Troubled Son: Savage Sons MC Romance (6 page)

As I headed out the door I checked the time and was surprised to see that the hair and makeup had taken a little longer than I'd expected. It was already three o'clock, and I was about fifteen minutes away from home. I realized that I didn't have any way to get in touch with Moses, so I figured that my best bet was just to hurry. I hoped he wouldn't be too pissed that I was late.

I pulled into the parking garage and saw a Harley Davidson, but it wasn't the one Moses had ridden the night before. I wasn't sure if perhaps he had another bike, so I parked and hurried upstairs. When I saw him leaning against my front door, I could hardly catch my breath. Good God, he was spectacular. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt that fit him perfectly, skimming over his biceps in a way that concealed very little. His black vest with all of the biker patches looked like it could probably stand up on its own -- like he wore it every waking moment -- and he wore what looked like the same jeans and boots he'd had on the night before.

"I'm sorry I'm late. The salon took longer than I thought it would."

Moses looked me up and down, taking in my casual tee and yoga pants and stopping when he got to my hair and makeup. "Well, you sure look different. You're dressed for the gym, but your makeup looks like you're ready to pick up a biker."

"Well, that's where you come in, my dear. Let me get inside and change, and you can help me pick out the rest of the getup."

Moses didn't move very far, just stepped back enough that I could barely fit inside the door without brushing up against him. I had the feeling that he was testing me -- unsure of whether or not I could handle this case -- and I decided that I'd just let him carry on. I planned to use our time together to feel him out as well, since I had some serious concern after reading about the rest of the Savage Sons. If Moses was going to be all that stood between me and the criminals he lived with, I needed to be able to trust him. I wasn't quite there yet.

He followed me inside and closed and locked the door.

"You're welcome to have a seat. Let me get changed, and I'll be ready shortly."

"Take your time," he said as he walked over to the back door and looked out onto the balcony. "Any beer in that fridge?"

I was proud of myself for not rolling my eyes. "Help yourself," I called out as I walked down the hall, and shut the bedroom door behind me.

"What does one wear to go buy biker clothes?" I wondered aloud as I looked at the clothes neatly hanging in my closet. I peeled off my yoga pants, shucked my tee, and took off my sports bra, throwing them in the dirty clothes hamper. I figured casual and nondescript would be my best bet, so I pulled on a boring nude bra that would be invisible beneath any style of top, and I slipped my jeans on over boring nude underwear. I grabbed a dark gray long-sleeved t-shirt and my North Face jacket since I knew that the bike ride might get cold in the evening. Once I was dressed, I looked in the mirror and realized that I really did need new clothes. With the hair and makeup, I looked like a cross between a chick in a heavy metal video and a soccer mom. Laughing at my conclusion, I headed out to find Moses.

"Ready?" I asked as I enjoyed the view of him from behind as he stood on the balcony and took a sip of a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

"Yup," he answered, coming inside and heading toward the kitchen trash can with his empty beer bottle.

"Recycling in is the laundry room." I pointed toward the door and ignored him as he rolled his eyes at me.

"Bikers ain't green, sugar," he pointed out to me as he followed my instructions.

"Well, I ain't a biker, sugar," I said sweetly.

"No shit."

We headed down to the parking garage to the bike I'd seen earlier. I was proud of myself for having noticed that it was a different bike, and I thought I'd show off a little.

"So you have two motorcycles?"

"We call 'em bikes. And I have three. The one I rode last night doesn't fit two comfortably, so I brought my Low Rider 'cause it has room for you on the back. There are two important things you need to know. First, hang on tight and don't make any sudden moves, and second, don't touch the engine or the tailpipes. They get hot and will burn the shit outta you."

I studied the bike like I understood what I was looking at. "Fair enough."

Moses showed me where I'd put my feet when I was up on the bike and explained how he wanted me to get on and off.

"Ready?"

"How hard can it be?" I asked with a wink, stepping toward him as he beckoned.

He picked up the helmet that he'd brought for me to wear, and shook his head as I reached out for it.

"Let me. I want to make sure it's adjusted right. Don't want anything to happen to you on my watch."

He settled the helmet on my head and started tightening the straps that held it in place. I hadn't stood quite so close to him before, and I nearly flinched when his fingers brushed the side of my face. He took my chin and turned it so that he could adjust the fit behind my ears, and when I looked up at him, I realized just how tall he was. I had on my favorite Doc Marten boots which added about two inches to my 5'10" frame, and I still had to look up at the man. I stepped back as quickly as I could when he'd finished, flustered by having been so close to him. When I realized that I was thinking about what he'd look like if he took off his fitted black shirt, I knew I had to get myself under control.

I had to think of something to say. "Jeff told me that you'd reviewed my cover. We set on the background?"

"Yeah. You've lived in Denver for about six months, and we met in a bar a couple of months ago. You've moved around a lot -- small towns all over the southwest, and you've kicked a bad crank habit. You're clean now, but you still like to drink. Your shitty ex-boyfriend has made you a little cagey about your past." Moses thought for a minute. "That cover it?"

I was impressed. "Pretty much. I'm outta work too. Quit my last job 'cause the owner of the bar was a fuckin' pig. I'm lookin' for another gig, but I may just settle for being your old lady as long as you'll take care of me."

Moses looked surprised as the hard edge that had entered my voice. "Pretty good," he said with grudging approval. "We'll see how you hold up."

"Oh, I'll hold up, Moses. Both of our lives depend on it."

"We'll see," he repeated. "We're gonna hit a few places tonight where people know me. I'm gonna try to get us out pretty quickly, but you're gonna meet some folks who might stare you down. I've been hinting around that I may be ready to make my new girl my old lady, and that's news 'round here."

"Oh. My. God."

"What?" Moses looked perplexed.

"I'm gonna have jealous club whores on my case?"

"You might. I'm not gonna lie. You're gonna have to handle it if this is going to work."

"Okay," I said. "Don't guess I have much of a choice."

"It'll be okay. If I tell folks you're hands-off, they'll listen."

I rolled my eyes.

Moses grabbed both of my arms, tight, but not painfully. "Don't fuck around with these people for fun, Max. Follow my lead, and you'll be just fine. You think you can look down your rich girl nose and these people won't stab you in the back, then you're a fool."

I felt like I couldn't breathe with Moses that close to me, so I stepped back, breaking his hold on me. "I'll follow. Don't worry. I know what's at stake."

"Good." He put on his own helmet. "Let's roll."

Chapter 8

Moses

April 2, 2013

I
wasn't used to feeling uncertain, and I fucking hated it. So far, Max seemed to be pretty solid. She was gonna fit in just fine with the new hair and shit, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. We were heading out for what could be a disaster. I'd talked about the new chick I was seeing, but tonight was the start on the massive web of lies I was about to start telling the men I'd trusted with my life. The men I'd lived with, gotten drunk with, gotten rich with, whored with. They were my family, and tonight was a big step toward betraying them. I believed that I was doing the right thing, but I had to call it what it was. It was a betrayal.

The day I'd finally called the FBI had started this, though, and there wasn't anything I could do to stop it at this point.

"Let's roll," I told her as I straddled my bike.

I had to give her credit. She'd listened to how I'd told her to get on the bike, and I realized that it was a good thing we were starting a little earlier than we'd planned on the bike training. A chick can't ride on the back of your bike if she's afraid to touch you, and Max handled me like she was worried that I was gonna bite her. I let her get settled without a word, and I pulled out of the space slowly to let her get used to the feeling. She settled in a little as we rolled down the ramps of the garage, and I could feel her instinctively leaning with me as I made the turns. That was a good sign.

A whole different kind of sign was the way my body was reacting to the woman pressed against my back. To be honest, I have no idea how many women I've been with, and I don't even remember half of the times I'd been drunk enough to fuck a girl and roll out as soon as I was finished. I hadn't always been very picky, but if you'd put a lineup in front of me, I'd probably had picked the tiniest chick with the nicest ass and the biggest tits. I was pretty simple. Max was a whole lotta something else though. She was nearly as tall as I was, for shit's sake, and I was surprised to find that a turn-on. She was solid, and I bet there were some muscles beneath the clothes she wore that covered her all up. I think it was the way she moved -- confident and athletic, like she didn't expect anyone to give her a hard time, and she wouldn't tolerate it if they did.

As hard as I tried not to think about what she'd look like naked, I had to reach down and adjust myself inside my jeans as I stiffened at the feeling of her tits on my back when I pulled out onto the highway. Her thighs tightened against my hips, and I was glad I'd planned a bit of a ride 'cause there was no way I was gonna get off my bike with a huge hard on for all the world to see. I'd had enough girls on the back of my bikes that I knew their little ploys when they were working on getting laid. If I had to guess though, I'd say that Max was just acting by instinct, hanging on to be safe, rather than trying to lure me into bed.

I had to stop thinking about Max and bed at the same time. Since it was still pretty warm, I'd decided to run up I25 a little ways north of Denver to give her a feel for the bike. We rode for about twenty minutes, and I could feel Max looking around the whole time. She'd loosened her grip and rested her hands on her thighs, lightly touching my hips. She tightened her hold on me as I turned on my signal and started to slow for the exit we approached.

We pulled into the lot of Sun Harley Davidson in Thornton, and I parked the bike and took off my helmet.

"Doing okay?" I asked as Max put her hands on my shoulders and carefully climbed off the bike.

"Yeah," she answered breathlessly. "That was fun." She fumbled with the straps of her helmet, trying to find the catch to release it.

I swung my leg over and stood up to help her. "Here you go." I handed her the helmet. "You carry your own. You did good. You didn't throw off my balance, and that's the most important thing when we're on the road."

"Good. I tried to keep still." She tried to run her hands through her hair -- now hopelessly tangled.

"You'll learn to either braid it or deal with tangles, sweetheart," I said with a laugh.

Max didn't seem to be the least bit upset. "Okey dokey," she answered with that supermodel smile.

"And honey, you may want to drop the 'okay-dokey.' We ain't gonna be hanging at the science fair."

I couldn't help but stare at her lips as she put on a fake pout, and I decided to move things along.

"You always take your helmet inside, and I ain't gonna carry it for you." I pointed at the big showroom. "This place is gonna be expensive, and we're gonna hit some second hand stores later so you don't look like you just went out and bought a whole new wardrobe, but we can pick you up a few things here. You're gonna need some leathers, and I'll give you a Sons jacket to wear as soon as I get the right size and have one of the girls sew some patches on."

I stepped back and looked her over again, this time thinking about all the stuff she'd need. "Max, don't take this the wrong way, but we may have some trouble finding stuff to fit you. You're not exactly petite."

"Don't I know it," she laughed.

"It's just that most of the girls wear stuff pretty short and pretty tight. You're not gonna like everything I pick for you, but you need to know that it's gonna look right."

"I know I'm not petite, but I've been to the gym nearly every day. I'm not afraid to show a little skin if that's what you recommend."

"Oh, I do recommend it." I was careful to keep my voice even, and I turned on my heel and headed for the store.

We walked inside, and I realized that Max was about to get a sense of the way bikers treated one percenters. My cut told the people inside everything they needed to know about me -- most importantly that I was a man to be feared and that they'd best give me what I wanted.