Motorcycle Man

by Kristen Ashley

  I talked regularly to Lanie and she reported she and Elliott were doing “just fine”. She didn’t give a lot of detail on what they were doing but I guessed this was a Tack edict and this lack of information would keep me safe. I guessed this, I didn’t like this but I also didn’t question it. I had niggles of worry about it but my friend sounded happy. On my part, I shared with Lanie that I’d successfully helped her Mom with canceling all their wedding plans which was some serious work but it was also all done.

  “And, maybe, soon, we’ll be home,” Lanie had said the last time I talked to her.

  I figured this was an unintentional share of intel on the state of Operation Rivers of Blood but I didn’t ask, not her or Tack. I just hoped she was right.

  Aunt Bette, on the other hand, hoped I knew what I was doing. This she shared in her last e-mail which was in response to the one where I told her I was moving in with Tack.

  Since I suspected Aunt Bette shared, this also got me a phone call from my mother who told me, “We’re coming out soon, your Dad and I, to meet your new young man.”

  For a variety of reasons, it was pretty hilarious she referred to Tack as my “young man” but I didn’t tell her this. I just told her flat out what she’d find when she and Dad got to Denver.

  “He’s one of those Harley Davidson people?” she asked in a horrified voice.

  I visualized her clutching her dress, her mind filled with thoughts of Tack wearing leathers and eating with a huge-ass hunting knife at the same time it was panicking about how she’d break the dire news to my Dad.

  Though, one thing Tack had going for him, he worked with his hands.

  “He’s that,” I confirmed to my mother and kept going. “He’s also handsome. He’s responsible. He’s devoted. He’s a good Dad. He’s unbelievably smart. And he loves me.” I paused. “A lot.”

  “And you?” Mom asked softly.

  “He’s everything I ever wanted,” I answered not softly.

  “On a Harley Davidson?” Mom asked and I smiled.

  “On a Harley,” I replied and it was then my voice got soft. “Give him a chance, Mom. I warn you, he won’t care what you think of him. He is who he is and that’s it. But he loves me, he takes care of me, he’s a good man and I love him. And if you give him a chance and don’t give into preconceived notions, you’ll like him too.”

  Mom hesitated then asked, “He has kids?”

  I told her all about Rush and Tabby which got me talking more about Tack and when I was done she was silent.

  “Mom?” I called.

  “You do love him,” she whispered.

  One could say my apple fell far from their tree. Even so, they loved me, I loved them and my Mom knew me.

  “Yeah,” I whispered back.

  “We’ll come with open minds,” she declared.

  That would be a first.

  I didn’t say that.

  I said, “Thanks, Mom.”

  Monday night, I’d gone shopping and had dinner with Elvira and Gwen.

  Last night in bed, I’d given Tack what I’d bought. A long dogtag chain with two stamped dogtags at the end. One was stamped with an American Flag. The other one was stamped with the words “Ride free”. We’d just happened onto it and it couldn’t be denied it was made for my man. So I bought it.

  Some of the brothers wore jewelry, some of them lots including rings, necklaces and bracelets. They were all exclusively silver or leather or studs. But Tack didn’t wear any at all. He didn’t even use one of those wallets with the long chains on them that attached to his belt like the other boys did. So I didn’t know how he’d take this.

  I still thought it was made for him.

  So I gave it to him while we sat in bed. Tack with his back to the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him under the covers that were pulled up to his hips. Me sitting nervously on the other side of the bed from him.

  Tack had the chain dangling over his hand, the tags in his palm, he was looking down at it, his thumb moving it around, face expressionless and he asked, “You had these made for me?”

  “No, I just happened onto them and thought of you.”

  “Thought of me,” he muttered to his palm.

  “You don’t have to wear them,” I offered, slightly disappointed but not surprised by his reaction. “You can hang them from the rearview mirror of your truck or something.”

  His eyes lifted to me but they gave nothing away.

  What gave it away was when his hands lifted, he opened the chain and dropped it over his head to settle the chain around his neck.

  “You don’t have to wear them, honey,” I repeated softly though I kind of wished he would since they looked freaking great on him.

  “We’re in bed,” was his strange reply.

  “Uh… yeah.”

  “Don’t like bringin’ her here.”

  Uh-oh.

  I braced and asked, “Who?”

  “Naomi.”

  Oh boy.

  “Kane –”

  “She never gave me anything.”

  I blinked.

  Then I whispered, “She never gave you anything?”

  “Birthdays, yeah. Christmases, yeah. For the fuck of it, ‘cause she was out somewhere and thinkin’ of me,” he held my eyes, his getting heated then he finished with his voice a low rumble, “no.”

  “Handsome,” I breathed.

  “You gave me this,” he wrapped a fist around the dogtags and gave them a yank, “so I should express my gratitude but I’m in a certain mood which means you’re also now gonna give me head.”

  My nipples started tingling.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, after, or maybe during, I’ll return the favor,” he went on and someplace else started tingling too. When I didn’t move he asked, “You gonna sit on your ass starin’ at me or wrap your mouth around my cock?”

  “Do you like them?” I asked quietly.

  “I’m never taking them off,” he declared.

  Wow.

  “Never?” I whispered.

  “Not ever,” he returned.

  God, I loved him.

  “Babe, want your mouth,” he prompted and I didn’t move. “About now,” he growled.

  His intensity wasn’t about getting head.

  It was about the dogtags.

  Yeah, my man liked them.

  I grinned. Then I crawled to him and gave him my mouth but I started doing it by kissing his.

  Though it ended up somewhere else.

  Then that led to something else and that something else was what made Tack able to get away with ordering me around at work.

  I went through the door to the garage and searched the huge space with my eyes as I walked down the stairs. I spied Tack standing beside the cherry red car.

  My eyes ran over it. It was gleaming. It was old but in a way where it got more badass and awesome as time went by. The color was righteous. The shape sleek and kickass.

  Bottom line, it was cool as all hell.

  Tack watched me walk to him and after I rounded the hood to get to the side he was on, his arm moved and he underarm threw a set of keys to me. My hand shot up automatically to catch them and I stopped moving.

  “Mustang,” he stated loudly to be heard over the noise in the garage. “1967 Eleanor Fastback,” he continued like that meant something to me which it didn’t until I stood standing beside what I was guessing was one.

  “It’s cool, Kane,” I told him the truth and also did it loudly.

  “It’s yours, Red.”

  I blinked, blood seemed to rush quickly through my entire system but mostly through my head and my legs started shaking.

  “What?” I breathed.

  He read my lips and I knew he did because he responded.

  “Your car is solid, decent, you got a lot more miles before it’ll start givin’ you headaches,” he declared. “But it isn’t you.”

  “Me?”

  “Wild and sweet, can both snarl like a bitch or p
urr like a kitten.”

  My hand flew out, I leaned down and pressed my fingertips into the hood of the kickass Mustang my man just gave to me and I did this to hold myself up.

  “You can’t give me a car,” I informed him.

  “No? Weird. Just did.”

  I stared at him then asked, “Is this because of the dogtags?”

  His head jerked to the side. “Babe, seriously?”

  Truth be told, that was a stupid question. He’d been working on that car for ages. When he decided to give it to me, I didn’t know. I just knew it wasn’t this morning.

  I looked down at the car.

  Seriously, it was kickass.

  So who cared when he decided to give it to me?

  “Just gave you a car, Red, you got nothin’ for me?” Tack asked and my eyes went back to all that was him. Kane “Tack” Allen standing in faded jeans, a tight white tee, tats visible, hair messy, goatee overlong, stubble on his cheeks he didn’t bother shaving that morning, lines radiating out the sides of his eyes, eyes that were so blue they could be used on a color wheel.

  God, he was beautiful.

  Every way he could be.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I have something for you.”

  Then I turned and in my tight skirt, on my high-heeled pumps I walked back to my office. Once there, I dropped the keys to my new car on my desk, closed the blinds and locked the front door. As I was locking the front door, Tack came through the door to the garage. Once he was through, he put his hands to his hips. I moved to him, my eyes never leaving his, his chin dipping down so his wouldn’t leave mine. I got close, reached beyond him and locked that too. Then I snapped the blinds on that door closed.

  Then I turned and walked to my desk. I stopped there, turned toward him and, lifting my gaze to his, I shimmied my skirt up my hips.

  I watched Tack’s eyes drop to my hips and flare.

  Then I shoved my thumbs into the sides of my panties and shimmied them down until gravity took over and they fell to my ankles.

  I had just stepped out of them when my back was to the desk, Tack’s hips were between my legs, his torso was pressed to mine and his tongue was in my mouth.

  Halfway through, Tack grunted against my lips, “Told you you were wild.”

  To which I gasped against his, “Shut up, handsome, and fuck me.”

  “Thought that was what I was doin’,” he remarked and he was not wrong.

  My fingers slid up in his hair and I breathed, “Harder.”

  “Wild,” he muttered.

  Whatever.

  He gave it to me harder that was all I cared about.

  I didn’t know if the noise in the garage drowned us out.

  I did know it got heated and the phone crashed to the floor and broke.

  And I also knew I didn’t care about either.

  * * * * *

  After Tack fucked me on my desk, I took my new baby out for a test drive.

  When I drove back into Ride, I saw Tack walking out of one of the bays.

  After I parked and walked to him, I put my hands to his chest, leaned into him and got up on my toes.

  In position, I smiled huge and whispered, “You’re right, honey, wild and sweet, she purrs like a kitten and snarls like a bitch.”

  “I take it you like her.”

  One of my hands slid up into the back of his hair and I didn’t answer with words.

  But I did use my mouth when I answered.

  * * * * *

  Two hours later, Dog pushed out of the chair opposite my desk and headed to the door, saying, “Catch ya, later.”

  “Later, Dog,” I called.

  “Later, brother,” Hop, lounging on my couch, said.

  Dog walked out.

  Dog and Hop had been in my office the last half hour, shooting the shit.

  Now only Hop was in my office and I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. It had been a while since all that happened went down but I’d never been alone with him so I could deal when I was around him. Now I was alone with him.

  “Cherry,” he called.

  “Unh-hunh?” I asked my computer screen, my back to him.

  “Babe, can you look at me?”

  This was voiced soft and it was a little surprising. Hop wasn’t a soft kind of guy. He could have a laugh, he could tease but there was an edge to him the other guys didn’t have. Or, I should say, they all had edges. It was just that Hop’s was edgier.

  And, on a biker, that was saying something.

  Him voicing this request softly was also a little worrying.

  Still, I did as he asked and when I swiveled my chair his way, I found he was no longer lounging, back to my couch. He was sitting, elbows to his knees, leaned toward me.

  Oh boy.

  Hop had black hair and a black mustache that ran along his upper lip, thick down the sides of his mouth and grew thicker and a bit long at the sides of his chin. He worked what would likely look ridiculous on anyone else because he had full lips, a strong jaw, fantastic cheekbones and great gray eyes that had lines radiating out of the sides of them like Tack’s.

  Oh, and he was a biker and that was the biker mustache to end all biker mustaches.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Shoulda never left you at the mercy of BeeBee.”

  I knew this was what this was about.

  “Hop –”

  “My defense, gorgeous, didn’t think the bitch was that stupid. Maybe dumb enough to mouth off to one of the other old ladies. Tack’s woman? That’s a whole new brand of stupid.”

  I couldn’t argue that.

  “We don’t have to talk about this,” I told him.

  “I left you out there, pissed Tack off and he got in my face about it.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said quickly, he lifted a hand and shook his head.

  “I deserved it, Cherry.”

  “I –”

  “I did,” he stressed, dropping his hand. “Most ‘a the other women could hold their own against that bitch. You, I saw you come out while I was takin’ off, knew she was in there, shoulda known better.”

  I smiled at him. “I think I proved that very night that I can take care of myself.”

  Hop didn’t smile. “Women got different weapons and they’re sharper and more lethal.”

  I couldn’t argue that either.

  Hop continued, “She’s gone, won’t happen again but still, what I wanna say is, it won’t happen again. Way you are with Tack, way you took care ‘a Tabby’s business, the brothers got your back.”

  I felt goose bumps rise on my skin. The good kind.

  I’d earned their respect.

  I knew this after brats and potato salad.

  It was just good to have it confirmed.

  “Does Tack talk about me?” I asked.

  “No, though he’s my brother so even if he did I wouldn’t tell you,” Hop answered, taking the sting out of his words by grinning at me.

  “Then I’ll tell you, I can’t do sweet.”

  “Come again, gorgeous?”

  “I can’t do sweet,” I informed him. “So don’t be sweet unless you want me to burst into tears or something.”

  “Wouldn’t want that,” he said, still grinning.

  “Treat me like the badass I am,” I ordered and his grin became a smile.

  “That, I know.”

  My head tipped to the side at his words. “Pardon?”

  “That, I know. Won’t say how I know but let’s just say I know you’re bossy.”

  I knew how he knew. He was full of shit. Tack talked.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Then I rolled them back and bossed, “So are you going to treat me like the badass I am?”

  “You got it, Cherry,” he said through his still smiling lips but he barely got it said when his smile cleared, his brows shot together, his head whipped around, his torso jerked up and he leaned into the window to peer out the blinds.

  Suddenly, he was on
his feet, his hand to his back pocket pulling out his phone.

  “What –?” I started but he stretched his other hand out to me.

  “Stay there.”

  Oh hell.

  Hop strode to the door but it flew open before he could get there and Naomi stormed through.

  Oh hell!

  “Where is that motherfucker?” she shrieked.

  Hop had his phone to his ear and his body between me and Naomi.

  “Calm down, woman, and step outside,” he growled at Naomi.

  “Fuck you!” she screeched.

  “Tack,” Hop said into his phone. “Please, God, brother, be close. I’m in the office at the garage. Your old bitch is here and your old lady is also here.”

  Naomi leaned to the side and pointed at me around Hop’s long, lean, jeans and tee clad body, shouting, “He gets his ass here, I’ll deal with him. Then I’ll deal with you, you cunt!”

  My body jerked back in my chair at that surprising, harsh and totally uncalled for insult but Naomi was gone. This was because Hop had his hand in her chest. He reached around her and opened the door then he shoved her through and closed it.

  I stared at the closed door.

  “Oh no,” I whispered to it as I slowly stood, vaguely hearing Naomi’s shrieking outside. “Hell no.”

  I stomped to the door, threw it open, stomped to the top landing and stared down where Hop and Naomi were at the bottom of the steps.

  “What did you just call me?” I asked.

  “Oh fuck,” Hop muttered.

  “Cunt!” Naomi screeched, eyes slicing up to me.

  The pressure in my head exploded and I stomped down the steps.

  “Oh fuck,” Hop said, louder this time.

  “That’s it, bitch, in your fancy-ass skirt with your fancy-ass shoes, you think you can take me?” Naomi asked.

  She was rolling from foot to foot, hands up, fingers wiggling at me in a “bring it on” gesture even though Hop still had his hand in her chest and kept pushing off on it, shoving her back step by step as I advanced, my high heels clicking loud.

  “You just called me the c-word,” I stated.

  I heard the quick beat of running motorcycle boots and vaguely sensed mechanics and body shop guys coming out of the garage but I had my target in my sights.