Biker's Bride: A Bad Boy Romance (Demons MC) (Includes bonus novel Kinged!) (10 page)

“She’s ready,” Ford answered.

Larkin stared at me for a second longer and then nodded. “Ford, you stay with her. We’ll be nearby.”

Ford nodded. Larkin gestured at Clutch and Spoil, and the three of them disappeared into the back room.

“TomTom,” Ford called over to the bartender. “Whisky for me. Gin and tonic for the girl.”

“How’d you know?” I asked him, surprised that he knew my favorite drink.

“Lucky guess,” he said.

TomTom returned with the drinks and gave me a shy smile. Ford slammed his back and I sipped mine a little more conservatively, worried about what was coming.

Ford got another and sipped this one a little slower, looking at me.

“Relax,” he said. “This is nothing. A formality.”

“Seems like nothing to you,” I said, “but this is all new to me.”

He nodded slowly, looking at me seriously. For a second, he seemed like he was actually seeing me. “This has happened fast,” he said.

“You’re not kidding. Somehow we’re engaged.”

He smiled, nodding. “Yeah. Never thought that’d happen to me.”

“What, marrying me?”

“Marrying anyone.” He took a long sip of his whisky. “You know, I used to watch you, back when we were kids.”

“Sounds creepy.”

“Wasn’t like that,” he said, a little annoyed. “You weren’t like the other girls in town. They all wanted a piece of my bike and a piece of my cock. But you didn’t seem interested in any of that shit.”

“I wasn’t trying to end up just another pregnant teenager from our small town.”

“Exactly,” he said. “You wanted more. You wanted to get out. I could see that in you.”

“Why didn’t you ever say that to me?”

He shrugged, staring deeply at me. “Because I was just some piece of shit kid from across the street. I could have given you a good fuck, but what else did I have to offer?”

“You saved me that night, though,” I said, my heart beating fast in my chest.

“Yeah, I did. Your old man was a real piece of shit.”

I laughed softly. “Yeah, he was.”

“You still talk to him?”

I shook her head. “No. Not since I left. I’ve never looked back.”

“Good,” he said. “Fuck that place.”

I laughed, and before he could say more, the door opened.

I looked up. Two men walked in. One was short and balding, and the other was taller with dark, slicked-back hair. He was smiling this huge, goofy smile.

“Here we go,” Ford said softly.

I nodded, downing my drink. I hadn’t realized how nervous I was. “Okay.”

Ford stood up and gestured at the men.

“Brother Ford,” the smiling man said.

“Not your brother anymore,” Ford answered.

“This the girl?” He ignored Ford’s comment and looked at me, smiling his big, sleazy smile.

“This is her. Caralee, this is Jetter.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, though I felt like I wanted to puke.

“It’s great to meet you.” He nodded at the bald man, who gave me a little smile and then walked over to the bar. Jetter sat down at our table.

“Drink?” Ford asked.

“Thanks,” he said.

Ford gestured at the bartender, who walked over. Jetter asked for a whisky, and I asked for another gin and tonic. When the drinks came, Jetter took one long sip and then looked at me, smiling.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I took a sip to cover my discomfort. I didn’t know what he expected from me, what he wanted.

“I get what Rod saw in you,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“You’re pretty. You have kind eyes. Rod was a sucker for kind eyes.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I said, squirming under his gaze

“Keep is professional, Jetter,” Ford warned.

“I’m always professional.” He smiled disarmingly and took another sip. “Tell me, Caralee, how did you know our boy?”

“I met Rod when I was at school,” I said.

“Where do you go?”

“The University of Texas.”

“UT is a good school.” He leaned back in his chair, appraising me. I felt naked for a second, like he was staring through my clothes. It made me feel dirty. “So you’re not just some dumb bitch club slut, then?”

“No,” I said, a little surprised.

I glanced at Ford, and he was visibly holding himself back. Jetter ignored him.

“Good,” he said. “You don’t look it, but you never know.”

“Rod came to a party at school. That’s how we first met. I like motorcycles, and he offered to take me for a ride. We were friends. That’s all,” I said.

“I believe it,” Jetter said, laughing. “Rod never did have much luck with the ladies.”

“He was a nice guy.” I didn’t like the way people kept talking about Rod, as if nobody cared that he was gone.

“Nice,” Jetter said, musing. “That’s not exactly a good quality in our line of work, you know.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said softly. “He still was.”

“Probably how the dumb fuck got himself killed.”

I flinched as the memory of that night came back to me briefly, but I didn’t say anything. He was clearly trying to bait me into getting upset, though I wasn’t sure why.

“Something you want to ask her in particular, Jetter, or are you just being your usual self?” Ford asked.

Jetter smirked at him. “Watch it, Ford. I’m a club president.”

Ford clenched his jaw but said nothing.

Jetter returned his gaze to me. “Did you kill Rod?”

“No,” I said.

“Do you know who did?”

“Other bikers. I was too far away to see exactly.”

“What happened?”

So I went through my story again, beginning with the joy ride and ending with the murder. Jetter’s face remained impassive the whole time, almost as if he had heard the story already. I hated telling it again, hated reliving that night, but I knew I had to get through it all. I gave as much detail as I possibly could, even though the night had been so dark and I had been so terrified.

Finally, he looked at Ford. “What do you think?”

“She’s telling the truth.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“I know her,” he said. “She’s not a part of this shit.”

He nodded and looked back at me. “What did these guys tell you about me?”

“Not much,” I said honestly. “You used to be one of them. Now you lead a different club.”

“How do you think that happened for me?”

“I don’t know.”

He leaned forward, downing his drink. “Like I said, being a nice guy isn’t the best thing in this business.”

“I see,” I said, suddenly afraid.

“I killed a lot of people. That’s how I got to my position. I cut throats and showed absolutely no mercy.” He smiled at me, a sickening thing. “Your friend Ford here isn’t much different, you know.”

“Different enough,” Ford said.

“We’re all this way, you know,” Jetter went on. “Killers. Thieves. We live outside the law because we can’t live any other way. Rod, he just wasn’t built for this life. It takes a certain kind of man to survive it, to thrive in it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked him.

“Because I’m trying to understand who you are, Caralee. It may not seem like it, but I am very, very angry that my boy is dead. I want to find his killers and I want to cut their throats wide open.” He paused to sip his drink. “Right now, you’re my only link.”

“I’m sorry. I told you everything I know.”

“Rod wasn’t cut out for this life, but that doesn’t mean that harder men like me can’t at least get a little revenge for him.”

Jetter stared at me for a long moment, and I looked back.

“I want you to get that revenge,” I said softly.

“Good.” His sleazy smile returned and he looked at Ford. “I think we’re done here.”

Ford nodded. “Good.”

Jetter stood up and gestured to the bald man sitting at the bar. “Caralee,” he said, “if you think of anything, let me know.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Give my regards to Larkin,” Jetter said to Ford.

“Will do.”

Jetter turned and left, followed by the bald man, who simply leered at me before disappearing.

I slammed back my drink and exhaled heavily. I felt like someone had just sat on my chest for an hour.

“You okay?” Ford asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good.” He finished his drink. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“What about your boss?”

He shrugged. “He’s fine. He heard all that.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home. Maybe I’ll strip in front of you again.”

“Is that all you think about?”

He stared at me seriously. “Caralee, when you’re around, fucking you really is all I can think about.”

I looked back and suddenly forgot all about Jetter and his creepy associate for a moment. I felt a thrill run through me, and I wanted to sit on the back of Ford’s bike, feel the power between my legs, feel his hard body as we rode.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

We headed out then, got on his bike, and rode.

I felt more excited than I had in a long time.

I
woke up, hungover and bleary, back aching from lying on the couch all damn night. My cell phone was ringing, so I grabbed it.

“What?” I barked.

“It’s me,” Larkin said.

“What’s up, prez?” I asked. “It’s early as fuck.”

“Got a job today.”

That made me sit up. “What’s the deal?”

“Meeting with the Mezcals. Buying a little shipment.”

“Time?”

“Two hours. Down by our favorite cactus patch.”

“Who’s coming?”

“A few guys. Meet here in twenty.”

“Got it.”

I hung up the phone and sat up, grunting. I checked the time and frowned. It was barely past six, and the sun probably just rose not long ago.

Damn Larkin and his fucking early morning meetings.

I stood up and put some coffee on. My memory of the night before was hazy, but I knew nothing had happened. As soon as we got back to my house, Caralee had disappeared in my bedroom, and I had drunk whisky until I could finally pass out on my uncomfortable couch.

The damn girl was going to be the death of me.

I poured a cup of coffee and walked across the room, wearing only my boxer briefs. I quietly pushed open the bedroom door.

She was twisted up in the sheets, still fast asleep. I snuck inside and grabbed some clean clothes. As I began to slip out, I heard her stir.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting clothes. Go back to sleep.”

“Are you leaving?”

“For a few hours, yeah.”

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I should come.”

“No,” I said. “Club business. Larkin will send some pledges to keep an eye on you.”

She sighed. “Okay.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” She stretched, and I got a great fucking view of her full tits through her thin, white cotton T-shirt. She had an incredible body, even first thing in the morning. I felt my cock begin to stiffen just looking at her.

I shut the door and shook my head.

Damn girl was going to be the death of me.

––––––––

W
e tore down the highway, riding in formation. There were eight of us: me, Clutch, Spoil, Noble, Dow, Tyson, Locke, and Thade. It was a simple buy mission, just a quick swap of cash for goods from the Mexican club, the Mezcals.

There was nothing better than flying down the highway, wearing our cuts, bikes screaming, wind blowing, adrenaline pumping. I loved the anticipation I felt every time I was about to get involved in another mission, even a relatively safe and low-value one like buying drugs from the Mezcals.

We were on good terms, us and the Mexicans. We tried to keep it that way, because they definitely had the ability to strangle us out of the drug game. They got their drugs cheap as dirt across the border, and while we tried to do business with other dealers farther south, we found that we had to buy from the Mezcals from time to time to keep our stock up.

I was running point, with Clutch and Spoil my main backup. The other guys were mainly there as support, just acting as a show of force, proving to the Mezcals that we still had numbers and hardware.

The guys were all strapped into Kevlar and carrying rifles. That was how we rolled when we went up against another crew, even a relatively friendly crew.

The normal cactus patch was this outcropping of low hills and cacti out in the desert, well away from civilization. We found it useful as a nice neutral place to meet up to do our business.

It took about a half hour by bike to tear out there, riding fast. The cops knew not to fuck with us, especially our local cops. We were the law out in the desert, the real guys controlling the space. Nobody fucked with you when you wore the Demons cut, and for good reason.

We pulled up at the spot ten minutes early. I sent Tyson out to scout the surrounding area, just in case some shit was going down. That was just good practice, though I didn’t expect violence to go down.

We leaned against our bikes, shooting the shit for a few minutes. Soon enough, though, the roar of the Mezcal bikes coming up the dirt road meant it was almost time to get down to business.

“Weird time to meet,” Clutch said as the Mezcals pulled up.