Biker's Bride: A Bad Boy Romance (Demons MC) (Includes bonus novel Kinged!) (2 page)

In short, I was bored. I could drink and fuck as much as I wanted, but there was still something missing.

And Spoil going on about Mexican killing rituals was not fucking helping.

“Okay, man,” I said, standing suddenly. “I need a new drink.”

“What’s the matter with you, Ford?” Spoil asked. “I was just getting to the good part.”

“Tell someone else about it, man.”

I walked off toward the bar and leaned up against it. TomTom, one of the pledges, was wiping down a mug.

“Spoil looks pissed,” he said to me.

“That’s fine. Let him bitch and moan. Get me a beer.”

TomTom shrugged and grabbed me a bottle, popping off the top and handing it to me. “Think they’ll take any pledges on the deal tomorrow?”

I gave him a look. “Nah. And if they did, why do you think we’d take you?”

“Because I ain’t a pussy like the others.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe, maybe not.”

I took a long drink of my beer and surveyed the club. It was just another boring Friday night. I had a nice buzz going, and I could feel my blood starting to rise. I needed to fight or to fuck, but there wasn’t anyone nearby worth beating on.

Just another normal, boring night.

Until the door slammed open and she stepped inside.

Her eyes were wide, haggard, terrified. Her clothes were dusty. Her hair was a mess.

And I recognized her instantly.

Every head turned toward her. She stood out like a sore fucking thumb.

A normal girl, a nice college girl. Fucking sexy in her way.

Worse, I knew exactly who she was.

Back then, she was a little different, younger, less experienced, but it was definitely her.

Caralee Lawson, the fucking girl next door.

What the fuck was she doing in the Demons MC clubhouse?

“Someone, please,” she said, her eyes wild, her whole body clenched. “Help me. My friend was just murdered.”

“S
omeone, please,” I said, barely thinking, barely even aware of what I was doing. “Help me. My friend was just murdered.”

The clubhouse was dead silent, and every single person was staring at me.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know why I had shown up in their place, or why I thought they could help me. But there I was, the decision already made, and I couldn’t take it back.

“Do we look like the fucking cops?” a guy with a scar along his throat said. The blonde sitting on his lap sneered at me.

“They were bikers,” I said, the words spilling out of me. “Rod was a good guy. He was a biker too. Please, someone help me.”

Another man sitting alone stood up and ambled toward me. He was huge, easily over six feet tall, and ugly as hell. He terrified me.

“You should get the fuck out of here,” he said.

“Rod was in the Rebels,” I said. “And the guys that killed him, I’ve never seen them before. Please, I’m afraid. They have my wallet.”

“Why the fuck would you come here, then?” he asked. “This is the Demons MC. We don’t give a shit about a Rebel.”

My heart sank in my chest, and the last few hours came pouring out of me in a single rush.

After I saw Rod’s dead body, I stumbled toward the main road. I walked for what felt like hours before finally finding the highway. I began to stumble back the way we had come, walking for hours.

If a car hadn’t come and picked me up, I had no clue how long I would have been out there. Fortunately, the nice older gentleman drove me into Austin’s city limits and dropped me off there.

I wasn’t thinking. I had only one idea: go to the motorcycle club and ask them for help. Once, two or three years ago, Rod had brought me to a club. He seemed to know people there, lots of guys, and he got along with everyone.

I had assumed it was his own clubhouse. As I stood there looking around at everyone, I began to realize that I was wrong.

“I’ve been here before,” I said stupidly. “I thought this was his club.”

The big man snorted. “We ain’t been allied with the Rebels in over a year.”

“His name was Rod,” I said, practically begging. “They know I was there. Please, I don’t know what to do.”

“Get the fuck out, bitch,” the blond woman yelled.

“You heard the lady,” the big man with the scar said.

“Get out,” the man standing in front of me said. “Go take this shit somewhere else.”

I stared in horror as the whole room began to laugh at me. They jeered, yelled, telling me to get out, to take my shit somewhere else.

How could this be happening to me?

Numb and terrified, I turned away. My mind was racing, trying to figure out where I could go, what I could do, when I heard his voice.

“I claim her,” he called out.

The room slowly quieted down. “The fuck you say?” the tall man behind me asked.

I turned around.

He took a few steps toward me, but I recognized him instantly.

“Ford?” I said quietly.

“I claim this girl,” he said. “She’s mine.”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” the guy with the scar said, standing up. The blonde stumbled away, sitting at the bar.

“Dead serious, Clutch.”

“This is fucking trouble, Ford. You bring this bitch into the club and we might have a war on our hands.”

Ford smiled wickedly. “When did you become a fucking coward?”

“He ain’t a coward,” the man closest to me said. “He’s just smart.”

“You a bitch too, Spoil?” Ford asked him.

“Don’t you call me a bitch, Ford.” Spoil roared, moving toward him.

I stared, absolutely dumbfounded, as my old neighbor and a man I didn’t know came at each other viciously. They were in each other’s faces, practically growling like dogs, the third man named Clutch shouting at the both of them.

“The fuck is all this?” another voice yelled from the back of the room.

Ford and Spoil looked over. The man was older than everyone else. His long hair was graying and thin, but there was a menace in his eye that was hard to miss.

“Ford wants to bring some fucking troubled bitch into the club,” Spoil called out. “He wants to bring more war on us.”

“I claimed her,” Ford said.

The gray-haired man sighed and walked over. “Why’d you do that, Ford?”

“I like her look.”

The older man shook his head. “What’s her deal?”

“Witnessed a club hit,” Spoil said. “Something about the Rebels. She thought we were their clubhouse. Probably been here back when we were close.”

The man nodded and looked at me. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Caralee,” I said softly.

He looked back at Ford. “You really claiming this?”

“I am,” Ford said, staring the man down.

The man stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “The girl is Ford’s.”

There was a general uproar then, anger and disagreement. The man raised his hands, silencing the room.

“You have a fucking problem, take it up with Ford.”

“Thanks, Larkin,” Ford said. He turned to me. “Come on.”

I wanted to say something, but Ford had already grabbed me by the arm and was dragging me outside.

The last thing I saw before we exited the room was Clutch and Spoil glaring daggers at us and Larkin disappearing back into the back room.

“W
hat the fuck did you get yourself involved with?”

She shook her head, still clearly in shock. “How are you here?” she asked me.

“Joined after you left. Listen to me, Caralee. What fucking happened? What did you see?”

The story came out of her again, this time a little more clearly. Her friend Rod was clearly some low-level asshole in the Rebels, probably running some side deal to try to score points with the leadership. Clearly his deal went wrong.

And the dumb fucking asshole had brought Caralee along. I had no clue what kind of insane club member would bring an outsider on a drop like that. He probably was trying to impress her or some shit, or at least that was what she said.

So Rod gets fucking hit. The guys that did it grab the shit, grab his saddle bags, and ride the fuck off.

With her purse in the bags, of course, which means they know who she is, and probably have some good reason to believe she was there.

What a fucking mess. And to top it all off, she stupidly comes stumbling into our clubhouse and starts asking for help like an insane person.

I shook my head, staring at her.

She looked exactly like the girl I remembered. Thick brown hair, full body, incredible tits, a mouth that begged to be kissed, begged to have a cock between her lips. She looked like pure sex and always had, except now she was all grown up.

And for whatever insane reason, I had decided to claim her.

Of course, she didn’t know what that meant. Not yet, at least, and I wasn’t about to explain it to her while she was still in shock.

“How is this happening to me, Ford?”

I shook my head. “Bad fucking luck.”

“And how are you here?”

“Good fucking luck actually.” I paused. “You know how dangerous that was?”

She shook her head silently.

“They could have killed you,” I said. “Probably should have. You brought some serious shit on our doorstep.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Yeah, well, worked out for you.”

“I wasn’t trying to cause any issues.”

We stopped walking, and I leaned up against the wall out front of the bikes. She stood in front of me, her arms crossed.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked.

I looked at her. “I remember you.”

She nodded slowly. “I remember you, too.”

“I’m not the type to let a damsel in distress go unhelped.”

“You’re so charming.”

“Not really,” I grunted. “Just don’t feel like seeing you murdered on my watch.”

“What now?” she asked. “Those guys are out there. They know who I am.”

“Relax,” I said, holding up a hand. “You can crash at my place tonight.”

She stared at me for a second. I couldn’t help but stare back at her piercing blue eyes, her fucking ample lips, and I had the sudden desire to fuck her right there in the alley. Wouldn’t have been the first time I took some slut back behind the club and fucked her senseless, but Caralee wasn’t just some slut.

“Come on,” I said. “Get on.”

I climbed onto my bike, and she hesitated before getting on the back. I handed her my helmet and she pushed it down over her head.

I kicked the bike and it roared to life. I backed out slowly, gave it some gas, and then fell into the street. We zoomed down the road, heading toward the city limits.

My place wasn’t too far outside the city. I lived in a little shack at the end of a dirty road, the sort of place that suited me. Quiet, away from civilization, but not too far from the club.

It only took us fifteen minutes since nobody else was out on the road at three in the morning. I felt Caralee hugging me hard from behind, gripping my body. I could feel my cock stirring in my jeans at the thought of her body pressed against mine.

We drove down the dirty road toward my little house. Time slipped by fast, and it always did when I was riding. Finally I stopped in front of my porch, kicking down my stand and killing the engine.

She climbed off the back and I stood up.

“Home sweet home,” I said.

“It’s cute.”

“Small,” I grunted. “Not cute.”

She shrugged, and I led her up the steps, onto the porch, and in through the front door. It wasn’t much, and I liked it that way. One large living room slash kitchen space, a separate bathroom, and a bedroom. That was it. I didn’t need a lot of comforts, especially since I wasn’t home much. I had a creek that ran through my backyard, some woods where I could hunt if I wanted, and the nearest neighbor knew to leave me the fuck alone.

She stood awkwardly by the door as I tossed my keys and my jacket onto the kitchen table.

“What am I doing here?” she said softly.

“You’re in hiding.”

She shook her head. “It’s crazy. Rod was alive just a few hours ago.” She looked at me, her eyes haunted. “They killed him.”