Greetings, I'm guessing you've popped in to whet your appetite for COCKY BIKER...keep reading to meet the characters.
Belle Travis turned the page of her latest romance novel and reached for her first coffee of the day. The fictional bedroom action was getting started and she was eager to find out how the duke performed between the sheets. So far, he’d given the impression of being a real kinky dude.
“Hey! You. We’re going out.”
“What?” She frowned at her brother, Rigor, angry not just that he’d dragged her from the imaginary stately home she’d been visiting, but also the tone of his voice. “It’s early, you know.”
“No, I’m in bed reading.” Her scowl deepened. “You can see that.”
“We need you. Get up and get your ass out here.”
She slammed down her book. “You can’t speak to me like that or order me around.”
“I damn well can and you know it.” He shoved his handgun into the waistband of his leathers and scooped up his keys. “Get moving.”
“Pa told you to look after me, not treat me like a damn slave.”
“I am looking after you.” He gestured at the messy room. “Got a roof over your head, don’t you?”
“Leaky fucking roof,” she muttered, standing.
“It don’t rain here. So what’s it matter?”
She huffed. “Where we goin’?”
“California, got some business with Hudson.”
“What!” California was hours away. “I have plans here today.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Cancel them. You’re coming with.” He grabbed her helmet and threw it in her direction. “We need you.”
Catching it, she clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. She knew why they needed her, and it wasn’t because she was a sharp shooter or a shit-hot mechanic. It was because she was fluent in Spanish. There was obviously some meeting going down with a Mexican club and the Devil’s Barbarians needed a trustworthy translator, or rather, a trusty eavesdropper.
And Belle was their gal.
So, she had no choice.
She gulped down her coffee then quickly dressed. She shoved her book into a battered backpack. After adding toiletries and makeup, a few items of clothing, fresh underwear, and her passport in case they took a trip over the border, she wandered into the compound’s main yard, her red heels clicking on the hot concrete.
The heat of the Arizona sun, even in the morning, weighed heavily on her shoulders, and she dropped her shades. At least there would be a sea breeze in Cali, one thing to be thankful for.
Turning at the sound of her name, she spotted her cousin, Marie. “Hey, chick.”
“Don’t you be spreading your legs for surfers.” Marie cackled.
“As if.” Belle rolled her eyes and batted a fly from her face. Truth was she’d been single for a while now. Her breakup with Billy had been a long, drawn-out, painful affair, and her heart was still bruised. That was why she was sticking with guys in books for the time being.
The Phoenix chapter of the Devil’s Barbarians kept their bikes undercover for the shade, not because of rain. With the engines now coming to life, it was as if a dragon with a sore head had awoken. The roar blasted around the compound, echoing off the walls of the workshop, through the single-story homes, and over the high, metal fences. With it, a plume of exhaust fumes wafted into the sky, hazing over the orb of the sun.
“Don’t look so fucking miserable.” Teddy drew up beside Belle—a whole head and shoulders taller than her—and squeezed her upper arm.
“I don’t wanna go,” she mumbled. “Got other shit to do.”
He laughed, his shaggy black beard shaking. “No, you don’t. You’ve been mooching around for too long. You never know, you might enjoy the change of scenery.”
She shot a doubtful look up at Teddy. His name suited his cuddly exterior, but he was anything but soft when it came to protecting his club family. She’d seen him in action. His weight didn’t hinder his speed or his reactions. In a heartbeat, the guy could switch from doling out hugs to firing guns with lethal precision.
Rigor honked his horn.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” Belle strutted toward him, sashaying her ass the way she always did. She looked good, and she knew it. Tan legs nearly as long as the Pacific Highway coming from the shortest pair of Daisy Dukes she could find, and a low-cut scarlet top that showcased the generous rise of her breasts. Heads turned, even men who had a good woman in their beds at night couldn’t resist a look. Hell, some of their women eyed her up too!
She climbed behind her brother and gripped the handlebar at her butt. The seat was wide and comfortable. Just as well, it was going to be a long ride.
Towering metal gates creaked open. Rascal and Dizzy barked, straining at their leashes with slobber glistening on their teeth.
The convoy of bikes began to glide out, Rigor and Belle in the lead.
Hot tires hit hot asphalt . Mid-summer made the air thick and heavy, and as Rigor wound up the gears, Belle suddenly felt glad to be getting away. Perhaps she needed an adventure like the gals in her books.
As if Prince Charming or a dashing duke was about to shower her with romance, adoration, and passion. She’d spent her life around bikers—tough, rough, inked, couldn’t-give-a-fuck bikers. Not a romantic bone in their bodies. Not one among the bunch of them.
As predicted, the ride was long and hot. They made several quick stops for gas and food. Belle filled up on a burger and cola and managed to read a few pages of The Duke’s Desire.
The bikers had an air of anticipation about them. Visiting another chapter was always cool, but throwing in a potentially lucrative deal had added to the excitement.
Belle had no idea what the deal was, and she didn’t ponder on it. She’d find out soon enough. She just hoped they’d get on with it quickly so she could get back to her novel. Maybe even take it to the beach. She couldn’t remember when she’d last dipped her toes in the ocean—and that was all she ever dipped in, goddamn shark soup. Perhaps the long road trip would be worth it if she got to lie on a beach towel on golden sand.
Eventually, the compound in San Clemente came into view. Like their Phoenix base, it was protected with high fences and the gated entrance was constantly monitored.
Rigor drew to a halt but kept his engine running.
Belle rummaged in her pocket for some gum and popped it into her mouth.
Within seconds, a rotund biker with a scythe tattoo on his cheek appeared from a dusty-looking surf shop—no doubt a scam business to filter ill-gotten money. A huge dog stuck close to his legs, panting.
“Razor, my man,” Rigor said, holding out his hand.
Razor strode over and shook. “Good to see you, again. How’s the trip?”
“Damn boring, those straight roads…Jeez, they go on for fucking ever..”
“Sure do.” Razor nodded at the gates. “I’ll go open up then you can get a drink.”
“And a shower,” Belle said.
“Yeah, hun, we’ll make sure you can do that.” He winked then turned.
Belle blew a bubble. It popped on her lips with a snap.
The gates clanked open, and the bikers rolled inside, the sound of engines rumbling off the corrugated metal fences. The place was littered with vehicles in various states of repair. Piles of tires were stacked near a large workshop and beside them, a couple of garbage bins and a tumble of rusting exhausts, chassis, and an old safe.
Rigor parked and killed the engine.
Belle climbed off with a groan, her hips and back complaining at having to sit for so long. She dragged off her helmet and ran her hands through her hair, fluffing it from her scalp.
“Ah, the desert rats are here!”
A broad-shouldered older guy with a square jaw appeared with his hands held out.
“Hudson.” Rigor gave him a sharp hug and a slap on the back. “Good to see you, man.”
Hudson chuckled. “You too. Let’s hope we can make some cash out of these Mexicans, huh.”
“Fucking long way to come for nothing.”
“Ah, there’s always something. Starting with a drink. Come on, this way.” Hudson set his attention on Belle. “You’re the only chick, right?”
“Yeah, this is my sister Belle. She’s fluent in Spanish,” Rigor said.
Hudson nodded approvingly.
“And obviously as trustworthy as they come,” Rigor added.
“Useful.” Hudson smiled and scratched his nose, which had clearly been broken several times. He had three dark crucifixes tattooed on the side his wide neck . “Thanks for making the journey, Belle.”
“It’s nothing.” Belle shrugged. “Where am I sleeping?”
“Up there.” Hudson pointed at a two-story building with several doors on both levels and a skinny upper walkway. “Second from the right. Should have everything you need, and food, just hit Nina up. Behind the workshop.”
“You can use Carter’s room. It’s just next door,” Hudson said to Rigor. “He’ll sleep on his ma’s couch. The rest of your guys will be okay at Nina’s, right?”
“Yeah, they’ve got bed rolls and sleep sacks.”
To Belle’s right, a black van with dark windows was raised on a jack. A pair of long lean leather-clad legs stuck out from it, complete with big black boots tied with neon yellow laces.
“Let’s drink before your throat goes up like a damn wildfire.” Hudson clasped Rigor’s shoulder and steered him toward Nina’s.
Belle blew another bubble, still looking down at shiny leather hugging strong thigh muscles.
Suddenly, the Barbarian beneath the van whizzed out. Groin, then a flat abdomen with a line of dark hair navel to waistband, chest exposed by an open cut, and hands greased with oil.
“Hey,” he said, looking up and squinting in the setting sunlight.
Belle said nothing.
He raised a heavily tattooed arm and touched his head, feeling through his thick black hair. He frowned as if concentrating.
“What you doin’?” she asked.
He had a nice face, ruggedly handsome, not a hint of vanity or preening, but with a softness that was rare for a club brother.
“I’m trying to find the bump … where I hit my head.”
“When’d you hit your head?” She shifted from one foot to the other.
“That’s the problem. I can’t remember, but I must have.” He gave a wide grin, and his gaze trailed from her face, down to her feet, and back up again. “’Cause I’ve got this vision standing over me. Some kind of goddess with legs made for wrapping around my waist and with the face of an angel.”
Belle laughed. “Seriously?”
“Fuck yeah, seriously.” He scooted out farther then stood, swiping his hands together. He was half a head taller than her. “Are you real?”
“You need to work on your lines.”
“I thought that one was pretty original.” His bangs hung around his eyes. “But then it’s clear you are … original, that is.”
“What I am is dog-tired.” She turned and grabbed her bag from Rigor’s bike box. “So say goodbye to your vision.”
“Goodbye isn’t in my vocabulary, at least not when it comes to beautiful women.”
Belle groaned and sashayed over the lot, toward the room she’d been told was hers for the night.
His gaze was on her ass, she knew that, hell, she’d bet good money on it. She could almost feel her flesh heating as he raked his attention over her scantily clad buttocks.
She strutted with a little more sway as she climbed the metal staircase to the upper rooms. He could look, no harm in that.
She walked past an old driver’s car seat set against the wall. A porn mag and an overflowing ashtray were discarded next to it. Then she pushed open the red door, second in.
She was pleasantly surprised. The room was neat with a clean sofa, TV, and a kitchen area, surfaces wiped. Through a door to her left was a bedroom, the white duvet smooth, pillows plumped, and to her right, a small bathroom.
“This’ll do,” she said, reaching for her book and dropping onto the sofa. She toed off her heels, and they clunked onto the hard floor. With a sigh, she settled down and opened to chapter eight and the scene with the duke just about to tie the young maid to the bed, for an afternoon of pleasure.
She’d shower later. This was sure to get her hot and flustered.