Money Shot: Selected Sinners MC Romance (3 page)

VINCE

June 8
th
, 2014

I had told myself over the course of the last year that a woman would have to prove herself to me to get me to even give her a moment’s notice, but in the end, that wasn’t necessarily the truth. A stupid mistake on my part had landed me in an upper middle class neighborhood, and within an hour, I had a gorgeous half-drunk brunette on the back of my bike, and was riding down a county road on my way to nowhere.

As interesting as she was, and as different as she seemed to be, she was still a woman, and without a doubt would have all of the characteristics of one - and a woman wasn’t something I needed in my life no matter how cute she was, how well she filled out her filthy sweats, or how cool her car was.

In the end, she was a woman, and women were evil.

For a short ride through the county at midnight, however, having her on the back of my bike was enjoyable. It reminded me of better times, the feeling of being complete, and not necessarily living with much desire to do anything but exist.

The city quickly turned into a few randomly placed rural housing developments, and eventually the developments diminished into a few sparse farm houses. After a matter of minutes, we were ten miles from the city and riding into the path my headlight cut into the otherwise completely dark road ahead.

As I became almost hypnotized by the bouncing beam of light, her hands lightly gripping my waist reminded me of Natalie. The thought was equal parts comforting and sickening at first, and after a few minutes, comforting was the clear winner. The fast approaching rural stop sign reminded me not only had we reached the highway, but that I needed to maintain my focus on the road, and not my passenger’s hand placement.

I stopped at the intersection, pulled out along the side of the highway, and rolled to a stop on the paved shoulder of the road.

“Is something wrong?” she asked as I kicked the heel of my boot against the kickstand.

I flipped the ignition switch off and reached down and turned the key, killing the lights.

“Nope, just stopping for a bit,” I responded.

We both stepped off the bike at the same time, and stood staring at each other illuminated only by what little moonlight escaped through the low passing clouds. I broke her gaze, glanced toward the ditch, and nodded my head in the direction of the large concrete storm water drain passing underneath the intersecting road.

“Grab a seat,” I said as I tossed my head toward the large piece of exposed concrete.

Being subtle had never been one of my strengths, and I wasn’t going to try and change things now. In being honest with myself, riding with her on the back of my bike rekindled feelings I was sure had long since passed. Natalie hadn’t been on the back of my bike for a year before we divorced, and she’d been gone for roughly a year.

The last two years I had ridden alone, and although I had many requests to take women on rides, I never fulfilled them. Now that I had decided to, for whatever reason, I wasn’t sure I liked the result.

“I got to be honest with you,” I said as I sat down on the edge of the concrete.

“Okay,” she responded as she crossed her arms and gazed down at me.

“Sit,” I said as I patted the concrete beside me.

“I’ll stand,” she responded.

“I’m thirty-three years old. Married for fifteen years, and divorced a year ago. I’m a different kind of guy than you’d probably ever meet, and a damned far cry from most bikers you’d ever run across.” I paused and patted the concrete again.

She stood, staring down at me, and shook her head lightly. Standing there in the moonlight, still dressed in her sweats and flip-flops, no one could dispute her beauty. As I gazed up at her and fully realized just how beautiful she was, I reminded myself that external beauty acted as a distraction to what was on the inside.

“I was faithful. For fifteen years. I didn’t spend time at strip clubs with the fellas, or any more time at the bars than I had to. When I did, I always played it cool, and never let myself do anything stupid, short of fights and stuff. You know, never messed around. Then, I found out she was in a relationship with a guy. Hell, I guess I should have known, considering the way she treated me…” I hesitated and started to stand up.

She pointed to the concrete. “Sit.”

She walked to my side, sat down, and turned to face me. “Go ahead.”

“Well, fuck. I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. It’s just. Hell, I don’t know, having you on the back of my bike made me think of her or something. I mean, I’m done with her, but you grabbing my waist in your hands reminded me of her. I either liked it a lot or I hated it, I just can’t decide which it was,” I said.

She brushed her ponytail over her shoulder and twisted her mouth to the side. “Did you actually think of
her
, or did having my hands there make you feel something you haven’t felt in a while?”

I considered what she said, turned toward her, and wrinkled my nose. “You a fucking psychologist or something?”

She shook her head and grinned. “Just read a lot.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said as I gazed down at my boots.

“Really?” she asked.

Still focused on my boots, I nodded my head. “Like I said, you’ll never meet another like me. I sit at home every night and read. Probably five books a week. Rarely sleep. I’m either at the clubhouse, home reading, or somewhere in between.”

“A soft-hearted biker who loves to read,” she said.

“A soft-hearted biker with a short fuse and quick fists,” I said as I kicked the toe of my boot against the concrete.

“I noticed that,” she responded.

“Been an outlaw all my life. Figured joining the MC was my best bet at finding my true calling, and it seems I was right. They put my Pop in prison when I was a kid on a conspiracy to commit murder charge, and he died of pneumonia after a few years. When I turned eighteen I got his old bike running, ten years later I joined the MC, and now I finally feel at home. Don’t care much for the government, can’t stand cops, and most of the time I think the country would be better off if Axton Bishop was President,” I said.

“I’m sorry about your father. That’s crazy. My dad did five years for a burglary he didn’t commit. He was at home asleep at the time, but because of an old assault charge, he was in the system. Someone picked him out of a lineup. I’ll never forgive them for what they did to him. He was gone the entire time I was in high school. Motherfuckers,” she said as she tossed a rock into the ditch.

“You said he passed,” I said as I shifted my eyes toward her. “Can I ask?”

“Colon cancer,” she said with a nod.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Yeah, me too. And who is Axton Bishop?” she asked.

“Huh? Oh. He’s the president of the MC,” I said with a laugh.

“I’ll write him in next November,” she said.

“You won’t be the only one,” I said.

“How about when we leave, I’ll wrap my hands around your chest or maybe your neck? Maybe that’ll make you feel more comfortable,” she said.

“Wrap my hands around
your
fucking neck if you ain’t careful,” I said.

“Don’t make promises you aren’t willing to keep,” she said as she stood up.

Just saying it caused my cock to begin to twitch. Realizing it had done so made me begin to worry about it, and my worrying kept the thought in the forefront of my mind. Within a few seconds, I had a full-blown hard on, and although I wasn’t necessarily embarrassed, I wasn’t proud either.

But, as I had said many times in the past, subtlety wasn’t a strength I possessed.

“You ready?” I asked as I stood.

She turned to face me, and her eyes quickly fell to my crotch. After a short pause, they worked their way up to meet mine.

I grinned and nodded my head toward the bike.

“Guess so,” she said.

As I walked toward the bike, she continued.

“So what’d we decide? You going to wrap those hands around my neck?” she nonchalantly asked.

As I threw my leg over the seat of the bike and acted as if I didn’t hear her, I knew if I ever chose to see her again, I’d damned sure have my hands full.

And I wasn’t totally convinced that would be a bad thing.

Not totally.

SIENNA

June 29
th
, 2014

I sat in my living room flipping through Netflix’s available shows. After thirty minutes of searching for something new, I decided Netflix never had anything new and chose to watch another episode of
Orange is the New Black
.

For some reason, the thought of being tossed into a women’s prison was a constant fear of mine, and watching the show was a good reminder of how much I did
not
want to be in prison. For me, and I was sure for many women, the show had proven to be the best deterrent of crime that was ever invented. As much as I hated the thought of prison, I couldn’t stop watching the show.

Three episodes later, I was bored, even more afraid of being fucked by a woman who looked like a dude, and as always, lonely. It really didn’t seem to matter who I had chosen for a boyfriend in the past, every one of them seemed to want the same thing in the end, access to my late father’s wealth. I wasn’t a rich woman by any stretch of the imagination, but I could easily live the rest of my life without working, as long as I was careful about what I spent my money on.

My father sued after his wrongful conviction, and after many years and two attorneys, won the case, leaving him, and upon his death, me, with the proceeds. Nothing, however, would even be enough to pay for they took from him.

I lived in his home, had only utilities to pay, and had no car payment. Most would consider me wealthy. I, on the other hand, considered myself fatherless, and no amount of wealth would ever replace the void his death left inside of me or in my life.

My father’s absence in my life left me constantly searching for a male figure to step in and provide the comfort he supplied me for a lifetime. The problem was that I seemed to have some type of attraction to douchebags. Old ones, young ones, skinny ones, gym rats, I had dated them all. The common thread between them all was that they were douchebags. Either unwilling to commit or incapable of doing so – and always a liar – they seemed to flock to me like bees to fucking honey.

I suppose it was quite possible I was attracted to them, and somehow in a subconscious frenzy of idiocy I chose them, knowing they would eventually pull some douche move and be tossed aside like the others, but I didn’t quite believe I was the one at fault. I liked to blame them, because in the end, they were the douchebags.

I sat and blankly stared at the little squares of Netflix choices frozen in time on the screen of my television, angry that I hadn’t received my Advance Review Copy of a new Erotic Romance novel I was supposed to review. After a few moments, I began to think of Vince, how out of nowhere he appeared in my life, and how much it ended up we had in common.

My father described fate as
the unexpected result of the natural development of life
. I guessed Vince’s appearance was nothing short of that, and as I continued to sit and stare at the television, it angered me that he didn’t have a phone. He explained how he decided he didn’t want a phone after his divorce, and that he had lived for the last year without a television, and relied solely on music for at-home entertainment. At first I didn’t want to believe him, but after talking for a while about it, I realized he was being truthful, and more than likely imposing some weird type of punishment on himself for something he didn’t even do, or deserve to be punished for.

Sitting on the couch gripping the remote control like I was trying to squeeze the last unavailable ounce of toothpaste from an empty tube, I became mad at his ex-wife for treating him the way she did. No one deserved to be heartbroken, and even bad-ass bikers were included.

I seriously doubted I could ever be in an actual relationship with someone like Vince, and I further doubted that I would ever see him again, but the thought of it was pretty satisfying for the time being.

I relaxed onto the couch and daydreamed about riding on the back of his motorcycle in cut-off jean shorts, sneakers, and a ripped up tee shirt. With one hand wrapped around his waist and the other resting in between his thighs, we’d ride across the country without a worry, fucking at every place we stopped.

His ex-wife would call him back, and after a few angst-filled weeks of separation, we’d end up back together and his ex would get run over by a train. Together, we’d go to the funeral, only to meet the newest ex-husband, who would be with a girl twelve years his junior.

A true romance novel in the flesh.

The sound of a motorcycle woke me from my not-so-deep sleep. I sat up on the couch, confused as to whether the sound was something from my dream or reality. The silence provided all of the proof I needed that the motorcycle was in my dream. Frustrated and in need of a drink of some sort, I tossed my legs over the edge of the couch and wiped my eyes.

A thud against my front door startled me, and the sound of the doorbell that followed did more of the same. Slightly confused and maybe a little overanxious, I ran to the window and pulled the blinds.

Vince’s bike sat in the driveway.

I ran to the door and yanked it open.

Vince was leaning against the frame of the door, and his shoulder pressing against the wooden frame seemed to be the only thing holding him up. His head hanging down, and his face out of view, I suspected he was drunk and was attempting to make a bootie call.

A mild version of flattery filled me, and I reached for his arm to guide him in. As my hand touched his wrist, he glanced upward.

“Holy shit!” I gasped.

Someone had beaten him into an unrecognizable mess. Both eyes were swollen, and his face was covered in blood. As he fell into my arms, I noticed both of his lips were mangled. Far too much for me to hold up on my own, and with his entire weight pressing against me, he eventually fell from my arms and onto the floor.

As he tried to stand, he turned his mangled face toward me and did his best to smile. His once white teeth were covered in blood.

“You should…”

“Shhh, let me call an ambulance,” I said.

“No!” he grunted as he tried to push himself up from the floor. “No ambulance, no cops.”

I nodded my head in acknowledgement as he raised himself onto his elbows. 

“You look half-dead,” I said under my breath as I reached for his arm.

“You should…see…the other guy,” he murmured.

And he collapsed onto the floor.