Midnight Desire: A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 1 (7 page)

I imagined him naked on top of me, those strong arms gripping my body, that incredible ass angling that big, thick cock between my open legs, and slowly easing it inside me, inch by rock-hard inch –

I woke up at least twice, an irritated, sexually frustrated mess.

TKO, baby. TKO.

Technical knock-out.

He was well on his way to making good on his claim.

The second time I woke up, I got out my photo album and flipped through to the last photograph in the bunch. It was of Ali shortly before her death. She’d sent me a shot from her cell phone; I’d had it printed specifically for the album. She was in some dive bar somewhere with a neon jukebox in the background; the red lights gave her light blonde hair a pink hue. She was wearing a white tube top and low-slung jeans, and I could see the butterfly tattoo she’d gotten above her right hipbone for her 18th birthday. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she looked happy and alive as she smiled and flashed me a ‘V’ with her fingers.

I don’t know exactly what she meant by the gesture, but I interpreted it as ‘V’ for victory.

That’s what I was aiming for, come hell or high water: victory.

For me, that meant her killer in prison for the rest of his life.

And no man was going to come between me and that victory, ever.

No matter how goddamn sexy he was.

I was finally able to go to sleep shortly before dawn, with the photo album laid out next to me on the threadbare sheets.

I didn’t dream of Jack Pollari again.

I only dreamt of my cousin, still alive and sweet and happy…

…and of a shadowy man whose face I couldn’t see, in a prison jumpsuit, behind bars.

The next morning, I did some internet research on Jack Pollari and Lou Shaw. Specifically, I got their criminal records off one of those background check sites.

It’s amazing what you can buy on the internet for 29 bucks.

Jack’s story held up completely. Two short stays in county jail, and a much longer one at the California Institution for Men in Chino, California for aggravated assault.

The victim had been one Rodrigo Alvarez. Just for kicks, I Googled him, too.

Jesus.

The mug shot alone was fucking scary. A bald Mexican dude with a killer’s eyes and three teardrops tattooed on his cheek, not to mention an entwined S and M in gothic font on his neck. He looked like he was about to go postal on the police photographer.

There’s some competing theories about teardrop tattoos. According to Sid, they were originally forced on someone who’d been raped in prison to mark them as a ‘prison bitch.’ But the victims lied to their friends and family when they got out, claiming the tattoos meant they’d killed people on the inside. Now
that
had become the popular meaning over the last thirty years, especially as popularized by rappers who did time.

I was pretty sure the guy in the photo hadn’t been raped. I guess it was possible, but judging from that psycho face… probably not.

Which made me wonder whether those three tattoos were there for the other reason.

The SM tattoo was easy enough to figure out with a Google search – and no, it wasn’t sado-masochism. It was the symbol for the Santa Muertes, a Hispanic biker gang named after the unofficial patron saint of murderers and drug dealers. Their official emblem looked like a hellish inversion of the Virgin Mary: a graceful skeleton in a hooded robe, with a garland of grey roses on her brow.

The gang reputedly had ties to drug cartels back in Mexico. They were insanely dangerous, with not just drug-running but half a dozen murder charges headlining the top search results online.

Jack had beat up
this guy
, and not only survived, but gone to prison for it?

Whoa.

I knew Jack was badass, but I didn’t know he was
that
badass.

Louis Shaw was a different class of dangerous, though.

He’d done five years in San Quentin for voluntary manslaughter.

To quote Wikipedia, “Voluntary manslaughter is the killing of a human being in which the offender had no prior intent to kill and acted during ‘the heat of passion,’ under circumstances that would cause a reasonable person to become emotionally or mentally disturbed.”

I did a little more probing and learned that the voluntary manslaughter charge had been a plea deal. The original charge was second-degree murder.

Holy shit.

That was 20 years ago. He’d been out for the last 15… and interestingly enough, except for a few assault charges, had kept his nose clean.

My blood ran cold as I looked at a mug shot of Lou, twenty years younger, staring at the camera with a smirk.

Like,
You’ll never guess what I got away with.

Though it had happened just a year ago, I wondered if it could include killing  a young woman with a butterfly tattoo.

I had to shut off the computer, I got so sick to my stomach.

My car was still at the Seven Veils since Jack had dropped me off at my motel. After consulting the city’s bus schedule on the internet – which took a PhD to decipher – I caught a ride to work at 7PM.

Jack called me on the way.

“So – ready for Round Two?”

I smiled; I couldn’t help myself. “You’re a very persistent man.”

“I am. But that’s not an answer.”

“I have to work tonight.”

“No rest for the wicked, eh?”

“I’m weary, not wicked.”

“That’s not what
I
heard.”

“Whatever, Mr. TKO.”

“I really like how you’re mentally preparing yourself for the third round.”

“What, when I ‘go down’?” I asked sarcastically.

Damn it, I shouldn’t have said that. Now I was imagining myself on a bed, his naked, muscular body beside me. I pictured myself reaching down and encircling his hard, thick cock with my hand, angling it upwards, and slowly lowering my wet, open mouth around his –

Apparently somebody else was imagining something similar.

“Mmmm… wait… just let me savor the way you said that…”

“I’m hanging up, Mr. Pervert,” I threatened, not meaning a word of it.

“Hey, it’s not MY fault you have a voice made for sex.”

He thought
I
had a voice made for sex?

His voice
was
sex. It made me wet just to hear it.

Not that I was about to tell
him
that.

“Aural sex?” I suggested.

“Okay, now I REALLY like your mental preparation.”

“AURAL, not ‘oral.’ A, U, R, A, L,” I spelled out. “You know… because I have a VOICE made for sex?”

“Was that a pun? Or an attempt at one, anyway?”

“You’re very… observant,” I said, lingering on the last word.

He laughed.
“I knew you liked my sense of humor.”

“Actually, I like mocking your sense of humor.”

“Laughing at, laughing with, laughing near… close enough for me.”

I smiled. “I’m getting off now.”

“Aha… enjoying the aural sex that much, are you?”

“I’m getting off the BUS now.”

“You took the bus to work?”

“Yeah, so?” I said as I stepped off onto the sidewalk.

“You should have called me. I would have given you a lift.”

“That’s sweet, but I can take care of myself.”

“So I’ve noticed. But maybe you should let other people take care of you once in awhile.”

“Not necessary.”

“Okay, maybe you should let other people do something nice for you once in awhile.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like, say… give you aural sex.”

I got a little bit wetter.

Not that I was going to tell him
that,
either.

“Eh… I’ve heard better,” I said in a deadpan voice.

He burst out laughing.
“Fiona, I think you might just be the woman of my dreams.”

Little did he know, he literally
was
the man of my dreams – last night, anyway.

I was going to keep that one to myself, too.

“I’m the woman of a lot of men’s dreams.”

“And so modest about it.”

“Just following your oh-so-modest lead.”

He chuckled.
“Well, follow my lead and get ready for Round Two. I’ll see you at the club tonight at closing time.”

I sighed. “Jack – ”

“Bye.”

Click.

The club was slow until 10PM when the Midnight Riders crew came in. Same routine as the night before: free shots, strippers crawling all over them, lots of general rowdiness.

I recognized a few of them from last night, including Eddie, the guy with the mustache who had bitched about the liquor.

Benjy was with them, too. He came over and talked to Shelley every 15 minutes like clockwork.

Lou made the rounds, glad-handing the troops and playing the charming devil.

I remembered his mug shot from 20 years ago and thought about how apt that ‘devil’ metaphor actually was.

But as soon as I thought of ‘metaphor’ –
If you don’t know what a metaphor is, that’s okay, but… you really
should
read more
– I thought of Jack, and my body was on fire.

I was nervous and turned on and conflicted and excited, all at the same time. The turned-on part was obvious. The nervous part was because I wasn’t sure I could hold out again. He just had this…
mojo,
for lack of a better word. This sexual power that emanated from him like heat.

I wanted to warm myself against that fire all night long.

And yet… Ali. The photo album. The whole reason I’d come to town.

That was the conflicted part.

The excitement… that was because, deep down… I knew I didn’t even
want
to hold out until Round Three.

So I kept watching the door nervously, waiting for him to walk in – even hours before he was due.

“Honey, you’re lookin’ at the front door like a preacher’s daughter waitin’ for the travelin’ salesman,” Shelley chirped.

“I’m – I’m expecting somebody,” I stammered.

“Uh-huh. Didn’t get enough last night, huh?” she teased me.

I blushed a little, and was happy for the strip club’s dim lighting. “Nothing happened.”

“Yeah, well, the way you’re lookin’, I wouldn’t bet on nothin’ happenin’ again,” she laughed.

I consciously stopped watching the door after that.

Arlene was pissy and territorial again. I would have gotten up in her face if I was just there to make rent money, but I actually wanted the chance to do recon, so I stuck to serving the Midnight Riders their whiskey and beers.

The strippers gradually warmed to me, though. They started chatting me and Shelley up at the bar when they tired of approaching potential victims (ahem, excuse me, ‘customers’). When Benjy came over and started talking to Shelley, the dancers turned all of their attention on me.

“Hey new girl, how you like it here?”

“Hey new girl, you should strip – you got the body for it.”

“Hey new girl, gimme a diet Coke.”

If I ever
did
decide to strip, I think my stripper name would be New Girl.

Jack walked in about 1AM. My heart leapt in my throat the instant I saw him.

Another person was with him: the blond mechanic from the diner, except now he was wearing motorcycle leathers and jeans. He looked gorgeous, but still had the same stoic expression on his face as the day before.

“Hey,” Jack said with a grin as he approached me.

“Hey yourself,” I said, staying as cool as possible on the outside to disguise the raging fire I felt inside.

The blond guy completely ignored me. “You want anything to drink?” he asked his boss.

“Naw, I’m good,” Jack said.

“I’ll get it for you. What do you want?” I asked the blond – partially to let me break away and avoid being alone with Jack, since I didn’t entirely trust myself with him.

The blond glanced over at me. “I’ll go to the bar,” he said dismissively.

Okay, now I was getting annoyed. “It’s my
job
. What do you want?”

“To go to the bar,” he said as he brushed past me.

I turned and watched him walk away. “Wow. What a charmer.”

Jack laughed. “Kade’s just a man of few words.”

“And none of them even remotely polite.”

“Look at you. I never figured you for Miss Manners.”

Now I scowled at Jack. “You’re not doing real well on Round Two, bub.”

He grinned. “That’s okay. Nothing really good happens till Round Three, anyway.”

I was about to come back with a quip about how nothing was going to happen at
all
when Lou walked up.

“Are you poaching my staff
again?”
he asked Jack in mock exasperation.

“What can I say? You hire outstanding talent.”

“Yeah, she just never seems to work when you’re around.”

“I
am
a hell of a distraction…”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“I
do
still have an hour till closing,” I said apologetically. “I  probably should get back to work.”

Jack looked at me with a smile and a raised eyebrow; Lou looked at me like I was a dumbass.

My boss shook his head. “First thing you need to do, darlin’, is learn when I’m fuckin’ jokin’.”

“And how do I learn that?”

“Stick around till I’m
not
joking. Then you’ll be able to tell the fuckin’ difference. Go on, get out of here.”

He walked off, leaving me alone with Jack and an uncomfortable silence.

“Well? You coming or not?” he asked.

My heart was beating hard in my chest.

“Just let me close out my tabs,” I said, and turned back to the bar.

We walked out to the parking lot.

There was his bike…

…which would lead to a ride to his house…

…which would lead to a drink…