Los Perdidos: The Novel (Sons of Glory Motorcycle Club Romance)

Copyright 2014 Daphne Loveling

All rights reserved.

Book design by Daphne Loveling

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

This book contains adult themes, explicit language, and sexual situations. It is intended for mature audiences.

To my community of independent authors, who are endlessly supportive, always helpful, and unfailingly giving of their time and expertise. This novel could never have seen the light of day without you.

To my husband. I would not be half the person I am without your love.

The second the five of us walked into the bar, I knew right away that we shouldn’t have come.

Cory, Dana, Joshua, Kara, and I had been daring each other to go to the Black Dog for weeks now. It started with Cory. Ever since he had scraped together the money to buy himself a used motorcycle for his birthday, he had started to imagine himself a tough guy. He had started wearing a leather jacket around campus, letting his light brown hair grow past his ears, and parking his Hog conspicuously outside the frat house where he lived. On weekends, he would sit astride the bike in front of the house, beer in hand, and shoot the shit with his frat buddies, arms leaning on the ape hangers nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just learned to ride a few months ago. The four of us gave him lots of shit about it, which to his credit, he took good-naturedly. He had started watching Sons of Anarchy, and even his speech had changed a little. H e sounded more and more like a southern-fried bad boy, and less like a doctor’s son from Carbondale, Illinois, every day.

One night near the middle of the semester, Cory had finally managed to talk his girlfriend Dana – who happens to also be my best friend -- into going with him to the Black Dog. The Black Dog was a well-known biker bar a few miles – and an entire world – away from our small college campus. Cory and Dana had gone to the Black Dog on a Wednesday night, and had been mostly ignored by the real bikers there, but Cory had really gotten off on it. Afterwards he wouldn’t stop talking about it when he was with us. “Come on, guys – it’s awesome! Really gritty, dangerous, you know? Come out with us, and try something different.”

It’s true that the idea of something “different” was pretty appealing right about now, at least to me. It was spring semester of my junior year, and basically, everything about college just seemed like a boring rut to me. Every day was the same combination of classes, homework, papers, and job. Since I’d broken up with my boyfriend Seth a month ago, I didn’t even have the distraction of relationship problems to keep life interesting. Next year, I know, wouldn’t be much better. It would be filled with senior seminars, preparing my resume, and panicking about going out into the real world – complete with paying off my student loans. I was paying for my whole education, without family to help me, and my future looked like more of the same. My whole life felt like one boring, responsible decision after the other. Right now, I just felt trapped between the boring, predictable present and the terrifying future. I definitely needed an escape.

So, against my better judgment, I let myself be talked into going with the gang to the Black Dog bar on a Friday night instead of to a house party off-campus that I’d been invited to. Since Dana had been to the bar already, she insisted on coming to Kara and my dorm room to help us get ready for our night out. She knocked on our door a little after 8 p.m., and I opened it to find her wearing nothing but a microscopic pair of jean shorts, a teeny, skin tight tank top, and a pair of thigh-high leather boots that I’d never seen before, and that looked new.

“Partyyyy!!!!” she yelled, flinging her arms up over her head. “Woooo!” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small bottle of some alcohol. “Come on, girls, let’s get this party started!”

Kara looked at me and rolled her eyes good-humoredly. We were both used to Dana’s over the top antics. Despite being sort of annoying, they were also part of what made her such a good time, so I tended to take them in stride. Dana, with her platinum blond hair and Barbie good looks, was much more outgoing than I was. I knew that her craziness, even when it got us into hot water sometimes, was good for me.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I smiled good-naturedly and took the bottle from her. I took a swig, then spluttered as the liquid burned down my throat. I just barely managed not to spit it out. “What the hell is that?” I demanded, handing the bottle back to her.

“Whiskey!” she said gaily. “It’s what all the bikers drink.” Taking a small sip from the bottle, she swallowed it and tried not to flinch. “See?” she said in a strangled voice. “It’s not that bad.”

“That’s not what your face says,” laughed Kara. “Let’s put it in some Coke, at least.” Kara went to the mini-fridge and grabbed a couple of diet cokes and some Solo cups from the shelf, and portioned out three drinks for us. “Here,” she said, handing ours to us. She turned and looked skeptically at Dana. “Now, hooker, what the hell is up with your clothes?”

“What?” Dana asked, looking down at herself. “This is perfect for the bar! Come on, you guys aren’t planning to go like
that
, are you?” Dana said, looking at our relatively sedate outfits. “No way.” Striding to my dresser decisively, she pulled out my oldest pair of jean shorts and demanded, “Where’s a scissors?”

“Hey, you’re not gonna cut up my clothes!” I protested.

“Relax, Jenny, you’re gonna look great. Trust me. And Kara, put on that super short black mini you have. And find a cami you don’t mind ‘altering’.”

When Dana was finished with us forty minutes or so later, we all looked basically unrecognizable. The jeans shorts I had on were cut so short that they could barely be called clothing anymore. The bottom of my ass was clearly visible to anyone who bothered to look, and my legs were bare from ass to ankle. I had put on a pair of short black boots with a four-inch stiletto heel, and Dana had cut my tank top so high that if I raised my arm much, the bottoms of my tits would show. She had teased my auburn hair into a “just fucked” look, and I had on more eye makeup than I had ever worn in my life.

I had to admit, though: I looked amazing. Like a prostitute, but amazing. I shot myself glances in the mirror while Dana worked on Kara, sipping my whiskey and diet coke and trying to calm my nerves.

When Kara was finally done up to Dana’s satisfaction, she called the boys and had them bring Josh’s car around to meet us in front of our dorm. Cory had grumbled a lot about not being able to take his motorcycle, but Dana pointed out that it was silly for us not to all go in one car. “Besides,” she had admonished, “if you think I’m ruining the hair I spent over an hour styling by smushing it into a helmet, you’re crazy.”

Kara, Dana and I tottered down the stairs to the front entrance to wait for the boys. Some groups of other students in the stairwell and the main floor lounge stopped what they were doing to look at us. I saw a few people whisper to each other as they shot us curious glances out of the corners of their eyes. I felt my face redden, my emotions caught between massive embarrassment and defiance. What was it to them what I dressed like, anyway? It was none of their fucking business, that’s what I told myself as I fought back to not care what they thought. I held my head up and sauntered outside to wait by the curb, telling myself people were just talking because they were jealous of how hot we all looked. Even so, I was very relieved when Cory and Josh finally drove up and we were able to climb into the car and drive away.

The ten-minute drive to the bar went quickly, even with us three girls crammed into the backseat of Josh’s car like sardines. As Josh drove, Cory, Kara, and Dana chatted away excitedly. I stared out the window most of the time, not talking much. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do this. Part of me was getting cold feet, but another part of me was excited about not knowing what to expect. For once, I told myself, I was just going to let go. For once, I would not be “the responsible one.”
Just enjoy it,
I told myself,
and let whatever happens, happen.

I could hear the Black Dog almost a minute before I even saw it. The distant, low rumble of motorcycles announced the place from a quarter-mile away. As we drove closer, a long row of large, shiny (and some not so shiny) choppers stood like chrome sentinels in front of a large, black concrete block building. Painted on the front of the building in giant red letters were the words “The Black Dog”, and beside them, a logo of a large, mean-looking bulldog with a motorcycle helmet on. Some of the bikes parked out front had large, bandanna’ed men in leathers sitting astride them. A few of the men were wearing mirrored sunglasses even though it was dark out. Some of them were smoking. All of them looked dangerous. Occasionally, one of the bikers would give his bike some throttle, and a loud roar would escape the metal beast, followed by a plume of exhaust.

Kara grabbed my hand and squeezed it silently. I wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to reassure me or her. Maybe both of us. I looked over at her and she smiled at me. Her eyes were wide and gleaming with a mixture of fear and excitement. She looked absolutely fantastic: her long, straight black hair hung down over a tight, tiny leather jacket concealing a pink, cut-off tank top underneath. She was wearing the tiny black skirt that Dana had suggested, and black platform heels. Kara had the tiny figure typical of girls with her Asian heritage, but she was just curvy enough to rock that revealing outfit. I smiled at her and squeezed her hand back as the car pulled into a parking spot about a block away from the bar.