BOLT
(Storm Runners
Motorcycle Club #1)
Lauren Devane
Copyright 2014 Lauren Devane
All rights reserved.
Bolt
(Storm Runners Motorcycle Club #1)
Book design by Lauren Devane
Cover Image Copyright 2014, Hammerin Man (Flickr: effjohn) used under a Creative Commons Attribution License: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0
Just three more weeks and she’d be out of Detroit for good. Just three more paychecks, and her car would get the transmission it needed since it finally blew out on highway 12 and left her stranded by the side of the road. Finally, Anna could go home.
The summer air was hot, heavy when she pushed open the door and entered the alley. Immediately she was damp with sweat that clung to her neck and back. Fuck, it was humid. She missed Augusta, the cool summer air and the way the pine forests pressed in on the home where she’d grown up. But she was 900 miles and 21 days away from seeing it again.
The Easy Bake wasn’t the classiest place to work, but the neighborhood wasn’t the worst Detroit had to offer, either. Her skirts were long enough that none of the groping regulars got a look at her ass, but short enough that she could go out for a real drink after a shift without having to change clothes. Maybe tonight she’d meet someone with something to offer other than disappointing conversation and a kiss that didn’t get her going enough to even consider going home with him.
She heaved the large black bag over the rim of the dumpster, then slumped back against the wall, disappointed with everything in her life. Anna sighed, considered walking down to the corner store for a cigarette and shook her head, deciding that five years was too much to give up. But god, she wanted that hit of nicotine, something smooth and edgy at once, something that let her take a deep breath in a place that didn’t smell of grease and onions.
Instead of heading back in—which is what she should have done, Melissa would get pissed if she had to cover her tables for more than a few minutes, even though it was slow—she closed her eyes. Pictured Tim, who’d seemed like such a good man with his clean cut shirts and preppy haircut. She’d been so desperate to leave her boring life behind and he’d been so convincing that she went with him in the dead of night, only leaving a note for her parents, who didn’t approve of him.
Three years later and she was 23, broke and only now recovering from the mess of that relationship. The crazy accusations, the threats, the isolation. She still wasn’t sure who she could trust most of the time. Melissa was a nice enough person if you didn’t force her to do extra work. Julie was a sweetheart, saving for college by picking up weekend shifts. Hugh was a pain in the ass most days, but at least he loved the diner his wife had founded before she died. At least he ran a clean place.
She heard plates shatter inside, the sound of screams and stood up. That mess was going to come out of someone’s paycheck. The door was slightly ajar, so she pushed it open and walked into the back. The cook wasn’t at the grill—the eggs were burning. Anna grabbed a spatula and flipped them. Then everything changed.
From the front, small explosions and screaming, then the loudest silence she’d ever heard. Knowing she should check on the people out front, she still moved toward the back door. She could call the police from the alley, what good would it do her to walk into a bad situation and get into trouble like everyone else? She’d do more good free.
Right as she reached the door, two men walked through. One was large with coal-black hair and hard eyes. The other was slim and attractive, a golden god. He was more terrifying. A spray of blood decorated his face. He smiled at her.
The big one grabbed her and dragged her into the front of the restaurant. Oh god. Everyone was just—gone. Empty eyes on slack faces, blood and bullet holes. She gagged and would have fallen to her knees if Ugly hadn’t held her arms tight enough that she could feel bruises bloom under his fingers.
“There’s another one,” the Golden God announced to the room, which had four more men standing amidst the carnage. “What do you want we should do with her?”
A man in jeans and a black t-shirt—he wasn’t memorable at all, just a plain, average face—walked over. “Where did you come from, pretty girl?” He reached out to stroke her hair.
“Why?” She was broken. All the fight slipped out of her and drained away.
“Money. Business. He owed us and didn’t want to pay. Does it really matter?” He considered her, roaming his eyes over her curvy breasts, then dipping to study her waist and legs. “But we’re not in a rush. No one comes down here this time of night. Want to have a little fun before you check out?”
Jack was fucking exhausted and wasn’t sure he was going to make it back to his apartment in Lansing without wiping out. Downtown Detroit was dead, except for the few shops on the fringes that managed to stay open and in business—stupid, in his opinion. The town had redeeming qualities, but few of them happened after midnight.
The light of the Easy Bake caught his eye. He’d been in a few weeks ago for a late night cup of coffee served by the pretty waitress with sparkling green eyes and long blonde hair. She was too classy for a place like this, but he didn’t say anything, just left her a nice tip and told her to have a good night.
Maybe he’d stop, have some more coffee and admire her ass in the little skirt she wore. The caffeine might help him make it back to Lansing in one piece.
He approached the corner, then stopped and idled. He recognized one of the men standing near the window, and was thankful that the streetlights were shot out above him so that the man didn’t notice him. Fucking Anthony, a real piece of crap who took advantage of people in an already depressed town. His gang had yet to run afoul of the Storm Runners, Jack’s motorcycle club, but it was only a matter of time.
The scene quickly became clear when he watched the men laughing, saw blood on the walls. He pulled out his mobile and called the cops, knowing it would take them an hour to get here and that Anthony’s gang would be long gone before justice could be served. He turned to leave when the ape who acted as Anthony’s enforcer came out of the kitchen with his hands on the waitress Jack had admired. Fuck.
He quickly ran through the facts. His armor would take a hard collision with the road, but it wasn’t stopping a bullet. There were more of them than him, and if he went down, the girl with the sparkling eyes was going to die anyway. He didn’t have much ammo on him. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure he was a good enough shot to knock out all the thugs in the restaurant.
It wasn’t his business. He should turn, leave and never think about it again. But damn it, he couldn’t just leave her in there.
He dropped off his bike down the alley and around the corner, then approached the back door of the Easy Bake. His hand pressed against the door and it swung open silently, a blessing. The kitchen was empty.
He peered through the slim slot for trays and saw that the girl was only inches away from the door, held by some gorilla. If he could get in, take the man down and pull her out with him, he might have a shot at getting them both out of there and onto his motorcycle alive. The men were watching Anthony, whose back was to them and the door. He had a chance.
Kneeling down by the swinging door, he pulled a hunting knife from his boot and then made his move.
With leonine grace, he sprung through the door and buried the ridged blade in the enforcer’s throat before he could make a sound. The metal blaring from a radio on the counter covered up the initial slice suck sound of the wound, and he grabbed the girl and yanked her through the door before any of the other men could react. When they hit the alley, he heard their pursuers barrel into th
e kitchen—so he pulled her around the corner, threw her onto the bike and revved it up.
“If you want to live, hold on.”
Anna wanted to live more than anything in the world, so she clasped her hands around the leather-clad belly of the man who’d pulled her out of the restaurant and closed her eyes. He drove fast—she felt the city fly past her at breakneck speed. She didn’t want to see the lights he must have run or the dangerous curves he took so that the bike dipped low on the road. She moved with him, in line with his body, but kept her eyes closed.
When he’d killed the man holding her, arterial blood had sprayed across her chest and she could feel the front of her uniform sticking to her, a disgusting heaviness that reminded her of the hell he’d saved her from. She didn’t complain, didn’t ask for anything or speak a word for twenty minutes, just let him drive until he slowed and she felt secure enough to pry open her eyes.
They were on the highway, outside the boundaries of Detroit. She pressed closer to the man in front of her and whispered her thanks in his ear, then just rested her head on his shoulder while he navigated the highway.
When they got to his apartment building, he took her hands and chafed them between his own, commenting that she might be in shock. He turned on the shower and left her alone with black, fluffy towels and a new bar of soap that smelled like spices, like him. She peeled off her clothes and soaked in the water, lathered soap on her skin, turned up the heat until she could barely see for the fog in front of her. She wanted to wash away all the blood. The whole night.
She hadn’t been at Easy Bake for long, but Anna considered those people her friends and now they were just—gone.
When she came out wrapped in a towel, he offered her a t-shirt and a robe.
“I don’t think anything else I have will fit you,” he explained when she emerged with wet hair and a robe with sleeves she’d had to roll back four times.
“I don’t think you expected company,” she said, and then broke into sobs, collapsing on his couch and burying her face in her hands. She felt him settle next to her, put an arm around her and pull her against his muscular chest. “I’m Anna,” she said when she could finally breathe again.
“I’m Jack.”
“Thank you for saving my life, Jack.”
“You’re welcome.”
The next morning, she woke up in his bed alone. The sheets were crumpled around her, but the side where he could have slept was untouched. She smelled food and followed the scent into the living room.
“I picked up some coffee, donuts and fruit,” he said, gesturing to the spread on the table. “I thought you might want something to eat. There’s a bag with clothes in the bathroom that I think might fit you.”
“Thank you.” Anna poured coffee for both of them and then took a piece of pineapple and nibbled at it. “We should go to the police. I should have done so last night, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“I called them before I came in, but you know how the police are here.”
“I know.”
“I can’t let you go yet.” Anna pulled back at those words, studied Jack. His face was rough—not quite handsome, but rugged and attractive, with a strong jaw and sensual lips. His dark hair was cropped short, and long lashes framed his melting chocolate eyes. He didn’t look like a psychopath, but he’d killed a man last night—to save her, she reminded herself—and he couldn’t keep her here against her will.
“Why?”
“You’re obviously free to go if you choose. But I know the man who leads the gang that attacked your place of employment last night. If you go to the cops, he’ll have you at his mercy inside a day.”
“So what am I supposed to do? I can’t leave Michigan without my car, and the transmission is dead.”
“Transmission?” Jack sighed, pulled out his phone. “I know someone who might be able to help you with that. I’ll call him now, and then we’ll go get your car. As to what you should do, you should get as far away from here as you can and let us deal with Anthony and his men.”
“Us?”
“Me and my brothers. I’m a member of the Storm Runners.”
Her eyes widened with shock. She’d heard of the rough motorcycle club that roamed the highways and supposedly owned a bar in the metro area. It was something that scared her—it made her think of violence first. But Jack had saved her, and was offering her help. Her mind drifted to the scent of leather, fast machines and strong men. The truth was, she didn’t have any place to go anyway.
“I’ll go change and then we can leave,” she said.
Clad in jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater, Anna clung to Jack as he drove toward her home in Midtown. Once she had the car, he was going to take her to Thunder, the bar that one of his “brothers” ran between Detroit and Lansing. There, he’d told her, someone would be able to fix up her car so that she could get on the road again.
The sleek machine under her pulsed and vibrated as he drove, and she realized that she was getting wet in the new pants Jack had purchased for her. It was no wonder, with the sensations from the bike and the beautiful man between her thighs. Experimentally, she tightened them a bit around his legs and felt him stiffen. A flat palm on his stomach moved a little as she adjusted herself. The man hadn’t thought to buy her panties and she couldn’t bear to put on the ones she’d worn the night before, so she was going without. The sensations built as the ride continued, until she was ready to pop.
By the time they’d arrived in her parking lot, Jack was so stiff that he was ready to burst too, judging by the way he held himself. Despite the tragedy, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be interested in taking her for a test drive. It had been awhile since she’d met a man who was worth taking a risk on—one who wouldn’t offer her sloppy kisses and clumsy pawing.
He turned off the motor and climbed off, then turned to glare at her. “You can’t move so much on the back of a motorcycle, girl,” he said. “You could have made us lose balance.”
“I wouldn’t mind putting you off balance,” she said, looking him in the eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re really sexy. I know the last day has been horrible, and I’d like to blow off some steam—with you.” She reached a hand out and placed it flat on his chest. “Can we?”
He looked at her hand, then let his eyes wander down the length of her body. Instead of making her feel like an object, it made her feel sexy, desired. He was a powerful man and she knew that if she could get him to the nearest horizontal surface, she could bring him to his knees.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go into my apartment.”
“Fuck that,” he said, and grabbed her.
He spun her around so that she was facing the side wall of her apartment building, her breasts against the cool stone.
“What are you doing?” She asked, indignant.
“Giving you what you want.”
She wanted to object, wanted to insist that they go upstairs, but his heavy hands landed on her hips and trailed up over her ribs to cup her breasts. All thought went out the window. He pressed against her from behind, hard through the front of his jeans, and she ground her ass back onto him, working herself over the outline of his dick.
One hand moved down her torso and delved into her pants, just skating along the edge of the waistband to touch the warm skin on her stomach. She wanted to force his hand lower, to have him touch her where she was already soaked, but her hands pressed against the wall couldn’t move without her tumbling forward. She was forced to sit and wait for him to continue.
He slipped the hand that had rolled her nipple to a hardened nub under her t-shirt and pinched it, hard. She jolted back, almost dislodging him, when pleasure shot through her, a fantastic stream she hadn’t expected. It made her wetter, made her arch up to try to coax his hand deeper into her panties.
Jack laughed in her ear. The stubble of his beard teased her face, scratching the smooth skin. She shivered, desperate for the orgasm he was denying her.
“Turn around,” he said, and guided her so that she was facing him. He pulled her sweater over her head, threw it back onto his bike and took a nipple into his mouth through the fabric of her t-shirt, soaking it. His hand finally went down farther, found her soaked flesh.
“God, you’re such a hot piece,” he said. “I want to bury my cock in you so bad.” His fingers were rough on her pussy, but it only made her wilder. She bucked against him, begging him to please keep going, please don’t stop, but he only backed off, pulled the hand out and licked his fingers.
“You taste amazing,” he said with a grin. “Like fucking strawberries.”
His hand plunged back into her pants and he buried a finger in her while working her clit. He pushed down on the pink nub, sending sparks of arousal through her body until finally, finally she exploded, and it was like all the movies she’d ever seen with train tunnels and rocket ships, and his mouth was on her neck, wet against her skin. Her nipples pushed hard and proud against his chest, taking pleasure in the contact as he forced her to come harder with a quick motion of his fingers.
While she was pliant in his arms, resting against him, she felt him sigh. “I didn’t know you were this fucking hot.” He stroked a hand over her hair, down her back. “Let’s go inside and finish this.” She started to lead him inside, but then he froze and turned her back so that she was looking at him. “What kind of car do you have?”
“It’s an old Kia.”
“Color?” His voice was a sharp bark.
“Blue.”
“We’re leaving,” he said, pulling her back to his bike and waiting for her to fasten her helmet. His eye scanned the lot until she was done, then he pulled on his own and peeled out in what was almost a singular motion.
Bolt (Storm Runner's MC 1) Page 1
