DESERT KING: RB MC

by Jax Hart

  I have no idea how long we’ve been riding, but the sun sinks low in the sky. Finally, a few metal signs appear. Then the mountains are upon us. Huge, brown-black and imposing, it seems as if we’re going to crash right into them, but at the last second, the road bends and we go between them instead. Glittering city lights shine like gemstones in the twilight.

  The mountain range hid the city. The pack of bikers pulls off the first exit, zooming through backstreets then enters a dirt lot.

  He wasn’t kidding.

  The flashing neon pink and blue sign screams “TRIPLE XXX.”

  My legs are stiff and feel like jelly. I stumble a bit as I get off the bike, much to the enjoyment of the giant whose body I practically imprinted on during the ride.

  I’m about to tell him to fuck off now that I’m safely in civilization when my breath catches. Not by some disease or medical condition either. He removes his handkerchief and sunglasses, revealing the most brutally male face I’ve ever seen.

  It’s not the handsome face described by a hero in a love story. But it’s breathtaking, nonetheless. His nose is slightly crooked, and there is a bump near the bridge. It must have been broken a few times. His jaw is square, and his face a deep tan. Several small scars tell only some of his story. His eyebrows are two thick slashes over large hazel eyes. I feel the smirk before I can stop it. His lashes are long, the tips a light gold.

  Angel eyes on a badass biker.

  “What?”

  “Your face.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s a contradiction.”

  He moves close, blocking everything in my line of sight but him. He shakes his head. “You have no idea who you are fucking with?”

  “You’re right, and you know what? I don’t care. Thank you for the ride.” I turn, but he grabs my elbow jerking me around.

  “Nothing about me is angelic sweetheart and you best remember that. You owe the Bloody Scorpions now.”

  I shrug, lifting my chin. “All I have is my dead car and a trunk load of size six jeans and knick-knacks. My skinny, chicken ass isn’t worth a dime according to you, remember?”

  The corners of his full mouth tilt as he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans for a pack of cigarettes. Taking one out, he puts it between his lips, “I’m sure you must be good for something, sweetheart.”

  I shrug. “I’m the most non-descript woman you’ll ever meet.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that, sugar. You might be as pale as a ghost with zero tits and ass from what I can see, but you’ve got a backbone. Be careful who you show it to.”

  My parched lips shut, tasting nothing but dust and bitterness. “Do they at least have anything good on tap in there?” I gesture toward the TripleXXX. But I don’t wait for his answer. He cups his cigarette to light it and I have no interest in having my lungs freak out again.

  Squaring my shoulders, I push open the heavy red door, entering the dimly lit room. Five feet in, I’m stopped by a bear of a man. “There is a twenty-buck cover charge.” He opens a palm.

  “Are you serious? If I wanted to see tits and ass, all I’d have to do is look in the mirror.”

  “She’s with me.”

  Over my shoulder, I see my monster. I suck in my breath because he has a bad habit of stealing them. When he laughs, it transforms his savage face. His white teeth gleam, laugh lines make his hazel eyes even more of a focal point. A grin makes his rough-cut face almost boyish. Almost.

  The bouncer shrugs, letting me pass.

  The men from the Bloody Scorpions take up almost every table by the stage. Strippers bend over, showing the shaved prize between their legs. Disgusted, I turn to the empty bar and take a seat.

  “What’s your poison?”

  “Tito’s on the rocks, extra salt, and two limes.”

  The bartender grins and gets busy making my drink. From the corner of my eye, I see my monster take a seat with his men. “… and get him,” I point over, “something sweet. He sure as hell needs something besides the vinegar in his mouth.”

  “Ain’t you cute? Where you from?”

  “Florida.”

  “Florida? What in the hell are you doing here in the desert?”

  “I needed a change.”

  “From paradise? Girl, let me give you some advice. Woman to woman and all—run! Run back as fast as you can.”

  I shrug, “It’s not that bad so far. The mountains are beautiful. I’m not staying outside of Albuquerque anyway. My destination is Santa Fe.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “That’s Royal Bastard territory.”

  “Royal, who?”

  She mutters something under her breath since the men are shouting at her to get busy and make their drinks, but she makes mine first.

  “Thanks,” I smile, then quickly bring it to my lips. A shudder runs through me at the icy burn as it travels down my throat.

  Drink in hand, I turn on my barstool and from the safety of the only lonely corner in the entire strip joint, I survey the room finding my “savior” with a topless blonde. She’s sitting on him. His meaty palms cup both her breasts. From the look on the girl’s face, she’s very much enjoying his attention. Her lips are parted; her ass grinds down on his lap. He uses his thumbs to flick her nipples as his mouth finds the back of her neck.

  I shake my head, muttering, “Just who is tipping who tonight?”

  The bartender smirks. “Right? These girls would pay him for it, not the other way around. He touches them sure, but I’ve never heard of him taking his dick out for any of them.”

  “What a pity,” I smirk.

  “Where’s the ladies’?”

  She points down a hallway and I grimace. Great, I’d have to pass right by his table.

  “Who is he anyway?”

  “Edge.”

  “Edge?”

  “That’s his MC name and that’s all I know.”

  Raising a brow, I hop down off my seat. “Do you mind watching my drink?”

  “Girl, no one would slip a pill in your drink…no offense.”

  “None taken.” I grimace. There’s nothing like being in a strip joint to remind me just how lacking I am in the tits, ass, tan, and hair slash make up department.

  My long, dark hair fell out of its bun two hundred miles ago. My skin has a light coat of dust and sweat instead of perfumed shimmer powder.

  “Here. Could you please take these over?”

  She sees the incredulous look on my face.

  “Please? I’m slammed.” She nods over to the fifty-plus parched bikers.

  “Sure.”

  Balancing the tray on one flattened palm with the edge tucked against my elbow, I carefully walk over.

  It kills me to meet his eyes. He reaches for his drink, never breaking eye contact from me as his other hand moves low, rubbing the stripper’s mound over her bikini bottoms.

  She moans, throwing her head back and thrusts her hips forward into his hand. He cups her sex; I can’t look away. His eyes. Those damn angel eyes are talking to me, asking me if I wish I were her…if it was me, those hands were on.

  Truthfully, I don’t know. I’ve had long-term boyfriends in a previous life that seems so long ago. And even then, I never burned for any of them. Sex was cuddly; warm, but never a burning fire. I feel the small smirk on my face; no one’s ever made me bite my lip and moan the way the stripper is for Edge.

  He notices my smirk and makes one of his own. “I am that good.”

  “Please. Every guy thinks that.”

  In his eyes, is the appreciation for my sass. That’s the one thing I have in spades. Placing the empty drink tray down on a chair, I keep moving past the smokey haze to the dimly lit hall. The door swings wide open and I squint as my pupils adjust to the light streaming in. A trio of heavy-set trucker drivers walk in—their rigs parked behind the rows of bikes. I lower my eyes, not wanting their type of attention and quickly move away, pushing the door to the bathroom open.

  I cup cold water in
my hands to rinse my face. I take more to rinse my mouth.

  “Damn, Amber, no wonder why everyone looks right through you.” Meeting my eyes in the mirror, I inspect my face. Despite being from Florida, I’m pale as a ghost. I guess almost dying will do that to you, though. My clothes hang on my body. Despite the fast-food I grabbed on the road between Florida and here, I’m still too thin. My trunk filled with size six jeans don’t even fit on my new chicken ass. I need some meat on my bones. I need some health back.

  The dry heat will be good for me. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. I never thought about the desert dust, though. Somehow it finds a way to cling everywhere.

  My hair is the only thing worth noticing. It’s thick, wavy, and dark brown. My eyes I guess, are all right—there just a medium nondescript brown. I don’t even care about looks or any of that pathetic superficial bull shit. Almost dying is the best medicine for not giving two fucks about any of that or what people think of you.

  Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin. “That’s right, Amber Walker, and you are a badass survivor. You flat-lined twice and came back to life.” My little pep talk does the trick. Fuck Edge, and his entire Bloody Scorpion MC. I’ve already been through the fires of hell. Nothing anyone can do or say can take that away from me. Spinning on my heel, I push the door back open and enter the hall. But I don’t get far.

  “Well, well, what do we have here? A scrawny-ass new girl? Are you one of F.O.C.U.S’ East Coast virgins up on the auction block for later?” The trucker dude smacks his lips and moves in, forcing my back against the wall.

  “I’ve never had virgin pussy,” a second guy sneers edging on to my left.

  “Please,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. Despite every instinct telling me to scream and fight, I try to act tough. Because they are expecting that; me to be a screamer and them being able to get off on the fear. “Me? A Virgin? I’ve ridden more dick than Jenny J.”

  The guy closest to me leans closer. “Is that right?” His hand squeezes my jaw. “Open your mouth. Let’s see how big it is.”

  Tears threaten as his hand on my cheeks squeeze. My knee lifts, attempting to get him in the balls, but the second guy blocks the blow.

  My head is pushed down to the floor. The sound of jeans unzippering makes me shut my eyes. I was wrong. There are worse feelings than the isolation of weeks upon weeks of the ICU hovering between worlds.

  “What the fuck?!”

  I open my eyes, seeing my bad angel. The head of the man hovering over me cracks into the wall. Screaming, I crawl between heavy black boots as punches and knives flash above my head.

  Wide-eyed, I stay crouched in the hall corner. The brawling men block any escape. The loud music and hoots from men in the club prevent anyone from hearing the fight. I guess men do lose their minds over a good pair of tits and ass.

  Edge is going wild. He is an avenging madman hammering punch after punch. It is three to one. The men gasp and heave, finally squaring off against him together as Edge stands guard in front of me. He eggs them on, gesturing with his hands for them to come at him.

  But they don’t.

  With a snarl, he barrels forward, kicking one in the gut while clipping the other two under the jaw. It’s a knockout.

  On trembling legs, I stand. “Thank you.”

  He turns and my eyes fall to the blood on his hands. His knuckles are split. Growling, he stalks forward. “Get the hell out of here. Turn around and go. New Mexico isn’t the place for a little mouse like you.”

  “Why do you hate me so much?” My voice cracks.

  “I hate everyone, mouse.”

  “…but you saved me.”

  “Nah, I like the fight. Like the blood‏‏—the sound of crushing bones.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He comes closer, the tips of his boots kiss my worn-out Vans. His finger lifts my chin. “You just added more to the debt you owe me. This is your second rescue in one day.”

  “So? You’ve already said, there’s nothing I have of value.”

  His full lips turn up in a sneer. “My specialty is finding things of value from broken, dumped things.”

  “I’m not broken. Or dumped.”

  “Now you’re just lying to yourself, mouse. You’re in the middle of nowhere, in a shithole strip joint with no car and no money.”

  My chin lifts. “I have money.”

  He shakes his head. “If you manage not to get jumped a second time.”

  “I can handle myself just fine.”

  “Maybe in a state filled with old folk and spring breakers. This is the Wild, Wild West, sugar. It won’t take much for a twig, like you to snap.”

  “You know what? You’re a bit nuts, Edge. Who has a name like that anyway? Who speaks like you? Get some damn manners, a better name, and then maybe we can have a conversation.”

  He picks me up like a football using only one of his arms. The door to the restroom is kicked open by his heavy boot. My ass is slammed down on the counter and Edge is there, standing between my thighs.

  His eyes glitter with something I cannot define. But then his mouth is on me. A thousand lights turn on. Lights, I never knew, could even be lit. I kiss him back. He groans, opening my mouth with his tongue. As our tongues dance, it occurs to me, he had his hands on the stripper but never his mouth. This kiss is much more intimate than the bump ‘n grind he was doing before with someone else.

  As warmth floods through me, I kiss him back, knowing I need to stop. I rip my mouth from his, laying a palm on his hard pecs.

  “Sorry, I don’t do whores.”

  He smirks. “You name-calling? Admit it, my hands were on her, but you felt them on you.”

  “I don’t have to admit anything to you.”

  “Edge! We got company!” Another Bloody Scorpion yells as he pushes the door open, interrupting our little scene.

  “I know, I already took care of the truckers.”

  “Not them. The Royal Bastards. They’re here with a few men from Creed MC.”

  “What?” Edge grounds out, clenching his bloodied fists.

  When he leaves, it’s like a vortex of energy disappearing. It sucks the air out of my lungs as much as anything.

  Shouts and screams make their way from the main room. I should probably bolt to the end stall and hide, but curiosity gets the better of me. I crack the door open a quarter inch, just enough to peek an eye out. The truckers are tied up with zip ties and stacked against the far wall.

  A few of the working girls grab their bouncing tits as they screech and hurry through the side exit, out into the parking lot. “What the heck could be going on?”

  I step out gingerly and creep down the hall. Edge is squaring off with his entire MC at his back against four burly men wearing cuts. But from the body language, there’s no way they are friendly. If anything, the hate emanating between them is so thick you could choke on it. I need to get my purse and get the heck out of here. I’ve had quite the distraction and adventure, but now it’s time to move on and get myself out of this mess.

  With my back to the wall, I inch forward. No one even glances my way. I’m a ghost. Just like I’ve always been. Ordinary. Invisible. Completely forgettable.

  “You’ve got some nerve showing up on our turf.” Edge grits out.

  The three men shrug, but only one responds. “We were invited.”

  “Bullshit.” Edge crosses his massive arms.

  “Tell them, Viv.”

  The bartender who was kind to me grimaces. “F.O.C.U.S. offered his services.”

  “What the fuck, Viv? We protect your business, your women, and you have the nerve to disrespect me by inviting the Royal Bastards to our turf?”

  “South Albuquerque is no man’s land.” The man’s face is in shadow as he speaks. His voice is soft thunder. He’ s still, but I get the impression he’s a coiled whip ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

  “The fuck it is,” Edge growls. “This is toeing the line, and you kn
ow it, Tarak.”

  “The lady asked us.” The man called F.O.C.U.S. replies. “Some of us think this war between us needs to end. We’d make better partners than rivals.”

  “I don’t give two fucks. Get out.”

  “Make me,” he growls, raising a fist. He steps forward. My breath catches. His eyes are the opposite of Edge’s. If Edge has the eyes of an angel, this man’s the fallen one. I could get lost in his gaze, just trying to figure out exactly what shade of black his irises are. They’re so dark they gleam. If that is even possible. His face was carved from the mountains, all hard planes, and angles. His bronze skin is drawn tight over his cheekbones. His lips are full for a man. They’re sexy and full and right now—baiting Edge with a sly smirk. “Bring it.” He opens his palms, turning them up and gestures with his hands for Edge to come at him.

  “Whoa. Easy there…” A giant of a man with salt n’ pepper hair places a hand on the guy’s arm, making it lower. His cut says “Creed” on the back. What is going on? Three different MC’s are talking about their beef?

  It is only then I notice another giant of a man with a full beard and dangerous eyes, point a gun at the man to Edge’s right. He points a gun straight back. It’s an old Western showdown, but there’s no horses or 45’s. Instead, it’s tatted cowboys riding chrome and wearing leather and I have a front-row seat.

  “Let me at him, Rog. You know why.”

  “Maybe later. I wanna drink. It was a long-ass ride.” I’m stunned when the handsome older biker turns his back on the lot of them. He must have balls of steel. He takes a seat right next to where my drink was and damn, I want to finish mine. I’m over being the mouse, hiding in the corner… going unnoticed. Squaring my shoulders, I push off the wall and try my best chicken-ass saunter, cutting right through them all. In my mind’s eye, I’m a seductress weaving her way through alpha men drooling over her ass… I almost sigh. From the corner of my eye, I sneak a peek at the tall man, Tarak. The harsh planes of his face could cut stone. His skin is divine. It’s tan but not from sun, from DNA. I shake my head. This is the Wild West with Chrome Cowboys and hot AF Native Americans. He steps closer, staring at Edge over my head. I feel the heat coming off his skin.