Joyride: (Beautiful Biker MC Romance Series)

by DD Prince

  “Jojo!” I hollered.

  I saw Brady and that tall bald black guy, Alex or Axis, standing a few doors down in conversation. No. Axel.

  He looked at me quizzically. I think I must’ve said his name as I remembered it. Or maybe he was looking at me like that because I was in my undies.

  “Hiya,” I waved and then stomped on by them and banged on the door next door to that. Which door was hers?

  The door opened and a sleepy-looking older biker eyed me. And then he smiled a big smile with only a few teeth in his mouth.

  Yikes.

  “Oops, wrong door,” I muttered and moved along.

  “Jenna?” Jojo was popping her head out of the door next to that one. She had red eyes. She’d been crying. I had misty eyes too, but I hadn’t broken down and cried yet.

  Rider was coming up behind me, in his half unbuttoned jeans. “You’re in your underwear, baby.”

  “Can I sleep here?” I asked Jojo, slapping his hand away.

  “But I like the shirt you’re wearing,” he whispered into my ear, sounding like he found me hilarious.

  She opened the door wider and I pulled my suitcase and handbag in, seeing we had even more of an audience. Several more bikers were in the hallway. Oh shit, one of them was Deke, Rider’s dad. I hadn’t even properly met him yet and here I was in my underwear with a Property of Rider shirt on.

  “No!” I shoved Rider back, “Go hate fuck yourself!”

  “Why are you crying? I asked Jojo.

  “Luke. It’s just… I read our old texts.” She wiped her eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Why are you crying?”

  “Hate sex with your brother,” I said, and she looked like she was going to laugh but then she stopped herself. I realized we still had an audience. I shoved Rider back as hard as I could. “Go!”

  He stepped back, and I shut the door.

  “Why would he… why did I… oh fuck.” I started to bawl.

  “Oh honey…” she hugged me, and we were both bawling in one another’s arms.

  “I wasn’t crying. I was holding it. I can’t hold it anymore.”

  She nodded.

  We both sat and cried a bit, drank some water, and I told her I didn’t want to talk about Rider. She didn’t wanna talk about Luke.

  We were in her bed, which was smaller than mine and Rider’s, Marshmallow between us (purring up a storm), and I fell asleep, tears wetting the pillow.

  11

  It was morning and Brady had already popped by with coffee and breakfast plates loaded up with bacon and eggs for us, waking us up far too early. I had a mild hangover, so he went and got me a couple of ibuprofens.

  Jojo and I took turns showering and I was trying to put my crap aside and just be there for her. I’d decided it was my mission that day. To be supportive to my new friend. I’d also decided that even if I hated Rider’s guts, I was going to be Jojo’s friend. If Ella stayed with Deacon, that’d make it even easier to be friends with Jojo.

  She’d lent me a very nice black wraparound dress and black heels. I wore a black shelf bra tank top underneath. She wore a black pencil skirt and black blouse with sheer sleeves.

  The heels she lent me were a little snug, probably a size too small. I’d survive. They did look pretty fantastic with the dress I had on.

  I left my long dark wavy hair loose and put on waterproof mascara and eyeliner as well as my blue-red lip stain that I had with me, in my bag. I put my sunglasses on, just as there was a knock at the door. I answered, because Jojo was in the washroom.

  Rider. Wearing dark black jeans, black biker boots, a black dress shirt, and his Dominion Brotherhood black leather vest. He had a black band on his arm and his hair was pulled into a ponytail at his nape. He was clean shaven. Completely. Not a whisker on his face. His eyes pierced into me. He looked absolutely beautiful. So beautiful it hurt. His eyes traveled the length of my body and then back up to my face. I guess my eyes had done the same to him, but at least I had the sunglasses on, so he couldn’t see it.

  “Sleep okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to be emotionless. “You?”

  “Like shit. Missed you.”

  I had to hold firm and not react.

  “We’re gonna talk, me ‘n’ you, Jenna. After the funeral. Get to the bottom of all this shit. Okay?”

  “We don’t need to,” I said.

  His brows rose.

  “There’s no me and you, Rider. There won’t be.”

  A lump in my throat sat, aching. I stepped aside so he could come fully in. People were walking by, eyeing us. I was thankful I had the dark glasses on.

  “There is and you fuckin’ know it,” he snapped, then loudly called “Joelle!”

  He’d cleared the door, so I closed it.

  She came out of the bathroom, putting silver hoop earrings in.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “You’re in Jesse’s pickup. So’s Dad. Jenna’s on the back of my bike.”

  I opened my mouth, about to protest, but he shot me a look that I read as threatening. It was a “don’t argue” look. I wasn’t about to argue with that expression on his face. That look on his face was almost blood-chilling.

  Jojo reached for her purse and passed me mine and we left, leaving Marshmallow to her self-grooming on the bed.

  When we got into the hallway, Rider grabbed my hand. I went to pull away and his hand tightened.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded, through gritted teeth.

  “Bunch of brothers saw you in your panties last night. Lucky for you my name was on your back, but you better believe they’re also gonna see you holding my hand.”

  Okay then. I had no reply.

  Shit, but my feet were already hurting from these tight shoes. I was in for a rough day ahead. For many reasons.

  ***

  The convoy to the funeral home from the clubhouse was a long one. Dozens of motorcycles. Local Doms, Aberdeen ones, and ones with other city names on them, too. And some of the biker jackets had other club names on them. I saw at least five different emblems beyond Dominion Brotherhood and I wondered if that meant that all these clubs would be against the Wyld Jackals.

  I’d gotten a quick hug from Deacon and then from Spencer outside when Rider grabbed a helmet from him and pulled me away from Spencer, shooting him a dirty look. I almost tripped at the jolt backwards. I collided with Deacon, who steadied me.

  I saw Spencer shoot Rider a weird look and step back.

  “Where’s Ella?” I’d asked Deacon, to break the loaded silence.

  “She’s outta town safe with her Ma and Beau. ‘Til shit calms.”

  I was thankful she was okay. And far away from the nonsense. That said something about Deacon, at least.

  Rider had grabbed my hand and pulled me to the vintage bike we’d ridden on the day before.

  That was when Deke came over to us. “Hey, Rider’s Pink Lady.” He winked.

  “Hi.” Oh God. Talk about mortified.

  “We haven’t officially met yet.” He kissed me on the forehead and gave me a hug. “Though I thank you for your patronage at The Roadhouse. You gave the place a boost just showin’ up that few times. Lookin’ forward to gettin’ to know you better, Jenna.”

  “Hi,” I repeated again, stupidly, feeling embarrassed that he was one of the ones who’d seen me dragging a suitcase down the hall the night before, drunk, angry, and in underwear. Of course he did. Just my luck that Rider’s dad would witness that. I shouldn’t care what Rider’s dad thinks of me. Yet, I couldn’t help it.

  “Hi.” He returned, his mouth twitching with humor, and he moved to Jojo and put his arm around her and led her to Jesse’s pickup truck as Rider secured the helmet on my head.

  He was President of the Aberdeen chapter, so I wasn’t sure why he wasn’t riding a motorcycle himself.

  ***

  The almost two hours at the visitation before sitting down for the service weren’t easy.

  First of
all, when we walked into the funeral home, there was a wall of photos and I saw the many images of a long-haired, tall, dark, and incredibly handsome Luke ‘Lick’ Hanson. And I had video flashbacks of him. Of Scooter. Of Rider. I tried to push it away. There were loads of pictures of him with the brothers of the Dominion Brotherhood. There was one picture of Jojo with him in a headlock and my heart seized at that. She was staring at it, too. I grabbed her hand. She leaned into me. She started to move toward the front of the room, toward Deacon and Spencer, so I let go of her hand. They flanked her and followed her up. There was a large poster-sized photo of him on an easel, beside a closed coffin.

  I heard a female voice stage-whispering behind me.

  “Couldn’t do open casket because he got himself decapitated in that wreck.”

  I felt my body seize. Rider’s body moved closer to mine and I couldn’t help but lean into him. My knees had buckled at that comment.

  “Ma, fuck,” Rider snapped. “Get her outta here,” he clipped, and two bikers I didn’t recognize moved in. Shelly glared at Rider while they ushered her out, away from a bunch of other older ladies. She was dressed in a black leather strapless dress, way too much black eye makeup on. Fishnet stockings. So not classy it wasn’t funny.

  Jojo was up front and she was in Deacon’s arms, bawling.

  My heart hurt seeing her shoulders shake, hearing that painful sound coming from her.

  I looked at Rider. He was staring up at the front and his jaw was ticking.

  “I can sit if you wanna go up,” I whispered. There were a few empty chairs against the wall.

  “Come?” he asked softly, and with the look on his face, I couldn’t help but nod. He took my hand and we slowly made our way to the front. He was walking so slow that my guess was that he was delaying the inevitable. Rider was not looking forward to being at that coffin. And he wouldn’t. Who would?

  When we got there, amid flowers and many other bikers, I saw another mural of photos. I saw Rider and Luke both in a field, on ATVs both covered in muck with big smiles on muddy faces. He was in several of the group shots. I guess he and Luke “Lick” Hanson had been close. I looked at his face as his eyes moved around the photos and I saw pain there.

  A lady and man were standing there, by the coffin, faces pale, eyes haunted and on Rider.

  “Mrs. Hanson. Mr. Hanson.” Rider reached out and shook his hand and then moved to the lady and gave her a hug.

  “My girlfriend, Jenna,” he introduced, and I shook hands with them both.

  “About time,” Mr. Hanson said to Rider, softly, a little bit of a smile tugging at his lips while he motioned to me, and Rider gave him a tight smile.

  ”Thank you for coming,” Mr. Hanson said to me. And he had kind eyes. Sad, but kind.

  Mrs. Hanson just stood there, looking almost zombie-like.

  “My condolences,” I said, or more croaked, trying and failing to ignore the emotions Rider’s introduction had churned up.

  Rider’s free hand landed on the casket and he stood there and closed his eyes. I just stood there, holding his other hand. Why was I here? Why did he want me by his side for this? I didn’t agree to be his girlfriend. Why did he want me to be after all that’d happened so far?

  He took a breath and his eyes tightened. And I, for some reason, squeezed his hand.

  His eyes moved to me. And I saw the bleak stark pain at the loss of his friend.

  Something snapped inside me at seeing that pain on his face and so, before calculating the move, I moved in and put my arms around him. He buried his face into my neck and squeezed. I felt weak in the knees. He was a little shaky. And holding me a little too tight.

  I just stood there, holding him, feeling for him. For all of them.

  I was chewing the inside of my cheek raw in an effort to keep the tears away. I had no right to cry. I didn’t know Luke Hanson. I only barely knew the Valentines.

  Rider grabbed my hand again and we moved out of the room, thankfully. He grabbed a pair of dark glasses from his pocket and put them on and we went back outside. We stood in a circle with a bunch of bikers, most of which were smoking cigarettes or standing there vaping. Some Doms, some from other motorcycle clubs. Some men just in suits and not biker gear. The parking lot was crawling with motorcycles.

  I saw Scooter, who was still looking a bit beat up, but much better than the last time I’d seen him. He saw me and quickly looked the other way, looking embarrassed, maybe. He lit a cigarette and I knew he was hoping I’d look away.

  “Cherry,” the large bartender from Deke’s Roadhouse approached and gave me a jolly hug, pulling my attention away from Scooter.

  “Hi,” I greeted.

  “Cherry?” Rider growled at him, looking ready to throw down and fight him.

  “Yeah, she likes cherries in her drinks,” the guy said, innocently. “Like…14 of them.”

  “Name’s Jenna,” Rider said, almost snarled.

  “All right,” he waved his hands defensively. “Guess I picked the way wrong fruit for a nickname.”

  “I’d fuckin’ say you did,” Rider snapped.

  I gave the bartender, I think his name was Little John, an apologetic smile. “I’ll ask for extra limes or olives next time.”

  He laughed. A few others in the group laughed. Rider’s face was still hard.

  Deacon approached us and then Rider’s body tightened, and he seemed like he was even angrier.

  What now?

  “Can you take care of her for me for a sec?” Rider asked Deacon. Deacon gave him a chin jerk and put his arm around me. I watched Rider stride purposefully across the parking lot and stop at an absolutely gorgeous blonde girl, around my age.

  She was dressed in a black dress, she had loads of beautiful blonde hair that fell to her waist. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her around to the other side of a big passenger van, out of sight.

  My scalp prickled in response.

  “You okay?” Deacon asked, jiggling me with the arm that was around me.

  I nodded and looked up at him. He was even taller than Rider. And then I shrugged. “No. But how’s everything for you?” I asked.

  “It’s amped.” He gave me a squeeze and kept his arm around me.

  “Is Ella all right?”

  “She’s good,” he replied, and he got a twinkle in his brown and amber eyes.

  “I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone this long with not talking to her, seeing her.”

  “She misses you. She’d been worryin’ about you. My brother taking good care of ya?”

  “No,” I said softly.

  He looked angry. “Why? What’s up?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t… I can’t…”

  “Listen,” he said, the anger melting away. “Whatever you two are dealing with, it’s gonna be harder with all this shit goin’ on. Hanson’s death is gonna fuck with him, but he’s gonna have trouble showin’ it. Just take things a breath at a time and let him keep you safe.” He gave me another squeeze.

  “There’s no us two, Deacon. He’s not… this is just a game.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. He’s playin’ for keeps, Jenna. Never seen him like this.” He gave me a pointed look.

  I blinked.

  He gave me another squeeze, as if to drive the message home.

  “Ride and I are close. I’m not just his brother, I’m his brother. Trust me. He says he wants to be with you, he fuckin’ well does. Introducing you as his woman? He’s a joker, but he wouldn’t joke about that. Believe it.”

  I blew out a breath. We were talking low, but I noticed Deke had his eyes and ears on us. My eyes met his and he, Spencer, and Deacon all had the same eyes.

  Deke gave me a nod. He was wordlessly agreeing with Deacon.

  I chewed my cheek.

  And I decided right there that regardless, I liked Deacon. And Deke. I also didn’t know how to feel about those words from Deacon, the confirmation from Deke.

  Spencer moved closer to
me, “Hey,” he said. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall and leveled a gaze on me. “You been takin’ care of Joelle. Thank you.”

  I shrugged. “We’ve been keeping each other company while being under lock down or whatever you guys call it.”

  “Naw, you’ve been doin’ more. Thank you,” Spencer said, with feeling. His eyes told me he knew how rough all this was on his sister.

  Maybe Spencer wasn’t a complete jerk.

  Rider was beside me again, the blonde mysteriously gone. Deacon let go of me and Rider put his arm around me and kissed my temple.

  I stood still.

  “She’s been taking great care of Jojo,” he said, pulling me tighter against his side, obviously having heard Spencer.

  Jojo was off to the side with Brady and they were making their way toward us. She was pale and puffy-eyed.

  “The service is starting in five minutes. Let’s go get seats?” she suggested. “Luke’s parents had space reserved for our family.”

  I linked arms with her, giving me an opportunity to move away from Rider. I moved inside with the rest of the Valentines. But, then I saw, across the parking lot, the other Valentine. Formerly.

  Shelly was standing there, smoking a cigarette and talking on her phone, an absolutely venomous look on her face as her eyes followed the family she’d thrown away.

  I saw Rider throw her a look and then we were inside. We moved into a chapel and sat in the row behind Luke’s parent’s. Jojo was on my right, Rider on my left, at the end of the aisle and I’d held Jojo’s hand during the service.

  We sat through the twenty-minute service, the minister speaking, saying prayers, and I hadn’t had much experience with death or funerals, but it felt like he was giving a fairly generic service.

  After saying a series of prayers, he said, “Lucas’s friend Rider would like to say a few words.”

  Jojo’s hand started to shake. I squeezed it and watched him walk up to the podium.

  And I was transfixed by it. By his face. His body language. His gestures. His voice. He spoke well. Clear. Composed. But with feeling. So much feeling that I felt more guilt at Deacon’s words sinking in, thinking about all the photos of Rider and Luke, realizing he’d been carrying the pain of this loss quietly the past few days.