The Biker's Past: A Cold Steel Motorcycle Club Romance Novella

by Meg Jackson

  “Does it matter? Does it really matter, Daddy, why Giordino was there, or why he was shot? Boon didn’t do it. Boon didn’t shoot him. He was 12. He was just a kid.”

  Dad leaned back in his chair, his face dark. Mom and I watched him as he sat there, turning over everything in his mind.

  “Was it Alicia? Did Alicia help you get out, with the ladder?” Mom suddenly asked, turning to me. I was a little taken aback by the question, only because it seemed so irrelevant to the rest of the conversation.

  “Becky, too. I think it was actually Becky’s idea,” I said, almost relieved to be able to provide a straight answer to a straight question. Mom looked at Dad pointedly, an “I told you so” look. Dad saw and threw his hands up.

  “Well, Becky Armstrong is not the goddam high priestess of good judgment!” Dad said, exasperated. It dawned on me what was going on, and it almost made me laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation: my parents had their doubts about Alicia’s ability to make good decisions, but they pretty much thought Becky could be President of the United States.

  If I wasn’t sure if Mom and Dad would let me go to a party or show, all I needed to do was tell them Becky was driving, or would be there, and they immediately relaxed a little bit. Obviously, if they thought Becky had met Boon and supported my decision to see him, it gave me a little more credibility. I thanked God, not for the first time, for my best friends.

  “I’m just saying, Bill,” Mom replied. She turned back to me.

  “Samantha, we are very, very disappointed that you would sneak out without telling us anything. That’s dangerous, no matter what the situation. But I, for one, think I understand. And I’m not going to speak for your father, but I think you have a valid point,” Mom said, speaking slowly and clearly. I could have tackled her for a hug at that moment. For the first time, she was looking at me almost as an equal, instead of as her daughter.

  “Jillian…” Dad said, his face clouding over again.

  “No, Bill, that is my opinion, and Samantha deserves to know that. She’s right. She’s not a little girl anymore, and she needs to make her own decisions. I know you want me to just agree with you on everything, honey, but that ain’t the woman you married, and I know that you don’t want to raise a daughter who’ll just agree to anything her husband says. Now you can say your piece, if you want. I’ve said mine.”

  With that, my mother leaned back into her chair, folded her hands over her lap, and pursed her lips together. She was actually going to let Dad and I hash this out on our own, a first in my household. I guess one of the things that comes with the territory of growing up is being your own referee.

  “Dad, will you please, just, please, give him a chance? Just meet with him, once. I promise, you’ll see, he’s not like his father. He’s got a chance to make a better life for himself here, and he wants to try,” I pleaded, leaning forward, feeling more tears come to my eyes. This time they were desperate tears. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little happy about these tears; after all, there was nothing like me bawling my eyes out to soften my father’s heart. It’s biological, I swear.

  “Samantha, I only want the best for you. All the best. Forever. It scares me that you’re getting involved in this…man. He’s older than you, and he has a past, whether or not he wants to escape from that past…well, it’s hard. It’s harder than you could possibly imagine to just leave your whole life behind, start new. There are all these things you learn growing up and…they just become second nature,” Dad said, obviously trying to remain calm.

  “My only job on this whole wide earth, Samantha, is keeping you safe. Everything I do, from going to work in the morning to going to bed at night, that’s all just…it’s all just to help me do that one job. Keep you safe. From physical harm, from emotional harm…I don’t ever want you to look like that poor woman did on the floor of the hotel. I don’t want to see my baby girl, pumped full of drugs, dead on a floor because she got involved with the wrong man. Can you see that?”

  I nodded.

  “But, Daddy, the wrong man could be any man. A football player, a doctor, a senator. You can’t judge people like that. You have to…you have to try and give people a chance. Boon is strong. He can do it. He wants it. I can see it in his eyes, how badly he wants it…”

  Dad’s eyes dropped back to his lap, where he was twiddling his thumbs.

  “I can’t stop you, Samantha, if this is what you want. I can’t tell you to never see him again. Soon, you’ll be your own woman, moving out, having your own life. I can’t always be there to pick you up. I…I just hope I’ve raised you well enough to when to back away, when to protect yourself, because you can’t trust anyone else to protect you. Not always. Not everywhere.”

  “I promise, Dad, you did good. I’m not…I didn’t invite him here. I didn’t know he was coming. I liked him, and I like him even more now, but I’m taking it slow, I promise. I’m getting to know him, too. I just…I want you to get to know him. I want you to see that he can be someone good. And…and I think he wants that, too. Maybe, Daddy, if you just gave him this chance, he’d be even better. If he knew that someone like you believed in him…”

  “Jesus, Samantha, you’re asking a lot now. I mean, it’s one thing for me to say you can see him. But what do you expect me to do? Find him an apartment and get him a job on the force?”

  “No, no, nothing like that, just…just meet him. Please, just look him in the eye and shake his hand and say hello. Can’t we just start with that?”

  The room fell silent as Dad considered. The only sound was a ticking clock.

  “Have him come over tomorrow,” Dad finally said with a sigh. “He can have dinner with us.”

  I squealed, ran to him from my chair, wrapped my arms around him and squeezed tightly.

  “Thank you, Daddy, thank you,” I said, my eyes squeezed tight, a few final tears rolling down my cheeks.

  And those were happy tears.

  The next day, I was in a rare state, frantic for no real reason. I mean, obviously, I was nervous about what was certainly going to be a tense meeting. I mean, after the explosive welcome to Missoula that my father had given Boon, I knew things couldn’t really be worse this time around. But I worried about them both: I worried about Boon acting like the gentleman I knew he could be, and I worried about my father raking him over hot coals.

  Getting Boon to agree to come over hadn’t been as easy as I’d hoped it would be. He was willing, but reluctant, worried. I think he was worried about the same things I was: his own ability to put his hard-riding attitude to the side for one night, his ability to charm my father at least half as much as he’d charmed me.

  About an hour before my father was due home from work, the doorbell rang. I thought it was UPS or a neighbor or some other person, but my heart leapt when I peered out the window and saw Boon standing on the steps.

  “You’re early,” I said, trying to keep my grin from spreading ear-to-ear. I was, of course, thrilled to see him, but I didn’t want to seem too infatuated.

  “I couldn’t just sit around in that motel room anymore,” Boon said back, his own grin belying his excitement to see me.

  I stepped aside, holding the door open for him. He slipped in, looking around the foyer.

  “Nice digs,” he said, a hint of envy in his voice. My house must have looked so strangely ordinary to him: family photos on the walls, carpeted stairs, loveseats and coffee tables. For someone who seemed to live most of his life in motel rooms, I wondered if Boon had ever had a home to himself.

  “Do you want something to drink? Eat?” I said, letting the door close and slipping past him, walking towards the kitchen. He shook his head.

  “I’m good. When does dear old Dad get home?”

  Something about his tone made me nervous. He clearly still harbored some animosity towards my father: whether that was because of their first meeting or a general antipathy towards authority figures, I couldn’t quite tell.

  “Um, a
n hour or so. But, Boon, will you…will you be nice? To him, I mean? Like, I mean, I know that he probably left a bad impression, but he really is a good guy, and he’s willing to give you a chance. I hope that means something to you,” I said, not sure how to say “don’t be a dick” in a nice way. Boon grinned.

  “Oh, Samantha, don’t worry. I can be very charming. I’m grateful, I really am, I promise, and I’ll be good. I don’t usually make being nice to cops my priority, but I’ll make an exception. I’m still a little rough around the edges,” he said, reaching out for me and pulling me into his arms. He kissed the top of my head, I closed my eyes and smiled, loving the smell of him.

  “Thanks, Boon. It’s just…you know, he’s a good guy, but he’s still on the fence about you…” I let my sentence trail off, not seeing any need to explain further. Boon wasn’t stupid.

  “So…where do you sleep?” The question caught me off guard and I blushed. I’d never had a boy in my room before. I wasn’t allowed. I probably still wasn’t allowed, and I definitely wouldn’t have been allowed to have Boon up there if my parents knew. But they didn’t know…

  “Upstairs,” I said, pulling away and grabbing his hand in mine. I led him up the stairs, thinking that Boon really was corrupting me. But in an innocent sort of way. Ever since I’d seen him on my doorstep, I’d felt my body drawn to him like a magnet.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t also like just talking to him and hanging out…I just also really, really, really liked the way it felt when he touched me. For the first time, I’d met a guy who excited my body as much as my mind, and that felt amazing. It felt like what I’d always wanted, been waiting for, dreamed of. I was hungry for him in every way: his voice, his stories, his laugh, his hands, his lips, his…

  I turned to him before opening the door to my room.

  “You’ll be the first guy that’s not related to me to step foot in this room,” I said, aware that my eyes were probably sparkling a little bit. In a way, each time I was with Boon, I felt like I was losing my virginity all over again. In the hotel room, obviously, but then also on the beach, and now…I was letting him into all sorts of places that I’d never let anyone before. It was exciting.

  “Don’t tell me there’s actually some sort of torture dungeon back there,” he said with a grin. I laughed and turned the doorknob, following him in.

  I looked around the room, suddenly very aware of how babyish it must all have looked to him: pink comforter, photos of Alicia and Becky in fuzzy frames, a teddy bear on the window seat, snow globes dotting the shelves. I turned to him with a timid grin.

  “I guess this is a lot more pink than you’re probably used to,” I said. He grinned back.

  “I like it. It’s who you are. And I like…I like this bed,” he said, suddenly pushing me forward. I fell onto my back with a cry of surprise. Looking up, Boon was staring down at me, the grin now looking wicked. I felt my blood begin to rush just from the way he was looking at me, could feel my pussy coming to life again, my clit beginning to perk up as he stared down at me, hunger in his eyes.

  “I’ve had this bed since I was a little girl,” I said. “My Dad bought it for me.”

  “Oh? What do you think your Daddy intended for you to do on this bed,” Boon said, his hands coming to my bare thighs, rubbing upwards towards the hem of my dress. My skin sparked, my flesh a piece of flint, his fingers steel. I moaned as his hands pushed the dress up further, revealing more of my milky flesh, pushing upwards towards my panties.

  “I think he probably wanted me to have a lot of sweet dreams,” I said, my breath shallow, my eyes following Boon’s hands as they came to a rest on my hips. He dropped to his knees before me.

  “I imagine he wouldn’t be too pleased if he knew his little girl was fraternizing with someone like me on this bed,” Boon said, bringing his lips to my skin. I shivered as he began to kiss my inner thighs, his soft lips like a feather.

  “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” I said back, my thoughts beginning to fade as desire took over. I knew we were on thin ice, that Dad had only just come around, but I didn’t care. The way Boon touched me, kissed me, was enough to make me reckless.

  His lips moved upward steadily, and I let my head fall back against the covers, my eyes closed as my body temperature rose with each tender kiss. Finally, he paused, hovering just above my pussy. I could feel his hot breath against my sex, could feel myself growing wet from anticipation. His mouth came to the fabric of my panties, the thin material the only thing between his lips and my clit, which was now swelling and aching to be touched.

  His fingers closed around the elastic top of my panties and he pulled down roughly; I raised my legs, letting him pull my panties down, my pussy now exposed to him. He looked up at me with a look in his eye which, I’m sure, matched my own. He leaned forward again, licking his lips, kissing the flesh around my slit, his fingers sliding up and down along my wetness, making my pussy clench and ripple with need.

  Slowly, he pressed one finger into me, causing me to cry out and push my hips towards him. His mouth found its way to my clit and I cried out again as he flicked it with his tongue, causing a fire to whip through my veins. He began to suckle and lick at my clit while probing me with his finger; my head seemed to melt into the mattress, my cheeks flushed and rosy from heat, my fingers clutching at the covers.

  Slowly, he pushed another finger into me, and my body pushed harder towards him, wanting more. He circled my clit with his tongue, then flicked it upwards, the changing sensations like a kaleidoscope of pleasure. My pussy was clamping down on his fingers as he pushed them into me then curled them, seeming to search for something inside me; I suddenly felt a bolt of fluid electricity rush through me as his fingers pressed downwards.

  My legs clenched around his head, my hands rushed to his hair, entwined in the strands, pressing his face forward. He rubbed at the same spot inside me, his tongue tracing wild patterns on my clit. My body pushed downwards against the mattress, letting his fingers press deeper, harder, against that magic place, each second passing like a century as I felt a great need welling up inside me, a desperate agony, a feeling like water pressing against a dam.

  “Oh, fuck, Boon, please, don’t stop, don’t stop,” I moaned as his tongue sped up, flicking my clit steadily, each time drawing me closer and closer to the edge, his fingers deep and strong inside me, coaxing, beckoning, pressing against that spot, that spot, oh jesus, that spot. My mind fell apart, I pushed his head against me, hard, feeling my body coming to a singular point of boundless ecstasy, so close, so close, don’t stop, please…

  “Fuck,” I screamed out, hearing the word pierce the warm, still air of my bedroom, and released a flood of juices over his fingers, my clit standing straight like a soldier, my body shuddering as all the built-up tension melted away in a flood of delight, like sand running with the tide. My hips arched upwards as his fingers moved away, his tongue taking their place, tasting my juices, lapping at them like water.

  I moaned as Boon pulled away, my grip on his head relaxed, my thighs falling open in weak surrender. He began to crawl over me, grabbing my hands along the way and pulling them over my head. I smiled dazedly up at him, still reeling from the orgasm. And that’s when we heard it.

  It was distant, but not very distant, maybe three blocks away. A roar of many engines. At first, I didn’t think anything of it, but I reacted when Boon’s body stiffened above me, his head snapping to the window.

  He quickly jumped off the bed and ran towards the window, pushing the curtains to the side. The roar grew nearer, louder, bearing down on us. The volume increased every second, eventually ripping through the air violently, assaulting our ears. Boon turned to me, his face almost comedic in its panic, eyes wide and shaking. I saw where the curtains were trembling from his grip. I sat up, my heart beating hard now.

  “What is it?” I asked, desperate for Boon to say something, anything, to make me feel better about what I was hearing, seeing.

&n
bsp; “Tell me your dad owns a motorcycle,” Boon said, his voice a rough whisper. I shook my head, biting my lip. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

  “What is it? What’s going on?” I said, ideas forming in my mind: bad ideas, really bad ideas. Boon backed away from the window and began to pace as the roar grew even louder. And then stopped. The silence was as loud as the motors have been. Boon glanced at the window, shut his eyes, mouthed some words. I jumped up, rushing to where he stood, grabbing him by the arm and turning him to me.

  “Boon, tell me what’s going on,” I said, trying to meet his eyes.

  “He found me. He came. He’s here,” Boon said. He sounded like a little boy, and that scared me more than anything else.

  “Who?” I asked, already knowing the answer, and feeling my stomach drop through the floor.

  “My father.”

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  MY OTHER TITLES

  You can find all my other books at the link below. If you liked this story, I’m sure you’ll like “Rough Love”. For something a bit steamier, I recommend “Taken by Bikers”.

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