Silver Biker: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

by L. B. Dunbar

  Keep going, honey, I want to holler. You’ll get wherever you’re going soon enough.

  Blue Ridge is my hometown. Born and bred here, I knew I’d spend my entire life near this place. After what happened, I’ll never leave. Never.

  “Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Justice interjects, responding to my statement about type and pulling me back to the present with a deep chuckle. The lost woman finally walks to the edge of the bar and pauses at the structure. It spans the length of one wall. The rest of the room has tables scattered here and there. I’m sitting near the pool tables toward the back of the place. I’d just won a game, and somehow, the woman on my lap is my prize.

  I’m not getting laid, but I’ll be getting long overdue head.

  “What do you know?” I snap at my leader although it comes out more a slur. I’m feeling good, really relaxed. I’d like to think the ease will allow me to stick my dick in someone random, but I know it won’t. This bird on my lap could sing pretty, smell sweet, and tease me in all the right ways, and I still won’t be going where I can’t bring myself to go.

  It isn’t that I can’t get it up. It’s that I don’t think I deserve to sample the pleasure.

  “Ranger, you’re asking for trouble.” The tone of Justice’s voice raises the hackles on the back of my neck. With my hair shorn short to my scalp, highlighting the hints of silver I’ve become speckled with, it doesn’t take much for those fine locks to prickle. His voice has me on edge.

  “Trouble is my middle name.” I snort.

  “Peach is your middle name,” a sweet Georgian voice purrs, and I choke on air. Justice steps aside to offer me a better view of the woman speaking.

  What the fuck?

  “You’re a peach,” I retort, squinting at the figure who has moved closer to my perch without me noticing her. The comeback is intended to be flippant and flirty, but my tongue swells the second I’ve said it. The air around me stills. The woman on my lap feels like the weight of the mountains. I only have eyes for the woman standing two feet away from me.

  Can this day get any worse?

  With blond hair bright as lemonade, sapphire blue eyes, and a body like an hourglass, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her at first. However, I am drunk. Or I was. I’m sobering up real fast. My leg begins to bounce, making the woman on my lap jiggle, and she lets loose a vibrating giggle, drawing awkward attention to herself. She sounds like a child on a kiddie ride, only I’m not offering free trips on the James Express.

  “Peach,” I whisper, not certain the nickname leaves my lips. Continuing to stare at the woman watching me, I can’t believe she’s standing before me. Is she real? She’s still so fucking beautiful. The glare in her eyes assures me she’s very real, and she’s staring daggers at the woman sitting on my thighs.

  In a show of possessiveness and bitchiness to the max, the biker babe kisses my jaw, licking along the hard edge and scraping her tongue against the silvery stubble. Her eyes remain on the peach before me.

  Fuck.

  “James.” The blond bombshell speaks. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. I hear it nightly in my dreams, reaching out for it to drown out the other noises that haunt me.

  The screams. The scraping. The silence afterward.

  “Evelyn.” Her name is sharper on my tongue than I intend. I’m pissed she didn’t call this year. She owes me every May. She promised.

  “You gonna join us tonight, honey?” The biddy on my lap teases the female before me who looks ready to stake me on a skewer and roast me over a fire.

  Good, let her be angry. Let her be anything other than emotionless.

  It was all your fault, my conscience reminds me.

  I sit taller in my seat, shifting the woman on my thighs who has a firm grip on my neck at this point.

  “No, I don’t think I’ll be joining you this evening.” Evelyn’s sharp tone displays how unimpressed she is with this situation. Once upon a time, she was impressed with me, though. She thought I was the shit, and she was my sweet peach.

  James and his Giant Peach. My mother loved the irony of it.

  “Evie,” I hiss. Her nickname falls on deaf ears as the beauty gives me her back and walks away. My eyes follow the retreat of her firm ass—still tight—in skinny jeans. My mouth waters and my insides stir in a way they haven’t for years. Justice steps back with a broad step at her retreat. He stood beside her, ever the protector of the underdog, although I’m not certain who’s the underdog in this scenario—her or me.

  As she walks away, the soles of her shoes clack on the tile like the ticking of a stopwatch, and I release the air in my lungs in relief. Or is it frustration? Maybe it’s fear.

  “Who was that?” Trixie-Trudy-Tabby asks, her voice incredulous at the sway of hips walking away from me once again.

  I answer on an exhale.

  “My wife.”

  2

  Second impressions

  [Evie]

  I knew this was a terrible idea.

  I hadn’t been in Blue Ridge in years—almost six to be exact. I left on a cold rainy day when life felt hopeless, and I tried not to look back. I was in a bad place then. I’m so much better now, but somehow seeing James with that woman on his lap does something to my insides.

  No, I absolutely would not be joining them.

  My heart is crushed again.

  “I see I’ve made a mistake.” I’m talking to myself at this point as I’ve given James my back. Tearing my eyes from the hussy licking my husband’s ear like a lap dog, I gaze up at the giant of a man at my side as I speak. He has a scruffy salt-n-pepper jaw and longish hair to match. With his arms crossed over his broad chest, he gives me a pitying glance.

  I want to kick myself for thinking this was the right way to handle things. I’ve worked hard to place James in the past because that’s where he asked me to put him.

  It’s another reason I’m here now. I’m thinking about my future.

  Dalton Braun wants a future with me.

  It’d taken years to get to a point when I felt comfortable dating, and a few more before I considered marrying anyone else. The concept seemed daunting until I realized how truly lonely and empty I’ve been. I wanted to be whole again, and Dalton did that for me. He was stable, steady, and good stock. My family would approve of him whereas they never approved of James.

  “He’s so backwoods,” my mother said upon meeting my husband.

  She had no idea that’s why I liked him so much. Admittedly, my initial attraction was all lust. It was nice to be looked at the way he looked at me. Without commitment. Without obligation. Without wanting to change me into someone other than who I wanted to be. At that time, I was a bit lost, but James didn’t care. His easygoing attitude was a big attraction, as was his large, knowledgeable dick. I didn’t need loyalty from him. I needed the way his body worked with mine.

  Now, I have Dalton. He’s good for me. He takes care of me. He’s a decent man. I owe him, and I have to free myself from one man before I can even consider marrying another.

  However, I’m aghast at the position I’ve found my husband in. I can’t accuse him of cheating. I have my own guilty sins after six years, but that’s another reason I’m here. I need to atone for myself, for him, and move forward.

  Giant Santa Biker nods at me, shifting his eyes back to James, and I walk away. Again.

  + + +

  Although I’d exited the bar last night, I redouble my efforts on night two. I need to see James, reminding myself this is why I’m here. I want to talk to him before the papers arrive. I thought it was only right to do this in person, so for the second night in a row, I’m seeking him out.

  Tonight, I’m at the Devil’s Den, the biker headquarters, or so I’m told. It’s more like a mansion on the mountain, which doesn’t fit the stereotype of a motorcycle clubs. I wasn’t familiar with any of these places or the people when I lived here. James and I had a normal life, by a standard definition. A nice house. A loving family. He�
�d moved on from the grueling work of search and rescue to be a local fireman instead. He tinkered with a motorcycle. I had no inclination he wanted to join a club.

  But everything changes.

  I yank open the door and enter a dimly lit entryway, holding my head as high as I can. A grand staircase leads upward, and I do not want to know what goes on up there. I continue forward into what looks like an old ballroom. These ancient mansions housed balls in a time long since passed. I don’t belong here, and I’d like to think James doesn’t either. However, he told me when he joined Rebel’s Edge. I like to think I understand. He needed friends. He needed to feel he belonged somewhere. I’ll never be over the fact he didn’t feel he belonged with me.

  “Are you lost, baby girl?” The sultry voice of a rugged young man behind a bar I’m certain did not exist in the original home’s design catches my attention. I’ve been trying to take in everything around me. The thumping bass of hard rock, 70s music. The adjustment of my eyes in the dull lighting. The couple making out like teens on a couch in the corner.

  Baby girl? I could be this boy’s mother, and he vaguely looks familiar.

  “I’m looking for James Harrington,” I announce while my gaze struggles to pull away from the woman giving a lap dance on a man so visibly. Her tongue is halfway down the guy’s throat, and his hands are up the backside of her skirt.

  Holy shit.

  I quickly look away and focus on the bartender. He’s young, roughly the age of someone in college. My heart pinches with the thought.

  Michael would have been a high school senior this year.

  “Ranger know you’re coming?” he asks, tipping his head while looking me up and down. It’s a sexual glance. Since when does James go by Ranger? That was my nickname for him.

  Then another thought occurs. I worry that telling this young man James is not expecting me might be the wrong answer for my safety.

  “I’ve got this.” The rough, masculine voice of another pulls my attention from the bartender, and my sight lands on the man who led me to James last night. This character is solid, broad in shoulder, and silver in hair. His face reads don’t fuck with me, but he was helpful last evening.

  If pointing me to my husband with a woman on his lap is called considerate.

  He’s eyeballing me much like the bartender, assessing me, but it’s not appraising like the younger man.

  “Evie, right?”

  Stepping forward, I offer him a hand, but he glances down at it and crosses his arms instead of extending one. I clear my throat.

  “Right, and you are?”

  “A friend in your corner. Maybe.”

  I nod, not certain what that means.

  “I’m looking for James again. I was told I might find him here.”

  The man’s eyes never leave my face. “Is that so?”

  “Giant sent me.”

  I’d always liked Giant Harrington, the eldest of the Harrington clan. James and he were close as brothers can be at one time. I knew from James that wasn’t the case anymore. He’d rejected his entire family, just like he tossed me to the side.

  The brooding man before me lowers his shoulders, lowering the badass biker guard a bit.

  “What do you want with him?” he asks, protective of his brother-in-arms, or is it biker brother? I don’t know the lingo. I’m not versed in Sons of Anarchy.

  “It’s personal,” I state, feeling I owe James the decency to speak with him and let him decide how he wants to share things with others.

  “Everything always was with you.” Finally, some familiarity in my strange surroundings. I spin to find James behind me. His stance mirrors that of the biker now at my back. If anyone ever told me being sandwiched between two bikers would be a turn-on, I’d tell them they were crazy, but the solid man behind me and the sexy man before me are doing strange things to my lower belly.

  What is this?

  The energy vibrating off James alone results in a pulsing beat in a place that should no longer thump for him. The presence of the other man behind me enhances the rhythm. Sexual vitality swirls around me.

  Focus, Evelyn.

  There is no point in acknowledging the attraction I’ve never lost for my husband. It was a dead-end street. He’d moved on as was evident by the hussy on his lap last night. So had I.

  “What do you want, Evelyn?” The use of my formal name felt all wrong coming from such a smoky voice. Then again, whenever he grew frustrated with me during our life together, he’d pull out the name like a lash.

  “We should talk.”

  James glares at me. Blue eyes that were once cool water are now frozen ice. “Little late for that,” he mocks. He glances at his wrist as if he’s wearing a watch instead of the leather band, silver clasp, and beaded bracelet on his arm. “I’d say, you’re three months too late.”

  It takes me a second to process what he means. Three months? We’d been separated for almost six years.

  “You owe me a phone call,” he clarifies, and I want to snap at him. Since when do I owe him anything?

  A phone call. The promise rings true with me, but I don’t wish to address it. Things were happening in May, and I didn’t feel right calling him.

  “Listen, we don’t need to talk, really, I just need you to sign something when it arrives.”

  James stands taller, and the man at my back mutters, “Oh, shit.”

  I spin to face him. “I don’t think we need an audience,” I snark before my eyes drift to the couple still going at it like no one else is in the room. The woman’s undulating on the dude’s lap, but it’s his hand up the back of her skirt that really has her moving. I turn back to James.

  “Is there somewhere private we can speak?”

  “This is as private as I get with you,” James states, holding out his arms and twisting his neck to imply the middle of the room. A few people linger here and there, and a quietening around us occurs. Despite the music’s harmony and the couple’s grunts, everyone’s listening to the center of the room.

  “Don’t make me do this,” I mutter, lowering my voice and linking my arms together, matching his defensive stance. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “There’s nothing you can do that will hurt me,” he states hard as steel. The comment pisses me off. I don’t know why I’m bothering to make this easy on him. This man ripped my heart out and took everything from me. I never blamed him for all of it, but he’s so determined to hate himself, he cast me aside like I never meant anything to him. He hurt me.

  “Fine,” I squawk, arms flailing out to the side. “I’m here for a divorce.”

  3

  What A Woman Wants

  [James]

  To say I knew it was coming would be the truth.

  To say it hurt any less coming from her mouth directly would be the lie.

  When Evie left, I figured it was only a matter of time before we reached this point. But time kept ticking, and that pesky sucker called hope left me hanging on.

  Maybe it would never come to this.

  Maybe she’d come back to me.

  Of course, I didn’t deserve her to return to me. I didn’t warrant a second chance. All my luck went down the side of a mountain, and I’d never be worthy of nice things again.

  And Evelyn Sue Fitzpatrick had been one of the best things in my life.

  For all my bravado to hear Evie’s mission, stated before the gathering, I suddenly feel sick with her announcement.

  I want a divorce.

  “Why?” It might be the stupidest question to ever pop out of my mouth.

  Evie’s beautiful blue eyes widen, and her crossed arms lower. Her hands meet before her, and she twists them to clasp her fingers together. I’ve seen this pose before on her. She’d slip into it when she had something to tell me that was difficult for her to say.

  “I broke the food disposal again.”

  “I hit a curb and hurt the tire.”

  “We lost another baby.”

  M
y girl had been a princess in another life, and she was sheepish of natural errors. Thank goodness, I was handy enough to repair most things—just not us. I’d ripped us apart and tossed away the manual on fixing our marriage.

  Evie still hasn’t answered my question. Her eyes lower. Her fingers clench and unclench. Whatever she has to tell me is hard for her, and I’m making her sweat. My heart races because for all the reasons she could—and should—divorce me, there’s one I fear most.

  “I’ve met someone.”

  Fucking fuck to the fucking hell no.

  However, I’m not shocked at the reality of what she’s said. Evie is beautiful. A real Southern peach of a woman with that still-blond hair, those bright azure eyes, and her rocking body. She’s three years younger than me, putting her at forty-five, and I always thought we’d grow old together. I knew she’d grow more gorgeous through the years.

  “Well, lucky him,” I mock. While some chump is fortunate to have her, he might never know how fortunate he is. Evie has a heart of gold, trust for miles, and a sweetness under her sassy side. I don’t want some other guy having what’s always been mine, but she doesn’t belong to me anymore. From the moment I met Evie, I was in trouble of losing my heart for the first time ever and did—to her.

  I’d been a player most of my life. I’d had no shortage of women and one woman I nearly wrecked with my carelessness, but Evie was different. When her body collided with mine that day in July, her lean weight pressing my pack at my back, I knew I’d never be the same.

  + + +

  Nineteen years ago . . .

  I didn’t typically seek out campers in the woods, but I did later that day. As a proud member of the search and rescue team in the area, I liked to hike the trails on the regular and even go off course on occasion just to remain familiar with every root and branch of the area. I would come across day-hikers, trail walkers, and the occasional tent campers, but I’d never purposely been looking for someone who wasn’t a rescue mission.