Dark Steel: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (12 page)

The Wheels of Ash Motorcycle Club was situated in an abandoned business district in the middle of town. They probably scared away the other businesses until they were the only ones left. Twenty motorcycles stood in the front of the building in a nice and neat line, leaning to the side on their kickstands. A cheap big sign that said: WOA was plastered above the door.

I parked my dingy Honda Civic and checked myself in the rear-view mirror. You can do this, Charlotte. These guys are no different than anyone else. I darkened my makeup and let my hair down from a ponytail. I inhaled deeply and walked to the club.

A guy in a leather jacket was bent over working on his bike. His red hair and beard stood out. On the back of his jacket was a big white patch that said Wheels of Ash. The symbol below it was the front wheel of a motorcycle grinding a skull, spewing fiery ashes behind it.

“Excuse me,” I said.

The guy didn't pay any attention to me.

My ankles were shaking. I wanted to run away. I hardened my lips and stood my ground. “Excuse me,” I said louder.

The man turned around and his eyes gazed up and down my body. Maybe wearing a low-cut top was a bad choice. He wiped his hands with an oily rag. “What can I help you with?”

I pulled out the paper that I got from Mr. Capshaw. “I'm looking for John.”

“And what business do you have with him?”

I gulped. This guy was big and strong. His muscles were bigger than my waist—he could probably squeeze my neck until my head popped off. He ate girls like me for breakfast. “Well, I'm doing an anthropology paper and I was assigned this club.”

The man cocked his head. He probably didn't even know what anthropology was.

I steeled myself. “I need to speak with John, please.”

He smiled at me. “No need to get your panties all bunched up. Follow me.”

We walked into a grand hall that was floor-to-ceiling wood. Pool tables stood in one corner and a large bar dominated a whole half of the room. “Holy Diver” by Dio played on an outdated boombox behind the bar. What was this place? Guys in leather jackets sat on couches while others hunched over the bar. A few scantily-clad girls walked around wearing the shortest skirts and tightest tops. How could they go out in public wearing that?

“Hey Bryce, go get me the boss.”

A young-looking kid with a hint of facial hair nodded and went into the back room.

I stood at the front and waited, not knowing if I should go further in.

The kid came back and an older man followed him out. Gray hairs covered his beard and was peppered throughout his hair. His leather jacket had a patch on the left breast that said President.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, rubbing his scruff.

“I'm Charlotte from the anthropology class. My teacher told me to come and observe you guys.”

John's face lit up. “So you're the one Mr. Capshaw sent! He's been begging me to join this program for years. I finally caved in when he gave us free tickets to the Dodgers game.” He grasped my hand and shook it. “I'm John, it's nice to meet you.”

I smiled back. I couldn't believe Mr. Capshaw had to bribe them.

“So what are you going to be doing here?” John asked.

“Well I need to observe you guys and do some interviews—see what makes this club tick.”

“Make yourself at home, Charlotte.” John glanced at the bar. “Hey Hudson, get this lady a drink.”

I put my hand up. “No, I'm fine.”

“Charlotte, if you want to know how this club works then you need to know what fuels it.”

Hudson was in his mid-thirty's with a bald head and handle-bar mustache that looked way too silly. I wanted to giggle but his eyes told me that would be a bad idea. He handed me a small glass that was filled halfway and handed another glass to John. Hudson glanced down at my cleavage and I felt a little uncomfortable.

“Cheers,” John said, clinking his glass against mine.

I hesitantly downed the liquid that instantly burned my throat. I'd only had alcohol at a few parties before so I was no expert, but my best guess was that it was whiskey.

“Make sure to keep it flowing,” John told Hudson.

Hudson grunted.

“Is there somewhere I can sit?” I asked, looking around the room.

“You can set up shop over there,” he replied, pointing to a table.

“Thanks.” I stood up and the whiskey hit my knees. They buckled and I went crashing to the ground. John gripped my arm in a flash and pulled me back up.

“Maybe she should take it easy,” he told Hudson.

Hudson grunted again. He didn't say much.

I flushed with embarrassment. How could only one drink get me so tipsy? I walked over to the table, making sure to steady myself. My head was fuzzy but I felt amazing.

“Let me know if you need anything. I'll be in the back room,” John said.

I nodded and sat down at the table. Everyone in the room was looking right at me, watching my every move. This place was so intimidating. I cursed Mr. Capshaw under my breath. This had to be punishment for being late.

“Everyone! This is Charlotte. She's doing a paper on us for college and she's going to be hanging around for the next couple days. Make sure she's welcome here.”

I flushed crimson and gave a little wave, sinking further down below the table.

What was I supposed to do next? I didn't want to interview anyone yet. I took out my notepad and began recording what had happened so far. My notes were pretty sparse. There wasn't really much to report. At least this was more interesting than the Anime Club.

I glanced around the room, focusing on the small details. Everyone seemed at ease—not a care in the world. Did anyone have a job? Did they just hang out here all day and drink?

The front door opened and in came another WOA member. My heart skipped a beat. This one was different: brown hair down to his shoulders, a little scruff under the chin, and a long scar over his right eyebrow. He wore the same clothes as the other members: a wife-beater, a WOA leather cut, and baggy jeans; he made them work to his advantage.

This guy was hot as hell.

“Did I make it in time, guys?” he said with his arms outstretched in a v-shape.

“What took you so long?” the guy who helped me outside asked him. He had a Sgt-at-Arms patch on his cut.

“Well Wyatt, you know how it is when the cops are chasing you.” They clasped hands and flexed their forearms. They could be barbarians if we lived in a different time.

“Damn Liam, you escaped them again?”

Liam nodded.

“One of these days they're going to get you.”

“Not in this lifetime.” They both heartily laughed and slapped each other on the back.

Liam sat at the bar. “How's it going, Hudson? Get me a drink.”

Hudson pulled out the same bottle of whiskey and poured him a shot. Liam knocked it back and slammed the glass upside down on the bar.

Liam threw a glance at me with his dark blue eyes, piercing my soul. My heart stopped and the blood in my veins froze. He was walking towards me!

Adrenaline still coursed through my veins as I parked my bike at the MC. The cops weren't close to catching me, but all it took was one mistake and I'm headed back to the slammer. There was no way I was going to waste another year of my life sitting in a cell. If worse came to worse, I'd use my nine millimeter. I set my bucket helmet on my bike and went inside.

Jail was hard. Harder than most of us tough criminals want to believe. The cops charged me with carrying a concealed weapon. The judge wanted to make an example of me and gave me a year. I thought I could handle almost anything but sitting inside a tiny box for entire year can do crazy things to a man. I had to do some things in there to survive that I'm not proud of.

Never again.

Wyatt greeted me and gave me the usual talk about the cops putting bracelets on me one day. Over my dead body.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone new. She wasn't the usual fare we got here at the MC: shoulder-length brunette, brown eyes, and innocent. You can tell the difference between the bad guys and the good guys—she was a good girl.

She had a gravity about her that pulled me in. I didn't even wait to ask who she was before I found myself walking her way.

“Name's Liam,” I announced. Talking to women was like second nature to me. I could strike up a conversation with anyone.

The woman stared up at me from the table, not saying a word. I couldn't tell if she was frightened or just didn't care. She closed her eyes and gulped. “I'm Charlotte.”

Her voice was heavenly. I glanced down at her cleavage and felt a pang of desire in my pants.

I shook her hand and felt a jolt of electricity zap through me. A feeling I'd never experienced before. I'd been with a lot of women; too many to count. But this one was different.

“What are you doing in a place like this?” I asked.

“I'm an anthropology major and I'm doing a paper on the motorcycle club.” I had no idea what anthropology was but she sounded very smart. Her eyes averted my gaze—I just needed one more look at those beautiful eyes.

I put my finger and thumb on her chin and lifted her head until her eyes met mine. I lot my breath as we stared at each other for an eternity. I wanted this woman—
needed her.

“If you need help with anything, just ask me.”

“I actually need to interview a member—basic questions about the motorcycle club. Don't worry it's nothing too personal.”

“I could do that.” I sat down across from her. The tension between us was palpable.

Wyatt screamed from across the room. “Liam, get your ass over here! Time for the club vote.”

Damn!

I wanted to forget all about the MC and spend forever with this girl.

I snapped back to reality—why was I letting a woman affect me so much?

I never told anyone my secret. Not even to my best friends. It was too embarrassing—too weird.

I have never been with a man before.

I had some boyfriends in middle school but the farthest we ever got was hand-holding. It's not like I didn't want to go further. They were all too good for me. Once I got to high school and college, I was so busy that I had no time to find a man.

This one just plopped into my lap and I had no idea what to do with him. All that studying for school wasn't going to help me in a real-life situation. Liam was different than any other guy I'd met; something about the way he held himself. He was cocky and strong—he could get anything he wanted—including me.

Wyatt screamed from across the room. “Liam, get your ass over here! Time for the club vote.”

“I'm sorry Charlotte, we'll have to put that interview on hold. Got to go vote.”

“What's a club vote?” I asked, gazing at him from behind my lashes. The alcohol was still knocking at my front door.

Liam leaned back in his seat. “The MC votes on different issues pertaining to the club. Everyone gets an equal vote and majority wins.”

It was hard to focus with all the desire pooling between my thighs. I quickly jotted down as much as I could. This stuff was actually interesting!

“Can I come in and observe?” I muttered. I didn't know if I was overstepping my bounds or not.

Liam smirked. “I wish you could, honey.”

Oh my! Honey? When did I become honey?

“Club votes are for members only. It's a very sacred tradition. Life and death happens in that room.”

I wrote down all the juicy details he was spilling. I didn't want him to stop talking.

Liam stood up. “I'll be back later and we can talk.”

No! Don't go yet!

“I hope so,” I replied.

“Don't worry, I won't leave a beautiful girl like yourself alone for too long.” He winked.

My cheeks flushed with all the red in the world.
Beautiful?
What was this man doing to me?