Biker Bang (Iron Disciples MC Prequel) (Erotic Motorcycle Club Biker Romance)

BIKER BANG

by ELIZA STOUT

Publis
hed by Eliza Stout

Copyright 2014
Eliza Stout. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Email

[email protected]

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For more wild & dirty action from the Iron Disciples MC & Johnny, when you’re done with this story be sure to check out Joy Ride – available now on the Kindle Store!

Biker Bang

Iron Disciples M.C.

When I heard the
terrible roar of the engines growing from down the road, I knew that trouble wouldn’t be far behind. In a matter of hours this place would become a den of debauchery. Loud music, yelling & shouting, drinking, smoking, swearing and pissing contests. And the fighting. That was the worst of all. The motorcycles I heard coming down the road were earlier than I expected. I grabbed a wet rag from behind the counter and ran out from behind the bar to wipe down the tables quickly. I wasn’t sure why I even bothered, to be honest. Come morning they would be sticky with spilled beer and cigarette ash. When I finished, I dashed up to the front of the bar to steal a glance out the window.

Out over the street, a great yellow banner reading “WELCOME MOTORCYCLISTS” swung in the wind.
Every year, thousands of bikers would descend upon the small town of Belmill for the annual Belmill Motorcycle Rally. I just happened to tend bar at the only biker-styled bar in town, right on Main Street. Every year it was a double edged sword. We’d be packed for days on end, we’d pocket a ton of cash, but the place would get trashed and there was always some kind of trouble. They say that 99% of all motorcycle riders are upstanding, law abiding citizens and I’m sure there’s some truth in that number. But when you’re dealing with thousands upon thousands of bikers all congregating in one place, that other 1% adds up to a pretty substantial number of outlaws. Enough to wreak havoc on a town as small as Belmill and completely trash a little small town biker bar like ours. That’s where the real problem came in. For the most part, they all just come to ride and drink and have a good time. But when the various outlaw clubs start bumping up against each other, something always goes wrong. Happens every year, without exception.

Down the street, I could see the first bikers coming over the hill. They were riding in formation, like some fire breathing steel cavalry, dressed out in leather, dark shades hiding their eyes, and stone cold expressions on their faces. It was an intimidating sight, for sure. Which was exactly how they wanted it to be.
When they roared past the bar, I could see the large emblems sewn onto the back of their leather kuttes. The skeleton of an eagle, wings spread menacingly. Iron Disciples MC. I had heard of them before. It had to have been the mother chapter of the club, based out of Reno, because the bottom rockers on their kuttes displayed “NEVADA” proudly to the rest of the world. They were definitely one of the groups we were going to have to keep an eye on.

“Ah, shit. Harry, it’s starting!”

Harry came shuffling out of the manager’s office, his bald head shining under the dim bar lights. “Is that so? I thought I heard motorcycles coming down the road.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well, I hope you got everything cleaned up and ready to go.”

“Just about.”

“And I hope you got some extra pockets in those pants.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re gonna run out of places to stuff all the tips you’re about to make.”

“Hope you’re right about that.”

“This isn’t your first rally.”

“And that’s why I know better than to be excited.”

He just laughed. “Ah, you’ll be alright, Chelsea. Just remember to duck out of the way when the fists start flying.”

I rolled my eyes and went back wiping down the bar.

Little by little, as the sun started to set, the bar began to fill up with leather clad patrons. Things were looking good. The crowd was jovial and thirsty. I was busy running back and forth, cranking the tops off of beers and mixing whiskey drinks, but that was nothing I couldn’t handle. As far as I could tell, there were no outlaws in the mix, just “99%ers”, so to speak.
And besides, it was hard to complain about the tips. The way things were going, I would be able to pay my rent with just what I was making tonight. Harry was right though. This wasn’t my first rally and I knew the easy bit wouldn’t last the night.

Sure enough, the doors swung open and in walked a couple of guys who looked like they owned the place. My heart sank when I saw the patches all over their leather kuttes. The rest of the bikers in the club must have known too, because as they made a beeline through the place towards the bar, the crowd opened for them like Moses parting the Red Sea. Nobody wanted to be the unl
ucky guy that was in their way.

As they began to draw closer to the bar, I took a deep breath and put my best face on. It wasn’t until they were standing right at the bar that I got a good look at them. They were both tall and muscular, though the second of them was huge. He had the kind of size on him that would cause heads to turn at the mall or the county fair. Oddly enough, it was clear just from the way that they interacted that he was the subordinate of the two. The other was lean and tough looking as well
, his tattooed arms corded with muscle, and he had a sort of swagger to him that made it clear why the other man, although bigger, appeared to be his inferior. Among the various patches on his kutte, there was one in particular that the other man didn’t have. VICE PRESIDENT.

“You gonna admire these patches all night or are you gonna ask us if we want something to drink, sweetheart?”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “I’m not your sweetheart. What can I get you?”

He laughed, flashing a mouth full of straight white teeth that you wouldn’t expect on a hard living biker like that. He was certainly handsome, I had to give him that.

“Looks like we’ve got a live one here, Sam,” he said, elbowing his partner playfully in the ribs. The elbow actually looked kind of painful from my point of view – it seemed as though every movement these guys made was so forceful – but his buddy barely even flinched.

“Yeah, I’ll have a beer. One for my friend here too. And how about a shot for you? Your choice.”

I smiled wryly as I fetched their two beers from the ice chest underneath the counter and cranked the tops off of them. “Nice try.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t like bikers?”

“Oh, I like them just fine. It’s the outlaw thing I’m not really digging. That’ll be six dollars.”

“Hey, now. I don’t know what you’ve heard about our club… but that’s all it is. A club. Just a harmless group of motorcycle lovers that enjoy riding together. That’s discrimination you know. Just because we’ve got tattoos we’ve got to be criminals. Is that it?” He handed me a
ten dollar bill.

My face turned red. “What? No… I didn’t…”

The big one named Sam was glancing over his shoulder now, and tapped his VP on the shoulder before I could finish stumbling over my words. “Hey, Johnny… that might be trouble.”

He turned to see what his friend was talking about, and then turned back to me halfway, with his eye still on the door and said, “Keep the change.”

Three men had just walked in, also sporting the patch covered kuttes of a motorcycle club, but their colors weren’t the same as the ones on the two men in front of me. Like had happened earlier when the first two entered, the crowds parted to let them go as they pleased. The three newcomers were especially mean looking too. Wild beards and greasy hair and macabre tattoos that went from the fingers tips all the way up the sides of their necks. The one named Sam met them halfway into the room, however, before they could reach the bar. With his back turned to me now, I could see the emblem on the back of his kutte – the skeleton eagle with its great bony wings outstretched. He was one of the Iron Disciples that I had seen riding in earlier.

At first I was sort of relieved that he was stopping them there halfway, because I really didn’t feel like waiting on them. But then I realized what was going on, and I would much rather have just had to deal with them than what was about to happen. It was hard to hear what was going on over the loud music and the chattering hum of voices in the bar, but what I saw with my eyes was more than enough. The one named Sam towered over the three men by at least a foot, but that didn’t seem to do anything to intimidate them. Instead, they were bowing up to him, their arms gesticulating rather aggressively as they spoke. I glanced at the one called Johnny, the vice president, and noticed that he was composing a text message on his phone.

Shit.

He stuff his phone back into his pocket just as the fists started to fly. The big guy named Sam was taking all three of them at once
. He had one in a headlock and was wildly thrashing his huge fist around trying to hit the others. A huge space had cleared where they had began scuffling, but not more than a minute or so later the doors burst open again and more leather clad bikers came spilling into the bar, also covered in the patches of an outlaw motorcycle club, though I couldn’t tell which one. In any case, they didn’t waste any time diving in and before I knew what was happening the entire bar had erupted into a full blown brawl.

A
pint glass came hurtling through the air in my direction, and I ducked just in time to have it shatter into the shelf of liquor bottles lining the wall above my head behind me. Shards of glass and liquor came cascading down all around me as I covered my head with my arms and shut my eyes.

“Aw, shit. Really?” The Iron Disciple named Johnny
muttered as he was shaking his head. He came around to the end of the bar and put his hand out to me. “Come on.”

Normally I would have told him to get lost, but with half the bar beating each other senseless and bottles & glasses flying through the air, my instincts were firing on all cylinders. I took his hand and he yanked me up to me feet and pulled me around the corner, into Harry’s office.
Harry wasn’t there, of course. He was out at the square shaking hands and representing the bar because he was so sure that I would be able to handle things.

Johnny shuffled me inside and then slammed the door behind him, locking it shut.

“What in the hell was that?” I said, my voice coming out shakier than I would have liked it.

“Those guys that came in were with the Bloody Bastards MC. We may or may not have done a few things in the past couple of weeks that would cause them to be… not so friendly with us.”

“And you brought me in here because…?”

“Just trying to keep you from getting hurt. Looked like it was starting to get rough out there.”

“I see. So you must think you’re some kind of hero now.”

“Just doing my part,” he said, flashing a cocky smile and lighting up a cigarette as casually as if he were running a hand through his air after coming in out of the wind. I could hear more bottles shattering and people shouting from outside the office door.

“My knight in shining armor,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“I may not have gone to college, but I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Sorry. I’ve just had bad experiences with your type before.”

He just shrugged and flicked out his cigarette on the ground, then stepped forward, drawing uncomfortably close to me.

I flinched, “What are you doing?”

“Hold still,” he said, running his hand across my forehead. “I think a piece of one of those bottles cut you.” He drew his finger back, showing me the red blood that coated it.

“Ow, alright, I feel it.”

“Don’t move, “ he said. He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his leather kutte and leaned in close to dab at the cut. His face was inches away from mine
, so close that I could feel his breath against my cheeks. He had a masculine scent – like the scent of leather and a mechanic shop all tinged and tied together with the smell of one of those old woodsy shaving soaps. It surprised me, actually. I don’t know if it was the adrenaline or what, but the next thing I knew I was kissing him.

He looked surprised. His eyes were wide open but that cool demeanor of his caught up soon and enough and he was rolling with it, grasping me with his powerful hands as if he were grasping the handlebars of his Harley. I couldn’t even hear the fighting going on outside in the bar anymore. I knew it was still going on, I just didn’t care about it.

I ran my hands up and down his muscular tattooed arms, grasping his shoulders, and then began to slip his leather kutte off of him. His hand grabbed me sharply around the wrist suddenly.

“Whoah. Hey. Never…
never
remove a biker’s kutte.”

“I’m sorry…” I said. What a way to ruin the moment, I thought.

Johnny obviously didn’t think it was ruined though. Without skipping a beat he wrapped his strong arms around my waist and lifted me up off the ground, pushed all of the papers and knick knacks off of Harry’s desk and all over the floor, and laid me down on top of it. I laid back, my head up slightly as I watched him standing over me. I was breathing quickly with excitement now. I could feel the damp spot on my jeans in between my legs growing.

He stood over me for a moment, just surveying my body, my rising and falling chest, and then slowly, one arm at a time, he slipped out of his leather kutte and placed it carefully on the chair. Then he pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it into the corner, revealing his bare torso to me. Wow. I could tell that he was fit from the moment he walked into the bar, but it was another thing entirely to see it
laid bare.

He let me gaze upon him for a moment, and then he reached down and unbuttoned my jeans, pee
ling them all the way down to my knees, pausing a moment to run his rough ring-laden hand across my thighs, and then yanked them off the rest of the way, tossing them into the pile where his shirt was. My panties were soaked through at this point, and he knew it. He slipped a finger between my skin and the panties and dragged them down my thighs as well, leaving me bare assed against the cold wooden top of the desk, and then he leaned in and pressed his face in between my legs. His tongue danced across my pussy like a precision tool, wriggling and lapping and slurping at me until I was all tensed up at the hips and my foot was twitching beyond my control. Then he would come up for air, smiling and wiping my juices from his lips with the back of his hand before diving back in for more. Those short reprieves were just enough to allow me to catch my breath, because as soon as he was back down their licking and tonguing at my honey pot my breath would catch in my throat and my whole body would start to writhe with pleasure.