Ridin' Dirty: An Outlaw Author Anthology (OAMC Book 1)

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Authors: Blue Remy,Kim Jones,MariaLisa deMora,Alana Sapphire,Kathleen Kelly,Geri Glenn,Winter Travers,Candace Blevins,Nicole James,K. Renee,Gwendolyn Grace,Colbie Kay,Shyla Colt

BOOK: Ridin' Dirty: An Outlaw Author Anthology (OAMC Book 1)
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BLUE REMY, KIM JONES, MARIALISA DEMORA, ALANA SAPPHIRE,

KATHLEEN KELLY, GERI GLENN, WINTER TRAVERS, CANDACE BLEVINS, NICOLE JAMES, K. RENEE, GWENDOLYN GRACE, COLBIE KAY, SHYLA COLT

 

Ridin’ Dirty is a collection of novellas from thirteen of the attending authors of the Outlaw Author Motorcycle Convention in Meridian, Mississippi (June 24-26, 2016). Come join us! Find more information on the event’s
Facebook page
.

Copyright 2016

             

All material remains the copyrighted property of the authors involved.

 

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is entirely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are fictitious or, if real, used fictitiously. The authors recognize the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products or works mentioned.

 

Thank you for purchasing this eBook. Each novella remains the copyrighted property of the contributing author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. This eBook, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

 

**ALL PROCEEDS WILL BE DONATED TO
PROJECT SEMICOLON
**

 

Cover designed by Tammie Smith
at
Renegade Covers & Design

Formatted by
Alana Sapphire

All novellas independently and individually edited.

 

 

**DISCLAIMER FROM AUTHOR**

 

There is a character in Alana Sapphire’s Death Dealers series whose road name is “Allah”. As explained in Tempted (book two), it was derived from a mispronunciation of the word “Holla”. It is in no way related to faith/religion, nor has any religious connotations.

 

 

I
just want to say thank you to everyone who purchased Ridin’ Dirty by thirteen amazing authors, and helping us support a terrific cause: Project Semicolon.

I used to be the type of person who did not condone suicide, or believed that if you had a mental health issue, you ought to be able to fix it yourself. That it was nothing more than an excuse for your actions, or a way out of something that you did. I never realized that it was a disease until my daughter was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, Manic Depression, Schizophrenic Deviant, all wrapped up in a bubble of ADHD.

It was a slap in the face with reality, and made me understand my daughter so much more, and honestly brought us closer together while we battled her moods and learned what triggered such things. Much research was done into mental health issues and suicide prevention, and the statistics were alarming.

In 2013, suicide was the 10th  leading cause of deaths in all ages in the United States. There was a total of 41,149 suicides in 2013, which totals as 1 suicide every 13 minutes. Among students in grades 9 – 12, 17% considered suicide as an out. 22.4% of those students were female, 11.6% male. 13.6% of the students planned out the exact method they were going to use to end their lives. 8% of the students attempted suicide one or more times, with 2.7% resulting in injury, poisoning or overdose.

When someone threatens to take their own life, it is not something to take lightly. They need help, whether it is you holding their hand and letting them know it is going to be alright and you are there for them, or making sure they talk to someone they might feel more comfortable with. If that doesn’t work, hog tie their asses and take them to the hospital or get an intervention going.

There are so many ways to help someone who feels like there is no other alternative than to leave this world. They just have to know that life is worth living.

And what about the families that are left behind? The emptiness that will always be there because they’ll never know why. They’ll always ask themselves that horrible question of “What if—?” Or how about the children that may be left without a parent and always wonder why Daddy or Mommy isn’t around?

I cannot stress enough the importance of getting someone help if they need it. There is an anonymous hotline that they can call just to talk: 
1 (800) 273 – 8255
.

Never be ashamed to ask for help. It might save your life, or someone you know.

Now, about Ridin’ Dirty.

Here are thirteen amazing stories, ranging from prequels to other books in series, to stand-alones, and also in-between stories. Some are sexy, some are emotional, some may hit home. That’s up for you to decide.

Tammie Smith and I, founders of the Outlaw Author Motorcycle Convention, hope you enjoy the stories, find new authors to love, and keep fangirling over the authors you adore and support.

We do want to thank all the blogs who have helped spread the word about the OAMC 2016, pushing this anthology and just plain getting the word out. We could not do this without your help.

To the ORIGINALS of the OAMC—Tammie and I love each one of you for making this possible and we can’t wait to see you in June!

 

Love Always,

Blue Remy & Tammie Smith

“
Keep your spirit high and the rubber on the road
.”

 

 

Being
a Painted Lady for the SixGun Outlaws meant you were special. Or did it? Tigerlily, one of the most sought out Ladies of the SOMC, has serious doubts. The man she wants doesn’t know she exists, and her best friend is a respected ol’ lady. Feeling out of sorts, Tigerlily must make a tough decision that could affect her future—but in the end, will it be enough to get what she truly wants?

 

Someone once said that time flies by.

Tigerlily was throwing out the bullshit card.

Time seemed to stand still after Romeo got the DVD of Saber’s attack and possible abduction. No one in the club, or the Painted Ladies, could focus on anything—well, besides trying to find one of the Tremer Gallo asshats to confess to what was done to the SOMC’s sergeant at arms.

They all needed a distraction.

And what better a distraction than Rebel’s fourteenth birthday party?

Good thing it was Halloween. Everyone would come to her party dressed up and try to pay special attention to Romeo’s daughter and forget the drama for one single night. It was a brilliant idea put together by Thorne and Amy, though they begged Tigerlily to help out since she had some serious party planning skills.

Romeo voluntold his sister and Thorne that Tigerlily would not be the only PL involved in the party planning. The girls were just as much family as the ol’ladies.

Needless to say, some of the women were not happy with the outcome of that little discussion. Tigerlily was a rare breed and she held that close to her heart. It wasn’t every day that a PL was accepted into the fold of the men’s women. Nor was it plausible for a PL to have an ol’lady for a best friend. In the end, Thorne and Tigerlily were always glued at the hip.

Golden strands were piled up on top of her head in a messy bun, trying to keep her hair out of the rust colored eyes as she tackled hanging up streamers in black and gold throughout the club house where the party would be held.

It was the night before Halloween, a pretty rough time for Tigerlily, Rebel’s birthday or not. Watching the way the women avoided some of the Ladies was making her cringe on the inside. Yes, there are always a few bad seeds in the bunch, but there were also some very down to earth, fun loving girls that would give you the shirt off their back if anyone in the club, or their ol’ladies, needed it. It wasn’t fair to bunch them all in together because one or two were skanky.

Hooking the heel of her boot onto the bottom rung of the ladder that she was using, Tigerlily paused to glance around the club house. She couldn’t help but shake her head at what she was witnessing. It was like high school all over again. Or was it junior high? The boys on one side of the gym, the girls on the other. In this case, Ol’ladies versus the Painted Ladies.

Maybe it was time to take a step back and reevaluate what she wanted out of life. Why was she really a Painted Lady? What was she benefiting from it? How the hell had she got here?

Lashes lowered as her eyes drifted closed, a deep breath was taken, only to be slowly released. She didn’t want the memories that threatened to spill over into her reality. She had kept them locked safely away behind a brick wall in her mind.

Guess the wall was caving in.

 

***

 

Ella Charlemagne was rocking her Halloween costume that she had picked out for her birthday slash Halloween bash that her father and Stone had put together.

She had taken time to pick it out, having heard that Croccifixio, aka Cross, was coming home from San Diego, just for her birthday. He was the love of her life and she wanted him to see her—not for the kid he had been raised around, but the young adult that she had become.

Ella and Cross were four years apart, and she could vividly remember the first time she had seen him. It was burned into her memory as if it had just happened yesterday. He was a senior, she a freshman, and she happened to be walking through the senior hall, when a group of his football team cornered her. She was holding her own in the verbal spar that was going on between her and the leader of the pack, when a huge male broke into the ring that surrounded her.

He had taken her breath away.

Already six feet five, he was a force to be reckoned with, on and off the field. His body was a solid mass of muscle that every male on the team envied. Roguish mussed dark hair hung over the near black eyes, perfectly shaped nose led to a lush mouth that held a grim smile. His voice, though—dear God that voice. It was the deepest she had ever heard, next to Barry White. It sounded like velvet dreams and made her melt right where she stood.

He warned off his friends, placing himself in front of her, shielding her from their glares as the boys stalked off.

When he fully turned his attention toward her, it was all she could do to keep herself from jumping into his arms and begging him to love her forever.

Maybe it was just a case of hero syndrome? She highly doubted it.

They had become friends that day, though, as the year progressed and his interest was in college girls, her heart slowly broke. Ella never gave him a hint of how she felt, knowing he looked at her like a little sister and nothing more.

Now, it was four years later, and he was back. He had been scouted for the Chargers and was currently second string. Everyone in the SOMC was excited for their prodigal son to come home and share his stories. Especially his father, who was one of Stone’s henchmen.

Staring at herself in the bedroom mirror, Ella was the epitome of perfection. Long golden tresses were pinned up just right to allow tiny ringlets to drop carelessly about her cherubic face that was dusted with shimmering gold glitter. Tight bodice of earthen tones revealed enough cleavage to be daring, yet remained classy at the same time. Butterfly shaped wings were nearly translucent, and reflected like dew drops in the early morning sun as they moved with her shoulders. The skirt that fell about her thighs resembled freshly fallen autumn leaves, a plethora of browns and rust toned colors illuminated the fabric with each move she made. The simple toe shoes graced her feet, the ribbons wrapping around her dainty ankles, accentuating her dancer legs.

Her father had taken off to the clubhouse with her mother earlier to get it decorated for the event, leaving her ample time to daydream about seeing Cross. What would he look like after four years of college and two years of pro ball? Would he even remember her? And if he did, would it be in the kid sister sense?

Her stomach was a mass of butterflies, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and rehearsed conversation about what she would say when she saw him again. God, she felt like she was fourteen all over again. This was ridiculous.

Ella had to force herself to climb into her car and get on the road. Ever fiber in her was screaming to run the opposite way, afraid of rejection. She had been in love with Cross for way too long, and for him to not remember her or view her as a kid still? It would crush her beyond anything she could comprehend.

The clubhouse was buzzing. Bikes arriving in packs, some lone wolves as well. Ella sat gripping her steering wheel, trying to con herself to get inside. She was being a baby about it, and she really needed to vagina up and get her ass inside.

A yelp passed her lips as someone banged on her window, jumping clear out of her skin. Turning to look toward the offender, she sighed in relief. It was one of the newer Painted Ladies that had befriended her—Trixie. Short brown strands were styled in a jagged mess, which gave the girl a very pixie look. Her makeup was always perfect and natural looking, adding to her other worldly appeal. She was petite and cute as a button.

“Get your cute ass out of the car right this minute!”

How could one not smile when the bubbly Trixie was grinning from ear to ear, hyper as all, get out?

With a shake of her head, Ella burst out in laughter as she opened the car door and climbed out. “I think this ass is beyond cute, Trix.”

Trixie whistled low as Ella did a slow turn in front of her, causing her to blush.

“I’d say so, El. My God, he’s going to get a raging hard on looking at you.”

Ella squeaked and swatted at Trixie playfully. “Oh, my God, Trix! You are incorrigible.”

“And you need to quit saving yourself for him. I’m sure he’s fucked a few cheerleaders and has some groupies that he has banged.”

“Meh. Can you please not talk about that?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Trixie’s brows lifted up with a shake of her head.

“Let’s just get inside and get this party started.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Trixie grabbed Ella’s arm and drug her toward the front of the clubhouse.

Ella’s laughter filled the entry way as her friend drug her into the smoke filled building. The music pounded around them as they wove their way through the bodies, getting stopped every few steps to be wished a happy birthday. Her costume was complimented left and right, leaving Ella to feel like she was walking on air.

And then everything came to a standstill.

He
walked in.

Cross filled the doorway as he sauntered into the building. A collective gasp could be heard as many of the ladies spotted him. He had not changed much, just got better looking and bigger all the way around.

His shoulders were broad and had filled out to be muscular, which led to arms the size of tree trunks. Massive chest gave way to a narrow waist, his long legs leading him deeper into the throng of gathering women.

Cross was danger personified. The way he walked spoke volumes of self-confidence and strength that most men try to display and fail. His smile never met his dark hooded eyes, making Ella wonder who or what made him look so jaded and be guarded like he was.

Ella’s breath left her when Cross lifted those fathomless eyes and met her gaze. The onyx hues slowly drug over her, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to indicate he liked what he saw. A gasp escaped her as her body seemed to catch fire and rapidly spread through her.

Cross’s eyes met hers once more, her breath catching as her hand rose up to cover her throat. Ella could feel a blush creeping up her face, forcing her eyes away from his.

Feeling a nudge, Ella glanced over her shoulder to see Trixie motioning her to go talk to him.

“No way,” she hissed at Trixie.

Looking back to where Cross was, he was now surrounded by several brothers and their ol’ladies. It would take a wrecking ball to get through them all as they congratulated him on his contract with the NFL and the fact he was first choice draft pick out of UCLA.

“Yeah, so not going to happen, Trix.” It was hard to hide the disappointment in her voice as she turned back toward her friend. “It was an old crush. I’m sure he doesn’t remember me.”

Trixie rolled her dark green eyes and sighed dramatically. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Sell your line of bullshit to someone else.”

Ella stuck out her tongue and grabbed Trixie’s hand. Pushing her way through Cross’s fan club, the two headed directly toward the bar. “I think I hear the Midori calling our names.”

Trixie lifted her hand up to cup her ear, cocking her head slightly to the side. “I believe you are right. The Midori is definitely calling our names.”

Both girls fell into one another in a fit of laughter, neither one hearing the prospect behind the bar asking them what they wanted to drink. The rap of knuckles on the bar top caught their attention.

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