Sexy Bastards Anthology: Bad Boy, Biker, Alpha, Motorcycle Club, Contemporary Romance Collection (63 page)

Morgan was on his bike, and he was heading down the highway, but he wasn’t paying much attention to the wind in his hair right then. He was seething angry, and the reason he was angry rode right ahead of him.

Craig. He’d gotten into some real shit this time, and that shit was rubbing off. The whole club was going to be fouled with it. Craig and his harebrained get-rich-quick schemes that always involved drugs or something equally illegal. This latest though took the cake, even for Craig.

He’d gotten in deep with the OutKasts, which was a stupid thing to do. They were as hard as they came, and not above taking what they were owed in blood. He owed them close to a hundred grand for dope he’d fronted. That whole shipment had been taken by another, smaller, club. Now they were on their way to get it back. Hopefully. The club that had taken it was known to be a ragtag bunch of addicts and hard cases, some of them with real mental issues. They’d probably snorted and smoked or shot up every gram of that dope, and the idea of getting money back out of them was laughable. But they had to try.

The club rules were simple. Stick together. Now he and twenty-five others were on their way to try to fix Craig’s screw up with that club and they all knew the odds of getting the drugs or the money back was low. But those dudes had messed with an Orphan, and if you messed with one you messed with all. Simple as that.

They’d caught Craig on a bad stretch of road and taken him down so fast he’d never had a chance. He’d been alone, and he swore that nobody could have had any idea of the road he took, or what he was carrying, and if that was true then there were even more troubling questions to be answered, like if the crew that had fronted Craig the dope in the first place had tipped off one of the ragged bunch whose clubhouse they were headed for or if that club had an insider in their club.

Politics and intrigue. He hated both things. He’d founded the Orphans after he’d found a few guys like himself—guys who were outlaws, ready to ride for each other and to keep what they believed in alive. He’d been nineteen when he’d first sewn that patch to the back of his jacket, and what had started off as a group of four guys had become a real club with over sixty members.

But with every new member came new baggage. The freedom was dying, and all because of stupid situations like this one. Craig wasn’t the first guy to do something so stupid, but he was the first old guard guy to do it. Craig had been with him from the start, right from the old days when they’d built bikes in junkyards and while living in roach-infested apartments.

The first clubhouse had been Morgan’s tiny one-bedroom place. His whole focus had been on being free, and making things right in the world. The Orphans had been a place for those with nowhere else to go, and more than one face that had eventually drifted in had been the face of someone he knew from the juvie or foster system.

They’d pulled a lot of dirty jobs over the years but they had a code. They gave some of everything they got to the homeless shelter, and they spread money through the rougher neighborhoods with a heavy hand. They assured themselves loyalty that way but they also assured themselves that many of their own families were cared for too.

The ratty house sitting in a weed-infested yard loomed up. Morgan, riding in front, raised a hand in a signal then he pointed straight ahead. The bikes crashed right through the rotting wooden boards and rusted chain link of the fences. Dogs came running, their skinny sides heaving. Morgan ignored them. Hungry dogs were usually a lot more hopeful than they were hungry. He grabbed the bag of dog food he’d brought and poured it along the crowd as he headed for the sagging porch. Sure enough, he heard the dogs stop barking and the sounds of eating started.

He made a mental note to do something with the dogs too. He hated to see a starving animal. Of all the things men did that were wrong in the world, hurting something or someone already helpless was the one thing sure to make him angry.

His booted foot hit the door. It split open with a loud screech. Every Orphan surged forward into the living room of the clubhouse. Morgan, carried forward, pulled the shotgun, his every instinct telling him this was going to go bad really fast.

He could not have been more right.

Craig muttered, “What the literal hell?”

The rowdiness was gone. They all stood there, gaping at the mess and death. Nobody was alive in the house, and the blood splattered everywhere was an indication that they hadn’t died peacefully. Bullet holes were punched into walls and the thick reek of cordite hung on the air.

The bodies were sprawled and tangled. Most of the men wore shocked or terrified expressions.

Craig spoke in a high, thin voice, “This is bad man, real bad.”

It was bad. The worst Morgan had ever seen, and it didn’t look like it was going to get better any time soon either. He said, “Find it. Find whatever you can. Craig—keep your gloves on. None of you puke. Be fast. Really fast. This place isn’t exactly in town limits but that doesn’t mean nobody heard anything—including us.”

They all nodded. Smith, Morgan’s second-in-command, began to tear through the usual hiding places while the others tried to avoid stepping in drying puddles of blood and gore.

Morgan headed outside to check on the dogs. They came to him, whimpering and crying. They were all beautiful dogs—one was a giant German Shepherd that had obviously been trained kindly and loved at one time. The dead men inside had probably stolen him.

He took his bike to the big panel truck that had pulled up. It wasn’t uncommon for them to have to hide their bikes and tonight was no exception. He looked into the cab and said, “We got some extra passengers.”

Clive, an older man with a mouth filled with rotting teeth and a soft spot for creatures both big and small, shook his head as he looked at the dogs. “Probably fought them.”

“They’re hungry anyway.”

Clive got out and held out a hand. Instantly the dogs ran toward him. Morgan sighed and went to the back of the truck. His car was inside, and he pulled it out then pulled his bike in before going back inside.

Craig greeted him with a grim expression. “Guns, a little dope—maybe a third of what they took off me, and about ten thousand in cash.”

Not nearly enough. But that it was there at all made the death inside the clubhouse even more problematic. Why would someone kill off a crew if not to take what they had?

“Get the bikes in the truck.”

His words galvanized the men standing around. They headed out. All of them looked happy to be headed out of the charnel and he didn’t blame them.

He headed for his car. The others piled into the truck and Clive closed the door. Morgan followed them at a discreet distance, still thinking hard. The German Shepherd sat on the seat beside him, not moving. Morgan gave it an occasional pat and soft word but his mind was still focused on all the questions that the night had brought up.

Who’d taken out an entire club? And why?

Craig had stepped into it this time, no doubt—and Morgan didn’t see any easy way out of it for them.

He was so focused on his thoughts he didn’t see the small sedan pulling out at the corner ahead. He almost hit it, and the dog slid forward in the seat, its claws scrabbling for purchase.

**

Katie swore and yanked the wheel of the car to the left. Her car was in the shop, the victim of a hit-and-run earlier in the week and the sedan was an older car and not as familiar as her own. The tires screamed and she clutched the wheel, terror filling her whole being as the headlights of the other car narrowly missed her bumper.

Her feet hit the brakes and she jolted forward, the seatbelt cutting off all of her oxygen. Her head tapped the steering wheel, and her hands, clutched so tightly that her knuckles were white, shook with the force of her stop.

Her heartbeat accelerated so fast she was sure it was going to leap right out of her chest, and her legs shook as adrenaline coursed through her body. Panting and angry, she threw the door open and stormed out of the car, headed for the other car, not even thinking of the danger.

The man in the car got out and a giant dog bounded out as well. Her eyes widened as she recognized Morgan. She said, “You scared the…” Her words cut off as she saw the dog. It hovered low to the ground, looking at her with sheer terror on its clever face.

“What did you do to that dog? It’s starving!”

She held her hands out and the dog came closer, sniffing her cautiously.

Morgan spoke, his voice low and amused, “I sort of stole him so I can’t guarantee he won’t bite.”

Katie let the dog sniff her hands and then she rubbed his head slowly. “Good boy,” she crooned. “Oh, what a beauty you are. What a good boy. I have a steak sandwich in my car, would you like some?” The dog’s tail thumped from side to side and she looked up at Morgan. “You stole him?”

“Yes, he was in a pretty bad place and I couldn’t leave him.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” She looked back at her car and then comprehension dawned. “Oh, we’re right in the street. Can I give him…”

“Yes, but maybe we should pull over.”

Katie asked, “Do you think his owners’ll see him? I mean, are you near where you took him?” Her eyes went back to him. The jolt of desire she’d felt for him rocketed through her again and her nipples stiffened beneath her blouse.

He smiled at her again and said, “No. I think I put enough distance between us for them not to see him.”

“You wouldn’t give him back.” Her eyes went to the dog, now lying patiently at her feet, his ribs showing beneath his matted fur.

“Never.” His voice held a note of anger. “Nobody who does that deserves a dog in the first place.”

Katie started toward the car, the dog got up and padded alongside her. She looked down in surprise but then she patted his head gently and said, “Stay for one minute big guy, okay?”

She moved her car and came back with the sandwich she had bought for her dinner. The dog licked its lips but waited patiently for her to feed him while Morgan moved his car, parking behind hers. They had almost collided right at the outskirts of a small park and Katie saw the dog casting longing looks at the grassy expanse behind him. She asked, “Do you have something that we can use as a leash?”

He said, “Um, maybe. Let me see.”

He came back from his car with a small bit of rope. “I guess I didn’t really think this through.”

Katie laughed. “I wouldn’t have either. By the way, I never got your name earlier.”

His eyes met hers. “I’m Morgan.”

“And I’m Katie.” Her hand came out automatically and he took it and shook it, then he tied the rope gently around the big dog’s neck.

The dog waited until Morgan said, “Okay fella, let’s go,” then he set off into the grass.

Katie followed.

Morgan shoved his free hand in his jean pocket. “I’m really sorry for almost hitting you. I was pretty busy concentrating on making off with the dog.”

“It’s okay.” She wasn’t angry anymore, her anger had dissipated the moment she had seen him. “I’m sorry I sort of jumped on you about the dog.”

“It’s okay. That I can understand. Did you run away from your boss again or have you been sent home for the day?”

Katie wrinkled her nose as they walked further into the grass while the dog relieved himself. “I wish I had the guts to just walk out and never go back.”

“Why don’t you?”

She sighed. It was a question she asked herself a lot. “Loyalty, I guess. Or insanity. Maybe a little of both.”

He leaned toward her and that intoxicating scent of leather and faded soap met her nose. His body brushed hers, just slightly, but enough to send tingles down her body. “Sometimes I think loyalty is just a form of insanity.”

She said, “Exactly! It must be, right?”

“I have often thought so.” His voice was low and husky, rich and deep. The way he walked, with a loose prowling grace, sent tremors running down her body.

“So do you ride in a motorcycle gang? You know, since you were at the biker bar yesterday.”

His eyebrow lifted. “We call them clubs.”

Her face burned. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You didn’t.”

She swallowed hard. She had a feeling if she had insulted him she would have known it immediately. That air of danger hung all over him, and the knot of desire in her belly grew larger. He was something so different from everything she had ever known that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend him, and she knew it.

But that didn’t stop her from wanting him.

She wanted him. Her whole body responded to him in a way she had never known before, and that startled her and excited her too. Who was he?

The dog bounded around a bit. She asked, “Are you going to keep him?”

The dog ran up to her and put its massive paws on her white slacks. He knocked her right on her ass into the grass and began to lick her face. Morgan said, “Easy boy.”

Katie, laughing and gasping, managed to get out from under the dog and said, “Okay boy, chill for a moment, ‘kay?”

Morgan helped her to her feet. “I’m sorry but I think your pants are fucked.”