by Jayne Blue
“It’s okay Jules. Protecting you is an honor.” He was so out of place, with his leather, and scruff, in a church, and as a bridesmaid it would have been funny if I even had one ounce of humor about the situation.
“An honor? Okay, well whatever.” I wondered how old Ross was. What was his story? Why did he think getting into a motorcycle gang was a good idea? But I didn’t have time to find out. I had to worry about my story. That meant getting away from this probie for a few minutes.
“I’m going to go in here and fix up, so give me a minute. I’ve got to deal with a lot.”
I pointed to my dress, veil, and flowers. I was full on Bride Princess. Daddy imagined what a six-year-old girl would want for a wedding dress and arranged for it. It would have been sweet except that I was grown, educated, and had decided that I didn’t want a life with Detective David Wexler.
I didn’t want to be Daddy’s payment to a dirty cop.
I didn’t know all the things the Devils Hawks did but I did know that what he did with his club was dangerous, illegal, and required someone inside law enforcement to look the other way.
That was David. My mission was to keep David happy. For Daddy’s club. It made me sick to think I was expected to give up my body at the whim of the club.
That was the idea. Well that was Daddy’s idea.
I had other ideas.
Ross let me close the door to the powder room of the church. Headlock had let me carry my own bag when we’d gotten into the church. And he hadn’t snooped. That was good because inside my one bag I’d jammed my wallet, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, my Chuck Taylor’s and some toiletries. I’d also packed away some of my designs and artwork from my senior project, maybe I could sell them?
There was also a sexy negligee from David that he wanted me to wear tonight. Barf. I was afraid to leave it behind at my house though for fear of giving myself away.
Most important I had my graduation cash. That was something. That would be my lifeline. I wished I had more time. I wished I could pack a Dodge Mustang in there too. No such luck though. As it was my bag was stuffed and my mind was set.
There was a soft knock at the bathroom door.
“Miss Jules, you have about five minutes. The pastor guy said you have to come out.”
“You try peeing in this dress! You wanna come in and hold it up for me Ross?”
“No, no. For sure no. I’ll let your Dad know you’re almost ready.”
“Good.”
Shit. I didn’t have time to change into my jeans. I didn’t really have time to think. It was move my ass or be married. I decided to move. The window to the powder room was high up, I couldn’t reach. But there was a tall garbage can. I flipped it over and put my bag around my shoulder.
I hoisted myself up and balanced for a second on the window. It was about a six feet drop. Six feet is a lot. I decided to arm hang my way out. That would make it less than a foot. I swung my legs out of the church window, then I squirmed over so I was suspended half in and half out. I hesitated for a second.
My bag might weigh me down but I wasn’t leaving that behind. My thoughts raced and all the possible scenarios flipped through my head.
Daddy would be enraged by even the smallest show of disobedience. But marrying David Wexler? Worse going on a honeymoon with David Wexler? None of computed. I couldn’t.
I had a lot of actual and emotional baggage to carry for someone who needed to haul ass. I was so scared. When I dropped from this window I would really be leaping into the unknown. I’d be crossing a threshold for sure.
I held tight to the window ledge for another second. My white pumps dangled. I felt the silk of my dress snag on the bricks of the church.
Oops. I was shredding the princess outfit more and more with each passing second. Then I heaved myself out. I fell to the ground in a heap of white. I didn’t stay on the ground long. I popped up and gathered the voluminous skirt of my fairy tale wedding dress in a chunk and held it to one side.
Then I ran.
I ran as fast as my white stilettos could carry me.
Ryder
I would have smiled but I was on the bike. I wasn’t in the mood for a grill full of bugs.
I rounded the curve of a long empty country road. The spring was just starting to turn things green. I needed the air. I needed the freedom my bike gave me. Even if I was now a responsible officer of my club and ran a fucking business, the open road, even for an hour or two, was necessary. If I didn’t ride I got “squirrelly” as Sawyer called it. It was my medication.
I was going to spend a day, maybe three, rough, out in the country, sleeping at a campground I knew. That was one thing my old man taught me. How to camp. I loved the grease and the engines of the Great Wolves Auto Body shop but every once in a while I had to clear it out of my lungs. I had my best ideas on the road or in a tent.
The members understood. We all had days, sometimes weeks, where we needed out. Except for Sawyer. As the Prez you were never out I guess.
The wind, the engine, the trees whipping by, all of it was my drug. I was enjoying it and it was the perfect way to balance my new responsible life of running Great Wolves Auto Body. I was completely in my own head. That’s until I saw something on the side of the road. Something very out of place.
A cotton candy shaped puff of white caught my eye as it moved strangely forward along the side of the road. It was sort of hard to make out what I was seeing so I eased back on the throttle as I got closer.
It was a woman. And I had to close my eyes tight and re-focus them to be sure I was really seeing her.
She was running, pretty damn fast actually, for all the fluff that she was hauling with her. I scanned her from head to toe as I approached.
She had piles of blonde hair with flowers woven in and out of it. I could see white netting, lace, and sparkle covering her from the neck to her tiny waist, and then an explosion of white skirt. She was carrying it to the side, as her legs, covered in white fishnets, pumped fast. At the bottom of this wedding cake topper gone rogue was a pair of muddy Converse tennis shoes.
Well that explained how she was able to haul ass as fast as she was.
As I got closer she made a break for the tree line and off the road. I’d probably spooked her but I really did want to know what the story was. There was no one around for miles. Where had she come from?
As she scrambled to the woods I called out.
“Hey, stop!” I lifted my helmet off my head. I watched her trip and take a tumble. I put my stand down and got off the bike.
“Stay away!” She yelled as she tried to get up which meant navigating her giant dress, which was now grass stained. It was like a tangled fishnet around her legs.
I put both my hands up. I supposed my leather and current Mohawk hair style was not the most reassuring sight for anyone to see much less a sprinting, uh, bride? Yes. I was looking at a runaway bride here.
“Listen Princess Buttercup. I’m not here to hurt you. Just looks like you need a little help.” She was looking down, her back to me, and she was still.
When she turned her head and lifted it to face me I felt something very strange. She had gray eyes. I’d never seen that color of eyes before and they looked very much like the eyes of someone being hunted. Panic was just under the surface. And she was thinking. It showed in her eyes and furrowed brow.
She looked up and down at me. Nothing about how I look was going to make her feel safer. That I knew.
“Are you a Great Wolf?” She asked me. Which was a surprise, odd that this little princess knew what a Great Wolf was, didn’t seem like it fit.
“Yes.”
“I need a ride. Fast. Out of here. Now.” She figured out a way to stand up, despite the massive amount of white fluff pulling her down, and she looked me in the eyes again.
I moved from her eyes to button nose and perfect bow shaped lips. God this princess was like out of a book for sure. I still wasn’t one-hundred percent sure this was real. H
ad I accidently smoked something more than a little weed lately?
“Well you’re in luck. Riding fast and out of here is my current destination.” I put out a hand and she hesitated. She looked down the road. It was empty. Was she expecting something to be there? It was just the two of us. Her gray eyes were beautiful, no question, but scared.
The road she’d been running along was deserted that I knew since I was on it. What was she so worried about?
We stood on opposite sides of a drainage ditch that kept the Michigan country roads flood free in the wet spring. We were the only two people in sight on this clear spring Sunday morning.
A biker and a bride sizing each other up. I’m sure it made a hell of a picture.
Then she put her hand in mine. My skin was rough and dark, hers soft and white. I also noticed a stiffening in areas I did not expect. It was a shock. Apparently I had a Princes Bride fetish that I was unaware of until this second.
I pulled her across the ditch and up to me. She leaped at that same moment and we were about half an inch apart. I took a breath in through my nose. There was a sweet smell to her hair. Maybe it was the flowers. I could see they were real and interwoven in this elaborate hair situation. I wanted to get closer to her. To breath in again. But instead I stood still and let her get her balance.
Her stormy eyes met mine. I meant to kiss her. I really did. I questioned myself again. Had someone put a magic mushroom on my last pizza?
But I snapped out of it.
“Where to?” I said.
“Anywhere but here,” she said and she kept her hand in mine.
“All right Princess.” I guided her up to my bike and watched her hike her dress up. This time I caught a glimpse of garter belts. Shit. This was likely a very messy situation I was helping her out of. But the garter belts were enough. Mess or not I was putting her on my bike.
“My name isn’t Princess.” She said.
“Oh yeah, well you look like one. Except for those kicks.” I answered as I made sure she had all of her dress up and safely tucked in away from my tires and around her.
“My name’s Juliet, Jules. You can call me Jules.”
“Sounds like a very princess name if you ask me. I’m Ryder. Keep that dress up so you don’t get killed. And hold on tight.”
“Are you headed to a town?” She asked me.
“I’m headed to a campground. Few days off. That work for you?”
“It’ll do for now. Let’s go.”
“Okay Princess, uh, Jules.” And I got on my bike and kicked the stand out. I revved it up and unleashed. If she wanted to go fast I’d show her fast.
She held on, looser than I’d recommend at the speed we were going. She was a little wild this runaway princess bride. That was clear. She liked the speed so I took the pins out for her.
I wondered for a second, who was the prince or groom she’d left behind? Was he the one that sparked the fear in her eyes when she’d looked at the road behind her?
I didn’t wonder for long. Instead I enjoyed the road, the wind, the clean air, and the feeling of having Jules lightly hold on as we road.
The smell of flowers mixed in with the smell of my leather. The combo worked. It worked like crazy.
Jules
Hot. There was no other way to describe Ryder. He was hot. He looked like Brad Pitt era Thelma and Louise wrapped tight in leather and topped off in a Mohawk. And he had the sexiest smile I’d ever seen. I mean ever. And I had been treated to some sexy smiles when I dated the captain of the football team in college.
Ryder’s smile let me know he’d seen my garter belt but wasn’t going to mention it. He didn’t need to.
I had been on fast bikes before. And I knew exactly what every patch on Ryder’s leather meant. He was Sargent at Arms of the Great Wolves M.C., Grand City Chapter.
I was raised in the club. Just not that one. I was raised to hate the Great Wolves because Daddy said to.
“They’ve gone soft and they act so fucking superior. Fine with me. I’ll take every last cent they would have earned. Idiots.”
I’d heard that and versions of it right before I’d left home for college. Now that I was back I tried to remember the latest. I remembered Daddy saying there was some sort of trouble but I hadn’t listened to details.
I wish I had. Whatever. I could use Ryder’s fast bike and clear appreciation of my looks to get as far away from the church as possible. He’d told me to hold tight but I didn’t need to. I could have driven this bike myself. I held on but only just enough.
And I kept looking back. I envisioned the scene. Ross would be in deep shit when my Daddy realized I’d slipped away. That gave me a pang of guilt but I brushed it aside. He’d have to fend for himself just like I was doing.
I squeezed my eyes shut and blocked out the scene. I didn’t want to imagine the rage I had set off in my Daddy.
I had to stay in the present if I didn’t want to be dragged back by my hair to that damn church. For a brief second I let myself enjoy the ride. Enjoy Ryder. He smelled good. He felt good and he was handling this bike well. Fast, confident, but also careful. He was making sure I had a good ride. He smoothed out the curves and avoided the constant Michigan pot holes.
I put my head on his shoulder. I shouldn’t have. But it felt right and it helped me think. It helped me plan. I had to stay out of sight. Was this campground Ryder was headed to also a good idea for me?
I mulled it over for half a second or less. When I felt Ryder pull up on the throttle. I looked to see why up ahead. And then I looked behind. There were two bikes on our path and one behind us.
Fuck.
The Devils Hawks had caught up to me. Shit. The two bikes were stopped and blocking our progress. Ryder had no choice but to stop. He enabled the kickstand of his bike. He looked at me and said in a low cold voice, “Stay right here. These are some bad dudes.”
“But,” he didn’t give me a chance to explain.
“I’m badder.” And he flashed that smile at me. Shit. He had no idea what he’d done by picking me up.
Enjoyed this sneak peek? Don’t miss Ryder, the next book in my Great Wolves M.C. Series. Click here to find out more.
Bonus Excerpt
Torrid Book One
By Jayne Blue
Jack
For twenty years I’ve had to listen to how beautiful this woman was when all I could think about is how much I hated her. I could kind of see it now though. The dark arch of her brow against porcelain skin. Full lips in a permanent pout that would make Angelina Jolie jealous. Black lashes so thick you could hardly make each one out. I resisted the urge to brush away an unruly lock of hair that curved around her temple. The rest of her russet curls fanned out across the satin pillow where she rested.
Yes. Everyone else was right. She was beautiful. Leave it to Miranda Manning to make death look stylish.
A firm pat at the center of my back came with enough force to nearly knock me across her casket if I didn’t already have a ferocious grip on the arm rest. R.J. Burnett heaved himself into the space on the kneeler next to me.
“Hey, R.J.,” I said under my breath, tapping my fist against his.
“You’ve been up here awhile, man,” R.J. said. “People are gonna start to talk.”
I looked around. The line behind me snaked through the room, out into the lobby and around the parking lot of Beauchamp’s Funeral Home. I wondered how many of the throng actually grieved for Miranda. Ten? Twenty? Those that came were Chicago’s elite. The mayor. The governor. A former Vice Present. Seventeen federal judges including a sitting U.S. Supreme Court Justice. I even saw a mobster or two. This would be a damn good place for an assassination.
I made a hasty sign of the cross and said a Hail Mary while R.J. murmured in unison beside me. Then we pushed ourselves away from the kneeler together. I turned and steeled myself for the gauntlet of people in line behind me. I got downturned eyes, tilted heads and fake smiles as many reached out to clasp my hand in th
eirs.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Such a great, great, lady, your mother.”
“It’s such a tragedy. We’ll keep your mother and your whole family in our prayers.”
“You’ve been such a good son to her.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, straightened my back at every reference. I’d lost my mother, yes. But that was over twenty years ago. The woman in that casket had no claim on me even though we shared a last name. That was my father’s choice, not mine. Never, ever mine. And now, my real mother would lie in a cemetery not far from here while they slid Miranda into a marble vault next to my dad. I’d never get away with moving him where he belonged. Even in death, Miranda could still take things away.
I followed R.J. down the hallway. He led me past the coatroom and out a side door to the parking lot. We ended up right behind the dumpsters and it was perfect. No gawkers, reporters, or false mourners back here. R.J. reached into the breast pocket of his dark brown suit and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He tapped the bottom and offered me one. I declined. I quit five years ago and haven’t looked back. Well, that’s a lie. I look back a lot, but I would be damned if I let Miranda mess me up on that front.
“Good to see you,” R.J. said as he lit up and took a slow drag that made my mouth water.
“You got anything stronger in that jacket of yours?” I asked. “Like something in a flask?”
R.J. waved smoke away from his face and smiled. Sure enough, he reached back in and pulled out just the thing. “You still like my friend, Jim Beam?” he said.
I took the flask from him, raised it in salute and downed two quick shots. It would be enough to take the edge off for about an hour and I could have kicked myself for not thinking of bringing my own supply. As it was, I could see the humor in the situation.
R.J. apparently did too because he picked that moment to slap me on the back again and break into his rich, deep bark of a laugh. His inability to keep it quiet had gotten us into trouble when we were kids. “Shit doesn’t ever change, does it?” he said.
