Banger's Ride: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 5) (45 page)

“Shh… not so loud,” Cara said as she noticed a few people staring at them. “And no, I’m not shitting you. He’s my new client,
and
it’s
not
funny,” she whispered.

“I can’t fucking believe that. What are the odds?”

“First of all, he’s not
my biker
. The case was Les’, but he couldn’t do it and asked me to take it as a favor. If I’d known
he
was the client, I never would’ve agreed.”

“You have to admit, he’s sexy, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll admit he’s sexy, but he’s also arrogant and a smartass. I find him infuriating.”

“I couldn’t tell that by the way you were dancing with him.” Sherrie raised her eyebrows.

“I had too much to drink. I was tipsy.”

“Were you? You drove us home. Did you break your no-driving-if-tipsy rule?”

Sherrie knew her too well.

“Well?”

“Okay, so I knew what I was doing and I thought he was hot. So what?”

“So, nothing. It’s just that I’ve never seen you do that in all the times we’ve been clubbing. That’s all.”

“I don’t know, I guess I felt like letting loose. I had a long, stressful week, and I knew I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew in
that kind
of bar.”

“You don’t have to explain. I’m not judging you. Hell, I’d go for him. It looked like you guys had something going there. I remember that, even if I don’t remember much more of that night. Talk about getting wasted.” Sherrie giggled.

“He’s not my type. He mostly makes me mad.”

“Not mad, Cara,
hot
. Damn, it’s been so long for you, you can’t remember what it feels like. I mean, you’ve buried yourself in work for the last four years. I have to drag you out most weekends, and when we’re at a bar, you send out don’t-touch-me vibes big-time. That’s what I’m saying—that Saturday, you were on fire. I don’t care what you say. This biker struck something in you.”

“Okay, yeah, I feel drawn to him, but that’s probably because he’s so damn persistent and demanding. For reasons that probably would take years on a therapist’s couch to figure out, I kinda find his arrogance a turn-on. Am I psycho, or what?”

Smiling, Sherrie said, “No, you’re a woman who’s been dry for too long. You need to go for it.”

Cara sighed. “What am I going to do? I acted like such a slut with Hawk. I let him kiss me and do stuff in my office, and
he’s my client
. It’s like I know it’s wrong, and he’s bad news, but I kiss him anyway. My common sense has left me. Crap, I
am
psycho. I think a great-aunt of my dad’s was. I’ve read that it can be hereditary.”

“You’re not psycho. You want to screw him. So do it.”

Cara gasped. “I couldn’t. We’re too different. I mean, we come from such different worlds, and we don’t know each other.”

“I’m not telling you to marry him or even get into a relationship. Just screw the hell out of him and have fun. When’s the last time you screwed anyone? Since you and Trevor broke up?”

Trevor and Cara had been engaged and planned to marry after law school, but she later discovered he was involved in extracurricular activities, like banging most of the first-year law students. She’d been devastated—she’d had such plans for their future—and had broken it off with him.

After that, she threw herself into passing the bar exam and setting up her practice. Four years later, she had a thriving law practice and Trevor was nothing more than a dull ache in her heart.

“So, when was it?” Sherrie’s question pulled her back from her memories.

“I’ve been so busy. I—I don’t know.”

“The answer is you haven’t screwed anyone since Trevor. Isn’t it time to blow out the vigil candles you’ve lit for your hurt and betrayal?”

“You don’t know how deceived I felt. I thought Trevor was my soulmate.”

“He wasn’t, and it’s a good thing you found out
before
the wedding rather than
after
. That’s a closed chapter, and it’s time to start a new one. You need to let someone else into your life.”

“I have. I’m going out with Luke.”

Sherrie rolled her eyes and made a face. “Of course you are. He’s safe because you don’t have any feelings for him.”

“Yes, I do,” Cara protested.

“Like what?”

“He’s nice and good-looking. We’re both lawyers, so it’s nice to talk to him about legal issues, and he’s smart, ambitious, and a gentleman.” Sherrie pretended to yawn. Shaking her head, Cara continued, “He’d never tell me that my pussy is wet and he wants to taste me. He respects me.”

Sherrie leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Sexy Biker says those things to you? Damn, that’s a turn-on.”

“That’s not the point, is it? Luke is future material and Hawk isn’t. Hawk would probably be a great screw, and that’s it.”

“What’s wrong with that? Luke is the guy who is the good-girl idea of what you should have, who your parents would approve of. Hawk is the badass biker who lives in your dark fantasies and would satisfy every urge in your body. What’s wrong with having parent-friendly Luke in the limelight and hot fantasy-biker on the side?”

Cara giggled. “You’re so bad, Sherrie. I know you’d do that. I can’t.”

“I’m sorry your hot biker didn’t hit on me. I’d already be in bed with his sexy body.” Sherrie licked her lips. “But he only had eyes for you. I saw it the minute he walked in the door that night.”

Cara flushed, shivers playing up her spine and neck. Sherrie talking about Hawk wanting her made her happy.

“None of this matters anyway, because Hawk is my client.”

“Hasn’t seemed to stop him… or you.”

Cara groaned. “I know, don’t remind me. I feel bad about it. I’m so unprofessional.”

“Who cares if you’re screwing your client? Some arbitrary group of staunch men in a windowless office? Anyway, he won’t be your client forever.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.
Looking at her phone, Cara said, “I have to run. I have an evidentiary hearing in twenty minutes.” She jumped up and threw thirty dollars on the table.

“Cara, this was supposed to be my treat.”

“I know. You can get it the next time. Call me. I’ve gotta go.”

*     *     *

Sherrie watched as
her best friend ran out the door, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor. The two had been through so much. They’d met when Sherrie’s mother moved to Pinewood Springs after Sherrie’s parents split up. Sherrie was in junior high, didn’t know anyone at the school, and everyone had their clique; it was miserable. Cara befriended her, and they had been best friends ever since.

When they went out, Cara usually picked up the tab, and Sherrie appreciated it because she was always broke. Being a lead teacher at the Little Tykes Day Care Center didn’t pay enough, but she loved the kids and the work.

Sherrie knew Cara was in deep with her sexy biker, and she didn’t believe any of Cara’s excuses or denials of her feelings for Hawk. She knew Cara, and Cara was scared shitless to open her heart to another man. Going out with Luke didn’t pose any danger because he was so
not
Cara’s type, and Sherrie knew he was just a safety net, even if Cara didn’t know that yet. Sexy Biker was a different deal altogether. During their lunch conversation, and the way Cara brightened when Sherrie talked about Hawk’s attraction to her, Sherrie detected that she had a primal pull toward him. Sherrie was rooting for Sexy Biker, because she knew her friend needed a real man to free her heart from the self-imposed prison she’d put herself in four years back. Sexy Biker would be the perfect liberator.

*     *     *

Stay in a
motel. Why the fuck would I do that?
Even though it was early August, there was a chill in the air. Fall was going to come early this year. The crickets’ symphony reverberated from the oak and maple trees as Hawk sped around the curves. Craving solitude, he took the back road to the clubhouse.

The wind whipping around him and the hum of his bike’s powerful engine always made his troubles disappear. Out on the road, nothing mattered except for the asphalt and the ride.
Fuck, it’s better than sex.
Well, almost
… At least his Harley didn’t talk back to him the way bitches did. Like Cara. She had a mouth on her.
Must be the lawyer in her, always ready to argue.
And she was so goddamn bossy. Who needed that shit? No, his love was a kick-ass, chrome powerhouse.

Hawk loved customizing his bike; it was his obsession. He and his bike were one—it was for the ride—it was
always
about the ride. The only ones who got it were bikers—true bikers—not those fucking weekend assholes who wore leather pretending they were bad. God, he hated them. Those jerks would come out with their buddies and ride around the mountain passes, acting tough, but they were just sniveling ass-wipes. They didn’t know shit about the ride, the life, the brotherhood. He gritted and leaned low around the curve on Ghost’s Pass, his shin inches from touching the road. This was freedom.

He came around the backside of the clubhouse. A thirty-foot, chain-link fence with barbed wire on the top surrounded it. The Insurgents had bought an old, three-story, red brick schoolhouse back in 1976. The founding president, Stinger Gaitlan, wanted a big enough place that could accommodate the growth of the club and the neighboring charters.

The clubhouse was twenty-five miles outside of Pinewood Springs. The front door bored the logo of the club—a flaming skull with two smoking pistols on each side—and the name “Insurgents” in large, red and yellow lettering.

There was a big parking lot in front of the fence, and evergreen, pine, and aspen trees surrounded the clubhouse. The Colorado River ran alongside the back of the club’s property, and the river’s swift, dangerous currents mirrored the craziness of the club’s parties most weekends.

Hawk parked his Harley near the fence as he spied a couple of prospects cleaning out the trash cans from the previous night’s party. Seeing a patched member, they scrambled out of the way so Hawk could pass. Prospects were vying to also become patched members and had to go through a probationary period to prove they were worthy to don the full colors on their cuts. Being a prospect meant doing whatever a member told them to, without any questions or arguments. They were responsible for the menial and grunt jobs around and outside of the clubhouse and were allowed to speak only when spoken to.

In the room behind the great one, there was a large kitchen where the old ladies would make the meals. Sometimes the whores would cook, as well, but mostly, they cleaned. Walking through the back door, Hawk saw Doris, Ruben’s old lady, drying a large pot in the kitchen.

Doris had been Ruben’s old lady for as long as Hawk had known them. They had a couple of kids and seemed to understand each other in a way he sometimes envied. Ruben had his pussy on the side, and Doris pitched in with club activities, but she mostly raised their two kids and lived her life away from the club. If Ruben’s fucking around bothered her, she never showed it, and Hawk admired her for the respect she gave Ruben and the brothers. She knew her place. She knew the sluts Ruben sucked and fucked meant nothing more than pussy on a Friday night, and Ruben’s heart and love belonged to her only. Doris was a good example of what an old lady should be—women could learn a lot from her.

“Hiya, Hawk. We missed you last night.”

“Had some shit to do. Where’s Ruben?”

“Snoring in one of the rooms upstairs. He got so fucking plastered last night.” She smiled widely. “It was a helluva party.”

“Banger around?”

“Yeah, he’s in the great room.”

Hawk nodded and walked toward the great room. Inside, he saw some of the brothers passed out on the floor, a few of them with naked women on top of them. A couple of his brothers were sitting wide-legged on the couch, beer in hand while two sluts, their tits jiggling as they moved their mouths and hands up and down, kneeled between their legs, sucking the shit out of their dicks.

Squinting, Hawk spotted Banger with his face buried in a whore’s pussy, who sat on top of the bar, legs spread wide, playing with her tits as Banger ate her out. Hawk came over and slapped the president on the back. “Enjoying yourself?”