Naughty in Norway

by Edwards, Christine

  Naughty in Norway

  Christine Edwards

  Fanny Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.fannypress.com

  edwards.fannypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  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.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  Naughty in Norway

  Copyright © 2014 by Christine Edwards

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-542-0 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-543-7 (eBook)

  Produced in the United States of America

  To R.M.E.

  You never cease to make me feel like a princess in a magical world. I adore you …

  Special Thanks

  To the incomparable motorcycle designer Oscar Salas, thank you for your generous insight into the wild world of bikers. Your grin is contagious.

  To Angelica and Lasse Dahl, my beautiful and brilliant Norwegian cousin.

  To all Norwegian bikers, thanks for being a wicked cool inspiration.

  To Florence and the Machine for writing the stunning lyrics for “No Light, No Light”

  Chapter One

  ***

  Saturday Night In Oslo

  “Slow it down, girlfriend. You drive like a mad woman! In case you haven’t noticed, there’s snow covering the roads.” My heart pounds wildly in my chest as the sporty Mazda races through the city.

  Lisetta flashes a devilish grin as she shifts into fourth gear and stomps on the gas pedal. We punch forward and she glances at me. “Come on, Vail, you know I’ve grown up driving in this weather. Besides, this is the first real snowfall of the year so it’s no big deal, darling. Just belt up and enjoy the ride. We’ll be there soon. Here, check this song out.”

  She plays with her iPod for a moment and music thumps through the darkened interior of the car, an infectious hip-hop song by Macklemore. I shake my head and grin at her blitheness while checking my makeup in the passenger mirror.

  “What type of party is your cousin having tonight anyway? You’ve been pretty skimpy on the details, so let’s have it, lady.”

  She takes a deep breath and throws me a cautious look before locking her sky blue eyes back onto the road. “I’ve told you before that Mikkel owns an auto repair garage, but I may have left out that he’s also a member of a riding club.”

  I cock my head and ask, “You mean like horses? Well, I suppose that’s a unique hobby for a guy. I imagine that he must ride indoors most of the year around here, right? It being so cold and all.”

  Her lips twitch in open amusement as she shakes her head. “Nah, Vail, he’s a member of a motorcycle club. You have those all over California right?”

  Now I’m really lost.

  “Wait, are you telling me that there are biker clubs here in Norway? How bizarre, I had no idea. What, does he ride one of those sexy Euro sport bikes? What are they called, Ducati’s? Those are so hot.”

  Lisetta doesn’t respond, which is unusual because normally she can talk up a streak and keep on after that.

  A flurry of apprehension begins to creep up my spine as I cautiously ask, “Wait, Lisetta what type of party are we heading to? Please tell me it’s not a full-on biker bar or some creepy clubhouse.”

  I narrow my eyes in suspicion at my stunning Nordic roommate.

  With a nervous laugh she replies, “Vail, seriously. I knew you would make up an excuse not to come out if I told you that we’re invited to party tonight with Devil’s Wrath Motorcycle Club.”

  No way! Holy shit. That freaky name says it all. So not going to happen in this girl’s lifetime.

  My body grows cold with shock as I pivot to her and demand, “Turn the car around now, Lisetta. In Huntington Beach we have loads of bad-ass bikers and I’ve lived long enough to know that any woman in her right mind does not go near a biker hangout, much less party with them. How in the world could there be a hardcore biker clubhouse here in Oslo anyway?”

  She huffs, frustrated with me. “Yes, there are many bikers in Oslo. I can see we should’ve had a few cocktails before coming out tonight,” she grumbles under her breath while continuing on, despite my agitation. Soon we reach the edge of the city.

  Thoroughly pissed off, I continue to argue vehemently with her, “Seriously, what the hell? Just give me one good reason why you want to go there tonight. There must be a hundred nice, safe places to go to right this very moment in the city. Can’t we just bail? Really, it’s sounds ridiculously dangerous.”

  “Come on, Vail, it’s Saturday night and I thought you Americans had a terrific sense of adventure, .” She pouts and gives me pretty puppy-dog eyes. “I promised Mikkel we’d swing by his party. It’s some big weekend and they have a band and everything. Also, I’m really interested in this guy that Mikkel hangs out with. His name is Bern and he’s smoking hot! I have only spoken to him once, so please, please let’s just go and check it out. I promise you that if we’re not having an amazing time then we’ll leave, all right?”

  If it were anyone else asking I wouldn’t go, but I owe Lisetta so much. She broke me out of my shell and convinced me that a semester abroad in Norway would be a fantastic cultural experience, and she nailed it. We’ve been friends ever since meeting at Berkley three years ago and now she and I are going halves on her modern flat smack in the city center. Just like in California, we enjoy trying out new foreign flicks each Friday night and are both consignment shop addicts. Her parents have us over to dinner every Sunday and it feels as close to home as one can get in a foreign country.

  With a weighted pause and a deep breath I reluctantly comply. “Some new hottie, huh? Okay, Lisetta, I’ll give it a few hours, but I’m only doing this for you, all right?”

  She’s beyond giddy. “Aw, Vail, that’s the spirit. From what I hear these guys really know how to party, and you could use some Norwegian cultural experience that doesn’t come from a dusty, dated textbook, my darling. Mikkel promised to look out for us and he knows that we’re new to this scene. You’ll have a fantastic time, I’m sure, and besides, what’s the worst that can happen, eh?”

  Foreign hardcore biker bar? Yeah right.

  A myriad of crazy scenarios flutter through my frightened brain. Would they be gruff and uncouth? What if they’re already drunk and are crazy-rowdy? Would scary tattoos abound? Come to think of it, I’ve never even had a conversation with a biker, let alone visited a biker club. But Mikkel is Lisetta’s cousin, so he has to harbor some sort of concern for her welfare, right? I know her father well and he wouldn’t stand for his little angel to be put in a precarious situation. Mikkel has to know this.

  And she is right, I do need to lighten up and have fun. I’ve been studying nonstop since I arrived here nearly three months ago, immersing myself in fascinating Scandinavian Studies courses. Tonight should be a good release for me. I decide to go into the party with a positive attitude.

  “Have you ever been to one of their parties?”

  “No, my cousin Mikkel is protective and wouldn’t let me before now, but I ran into him at the coffee shop and he invited us to come tonight as long as we stick together. I met Bern at Mikkel’s garage three weeks ago when I was having my car serviced. Mikkel told me that he’s a solid guy and he’s single. I think Bern may have pushed for us to come tonight. Mikkel has always seen me as his sweet little cousin and then suddenly he has this chang
e of heart … Wait until you see Bern, he has a body to drool over, I swear. I had trouble catching my breath when I first saw him, he’s so smoldering hot!”

  “Well I’m looking forward to checking him out, sweetie, and I haven’t had a chance to meet your cousin yet. Although, I wish you would have told me where we were going, Lisetta. Don’t you think we’re a bit overdressed?”

  I cringe as I look down at my hot attire. My black boots hit over the knee and are paired with a skin-tight red wrap dress. On top I’m wearing a belted, black wool Armani Exchange coat, a steal of a find at one of Lisetta’s favorite thrift stores. The ensemble would suit a high-end nightclub far better than a rough biker joint.

  “You look brilliant, and besides, when I asked Mikkel he told me that we should wear anything we wanted.”

  I bet he did.

  “Look.” She points dead ahead. “The clubhouse is just at the end of this road. He told me we couldn’t miss it.”

  Her blue Mazda slows as we head up a long, freshly plowed driveway straight toward an ominous black building set high up on a hill.

  It appears to be a chalet-style structure with an impressive vaulted roof at least three levels high. Across the sprawling front deck is a giant black banner that spans the width of the place. It features motorcycle-riding demons painted on both ends and the words ‘Devil’s Wrath MC Oslo’ printed in bold white lettering directly in the center.

  I’m done for.

  I begin wiggling about like a goldfish in my seat, unable to contain my nerves as Lisetta pulls into one of the few remaining parking spots.

  “I suppose the party is raging already, Lisetta? Now I wish we’d had those drinks you mentioned because I could certainly use some liquid courage to walk in there.”

  Stepping out into the snow, she cautiously comes around to my side of the car and leans into the open door, a sincere look on her pretty face. “Vail, I know you too well. I shouldn’t be selfish about this. If you’re that uncomfortable we can head back into the city. Really, we don’t have to go in. I understand.”

  I appreciate her giving me an out, but we’re here and I’m a grown woman who can hold her own. I step out beside her and say cheerfully, “Come on, darling, I can hear the band from here, let’s go check it out. First things first though, cocktails! Oh, and this Bern guy had better be worth it.”

  In a sultry voice she purrs, “Oh yeah, baby, he is!”

  As we walk gingerly in our stiletto boots through the snow toward the porch steps, I notice a massive free-standing garage sitting off to the side of the club. The wide bay door is fully open and I can make out more than a dozen shiny motorcycles parked inside. I’m far from an aficionado, but the rides all appear to be Harley Davidsons. There’s no mistaking their imposing girth and distinctive styling. I have to admit all of that leather and manly steel is a hot combo.

  “I don’t think many of the bikers would brave these snowy roads on one of those bad boys tonight, right?”

  “Most of these guys drive cars or trucks when the weather is bad like this and they adore anything that’s classic American, like Corvettes, Camaros and monster trucks. Mikkel and his buddies take regular trips to ride their bikes throughout Southern Europe and America. It’s safe to say that these guys live to ride.”

  “Okay, well I should be good around them then, being American and all,” I say with a sly grin.

  “Oh, Vail, are you kidding? Everyone’s going to be wild for you. Come on, let’s head inside.”

  As we reach the top step I can clearly make out “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC pounding away within the clubhouse. Lisetta does a last minute skirt adjustment and rings the bell to the right of the solid black door.

  My heart rate begins to really sprint as a massive, dark haired biker opens it and peers down at both of us.

  “Hey Mikkel, we made it!”

  The big biker breaks out in a warm grin. “Come in, I was worried about you two driving in this weather. I’m glad you showed up. I was just about to ring your cell, Lisetta.”

  He has to shout over the noise of the party pounding away in the background.

  He steps aside to let us enter and looks curiously down at me. “You must be the American, Vail, that Lisetta is so fond of. I’m Mikkel.” His voice is deep and heavily accented.

  I reach out to clasp his giant outstretched hand and take in his black leather vest with various badges adorning it. Looking up into his face, I see that he’s well over six feet tall and sports closely cropped dark hair and a full goatee. He’s probably in his early thirties, and thin lines fan out from his interesting scotch-colored eyes. Under other circumstances I definitely would have found him handsome, but in a biker club he is far too daunting. He’s very built and I quickly decide that I prefer him smiling, as he appears less dangerous that way.

  “Nice to finally meet you.” I smile up at him shyly and notice that he’s still clasping my hand.

  “Come on, follow me, ladies. First, let’s get you both something to drink. Then I’ll show you around our clubhouse.”

  As he turns to head toward the back bar, I’m able to get my first real look at the interior. The large, vaulted space is dimly lit and rather smoky. The ceiling is high with open rafters painted black. There’s a high platform stage against the right wall where a rock band wails away. They look right out of a death metal video, with their black leather pants and long, wild hair.

  The place is jam-packed. A group of partiers hang out in an area off to the left that has several dark leather sofas and a giant flat screen TV with an action game playing on it. I also spy a few old-school free-standing arcade games: Ms. Pacman and Galaga.

  A myriad of framed Harley photos and artwork adorn every wall. We make our way across a crowded black and white checkerboard dance floor. It has an actual stripper pole right in the center and I can’t stifle a laugh.

  Yeah, I bet that gets some serious action after they get the ladies all liquored up.

  As we head up the five steps toward the black granite bar, Lisetta turns toward me with an easy smile. “You hanging in there, lady?”

  “I could use a drink, but this is all right so far, at least they have the visual entertainment factor going on.”

  Mikkel steps behind the long bar and spreads his arms wide. “So, what are you ladies drinking tonight?”

  Lisetta turns to me. “Our usual, if they have it here?”

  “Sure, sounds good.”

  “How about two Stoli Ohranj vodkas on the rocks, Mikkel.”

  “I can do that. Coming right up.” Mikkel busies himself grabbing glasses and a bottle of vodka. As he pours he catches Lisetta’s eye and tilts his head toward the far corner of the room. “By the way, Bern’s over there.”

  “Mikkel!” She leans in, ivory cheeks tinged with a telltale blush, and hisses at him, “Really, if you’re out to embarrass me tonight then we’re out of here ... like, now.”

  He places our drinks on the bar and grins sheepishly. “Relax, cousin, and have a seat. I need to go downstairs for more ice but I’ll see you both shortly.” Mikkel leaves the bar and we are left alone in the crowd. People surround us, talking and laughing, some of them dancing near the stage.

  “Wild scene.” I have to say it loudly right in Lisetta’s ear in order for her to hear me. We settle into the row of tall leather barstools, a safe spot to observe everything going on around us, and I find myself starting to relax. Mikkel seems like a totally together guy so far.

  At least we have one male ally here tonight.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that these biker parties can last for days. Can you imagine, Vail? Norwegian men certainly can drink, that’s no joke. Just for fun we’ll have to step you up to the real deal liquor, like Aquavit, my sweet.”

  “I’m game, darling.”

  I shed my coat and take a deep drink of the zesty orange flavored vodka while leaning back to take in the crowd. I’ve never seen so many men wearing black leather and Harley Davidson apparel. All of them ar
e large in stature and most have facial hair. I would bet money that they’re all rocking multiple tattoos under their bad boy gear. Each member wears either a black leather vest or a full jacket complete with the red stitched patch ‘Devil’s Wrath MC’ embroidered in an arch across their shoulders. I find that the cool factor is raised especially high with the word “Oslo” located below the wicked looking horned demon who peers out in evil intensity from the center of their backs.

  There are only about fifteen women, including us, at the party and most of them are wearing the standard tight cleavage-flashing tank tops with cut-off-your-circulation jeans. The majority of them are surprisingly attractive with the common factor being generous tits and lots of hair; but then again, in Norway, most everyone appears as if they’ve won the genetic lottery. Most of the ladies here seem to be with dates or boyfriends who clutch them with avid possessiveness.

  I whisper against Lisetta’s ear, “Are we the only single women here?” The gnawing anxiety from earlier comes creeping back.

  “I wouldn’t think so. Mikkel said there are a bunch of single ladies invited tonight and it’s still fairly early.” Her eyes go wide and she gestures with a discreet chin tilt. “Oh, look over there, Vail; in the far corner, that’s Bern on the right with the cropped blond hair. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

  I lean back on the tall barstool to have a look across the room, toward the far corner area, and immediately spy Bern. He’s already locked his hungry gaze onto Lisetta. He appears to be in his late twenties with a sexy blond goatee and sky-blue eyes. He’s around six feet in height and built like a weightlifter. His leather vest stretches across his wide shoulders and his loose jeans can’t hide the powerful muscles beneath.

  “Mmm, so very delish, Lisetta.”

  “I know, right?” she whispers mischievously with a saucy lilt in her fluid accent.