thinking it’s going to take most of the day. What about you?”

  “I’m going with Skylar, Sadie and Riley to get our nails and pedicures done. Then I think we’re doing lunch and some window shopping.”

  “Do you know how to do that?” I tease.

  “Yes, of course I do. But I can’t help it, if I see something I like or want my wallet starts burning a hole in my purse. I can’t allow that to happen, my purses cost as much as your boots.”

  “Your purses are a thousand damn dollars?” I don’t know if I’m appalled or confused that women really have to spend that much on some bound leather that carries all of their junk.

  “When they’re on sale,” she says, pouring milk into her own bowl.

  “Are they fuckin’ gold plated or some shit?”

  “Nope, but most of them have registration numbers and tags.”

  “Like your motherfuckin’ car?”

  “Yep,” she pops her ‘p’ dramatically.

  “That’s some crazy as fuck shit right there,” I proclaim. I don’t even want to know what her purses go for at top dollar. Women are fuckin’ strange creatures.

  Once I’m done scarfing down my food, I head to our room to get dressed. I grab my laptop to put into my saddlebag. I’ve got bikes being delivered to the airport for my friends coming in. While I’m waiting for each of them at the airport cafeteria, where they’ve all been informed to meet me at, I plan on doing some more extensive research on the fucking Ozzie Walkers.

  I don’t want any of this shit touching the club, but it looks like that’s inevitable. I doubt the six of us will be able to handle this group of thugs on our own, but then again, these men have surprised me on multiple occasions. They’re a force to be reckoned with on their own, but when they all join forces, the people of the world would be better off to go into hiding. They never give up and don’t understand the words no or quit.

  I kiss Lizzie bye and hit the road. This is going to be one motherfucking long ass day.

  Eleven

  Lizzie

  I’m laid back in the chair getting a back massage while the woman is working on my feet. This isn’t as high-end as I’m used to, but it’s a breath of fresh air and I’m loving spending time with the women. They are brash, and I find myself laughing at their antics and conversations.

  I’m snapped out of my self-induced relaxation when Skylar asks me, “What color did you pick, Lizzie?”

  I peel my eyes open and turn my head towards her and answer, “I’m going with the French tipped.”

  “That’s so boring,” she responds, rolling her eyes at me. “Live a little Lizzie, go for something more vibrant. Show the world you’ve joined the land of the living and are happy and unrestricted. Don’t do what your parents would want you to do, do what makes you feel wild and liberated.” I know she’s trying to be encouraging, but I’ve never used neon or bright colors. My mother would have a panic attack if I’d have gone home with those kinds of colors.

  “You know what? You’re right, what color should I use?” I ask, biting on my bottom lip as uncertainty begins to take hold.

  “Something fun and sassy,” Riley states in excitement.

  “What color would that be?” I’m unsure of what their definition is of sassy, but I’m sure it’s much different than my own.

  “Oooh, I know!” Sadie exclaims, “let me find you the perfect color! Please?” she begins to beg. I shrug my shoulders and nod my head thinking ‘why not’? How bad could it be? She gets up and throws her sandals on, much to the lady who is working on her feet’s dismay. A few minutes later she rushes up to me and shoves a bottle in my face.

  “Absolutely not,” I say shaking my head side to side. “Not happening, that color is hideous! Get it out of my face and try again,” I demand crossing my arms over my chest. “There’s no way in hell that…what color is that anyways?”

  “It’s a neon orange,” she retorts while snorting her nose in my direction.

  “That cannot possibly be an acceptable color, right?” I say, turning my head towards the other two. Skylar shrugs her shoulders and Riley is holding her hand over her mouth trying not to allow her laughter to escape.

  “See! You’ve actually made them speechless. How often does that happen?”

  “Hey, I sorta resent that,” Skylar huffs.

  “I have to agree with Lizzie, that’s a god-awful color!” Riley admonishes.

  “Fine! How about neon pink?”

  “Pink sounds reasonable, I can do pink. Though normally I’d just go with a cotton candy pink. I’m not sure about neon, but I’ll try it…this once,” I say, holding my index finger up in the universal one-time show.

  “We’ve gotta loosen you up, girl,” Sadie says, stomping away in retreat. Hopefully to find a more appropriate color. I look down at my toes and send them a silent apology for what they’re fixing to look like, promising them that we’ll come next week and redo the color. I’ll just wear tennis shoes, so no one sees that I’ve gone behind their backs and picked a color that’s more me.

  She comes back over with the brightest pink I’ve ever seen. Deciding it will have to do, I take the bottle from her and hand it over to my lady. “I’m going with that one,” I tell her.

  “You want flower?” she asks me. Thinking about it, I feel like it would add some character and not make it feel like such a bold statement. I need to take baby steps afterall.

  “Yes, thank you very much.” She nods her head at me and continues her filing. I have always taken meticulous care of my feet, so there isn’t a lot she’s having to do. I nearly crack up when I notice t
he cheese grater looking instrument come out by Skylar’s lady. I look on in horror as she scraps that across the bottom of her heel and layer after layer of dead skin comes off. My mother started having my feet professionally done when I was in elementary school. She used to tell me how gross unkept feet are. I have a foot fetish to this day because of her and the words she’d use to describe a person’s foot.

  “I wear a lot of sandals and flip flops outside of the house. But when I’m home I’m barefoot all the way. It makes my skin dry. It doesn’t hurt. You don’t have to look at me as if it pains you.”

  “I’ve never seen that before, it looks like a torture device.”

  “It’s not, I barely notice she’s using it. What have you been doing to get away without this ever having to be done to you?” she asks. Sadie and Riley look my way.

  “My mother ordered us girls a foot mask. It lubricates and keeps the skin fresh and alive. I use it every night when I shower before bed. Then I put Vaseline on my feet and socks over that when they begin feeling or looking rough.”

  “You poor thing,” Skylar says, shaking her head.

  “Wait until you have kids, I promise you that will be a thing of the past. The only thing you’ll care about is getting your body and hair washed. Oh, and when you shave your legs, it’s usually during the summer. I am not as meticulous about it in the winter. I don’t have time, I can barely keep my eyes open at the end of the day to complete my shower. Sometimes I hop in the bed soaking wet and crash before I realize I’m butt assed naked.”

  “That’s because your children are demons,” Sadie says as if she’s informing her the sky is blue.

  “They are not,” Riley whisper-shouts.

  “Honey, who the hell are you trying to fool? Your kids make me never want to have my own.”