Raw and Dirty: A Motorcycle Club Romance

by Violet Blaze

  “Hey there, Pint-Size,” he says as he comes closer and the dogs' tails begin to wag. I decide it's best to remain casual, to forget the heat and passion I felt burning between us last night. This time, I know better than to look at Royal's face or his chest, so I focus on his knuckles, fingers tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

  The tattoos on either hand are different, but both colorful, swirls of vines and roses dotted with black cursive that's difficult to read from this far away. I see a pair of pistols above his left hand and, of course, several different wolf portraits climbing up his arm and disappearing under the fabric of his tee.

  “Did you come back for a second dance?”

  “I needed to grab my car,” I respond dully, pulse still pounding, throat still dry. I'm very aware that my sister's sitting right behind us, probably still gawping, waiting to be introduced. If it were my brother sitting there, he'd already be on the phone to the cops, making up some bullshit story to try and get Royal thrown into jail—just for looking at me the way he is.

  Okay, so I'm not actually looking at his face, but I can feel it.

  A quick glance up, and I can see him studying me again, trying to pick me apart.

  My sister—as I'd fully expected and admittedly feared—gets out of her car and moves over to stand next to me, arms crossed under her full breasts. Like a woman in a sunglasses ad, she whips off her shades and lets her bleach blonde hair billow in the wind. I've always sort of, kind of secretly hated her.

  “You must be Royal McBride,” she says, her twinkling eyes telling me she probably heard as much or more of Toni's stories than I did. “I'm Kailey Rentz.” Without waiting for Royal to respond, she extends her hand and lets her full mouth curve up in an artful smile.

  Royal returns her smile right away, and I feel a small, strange twinge of jealousy. That's ridiculous. I literally met the guy yesterday. I try to tell myself that I'm just annoyed at him; Kailey didn't have to scream his name to get his attention.

  “Pleasure's all mine,” Royal drawls, his accent disappearing in a rush of West Coast. He must've lived here a long time to be able to switch it on and off like that. Or he's just a good actor. I met a lot of assholes in college that were just like him—charming, charismatic, completely full of shit.

  Then again, they didn't run a freaking motorcycle club. That makes Royal even more dangerous, doesn't it? After all, a president of an MC is still a president. A politician. An actor.

  Dick.

  The mean thought makes me feel a little better.

  “I should get going,” I say, looking down at the two wolf dogs as they wag their tails and sniff around the plain black heels on my feet. “Don't you have to be at the office, too?” I ask, pointedly addressing my sister. I could've said nothing and gotten more of a reaction out of her.

  “Huh? Sure,” she says, still staring at Royal like she's just uncovered buried treasure. Surprisingly, his gaze only lingers on hers for a moment before it swings my way. I feel like I've just stepped into the sun.

  “Could I borrow you for a second?” he asks, switching back on that British charm. Somehow I think he's got a sense that it gets to me. It's just … that rugged exterior of his paired with that accent? I wish for a moment there that Toni had never left. I might still be working as my dad's intern, but then I wouldn't have to stand here and nod, pretending that I don't mind having a moment alone with Royal McBride.

  “Of course,” I say, reaching down and smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle on my black skirt. The outfit I'm wearing today is eerily similar to yesterday's: black skirt and matching suit jacket, pale blue button-down, black kitten heel pumps. I even have my hair up in the same, tight bun.

  “But first, let me fix that for you,” Royal says, his voice teetering on the edge of a growl. Those sexy inked up fingers of his slide from his jeans pocket and reach out, pulling the black clip from my hair before I can even process what it is that he's doing.

  Brunette waves tumble around my shoulders and slide across my brow as I blink back my shock and risk a quick glance at Kailey. She's staring at me like I've grown a second head.

  “Aren't you a virgin?” she whispers, like that has any relevance to the situation. For the record, I'm not, okay? I lost my virginity when I was sixteen years old. God, Kailey can be such a … a bitch.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as Royal takes a step back and hooks my clip to his pocket, like what he just did was no big deal. In the world I come from, people don't just reach out and touch each other's hair. It's an intimate sort of a thing, isn't it? Or maybe I'm just being prudish, I don't know.

  “Doing? Just pulling the shades up on your pretty, love.” Royal makes a clicking sound and the wolf dogs' ears perk up as they move away from me and my sister and start to follow him. I glance over at my sister again, but she's staring at Royal's tight ass as he moves away.

  “I set up a meeting for Friday,” I tell him as I struggle to catch up, taking three steps for every one of his. Surprisingly, Royal notices and slows down, matching his pace to mine. “With Janae,” I add, in case there was any doubt I was telling the truth.

  “I know what your dad's getting out of all this,” he begins and my heart sinks a little. Business. But of course he wants to talk business. What else did I think he was going to say? We met yesterday; we're complete opposites. There's literally nothing between us but business. “But nobody from the mayor's office has ever asked me what the club's getting out of our agreement.”

  “No,” I respond, my heart rate slowing as I adjust to the conversation. Yes, my hair's fluttering around my face in the breeze, the taste of salt kissing my lips, but I can do business. It keeps me calm and comfortable, in my zone. “Because that's not important. Mr. Rentz,” I say and pause when Royal tosses me a weird look. I know it's odd that I call my dad Mr. Rentz, but it helps people take me more seriously. Imagine saying Daddy this and Papa that to your arrogant asshole male coworkers.

  I clear my throat and start again.

  “Mr. Rentz isn't concerned with the club's business,” I begin, reciting part of a practiced speech, one that I'd cooked up exactly for a meeting like this. First time I saw Royal, it all flew right out my ears and disappeared on the breeze. This time though, I've got my head on straight. Last night was a bit of a wake up call; I won't make the same mistake. As of right now, nothing's happened. Imagine if I had actually had sex with the guy?

  Good God.

  “Mr. Rentz sure seemed concerned with club business when he sent the feds our way,” Royal says, his voice shifting dangerously. By the time I realize what's happening, we've turned a corner at the end of the road and my back's to the brick wall of the shop. Not a half mile behind Royal, the earth drops down in a series of dips and swells, dotted with small trees and tangles of blackberry bushes, until it dips into the navy blue of the sea.

  “The feds?” I ask, blinking up at him. He's not even touching me; it was just his presence that caused me to back up into the wall. “Like the FBI?” The FBI's always sniffing around outlaw MCs, looking for some way to nail them to the wall. It's notoriously difficult. Usually they can snag a few of the low ranking members, but they never get guys like Royal. “My dad …” I feel my brows furrow, but force myself to take a deep breath. Royal's leaning over me now, his arm against the wall above my head, his gaze focused down on my face.

  He looks unassuming, but I can taste the danger in the situation. I'm not sure what happened to cause the shift in his personality, but it's a little bit scary.

  “Mr. Rentz doesn't care about anything—anything—but this town and looking good for his friends. He wants to get re-elected, sure, but that's as far as his political ambitions go. I can promise you, he doesn't know or have anything to do with anyone in the FBI.”

  “You sound pretty confident for a Deputy Mayor,” Royal growls, sliding his left hand up and over my hip. A small gasp escapes my lips before I can fight it back, keeping my gaze focused on the sea behind him, refus
ing to look at his face. The Pacific Ocean roils and froths, throwing up white foam against the rocks. It's beautiful to look at, but it's also deadly.

  Like Royal McBride.

  “There are some perks to being the mayor's daughter,” I whisper as Royal's hand slides up my side. I should tell him to stop, to back off, but a part of me, long buried and aching, doesn't want him to let go. I almost wish … No. No, I can't have anything to do with this man outside of city business. “Royal,” I begin, but his hand grazes the edge of my breast and even through the suit jacket, I can feel him. My nipples harden into peaks and my back arches.

  “That's a good girl,” he growls, tilting my chin up and dropping his mouth to mine. Before I can even think about protesting, his tongue is diving between my lips, unleashing a surge of fire in me that burns straight through my inhibitions.

  I lift my hands up and wrap them around Royal's neck, drawing a groan from his throat that I feel against my mouth. My back arches even more, pressing my breasts against the biker's hard body while his right hand drops down and slides around my waist.

  I can hardly breathe. Hell, I'm not sure that I even want to. Royal's kiss … this is the kind of kiss you only get once in a lifetime—it's a promise of fire but also a promise of pain. He tastes like risk and rawness and everything I've ever wanted but never had.

  Brutal.

  Our kiss is brutal and pummeling and completely unexpected.

  My knees feel shaky and I give my weight over to Royal, letting him hold me up as his left hand reaches down and yanks the fabric of my button-down out of my skirt, running his cold calloused fingers up my warm side.

  “Boss.”

  The sound of an unfamiliar voice startles me and I jump, pulling back against Royal's touch as our mouths part and I suck in a heaving breath.

  The look on his face is murder.

  I watch as he turns to glare at a man with a thick brown beard and a black dragon tattoo that curls down his left arm like a snake.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he says though he doesn't sound sorry at all. “But we have a problem.”

  Royal sucks in a massive breath, his eyes flicking back to me.

  Refusing to meet his gaze, I turn away and start tucking my shirt back into place. If Kailey's still here … God, she'll know. She'll take one look at me and she'll know.

  “What kind of bloody fucking problem?” Royal snaps as I slink away around the corner and start walking as fast as my heels can carry me. Time to get the hell out of here and regroup. What the heck just happened back there? I almost screwed a stranger against a wall!

  I run my fingers through my hair and make a beeline towards my car. Unfortunately, Kailey's still there, flirting with some blond guy near the gates.

  “Hey you.”

  A woman's voice catches my attention and I pause, twisting my skirt back into place and glancing over towards the deck of the clubhouse.

  A slender brunette with a wild purple streak in the front of her hair is glaring at me from the bottom step, one hand curled around the railing, her makeup thick and dark like a rock star's, dressed in leather and a blue halter that she manages to pull off even though it's not quite ten in the morning.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, reaching up to smooth my bun out of habit. Oh yeah. No more bun. Instead, I fluff my hair and take a deep breath, trying to smile as pleasantly as I can. Truthfully, my mind is nowhere near my body right now. I think it's floating somewhere out in space, dazed by the memory of Royal's body pressed tight to mine.

  “Actually yeah, you can.”

  She comes down the last step and moves toward me in a pair of black platform heels. Her arms are literally covered in tattoos from shoulder to wrist, swirls of hearts and rainbows and butterflies. She's pretty, but a little scary, too. And she looks pissed.

  I do not have time for this.

  I keep smiling anyway. Well, until she gets way too close to me, invading my personal space bubble and leaning close to my ear.

  “Stay the fuck away from Royal.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, reeling back and giving her a look that's got to be pretty similar to the one Kailey threw at me when Royal pulled down my hair. “I'm sorry, I think I misheard you.”

  “No,” the girl says, standing up straight and glaring down at me. She's a good six inches taller than me. Add in the three inch heels she's wearing and our height difference is almost as extreme as mine and Royal's. “You heard me right.”

  I lift my hands up in mock surrender.

  “Look, I don't know who you are—”

  The girl cuts me off before I can finish.

  “That's exactly right. You don't know who I am because you appeared out of thin air yesterday. You don't know anything about this club and you sure as shit don't know anything about its president. I've been here too long, been through way too much crap to lose out to some bitch in a suit.”

  “I think we might have a slight misunderstanding,” I say, hoping I can cool this situation down before Kailey realizes that something else is going on. I've given her enough dirt for today. Not that I think she'd ever use it, but it never hurts to be cautious. “My name is Lyric Rentz, and—”

  “I don't give two shits about who you are,” she hisses at me, crossing her arms over her flat chest. Her eyes are dark, like Royal's, but instead of a feral wildness, she just looks mean. I hate to judge, but what the hell did I do to deserve this? “He's this close to picking me up as his old lady, and I don't need you to waltz in here and screw things up.”

  “Old lady?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch as I look her up and down. She's hot enough, that's for sure, tall and skinny and flawless. It wouldn't surprise me if he was interested in her. But then why was he just kissing me? I don't know what she thinks I'm up to, but all I'm trying to do is figure out what the hell I did to provoke her.

  “You don't think I'm good enough?” she asks me, her red painted mouth turning down in a deep frown. The expression should look silly on her, but it doesn't. Every movement she makes oozes sex and sensuality.

  “No,” I start, but what I really meant to say was No, I don't think that at all. Instead, I barely get the single syllable out before the woman's throwing herself at me, hitting me right in the eye with an impressive right hook.

  My head snaps back and I stumble, but I'm not about to go down without a fight. I'm not exactly sure what it is that we're fighting for, but I won't be pushed around.

  I duck down and avoid a second hit to the face, bringing my left fist up and under the woman's chin. I don't wait, following that up with my right, drawing a bright bloom of blood from her nostrils as I slam my palm into her nose.

  A wild shriek escapes her lips as she full on launches herself at me, knocking us both to the pavement as the skies crack and rain starts to fall with a wild vengeance. When it rains, it pours, right?

  We scramble around on the ground for a moment as I struggle to shove her off of me, instead settling on flipping us over so that I'm on top. While I attempt to grab her wrists and stop the fight in its tracks, Tattoo Girl is far more intent on getting in as many hits as she can. Her knee comes up and hits me right in the lady parts, hard enough to make me scream as she tosses me aside, my own knees skimming across the pavement and drawing blood.

  When she climbs on top of me and grabs my hair, all bets are off. I don't start fights, but I'm a woman in politics; I know how to finish them.

  “Get the fuck off me!” I scream, slamming my elbow back and hitting the bitch right in the tit. Goddamn it! I'm fighting over a guy I don't even know, that I don't even want. More proof that I need to run away from all of this while I still can.

  If I'd only known then how much worse it would all get.

  Ah, hindsight. You're always twenty-twenty, aren't you, you sadistic bastard?

  I throw my elbow back again and draw a satisfied grunt from Tattoo Girl, her grip loosening on my hair. That's when I hear the pound of boots and Kailey's shocked scream. In an instant
, the weight is off of my back and I'm being hauled to my feet by rough, calloused hands—hands covered in roses.

  It's Royal. Of course it's Royal.

  “Ladies,” he says, his voice holding that false brightness, that wry amusement that lets him pretend he's normal and nice when he's everything but. I jerk my arm from his grip and he lets me go. “There's no need to fight, plenty of me to go around.”

  “Royal,” Tattoo Girl whines and I want to hit her so hard right then that I have to clench my hands into fists by my sides. “She—”

  “It's not my job to police this shit. If you want to cause trouble, go do it elsewhere,” he snaps, what little patience he has falling away like it was never there. Whoa. Scary. With tears sparkling in her eyes, Tattoo Girl turns and runs up the steps and into the clubhouse.

  With everything going on in my life, I don't need a distraction, especially not one handpicked and sent to screw me over from the mayor's office. It's like the bloody bastard knew what his daughter would do to me. One day in and my head's already gone to shit.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, trying not to grit my teeth. Christ. Mia and I have had some good times, but what the hell got into her? We're not nor have we ever been any sort of serious; she knows that.

  Not that Lyric and I are either.

  I tell myself that my concern for the girl is purely selfish, looking out for the best interests of the club. What happens if the mayor's daughter goes back to the office and says one of the club's groupies jumped her in broad daylight? Not good publicity for any of us. And now with this whole mess of shit that's going on with our shipment, I can't deal with a cherry on top of my crap sundae.

  “Lyric?”

  “I'm fine,” she says as she glances over her shoulder and finds a group of soccer moms gawking at her from the auto yard. They're here to get their minivans serviced and flirt with the boys in black. It's a win-win for all of us. “Just fine.” She glances down at her knees, at the torn nude tights I hadn't even realized she was wearing. Blood and grit sticks in her wounds like it's glued there.