Hard as Iron: Hard For Her 5

by May Ball, Alice

  Hard as Iron

  Hard For Her 5

  Alice May Ball

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  Copyright © 2020 by Alice May Ball

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Hard as Iron

  Iron is my name and I’m as hard as an iron bar, on the inside and out.

  I don’t need thoughts of loving, until a younger woman steps into the heavy metal thunder of the Outcast’s clubhouse bar.

  Tyler is sassy and defiant and I know that hot sparks will fly if my hammer ever strikes on her anvil.

  They say that opposites attract but, confined in a storm in a tiny cabin in the woods, the friction between us threatens to rub up to an irresistible force and set off waves of molten heat that will have us both hammering until our cores both melt.

  Chapter One

  Weird, what goes through your mind on the back of a speeding Harley, when you’re bouncing, gripping hard to the leather on a big stranger’s back, chased by an angry pack of MC bikers.

  Bouncing, shaken, gripped tight against the stranger’s strong body with my legs clamped around his ass, massive vibrations hammer up through my thighs from the bike engine, chills of the rain wash and splash my face and drip into my tee shirt.

  I would expect my first thought to be, ‘Which form of certain death will claim the two of us?’ Oddly, it’s not.

  ‘How do you know when you have real feelings for someone?’ and, ‘Can you really fall in love at first sight?’ They would not be what I’d expect. But here they are. And I know the answers, too.

  All my life I heard people talk about it. ‘Are my feelings real? How can I know?’

  Well, I know. I know because I never felt any of this before. A flush that starts deep down inside me when I see him, feelings that wash all the way through me when I hear the dark velvet of his voice brush my ear, tingles like liquid butterflies flutter down my spine when his eyes sweep over my body. Those feelings are all new to me. And they’re definitely real.

  I know for certain because, riding into almost certain death, all my thoughts are about the things I’ll never get to say to him.

  Things like, ‘That twist in your mouth makes me want to bite you.’

  And, ‘You would make such a great father.’

  And, ‘I want to know how your ribs feel under my tongue. And how it feels to trace the bone of your pelvis with my teeth. I want to know what the roughness of your skin feels like when I’m wrapped around you, under the weight of your big, strong body, when you’re pressed into the softest parts of me.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ That’s right up there. I’d love to have known that.

  Most of all, I’m wondering now how it would be to slip my hands down the front of his hard stomach. Down beyond his belt and inside his jeans.

  The drop, over the side of the hill into the mist and the torrent of rain, I know it would be a long, slow plunge. Hard and rocky at the bottom, no doubt.

  Would I be able to cling to his wide shoulders, spinning through open air? Would we get time to turn? Would I get a last look in his eyes? A kiss, even?

  After that, at least it would be quick.

  The bikers behind us, if they catch us, they won’t be quick. I know he won’t let them catch us, though.

  If the bike smacked headlong into a huge rock—that might not be quick. We could break, dashed against the rock. Maybe we would gaze across, helpless, into each other’s eyes. Reach for each other’s hands, staring silent into each other’s eyes as we slip away into the darkness. Romeo and Juliet.

  Sounds romantic.

  Couldn’t we just stay like this, like we are now? Me clinging tight to him, nuzzling my cheek against the strong, hard muscles of his back. Feeling the rolls, the clench and flex as he leans and turns the heavy bike. My arms wrapped tight around his waist. My fingers clinging to his chest. My ear against his shoulder blade, listening for his heartbeat, through the thump of the big Harley-Davidson motor as my ass bangs hard on the narrow saddle.

  This is near enough to perfection. Can’t I just stay like this forever?

  Chapter Two

  The effect she had on me when I saw her in the clubhouse bar out front, I thought that was a shock, but it was nothing compared to what came later.

  When I found her, crouched in the dark, in church, in the club’s inner sanctum, where she should never, ever have been, I knew I had to protect her. That sparkle of defiance in her eye made me even more determined.

  My club is the Dark Lords. I came as an invited guest. A visitor to the Outcasts. Our two clubs had a beef. A missing shipment. A lot of valuable merchandise.

  Getting involved with her was putting a target on my own back, but that didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.

  “You have to get away,” I told her, “Now,” holding out a hand. “Come with me.”

  A soon as I heard the first rumble of bikers’ boots, all I could think about was rescuing her. I had to keep her safe. The scent of her and that gleam in her eye made me want her so much that I knew I had to take her for myself. To claim her. Make her mine.

  Her lips pursed as she shook her head. She breathed hard and turned to run.

  When she took off, I ran after her, down the dark corridor. She found her way to the back door out of the clubhouse. As soon as she opened the door, alarms went off. She still ran, straight out into the night.

  She was up running across the compound, headed up the loose shale path toward the gate. She didn’t stand a chance. I jumped on my Harley. Fired up the motor and twisted the throttle. I skidded around in front of her. Stopped, blocking her way with the big bike.

  “Get on the back, little wildcat,” I told her. Men were pouring out of the clubhouse, front and back, after her. After us, now..

  “Quick.”

  She looked around like a frightened kitten. However much she hated it, she knew I was her best chance.

  As she swung her leg over my back wheel and into the button seat, the Outcasts were right behind us. Some ran for bikes and cages, some drew weapons.

  As soon as I felt the insides of her thighs grip around my ass, I let out the clutch and the bike took off.

  I wanted to tell her, ‘Hold on tight,’ but there was no need. As the bike shot forward, reared up on the back wheel, she clung on so hard she was like a new part of me.

  She knew how to ride pillion. Her weight followed me. She sat and let me ride the roaring bike while she held on. She didn’t lean over and she didn’t try to straighten up when I leaned. It meant a lot, and I understood.

  Riding on the back, when you can’t see where you’re going, you’re giving a lot of trust to the rider. Total trust. With your life.

  The soft warmth of her body against my back, her arms wrapped around me, and the grip of her thighs around my ass, gave me a kick like the jab of a pair of spurs. I got a thrill from her trusting me. From how she held on. From her cheek pressed into my back.

  Still charging, up on th
e back wheel, I scrambled the bike hard up the pathway, revved the engine flat out, aiming for the gate. Three or four bike engines growled into life behind us. Two guards on the gate were startled, seeing my big Harley headed straight at them.

  One pulled a gun, the other ran to shut the gate.

  I aimed the front wheel at the man with the weapon. He dove out the way, fast. I screamed the Harley through the gap in the gate before the other man could heave it closed.

  Out of the gate, the back tire skidded as the front wheel came down and bounced. I leaned hard, turning left, uphill. It was a gamble. The Outcasts could seal off the rest of the hill from here. But I had an ace in the hole.

  Shale skidded under the tires, and the sheer drop was never more than a couple of feet to the right. The narrow hillside road twisted and turned, sharp and steep. I felt like a new man. Like I’d shed my skin and been reborn.

  Danger always gets me charged up, I can’t pretend it doesn’t. Having her to protect gave me a feeling of purpose that I hadn’t felt since… well, not in a long time.

  The bikes following after us weren’t going to get much closer unless I fucked up. Or unless the road threw a rock at me. It can happen.

  But I wasn’t going to let it happen. Not to her. That was all that mattered now. All I thought about was her legs wrapped around me.

  Chapter Three

  The moment I arrived at the Rusty Bucket, as soon as I opened the door, the noise of the big barroom hit me. The hammer of hard metal rock, the clunk of heavy glasses and low grunts. Bikers and shifty civilians drank and huddled in nooks, booths, and dark corners.

  Straightaway, there’s him.

  A pair of brooding eyes that could start a fire, watch me from the far corner as I step into the darkness and noise. They watch me trying to look confident. That look could melt all my resolutions like it melts me inside my pants. His eyes set my nerves jangling the moment I’m in the door, past the point of no return. Even before I start to sway from the tang of testosterone in the clubhouse, I feel the burn from his eyes.

  I knew that he could be the end of me.

  I swore to myself that I don’t do men, and I especially don’t do bikers. I’m here with a purpose. I’m just going to have to ignore him and how he’s making me feel.

  The Rusty Bucket biker bar, clubhouse of Outcasts MC is high in the woods and on the edge of darkness, in an out-of-town no-man's-land. A place where the good men of the town swear that they never go.

  Someday I hope I’ll live another kind of life. I don’t want to be in these places, but they are all that I know.

  And a girl’s got to eat.

  Girls dance on top of the bar, most of them wearing glitter and little else, and their skin glistens with perspiration. Heavy makeup and light clothing. A line of girls sit along by the far end of the bar, waiting to dance. More girls work the tables.

  The bar keeper’s greeting seems friendly enough.

  “What can I get you?” The girls perched at the far end of the bar study me more closely. Working out what kind of potential competition has blown in. From the denims I’m wearing with a tee shirt under a work shirt, they should see that I’m not looking to take their trade. Still, they’re suspicious. Can’t blame them.

  I tell the barkeeper, “You can get me the man in charge.”

  He gives a hint of a smile. Seems I made an impression.

  “I’m in charge of the bar.”

  “I’m looking for work.”

  He looks me up and down. The examination is more thorough than a road stop pat-down. I’ve never been cavity searched, but it feels like it could be just a step away.

  “Are you a dancer?” his eyes narrow.

  He’d be surprised. I can dance. And I can do what he calls, ‘dancing,’ too. But that isn’t what I’m here to do. I will if it’s the only way, but it’s not my plan.

  With a shake of my head, I say, “It looks like you’ve got plenty of girls to dance. They look like they’ll keep your biker customers happy.”

  “So what do you plan to do?”

  I glance around the room. “I thought you could use some help running the bar. Collecting glasses, stacking the dishwasher. Serving drinks. You know, bar work.”

  My eyes keep sliding around, toward the dark stranger in the corner.

  “If it were up to me,” the barkeeper says, “maybe I’d give you a chance. Staffing, hiring decisions, though, they get made by the club president.”

  He didn’t sound too hopeful. “Couldn’t you put in a good word for me?”

  “Well,” his eyes gleam, “what are you offering to do for me?”

  “What do you want, a bedtime story?”

  A grin slips across his lips as he shakes his head. “Saul will be here sooner or later. I’ll give you a beer on the house while you wait.”

  He sets a beer in front of me and I let it sit. Standing still, just waiting, my back prickles and I'm thinking about the biker. I know that if I turn, I’ll find his eyes, waiting for mine.

  I can’t risk a distraction. I have a purpose. Plus, I’ve sworn. No bikers. Not for me, no way. Not ever.

  When the club president comes, he’s with another man. A shorter man. He puts me on my guard and reminds me straightaway what my brother said. ‘Always beware of the small guys. Especially quiet ones. Short men, slow-moving, stocky build. They can be the most dangerous.’

  Saul, the president, looks me up and down as he comes toward the bar. The way he’s looking, comparing me to the dancers, looking up and down my legs, I know he wants me to give him a twirl. Maybe some other kind of encouragement.

  “Hi, sweetbutt,” he says.

  “I’m not your sweetbutt, or anybody else’s.”

  He stiffens. “Well, you got the qualifications, you change your mind.”

  I can read the twinkle in his eye as friendly or another way. I’ll choose friendly.

  The bar keeper speaks up. “She’s looking for bar work.”

  Saul looks up again, at the girls dancing on the bar top.

  “I’m looking to work behind the bar, or around it. Not on it.” His eyebrow raises. “Not under it, neither.”

  “Don’t hold back much, do you?” Saul says.

  I’m thinking, You have no idea. But I don’t respond. Safest that way. My mouth has a way of walking me into trouble. My best policy will be to leave it in neutral as much as I can.

  “You know what you’re getting into, do you? Working the bar in a motorcycle club?”

  If I had any choice about where to work, a biker clubhouse would be so far down my list it would be underground, but I was born an outlaw and it’s all the life I know. I don’t have a choice, like it or not. Mostly not, for the record and I have to take what I can get.

  That’s usually not much. But I get by.

  Chapter Four

  Swinging a big bike around, riding hard and fast in bad weather, there’s no time to think. Your whole body steers and rides. Muscles take over from mind. It’s like meditation. The mind shuts off. Or it goes somewhere else.

  Shooting started up from behind us. That didn’t trouble me too much. I was more worried about the fine, cool mist in the air. If that turned to harder rain, if the loose road turned slippery, that would be trouble.

  Bikers firing from bouncing motorcycles behind, the chances of them hitting anything were tiny. The only reason it bothered me at all was that her back was toward them, not mine. That definitely did spur me on and raise my level of tension.

  Could have been why I made the choice that I did.

  I wound the bike farther up the hill, hoping for a bend or a twist in the road, a curve long enough to give us some time out of view. A stretch where we wouldn’t be seen. But all the turns were too tight. Too fast. We’d never be completely out of sight for more than a second or two.

  I knew this must be terrifying for her, and I loved how she handled it. I’d seen her defiance and her determination.

  The thought conjured an ima
ge of her, rearing up, stretching and arcing her back.

  She made me want things I never wanted before. Made me desperate to do things I never cared about. Not with anyone else.

  Her fists clenched up tight. Gripped even harder and held her body closer to mine. Feeling her so close, our bodies swaying, moving together as I pitched and leaned the heavy bike, whatever happened now, I knew it would be worth it to me.

  And I felt bad thinking that. She deserved better. Better than this. Better than me.

  We swerved and I urged the bike on. We lurched up the narrow road.

  Then, coming up around a bend, a log rolled off the hillside and out, into the middle of the road. I had no choice.

  Leaping off the road and into the woods at this point was too big a risk. But I had to do it. This time, I did shout back, “Hold on! Real tight.”

  I leaned and swerved to avoid the log; we went into a slide, and her body tensed. Wrapped around my back, her stomach muscles rolled and her breasts squashed, soft and yielding against me. She gripped around me like a wetsuit.

  She must have seen that we were coming off the road. That the bike was going to jump through midair. Drop and fall maybe a dozen feet to the forest floor. If we survived that, we’d bounce and scramble up over moss, rocks, tree roots and scrub. Then I’d have to swerve and wind us over uncertain ground, through the thick forest of tall pines.

  I knew the way, though.

  And I still had no idea who she was.

  Chapter Five

  Climbing onto the back of his bike was my fatal mistake. I knew it, of course.