HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “Step away from the car, Motherfucker,” he growled as the pace of his steps quickened.

  The man, obviously drunk, turned his head toward Vince and all but fell into the fender of my car. After taking a few more steps, Vince placed the gas can beside the car, walked up to the man, and gently pushed him to the side by pressing his left forearm against the man’s chest. As the man stumbled backward, Vince stepped between him and my car.

  “Expensive paint job, Brother. Just want you to be careful,” he said.

  “Get your fucking hands off me,” the man howled.

  In a split-second, the man produced a knife and began swinging it toward Vince. Immediately, it was apparent Vince was no stranger to fighting, protecting himself, or disarming a knife wielding drunk.

  Kick his fucking ass, Vince.

  As the man grunted and lurched forward with the knife, Vince raised his left arm high in the air, wrapped it around the man’s right arm, and quickly turned around. With his back against the man’s chest and the man’s arm pinned in Vince’s armpit, he reached for the man’s wrist and turned it to the side.

  As the drunk wailed in pain, he dropped the knife. As soon as it hit the pavement, Vince stepped on it and pushed the man to the side.

  As the man stumbled, Vince bent down, picked up the knife, and shoved it into his back pocket. I stood in awe at what I had just seen. No differently than the men in my MC Romance books, Vince was not only a biker, but a bad-ass biker. Standing and waiting to see what his next Judo move might be, I was surprised to see a police officer walk from inside the store and onto the sidewalk in front of my car.

  “Kid inside told me what happened. He saw it all. You want to press charges for assault?” the officer asked.

  Still standing between the man and my car, Vince crossed his arms in front of his chest and shook his head. “Simple misunderstanding, Officer.”

  “Kid inside said he pulled a knife on you,” the officer said as he tilted his head toward the drunk.

  “Nope. He took a swing at me and missed. Didn’t see a knife,” Vince said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “A swing and a miss, huh? Anyone here had too much to drink?” the officer asked as he glanced at each of us.

  It had only been thirty minutes since I finished the bottle of wine, and although I wasn’t shit-faced drunk, I was definitely not as drunk as I was going to get. With each passing minute, I felt a little more incapable of standing without teetering over. A sobriety test would land me in jail for sure.

  “Can’t speak for him,” Vince said as he tossed his head toward the drunken man. “But, she’s had some wine. Good thing I’m driving.”

  The officer cocked an eyebrow. “You’re driving?”

  “That’s what I said,” Vince responded.

  The officer pointed his finger at me. “Kid inside said she drove up…”

  He turned and pointed his finger at Vince’s chest. “You got gas…”

  He swiveled to the side and pointed at the drunk. “And he attacked you with a knife when you walked up to the car.”

  “Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear,” Vince said.

  Wow. He just quoted Edgar Allen Poe.

  The officer turned to face me, pressed his hands on his hips, and sighed. “So what really happened?”

  Raised by a father who was wrongly accused and subsequently wrongly convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, I had very little respect for police officers, especially our city’s finest. Based on my desire to spend more time with Vince and less time standing and talking to a cop, I shrugged my shoulders and smiled.

  “Exactly what he said happened,” I responded.

  The officer raised his hand and pressed his thumb against the bill of his hat, raising it slightly. “And how much wine did you drink tonight?”

  “Not so much that I’m blind or stupid, but too damned much to drive,” I responded.

  He nodded his head in confirmation, apparently disappointed he wasn’t able to make a few arrests.

  “How’d you get here?” the officer asked as he turned toward the drunken man.

  Obviously not an intelligent man, the drunk tossed his head toward a truck parked a few stalls away from where we were standing.

  “Have a nice night,” the officer said with a nod as he grabbed the man by his upper arm and pulled him onto the sidewalk.

  After carefully placing the can of gas in the floorboard between my feet, we got into the car and turned to face each other.

  “Keys?” Vince asked as he held his hand out.

  I reluctantly dropped the keys into his hand. Other than my father and me, he would be the only other one to ever drive the car.

  He reached into his front pocket, fumbled around for a moment, and then reached toward my lap.

  “Here,” he said as he dropped a small tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush in my lap.

  I glanced down and smiled. As ridiculous as it seemed to actually think of the toothpaste and toothbrush as a gift, I immediately felt warmth developing in my heart as I gazed at the items. Short of my father, it was the only gift a man had ever given me.

  “Any secrets to starting it?” he asked as he pushed the key into the ignition.

  I turned to face him and immediately my mouth curled into a grin. He had captured my attention in a short period of time, and I had no desire to let him slip away without trying to learn more about him. Before I embarrassed myself by staring, I shifted my drunken eyes away from him and responded.

  “Pump it once and turn the key,” I said as I opened the glovebox and placed the items inside.

  He started the car and slowly backed out of the parking stall. Relishing in the recollection of Vince’s one-sided fight, I glanced out the window and toward the building. The officer was giving the man a sobriety test on the sidewalk, and it was pretty obvious he wasn’t going to pass it. As I shifted my eyes once again toward Vince, I wondered just how well I would have performed the same test in my flip-flops.

  “I appreciate you saying you were driving,” I said.

  “No problem,” he responded. “I appreciate you taking me to get gas.”

  “No problem,” I said in a mimicking tone. “But we’re not even.”

  “Oh we’re not?” he asked over his shoulder as he pulled into the street.

  The muscles on his tattooed bicep flared as he turned the steering wheel. He was torturing me and he had no idea he was doing so.

  I shook my head and swallowed a mouthful of desire. “Nope. I want a ride on your bike.”

  He turned his head in my direction as the car came to a stop at the traffic light. After cocking an eyebrow comically and fixing his eyes on mine, he responded.

  “I don’t give just anyone a ride on my bike,” he said flatly.

  “Well,” I said as I raised my eyebrows slightly.

  “I’m not just anyone.”

  Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Five

  VINCE

  June 8th, 2014

  I had told myself over the course of the last year that a woman would have to prove herself to me to get me to even give her a moment’s notice, but in the end, that wasn’t necessarily the truth. A stupid mistake on my part had landed me in an upper middle class neighborhood, and within an hour, I had a gorgeous half-drunk brunette on the back of my bike, and was riding down a county road on my way to nowhere.

  As interesting as she was, and as different as she seemed to be, she was still a woman, and without a doubt would have all of the characteristics of one - and a woman wasn’t something I needed in my life no matter how cute she was, how well she filled out her filthy sweats, or how cool her car was.

  In the end, she was a woman, and women were evil.

  For a short ride through the county at midnight, however, having her on the back of my bike was enjoyable. It reminded me of better times, the feeling of being complete, and not necessarily living with much desire to do anything but exist.

  The city
quickly turned into a few randomly placed rural housing developments, and eventually the developments diminished into a few sparse farm houses. After a matter of minutes, we were ten miles from the city and riding into the path my headlight cut into the otherwise completely dark road ahead.

  As I became almost hypnotized by the bouncing beam of light, her hands lightly gripping my waist reminded me of Natalie. The thought was equal parts comforting and sickening at first, and after a few minutes, comforting was the clear winner. The fast approaching rural stop sign reminded me not only had we reached the highway, but that I needed to maintain my focus on the road, and not my passenger’s hand placement.

  I stopped at the intersection, pulled out along the side of the highway, and rolled to a stop on the paved shoulder of the road.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked as I kicked the heel of my boot against the kickstand.

  I flipped the ignition switch off and reached down and turned the key, killing the lights.

  “Nope, just stopping for a bit,” I responded.

  We both stepped off the bike at the same time, and stood staring at each other illuminated only by what little moonlight escaped through the low passing clouds. I broke her gaze, glanced toward the ditch, and nodded my head in the direction of the large concrete storm water drain passing underneath the intersecting road.

  “Grab a seat,” I said as I tossed my head toward the large piece of exposed concrete.

  Being subtle had never been one of my strengths, and I wasn’t going to try and change things now. In being honest with myself, riding with her on the back of my bike rekindled feelings I was sure had long since passed. Natalie hadn’t been on the back of my bike for a year before we divorced, and she’d been gone for roughly a year.

  The last two years I had ridden alone, and although I had many requests to take women on rides, I never fulfilled them. Now that I had decided to, for whatever reason, I wasn’t sure I liked the result.

  “I got to be honest with you,” I said as I sat down on the edge of the concrete.

  “Okay,” she responded as she crossed her arms and gazed down at me.

  “Sit,” I said as I patted the concrete beside me.

  “I’ll stand,” she responded.

  “I’m thirty-three years old. Married for fifteen years, and divorced a year ago. I’m a different kind of guy than you’d probably ever meet, and a damned far cry from most bikers you’d ever run across.” I paused and patted the concrete again.

  She stood, staring down at me, and shook her head lightly. Standing there in the moonlight, still dressed in her sweats and flip-flops, no one could dispute her beauty. As I gazed up at her and fully realized just how beautiful she was, I reminded myself that external beauty acted as a distraction to what was on the inside.

  “I was faithful. For fifteen years. I didn’t spend time at strip clubs with the fellas, or any more time at the bars than I had to. When I did, I always played it cool, and never let myself do anything stupid, short of fights and stuff. You know, never messed around. Then, I found out she was in a relationship with a guy. Hell, I guess I should have known, considering the way she treated me…” I hesitated and started to stand up.

  She pointed to the concrete. “Sit.”

  She walked to my side, sat down, and turned to face me. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, fuck. I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. It’s just. Hell, I don’t know, having you on the back of my bike made me think of her or something. I mean, I’m done with her, but you grabbing my waist in your hands reminded me of her. I either liked it a lot or I hated it, I just can’t decide which it was,” I said.

  She brushed her ponytail over her shoulder and twisted her mouth to the side. “Did you actually think of her, or did having my hands there make you feel something you haven’t felt in a while?”

  I considered what she said, turned toward her, and wrinkled my nose. “You a fucking psychologist or something?”

  She shook her head and grinned. “Just read a lot.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I said as I gazed down at my boots.

  “Really?” she asked.

  Still focused on my boots, I nodded my head. “Like I said, you’ll never meet another like me. I sit at home every night and read. Probably five books a week. Rarely sleep. I’m either at the clubhouse, home reading, or somewhere in between.”

  “A soft-hearted biker who loves to read,” she said.

  “A soft-hearted biker with a short fuse and quick fists,” I said as I kicked the toe of my boot against the concrete.

  “I noticed that,” she responded.

  “Been an outlaw all my life. Figured joining the MC was my best bet at finding my true calling, and it seems I was right. They put my Pop in prison when I was a kid on a conspiracy to commit murder charge, and he died of pneumonia after a few years. When I turned eighteen I got his old bike running, ten years later I joined the MC, and now I finally feel at home. Don’t care much for the government, can’t stand cops, and most of the time I think the country would be better off if Axton Bishop was President,” I said.

  “I’m sorry about your father. That’s crazy. My dad did five years for a burglary he didn’t commit. He was at home asleep at the time, but because of an old assault charge, he was in the system. Someone picked him out of a lineup. I’ll never forgive them for what they did to him. He was gone the entire time I was in high school. Motherfuckers,” she said as she tossed a rock into the ditch.

  “You said he passed,” I said as I shifted my eyes toward her. “Can I ask?”

  “Colon cancer,” she said with a nod.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Yeah, me too. And who is Axton Bishop?” she asked.

  “Huh? Oh. He’s the president of the MC,” I said with a laugh.

  “I’ll write him in next November,” she said.

  “You won’t be the only one,” I said.

  “How about when we leave, I’ll wrap my hands around your chest or maybe your neck? Maybe that’ll make you feel more comfortable,” she said.

  “Wrap my hands around your fucking neck if you ain’t careful,” I said.

  “Don’t make promises you aren’t willing to keep,” she said as she stood up.

  Just saying it caused my cock to begin to twitch. Realizing it had done so made me begin to worry about it, and my worrying kept the thought in the forefront of my mind. Within a few seconds, I had a full-blown hard on, and although I wasn’t necessarily embarrassed, I wasn’t proud either.

  But, as I had said many times in the past, subtlety wasn’t a strength I possessed.

  “You ready?” I asked as I stood.

  She turned to face me, and her eyes quickly fell to my crotch. After a short pause, they worked their way up to meet mine.

  I grinned and nodded my head toward the bike.

  “Guess so,” she said.

  As I walked toward the bike, she continued.

  “So what’d we decide? You going to wrap those hands around my neck?” she nonchalantly asked.

  As I threw my leg over the seat of the bike and acted as if I didn’t hear her, I knew if I ever chose to see her again, I’d damned sure have my hands full.

  And I wasn’t totally convinced that would be a bad thing.

  Not totally.

  Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Six

  SIENNA

  June 29th, 2014

  I sat in my living room flipping through Netflix’s available shows. After thirty minutes of searching for something new, I decided Netflix never had anything new and chose to watch another episode of Orange is the New Black.

  For some reason, the thought of being tossed into a women’s prison was a constant fear of mine, and watching the show was a good reminder of how much I did not want to be in prison. For me, and I was sure for many women, the show had proven to be the best deterrent of crime that was ever invented. As much as I hated the thought of prison, I couldn’t stop watching the show.

 
; Three episodes later, I was bored, even more afraid of being fucked by a woman who looked like a dude, and as always, lonely. It really didn’t seem to matter who I had chosen for a boyfriend in the past, every one of them seemed to want the same thing in the end, access to my late father’s wealth. I wasn’t a rich woman by any stretch of the imagination, but I could easily live the rest of my life without working, as long as I was careful about what I spent my money on.

  My father sued after his wrongful conviction, and after many years and two attorneys, won the case, leaving him, and upon his death, me, with the proceeds. Nothing, however, would even be enough to pay for what they took from him.

  I lived in his home, had only utilities to pay, and had no car payment. Most would consider me wealthy. I, on the other hand, considered myself fatherless, and no amount of wealth would ever replace the void his death left inside of me or in my life.

  My father’s absence in my life left me constantly searching for a male figure to step in and provide the comfort he supplied me for a lifetime. The problem was that I seemed to have some type of attraction to douchebags. Old ones, young ones, skinny ones, gym rats, I had dated them all. The common thread between them all was that they were douchebags. Either unwilling to commit or incapable of doing so – and always a liar – they seemed to flock to me like bees to fucking honey.

  I suppose it was quite possible I was attracted to them, and somehow in a subconscious frenzy of idiocy I chose them, knowing they would eventually pull some douche move and be tossed aside like the others, but I didn’t quite believe I was the one at fault. I liked to blame them, because in the end, they were the douchebags.

  I sat and blankly stared at the little squares of Netflix choices frozen in time on the screen of my television, angry that I hadn’t received my Advance Review Copy of a new Erotic Romance novel I was supposed to review. After a few moments, I began to think of Vince, how out of nowhere he appeared in my life, and how much it ended up we had in common.