Biker Chicks: An Anthology of Hot MC Romance (11 page)

In the forest litter, mud, and debris where the blacktop gave out, were some deep skid marks, just past where the guard rail ended. I rode further up where there wasn’t a blind curve and I could safely turn around. My heart was pounding in my chest, the blood rushing in my ears so hard it was drowning out the music from my headphones and the sound my baby made beneath me.

Please don’t be true, please don’t be true; please don’t be true…

The mantra played out in my head, over and over, as I raced back to the location and pulled off to the side. I braked, sliding a little in the mud myself before correcting and steering my bike back onto the side of the highway. I heeled down the kickstand and leaned her over, springing off her back as soon as it was safe to do so before scrambling to the edge, where the tire tracks skidded off the side and into a ravine.

I caught a glimpse of chrome in the underbrush and with a pained cry, I plunged over the side. I waded through branches, snapping them and throwing others out of my way and collapsed to my knees beside him; tears pouring down my face, soaking my bandana which suddenly felt like it was smothering me.

I ripped it down and stared into Kyle’s indigo eyes which were fixed and staring back at me, devoid of anything. His light was gone,
he
was gone… I rocked, arms wrapped around myself hugging myself, as if I could somehow hold myself together. His skin was stiff and waxy, mouth half open as if he’d gasped for breath, blood coating the side of his face from the same cut that’d bled freely over his eye the night before.

“Oh, god, no!” I cried and bowed my head.

He wasn’t real, the man who’d been in my bed, the man who’d I’d shared my body with the night before… except I knew better, I knew it right down to the marrow in my bones that everything that’d happened last night had been one hundred percent
real
… likely just as real as the man I’d been intimate with’s body had given up, lying alone down here while he’d been with me. I mean, you heard the stories all the time right?

I sobbed and scrambled in my pocket for my phone, and found that I had signal. Kyle was pinned beneath his bike, and likely couldn’t have reached his. I sobbed at the 9-1-1 operator, and sat with him as long as I could, sirens wailing down the mountainside, coming to help… except there was no help for him, or for us, or for me…

The most profound, loving and wonderful experience of my life, and it was over. Done. Before anything could ever even have a chance to
be.

Damn. The. Luck.

“Dreamer, you done
lost
your fuckin’
mind,
Girl.” Rage, our SAA swept her waist length ebony braids over her shoulder. They slapped the back of her cut fiercely, the sound loud in the echoing silence of the club’s bar. It was after three in the morning and we were shut down, all of us gathered around one of the round tables, empty shot glasses littering the surface, a nearly dead soldier of whiskey towering above them.

Speechless. I’d rendered all of my sisters speechless, all except for Rage. She was a black chick originally from Chicago and a bigger girl. All tits and ass and solid muscle. She was the club’s bouncer as well as the bar’s and wasn’t to be fucked with. She was a down and dirty streetfighter and used her anger like a shield.

She looked at me; makeup, hair, and nails done to the nines as always, her big bold lips crimson edged in black, bottom lip stuck out in the way that screamed she wanted to punch something. Diamond, our treasurer leaned back in her seat, crossing her ankle on her knee, foot jiggling, bouncing up and down.

“Honey, it’s okay if you’re
embarrassed
. I mean, we’ve all been there. Woken up to some hottie sneaking out on the walk of shame back to their girlfriend or wife… I don’t think a single one of us hasn’t been duped –”

“That isn’t what happened!” I barked. I knew what happened, I was there, I saw those beautiful indigo eyes cloudy in death, felt his cool skin beneath my fingertips… I closed my eyes and looked away from all of them, looking at me with a mix of fear and confusion.

Silence ringing loud, I found my backbone and opened my eyes looking from one to the next, to the next… Our President, Desire, our VP, Envy – the only one of us to embrace the name of her sin without prettying it up, Diamond, Rage, Beauty, and finally, our secretary, Cupcake.

Out of all of them, Desire seemed to be the only one to seriously be considering what I was saying while Cupcake, she just looked as sad and as lost as I felt. She reached out a hand and took mine in hers and gave it a squeeze. I guess one out of seven on the believability scale wasn’t bad. I sighed.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, telling you all, I kind of figured it would go this way.”

Beauty leaned back in her seat like she’d been slapped, “Dreamer, don’t be that way…” she said in that low soothing tone that I always heard her use on drunk assholes to talk them out of the bar before Rage could get a hold of them.

“No, it was stupid,” I said getting up, chair scraping against the worn hardwood floor of the old building.

“Dreamer, you just told us you had sex with a
ghost
. What do you expect us to do with that, Girl? It’s a level of crazy we’ve never seen out of you.” Rage crossed her arms under her ample breasts and scowled at me.

“Rage,” Desire’s tone held an edge of warning, but it was too late, I was already gone, striding for the door.

“Cupcake, go with her,” I heard Envy order, but I was already tramping into the cold. Hurt beyond measure that I was seriously out in the cold and as alone as I could be in every direction.

Fuck my life.

“Mary Anne Richards?”

I stood up, and went through the door, meeting the waiting smile of the nurse.

“Can we get your weight?” she asked and I nodded.

I felt like shit. Depression taking over after I’d found Kyle’s body. The depression had worn on through the holidays and had finally manifested as being dog ass tired all the fucking time. I swallowed hard and stepped off the scale, following the nurse listlessly into the exam room.

Temperature, blood pressure, pee in a cup, blood draw, I did it all. It’d been two months, and I was bringing the New Year in with puking my ever-loving guts out. The mere thought of food, absolutely nauseating. Something had to give, but I couldn’t help but feel how I felt. The greatest love of my life, the deepest connection I’d ever had with another person and he hadn’t even been alive.

I’d told my club sisters and they loved me, they worried about me, but they also thought I was effing crazy…

“Mary Anne?”

I looked up, “Yeah, Doc, sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Well, I’m happy to say we have a definitive answer to your troubles.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Because, Honey, you’re pregnant.”

I stared up at her in disbelief, “That’s not possible,” I stammered.

The doctor frowned, “I’m afraid the urinalysis doesn’t lie…” her voice faded into a buzz and I stared out the slits in the venetian blinds outside the window. My hands pressed unbidden to my lower abdomen.

Pregnant?

I swallowed hard, and felt the tears leak out of the corners of my eyes. A weight, a burden I had carried since finding Kyle’s body at the bottom of that ravine, lifted from my shoulders. I swallowed hard and thought hard about the implications.

Okay, so some kind of miracle happened that night. Something I will never in a million years be able to explain… I smoothed my hands over my stomach and bent double, the torrent of tears crashing through the gates that I used to try and hold them back.

“I’m pregnant!” I cried and started laughing.

I had him, even if I would never have him again, I would always have a piece of him, in my heart, a reminder to look at every day… because it had to be Kyle’s. It had to. I hadn’t had sex with anyone for something like three months before that night, and I’d had regular periods. Hell, I hadn’t even noticed that I’d missed the last two.

I needed to know, I needed to make sure, I looked up at my doctor, “How far along?”

“If I had to estimate, I would say around two months,” she said gently the concern clear on her face. I leapt up and hugged her tightly.

“Thank you,” I breathed, thanking her as much as Kyle, and as much as God Himself.

“Thank you.”

A.J. Downey is a born and raised Seattle, WA native, and the author of the bestselling Sacred Hearts Motorcycle Club series. She finds inspiration from her surroundings, through the people she meets and likely as a byproduct of way too much caffeine. She has lived many places and done many things, though mostly through her own imagination. An avid reader all of her life, it’s now her turn to try and give back, entertaining as she has been entertained.

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Yes or No

Emma Lee

With a grunt, I tightened the last bolt as far as it could go. I tossed my wrench into my battered red toolbox and stood back to admire the finished product. Bare steel and black leather made up the first motorcycle I’d ever built from parts. The thing desperately needed a paint job, but I’d leave that to my dad.

“It looks great, Angelfish.” Speaking of the old man, he stumped outside with a lopsided grin. The rubber end of his steel cane thumped on the concrete. “Is she ready for a test drive?”

“Yep. Gas tank is even full.” I held up the key for him.

His grin softened into a genuine smile as he put a big, grease-stained hand on my shoulder. “I think you ought to take her out. It’s your day off, and she’s yours and all.”

“Huh?” I blinked and furrowed my brow. “I built it for you.”

“I know. And that was a sweet thing for you to do, but I don’t need one near as bad as you do. No daughter of mine is going to reach twenty-one without having her own bike.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Dad squeezed my shoulder. “I stopped riding after my accident on purpose. That truck hit me because I wasn’t quick enough reacting, end of statement. I’m not dumb enough to risk it again, especially not with my little girl’s only dad on the line.”

“Oh.” We’d never talked about the accident that trashed his bike and destroyed his hip and knee. He preferred to avoid the subject and I chose not to push. “Do you want to ride with me? There’s enough space.”

He smiled. “No. Go ahead. Don’t forget your tools in case something goes wrong.”

I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Behave yourself while I’m out.” His laughter chased me into the garage to grab my helmet, jacket, and tool kit. Every ride before this had been on a pillion or a borrowed bike. When I ran back out, Dad held out his phone and snapped off a dozen pictures while I shrugged into my worn leather jacket, pulled my brain bucket on, and straddled the bike.