Bad Boys of Romance - a Biker Anthology (59 page)

After our hair was curled, rolled, and pinned to the top of our heads, we went to a late lunch. I actually loved the way my hair turned out. Susan did classic fifties rolls on the front
, pulling it half up and leaving the remaining hair falling is large curls past my shoulders displaying my red tips in the curls and pinned rolls. She added baby’s breath and a red rose behind my right ear.

With just over an hour before I
would say “I do,” we headed over to the house. I had Jamie stop so I could pick up a little something that I had ordered for Cole. They messed up and had to redo it, and now I was picking it up on the day of my wedding. I ordered him a platinum money clip; the face of it was etched with checkered flags crossing each other, our initials, and our wedding date. They had it in a silver gift bag, but I pulled it out to inspect it before leaving the store. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

Climbing back into the car I handed it to Jamie
. “Can you take this to Cole as soon as we get there?”

“Let me help you get everything upstairs and then yes, I will find him and deliver it for you.”

We walked into our master bedroom and tears sprung to my eyes. Cole had covered the room in red roses. On the bed were four presents and an envelope. I spun around the room, taking in the beautiful sight and scents. Tears crested on my lashes before streaming down my cheeks. I clutched the note in my hands before opening the envelope. I sat on the edge of the bed and read.

Ry,

I can’t wait to make you legally mine. You’ve been mine and me yours for years, and now it’s time to make it legal, baby.

The gifts are numbered
; please open them in the correct order, it’s important. You will find your something old, blue, and borrowed and then your something special from the guy that loves you.

I’ll see you at the altar
, babe. Love you.

Cole

I grabbed the box that said number one on it and carefully unwrapped the present; the white square box gave away no clue as to what it was. I lifted the lid and a note rested on top, and as I pulled it off I gasped at the thick white gold choker necklace that had the same checkered flag design as my earrings and engagement ring. The note simply stated,
“You’re something special. Racing lead you back to me, and I will forever be grateful.”

The second box contained a small checkered flag; its note asked me to keep it in my bra, so he would be close to my heart and in case I started to cry.
“I don’t mind if you blow your snot on it or me for the rest of our lives.”
I recognize it as one of Cole’s flags from his trophy room.

The third box was smaller than the rest and jewelry shaped. I ripped the paper off this time and smiled at the tiny blue flag toe ring. In the top of the box was the note folded small enough to fit. I removed it and unfolded it to read Cole’s words,
“The blue flag is the courtesy flag. As you know, the slow driver needs to move out of the way for everyone else. Well, babe we’re going to be courteous and move off the track and focus on us.”

We had discussed quitting racing and maybe starting a team of our own
, and seeing the blue flag, I knew he was letting me know he was ready. He was ready to start our race, our future.

The last box was wrapped in checkered flag wrapping paper. I loved
the fact that he incorporated the racing theme into my presents. I opened the square box and saw a familiar square key chain. The words “I Love Racing” were fading, but as I lifted the piece of our past out of the box, I saw that he had added to it, there were fresh words on the opposite side.

Cole

Rylan

Racing to

Our future, together.

Jamie stood beside me smiling as she watched the tears stream down my face. “It’s perfect. Tell him all of it is perfect
and go give him his money clip. Please, maid of honor?” I flashed her puppy dog eyes as she grabbed the race themed bag and headed out the door.

McKenna scolded me for crying and making my face blotchy. “The
other
gifts were a very ornery idea from your future husband. You don’t have to wear those items.” But I didn’t care if snot was streaming out my nose. I was completely in love with this man. He proved to me how right for each other we are. We went with the racing theme without ever discussing it. I left all the fake gifts in our room, all of them except the rock. The rock I nestled inside my bouquet. It was special and for him to think enough to include it meant the world to me.

I was ready to marry him. Well I was almost ready; I rushed to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water before applying my make up. As soon as Jamie returned, she slid her dress on and helped me into mine.

McKenna and Jamie held my small train as I made my way down the staircase, the photographer snapping pictures as I go. Together they situated me at the French doors that lead to the backyard and rose garden.

Jamie
gave me an air kiss. “I love you, friend. I am so happy you found your prince. You are beautiful, and you’re gonna make him want to leave immediately.” We both laughed and she sauntered out the door to take her place at the top of the stairs on the porch.

McKenna gives me a tight hug
. “Please call me mom. You have always been family, and today it is official. I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”  Moisture swirled around my eyes as I watched a tear fall down her smooth, wrinkle free face. I could only hope I will look as good as she does
when I am her age. I doubt it seeing as I spend a lot of time in the sun and around grease. Gah! Now I’m rambling to myself. I shook my head gently and smiled as I watched McKenna join Christopher and walk down the isle to their seats.

Butterflies fluttered around inside my stomach as I stepped on to the porch and approached the stairs for my decent. I could see Cole perfectly,
since it was a straight shot from the stairs and not too far. His eyes sparkled and his cheeks lifted as a sexy lopsided grin spread across his face.

I made it half way down the
aisle and he came for me. “You are gorgeous, and I can’t have you walking the whole way by yourself. This is a marriage; we’ll always meet half way.”

The water in my eyes finally broke free again, and a few tears escaped as a few women in the seats around us sighed dreamily. I was speechless
and all I could kind of sputter out was, “Thank you.”

I stared into the chocolate irises of my soon to be husband as we exchanged our vows. I don’t know how it is possible, but I love
d him more in that moment than I have ever. I mouthed to him, “I love you to the moon and back.”

As Cole placed the wedding band on my ring finger, he said what the Pastor instructed and looked in my eyes before adding, “I love you to the moon and back, Ry.”

“You may now kiss your bride.” The Pastor smiled as he stepped back from us.

Cole let go of my hands and slid his strong fingers along my jaw, cupping my face and pulling me into him. He met my gaze
, and I saw the desire and happiness swirling around and lighting up his eyes.

Before his lips met mine, I whispered to my husband, “Thank you for the gifts
. They are perfect. Today was perfect. I love you, Husband.”

“Thank you, I love you, Wife. Now, shut it and kiss me.”

Laughing, I slid my arm around his waist and pulled him the last bit to me so our lips could crash into one another, sending sparks and flames of desire through my body. Whistling and yelling erupted around us, and Cole pulled me in deeper, playing a game of cat and mouse with our tongues chasing each other.

Cole placed one last sweet kiss on my lips, before he wrapped my arm in his, and we turned to face our friends and family. The Pastor announced us, “Mr. and Mrs. Cole West.”

Together we headed down the aisle, followed by our friends and family, ready to race toward our future together.

The End

About Author

Dee Avila is a mother of four that enjoys reading and writing. You can catch her at anytime with her note app open, people watching. She lives in a small community in California and loves to tie the small-town feel into her writing.

Asphalt Gods MC

by

Morgan Jane Mitchell

Scar, Asphalt Gods MC by Morgan Jane Mitchell

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t
© 2014 Morgan Jane Mitchell

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, Morgan Jane Mitchell.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, business, organizations or locales is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

http://www.themorganjane.com

Leave a Scar

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but that’s bullshit. What doesn’t kill you leaves a scar. More than the eyesore down my torso, I was a scar, the jagged, fucked up remains of a tragedy. Out of every bar in every town, she had to walk into mine. The quote’s something like that, and that’s how this story would’ve started if it were an old movie, but it wasn’t. This was my fucked up life. I’d been through hell and back and I’d survived, paying the price, but tonight I met the woman who’d be the death of me. One minute I filled the beer cooler and the next she sat at my bar, even if it would only be my bar for another day.

Beautiful with golden blonde hair down to the crack of her ass, she slammed her tiny, jeweled purse on the bar, causing me to cringe. Despite my own plans, I’d grown attached to the place and found myself tenderly buffing the wood. I slapped on my bartender face. “What can I get for you this fine evening, Miss?”

Pouty lips, positioned over two perfect tan globes, peeking out over the plunging neckline of her snug blouse, opened and breathed, “Five shots of bourbon, Jim Beam.” She placed her gold credit card in front of me.

My eyebrows raised for a moment before I laid out five shot glasses and filled them. Back home, the request wouldn’t have surprised me at all. Even here, in this tourist trap of a beach town, I’d expect the order from a gaggle of barely legal girls during spring break but not from a woman so refined.

Her coral polished nails wrapped around the first glass. Stretching her delicate neck, she leaned her head back, lifting the glass to her mouth and pouring until the bourbon disappeared. Lips puckering, her face twisted as her neck snapped straight, confirming my suspicions. She wasn’t a hard drinker.

When our eyes met, I took the opportunity to speak. I cleared my throat. “May I make a suggestion?”

“What?” She hissed, clearly frustrated.

“Something to go down easier, a cocktail, a couple of rattlesnakes, something tastier?”

Ignoring me, she downed the next, trying real hard to keep the distain off her face.

“A chaser at least?”

This time she nodded as she exhaled, recovering from the burn. I grabbed a frosty mug and pulled the handle on one of our local draft beers. Her face
relaxed and she smiled as she took a sip, so I turned away, finally swiping her card. Emery S. Jenkins, it read.

Laying her card back in front of her with a smile of my own, I dried a glass. “Emery, what’s a pretty lady like yourself doing all alone this evening?” Evening was a stretch, it was one a.m., and I’d close down at two.

Her face grew serious for a second, forlorn and anguished before she artificially brightened. “Just trying to end a bad… day.” Emery whipped her neck around like she was searching for someone before she threw back her third shot. The uneven smile widened on her face, and I could tell her head was swimming. She was a lightweight alright. Drumming her fingers on the bar, she glanced over her shoulder again.

“Waiting for someone?”

“No,” she spoke quickly.

The off-season loomed over Daytona Beach, and only local scum and dedicated alcoholics lingered around the bar. I knew them all by name, knew when they’d leave, how much they’d tip and when they’d be back. Emery presented a puzzle, her mere presence an unwelcome distraction. Was she a friend or foe? Was she just a hottie down on her luck?

Examining her body, what I could see of it in this light, I admired her tiny waist, giving way to thick thighs. Her jeans were expensive and her heels high. If I was lucky, she came here to forget about a man who broke her heart. I had just enough time to help her forget before I had matters of my own to attend. The thought of relieving some stress between Emery’s thighs sprang my Johnson to life, and I adjusted myself under the bar. “Let me guess? Who’s the jerk?”

“My husband, the fucker.” Her fourth shot was gone.

I glanced at her hand, and there was no ring. Grabbing her petite fingers, I felt the indention around her bare ring finger. She didn’t yank her hand away. Her eyes met mine, deep brown eyes I finally noticed, but they didn’t cast off the desire she read in mine. Her chest heaved like she was mulling over the possibility herself. Downing half the beer next, her eyes twinkled as she finally swept them over all of me. Yes, I was a hunk of a man, I’d been told. Naturally, wavy, sandy locks swept back on my head and just enough manly stubble on my chin to drive the ladies wild was nothing compared to my rock hard, bulging six foot two body. Women had sworn they’d seen me on the cover of GQ, but it’d never be me. I didn’t take my shirt off often. Tonight I wore long sleeves to hide my many tattoos.

Not to mention, flattery would get them nowhere. During my time as owner of Shark Baits, I had to keep it in my pants. I’d made it this far, had three days to go and was jonesing for an early reward. Pouring a shot for myself and enjoying the burn in my throat, I remembered the General always said my impatience would dig me an early grave, but fuck, Emery looked like one hell of a reward.

I rubbed my thumb over her hand. “Some men just don’t know how to treat a lady.”

“Excuse me.” She let go of my hand with a jerk and walked to the back. I followed her, clasping her hand again, turning her around before she could reach the bathroom. Before I could question it, my lips crashed onto hers. I palmed the back of her head while I nibbled, encouraging her to part her lips. Soon her tongue melded with mine as I pressed my body to her, my cock against her. Like
butter, she melted into my hold. Still holding her hand, I ran it down my torso, down to the bulge in my pants. Breaking our kiss, I whispered, “Let me make you feel better, if just for tonight.” Emery responded, stroking my throbbing erection up and down. Sticking my tongue in her ear, I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her ass.

Emery lurched away before my hands could explore more of her.

“Forget that asshole,” I stressed.

Her words slurred, as she shook her head and broke down. “He left me, and I’m the big idiot. Reported him missing and everything. I was worried sick.” She clutched her stomach and excused herself to the ladies’ room. She hesitated for a minute. “It’s the clam not the shrimp.” I pointed to the ambiguous gender sign. A little puke wouldn’t bother me none. Strolling back to the bar, I poured myself a congratulatory shot. Emery was a sure thing. She’d never make it out of here without my help. I’d help her all the way to my bed. Eager, I began wiping up the bar and settling all the tabs I could while she was gone. “We’re closing up, Joe.” I patted the old man’s back, handing him a paper bag. He could take his beer with him for all I cared. “Celia sugar, go on home.” I didn’t have to tell the one barmaid left to leave twice. She was out the door in the next five minutes, along with the last guest. I locked the big double doors behind them, but Emery wasn’t back. Her purse and untouched fifth and final shot still sat on the bar, so I knew she didn’t get away while I was cleaning up. I lit a cigarette and waited, imagining forgetting the bed in my dingy hotel room and just fucking Emery right here in the bar on the pool table. Fuck, if she took too much longer I could just surprise her in the ladies’ room while her pants were already down.

My cigarette dangled from my lips, half-finished as the thought hit me. Fuck! She could be passed out in the bathroom. Hell, I knew I could be having sex with a very inebriated woman but I didn’t need a lawsuit. Entering the little clam’s room slowly, I wasn’t surprised when I saw her sprawled out on the floor face first, her blonde hair circling her. “Shit.” It looked like I wouldn’t be getting my dick wet after all. Squatting down, I turned her over. “Emery,” I tried loudly, patting her cheek, noticing I’d streaked red across her face. Red… I studied my hand. Covered in her blood, my hand must had landed in it at some point. I jumped back the same instant, realizing she’d been lying in a puddle of her own blood. My stomach twisted, not because of the blood but because of the flashes, the memories, vivid and clear as the day they were made. Closing my eyes, I tried not to remember. “Fuck!” I breathed in deep, trying to snap out of it. I checked her pulse. She had one. Searching her body frantically for a wound, I found her right wrist slit, dripping blood. How could this happen? I thought briefly before spotting the small nail scissors on the floor beside her. Hunching down, I searched for feet under the stalls and considered the untouched window over the sink leading to the alley before I realized the obvious. Taking off my shirt, I ripped until I produced a long strip, tying and tightening it around her wrist to stop the bleeding before leaving her to go call 911.

Wiping my bloody hands on my jeans, I stopped dead in my tracks on the way to the phone. There was no way in hell I could call the cops. I couldn’t afford the exposure. To be in the paper right now would ruin my plans. To be questioned by the police, could ruin my life. She’s breathing, I assured myself and instead of grabbing the phone, I seized the first aid kit from under the bar, a bottle of our highest proof whisky and opened the store safe for my own bag.
Slinging it over my shoulder, I headed back to try to save Emery. I’d have to save her or dispose of her dead body. Needless to say, my woody was gone.