Taken by Bikers

by Meg Jackson

  TAKEN BY BIKERS

  Meg Jackson

  KINDLE EDITION

  Copyright © 2015 Meg Jackson

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Formatting by Mayhem Cover Creations

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events described in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  TAKEN BY BIKERS

  “You could’ve at least dressed for the part, Sara,” Brian said while turning down another strange, dusty street. I wasn’t sure how he knew where he was going; he said he’d never been to this place before, but he wasn’t even using his GPS to find it. I wondered, not for the first time, what sorts of things Brian kept from me. Too often I’d caught him lying about something that he didn’t need to be lying about.

  “Well, I don’t exactly have a wardrobe option for ‘seedy biker bar’, you know. Unless you want to take me shopping and pay for it,” I snapped back. I was in a bad mood. I had told Brian time and again that I didn’t want to go. If he wanted to go out drinking, there were plenty of college bars with loose ID-checking policies we could have been going to, but no. He wanted to do something daring and “cool”, like go to the biker bar outside of town.

  I hoped he would keep his drinking to a minimum, because I did not want to be driven home by my drunk, temperamental boyfriend down these windy country roads. Who would put a bar this far out in the sticks, anyway? People who didn’t want the cops to come, that’s who, because they’re criminals! At least, that was my reasoning at the time.

  “Well, still, you look like a goddam prep school princess,” Brian said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he had that part right, but so what? I was a prep school princess. I looked down at my bubblegum pink t-shirt and denim skirt. This was what my whole closet looked like! “Cute but conservative,” is what my mother would always say when we went shopping.

  “You’ve never complained about the way I look before,” I said, pouting. I was hoping if I kept up my innocent, good girl act, he would feel bad and stop bothering me. And it wasn’t that much of an act; I was an innocent good girl.

  “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t say it, but you could show off your body a little more. It’s so sexy, Sara, I just don’t know why you want to hide it,” Brian said, making another seemingly random turn. I rolled my eyes. Brian was always talking about how sexy I was, especially when he was trying to get me to put out.

  That was probably what the whole trip was about, I thought. Get me a little drunk, maybe defend my honor from some punk, and voila! Off go the panties, in come the penis. As if. He would be lucky to get to feel me up over my sport bra, after the way he’d been treating me lately.

  As I sat there fuming, I softened a little bit. I knew that it was hard for Brian to date me. I didn’t think I was prudish, but I knew that other girls were willing to go a lot farther than I was. I was willing to let Brian touch my breasts and I was generous with hand jobs, and even a blow job if he really went out of his way to make me feel special, but that was it. I wanted to wait until marriage before giving up my virginity.

  And I knew it was especially hard for him because I did have a sexy body. I didn’t know much about sex, but you can’t really live in America these days without knowing what “sexy” looked like. With my perky, 32C tits and long legs, I knew I fit the bill. I have bright green eyes and red hair, just a few freckles, giving me a perfect, adorable Irish face. My body is trim and toned from years of playing soccer. I’m a catch, and I didn’t have to watch a porno to know it. So of course Brian would get upset about me not giving it up. Who wouldn’t? Still, that didn’t excuse the way he treated me sometimes.

  We finally pulled into the parking lot of the bar. There was no discernable sign saying the bar’s name, just some neon beer advertisements in the windows. As Brian parked and we unbuckled and stepped out of the car, I noticed the line of bikes parked along the side of the building. Shiny, new motorcycles and old, battered-looking ones alike were the only vehicles in the lot besides Brian’s SUV.

  “What’s this place called again?” I asked as we walked towards the wooden front porch.

  “Della’s,” Brian said. He reached for my hand and I allowed him to pull me under his arm. I did feel safer with Brian’s arm around my shoulder, but I was still mad at him.

  “How’d you find out about it?” I asked.

  “Oh, Tony and some of the guys come here a lot,” he said as we approached the door. I could hear loud, old school country music and the sound of laughter and pool balls hitting each other coming from inside. Brian took his arm away and held the door open. I wished he hadn’t taken this moment to be chivalrous; I didn’t want to go in first.

  To be honest, at this point, my emotional state was close to panic. What were these people going to think of me? Were the men going to bother me? Brian was strong and young, but he couldn’t really protect me if something were to happen. What if they had guns and knives? What if they raped me? Or, what if they just laughed at me? Somehow, that last fear was the worst.

  Despite myself, I was kind of intrigued by the dirty, low-life atmosphere the bar had. It was cool. And raunchy. And I kind of hoped that I would be noticed, a little bit. I was surprised at myself; I’m kind of shy and I don’t like flaunting myself or being hit on by dudes at bars. But this was different. I stepped in and the smell of smoke and old booze seemed to hit me in the face. Brian stepped in after me, letting the door slam.

  Some of the conversation quieted as the men in the bar turned to look at us. A few of them I saw smile and nudge each other; a few seemed to have permanent scowls tattooed on their faces. They were all rough looking. Some were huge, both in muscle and fat, while others were lanky with tight, well-defined muscles popping through their vests and black t-shirts. That seemed to be the running theme here: black vest, black t-shirt, dirty jeans, black boots. Bandanas as far as the eye could see. A lot of them had patches sewn onto their vests and jackets, and the words “Black Dogs” were everywhere. I wondered if this was a gang, and that was their name.

  I was surprised by how handsome some of the men were, despite their unkempt facial hair and grimy faces. I thought a few of the men were missing teeth as they smiled at me and Brian. I felt Brian move away from me and grabbed his hand, following him to the bar. Conversation returned pretty much to normal. A man standing at the jukebox hit the machine.

  “Don’t ya got Hank the Third, Cumstain?” the man yelled, looking at an older, tough-looking woman behind the bar.

  “Pay for a new jukebox, we’ll get your dirty crap music, Bull,” she snapped back, then turned back to wiping down the bar with a rag that looked older than she did. There were three female bartenders besides the older woman, which was funny to me considering there really weren’t enough people in the bar to seem like they would need three bartenders.

  All the bartenders were gorgeous. They all had the same biker style, but instead of looking ragged and worn like the men, they loo
ked drop-dead sexy in tight leather vests, cut-off shorts, and long high-heel boots. One had her long black hair done up in a braid with a bandana, the other two were blondes who let their hair fall loose. They were all leaning over the bar flirting with the men. Brian and I stood awkwardly for what felt like forever at the bar, until one of the men pointed to us and said something to the dark-haired bartender which made them both howl with laughter. She came over, still giggling.

  “What do you want, dolls?” She asked, drumming her fingers against the bar impatiently.

  “Two whiskey gingers, ma’am,” Brian said, ordering for both of us. I shot him a look without even thinking about it; Brian knew I hated drinking hard liquor. Beer didn’t taste good and made me feel bloated and gross, but at least I had more tolerance for it. I was such a lightweight that even two whiskey drinks could have me slurring and stumbling all over the place. The bartender walked away without saying anything to us. We watched her pour our drinks while talking to some of the other patrons. One of the blondes came up behind her and made a goofy face to the men at the bar before reaching around and playing with our bartender’s breasts, jiggling them. The bar roared with laughter at this; I looked away, embarrassed. When I looked back, she was just setting my drink down in front of me. Brian pulled out a twenty and left it on the bar.

  “No change,” he said with a smile. The bartender took the twenty, rolled her eyes, and walked back to the middle of the bar. She must have said something, because all eyes were on us again and the men at the bar were smirking.

  “Leave a good tip now, good service later,” Brian explained to me. “Play pool, babe?” I didn’t want to play pool at all, but I figured it couldn’t be any worse than just sitting around. I took a big drink of my whiskey ginger, actually grateful that Brian had ordered me something strong. I thought I probably needed a little liquid courage to get through this ordeal.

  I let Brian help me off the stool and we walked to a pool table in the corner that was open. Brian put money in the machine and set up the game. I stood with my pool cue, watching everything in the bar. It wasn’t really so much different than being at one of the college bars; people just talking and messing around, except that these were dirty bikers, not cozy Ivy leaguers from Brown. I even kind of liked the old fashioned music, and the smell had stopped bothering me. As I looked around, I noticed that a lot of the men had their eyes on me. It made me nervous, but it was also a little exciting.

  I wasn’t very good at pool, and I’m still not very good. Brian sunk four balls in his first turn. I guess I was drinking faster than I thought I was, because by the time he finally missed my drink was empty.

  “One more, babe?” Brian asked, grabbing my empty cup. I could feel the liquor taking effect, and normally would have declined, but it was early and it really took a lot of my nervousness away, so I nodded. Brian went back to the bar and I studied the pool table, trying to figure out which ball to shoot for.

  “6 in the left pocket,” came a low voice from next to me. I jumped and looked over. Somehow, without my noticing, I had attracted company in the form of a big, muscular, older man with a black beard. He was probably in his late 30’s and he had a scar down the side of his face. He was huge, but not fat, just bulky. He had long, dark hair that was tied up in a bun and blue eyes.

  For a moment I was speechless out of pure surprise, and then I was speechless because of how attractive he was. I’d never felt attracted to anyone so much older than me, and certainly not to anyone so…rough. His clothes were dirty, stained with dirt and mud, and his face looked like it was etched with stories of a long, troubled life. The scar looked old, and it somehow made his face look distinguished instead of repulsive. Really it was his eyes, though. They were crystal clear and the way they felt on me was like he was seeing my whole life, down to my deepest secrets.

  He was smirking slightly, and the lopsided grin was friendly and inviting. His dark beard was shorter, giving his face just a hint of mystery. I tried to grin back at him but my heart was pounding in my chest and I’m sure it came out looking sheepish and silly. I blushed and grabbed my ponytail, wanting to do something with my hand so that I wasn’t just standing there stupidly.

  My mind raced; what did I say back? Thanks? Shouldn’t I say something smarter? Was I supposed to say anything at all? Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Brian returned with another whiskey ginger. I grabbed it and took a sip, still looking at the big man.

  “Hey,” Brian said, seeming a little nervous.

  “Just saying she should go for the 6 in the left pocket. Think so?” the man asked Brian, half grin still on his face. Brian looked down at the table, taking a long sip of his drink.

  “Yeah, that’d be good shot, that’s what I’d do, for sure, yeah,” Brian said, speaking too quickly. We all stood around for another moment in awkward silence. The liquor must really have gone to my head, because I developed a bit of courage and decided to break the tension.

  “Okay, here I go!” I said, moving around the table and setting up my shot. I leaned over, lining up my cue. Glancing up, I noticed the stranger’s eyes on my body and felt a mixture of disgust and excitement. I arched my back slightly, giving in to the excitement, and took my shot. It went nowhere near the pocket I’d been aiming for, but hit one of Brian’s balls into the corner.

  “Damn!” I said, straightening up. The stranger chuckled. Brian busied himself with chalking his cue. I could tell he was a little nervous about the situation, but I was less nervous than ever. I had talked to a biker guy, and nothing bad had happened! He seemed nice, in fact, and so what if he was checking me out? It’s not like any other guy wouldn’t have done the same.

  “I’m not very good,” I said sheepishly, clutching my cue to myself.

  “Cash!” someone yelled from across the bar. The stranger looked up in the direction the voice had come from and lifted his hand in acknowledgement. Before turning to leave, he caught my eye again.

  “It’s all about angles. That’s all there is to pool, teacup,” he said, his low voice seeming to be full of knowledge and experience. He turned away and made his way across the bar towards a group of men playing cards at a far table. I watched him walk away, admiring his purposeful stride and the way everyone in the bar seemed to want his attention.

  “Sorry, babe, was he bothering you?” Brian asked, calling my attention back. He looked ashamed and kind of beaten, even though nothing had even happened.

  “Not at all. He was just giving me advice,” I said, shaking my head. I took another big gulp of my drink and walked over to Brian, snaking my arm around his torso and giving him a kiss on the cheek. He beamed down at me. I glanced towards the direction Cash had gone and saw him looking at me, studying me, almost like he was targeting me. I shivered slightly.

  “Cold?” Brian asked.

  “No, no, it’s fine. Take your shot, baby,” I said, smiling up at him but unable to erase the feeling of the stranger’s eyes on me.

  We played a few games of pool, and I drank probably a few too many whiskey gingers, before Brian asked if I wanted to get some fresh air. I very much did. No one else had come up to talk to us, and I was getting bored of pool. We made our way to the door and took a seat on a bench set up next to some ashtrays.

  We were alone, and Brian put his arm around me, pulling me close. We stayed like that for a moment, then I felt Brian’s hand creeping down towards my breast. He lowered his face to mine and began kissing me. It felt good, so I didn’t stop him, even though somewhere in the back of my mind I felt nervous that someone would come out and see us.

  Brian’s hand kept moving down, and I tried to push it away. Kissing in public was one thing, but I didn’t want anyone coming out and seeing Brian feeling me up. Brian was persistent, though, and just kept trying to reach my breasts. Eventually I pulled away from the kiss and looked at him petulantly.

  “We’re not in your bedroom, you know,” I said.

  “C’mon, baby, no one is coming out, and
you just look so good. Just a little?” Brian begged. I guess all those whiskey sours really had gone to my head, because I gave in and leaned back in to kiss him again. I felt his hand pawing at my breast through my shirt, grabbing at it and kneading it. It just felt like pressure, like always, so I just let it happen.

  Brian had his other hand on my thigh and I felt it starting to creep up. I put my hand on his to stop it, but he kept going. I tried to pull back but his grip on me was strong and I couldn’t get far enough away. His hand was on my panties now, probing, and as much as I tried to squirm away or push his hand, I couldn’t. I pulled my mouth off his.

  “Brian! Really, stop!” I said in a whisper, afraid to cause a scene.

  “Sara, please, just a little bit, I just want to feel you, baby,” Brian growled, almost menacingly. He was grabbing at my breast harder now, and his hand was rubbing against my panties quickly.

  “No, really, I want to stop now,” I said pleadingly. He didn’t stop, or let me move away anymore. I looked at his face and it was set in a determined scowl. “Please, Brian!”

  “Sara, you always fucking tell me to stop, it’s not fair, I’m not even doing anything, just trying to make you feel good!” Brian snapped at me, then moved even closer to me. He was almost pinning me to the bench at this point, one hand squeezing my breast and the other hand trying to push my panties to the side. I could feel his fingers against my pussy and it kind of hurt, the way he was being so rough.

  “STOP!” I cried out, loudly, no longer worried about making a scene. Brian looked at me and I just saw anger in his eyes.

  “Shut up, Sara!” He yelled back. At that moment, the door to the bar swung open. The stranger from earlier, Cash, was standing there. Brian and I both jerked our heads around to look at him. He was standing there, arms crossed, looking down at us with a serious look on his face.