Bikers Don't Use Brakes (Hellbirds Motorcycle Club)

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

BIKERS DON’T USE BRAKES copyright @ 2015 by ADRIENNE SHAW. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

Bikers Don’t Use Brakes

The car slowed without her letting up on the gas. This strange phenomenon brought Sonya Evans back to the here and now. She had been pondering her upcoming freelance assignment and considering what fresh angle she could use to write about the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. The indicators on her instrument panel all seemed to be dropping, and the air conditioner was no longer pumping out coolness. Her radio cut out in the middle of a song. She checked her gas gauge and tried pushing harder on the pedal, but the car just continued to lose speed. Unsure what else to do, she pulled over to the side of the highway.

It wasn’t a major highway, but her GPS had directed her to this route. Turning her head to take in her surroundings, she admired the desolate beauty of the rose-colored desert, but gulped when she realized that she could see no signs of civilization. Busy conjuring up descriptors for hot air balloons, she hadn’t even noticed whether or not there was any traffic. There must have been some, but she couldn’t recall any details. Also, she hadn’t taken note of road signs showing the nearest community.

Sonya rolled down her window and was thankful that the car didn’t have electric windows because it didn’t seem to have any power. The heat hit her at about the same time as the silence. The lack of sound pressed in on her. She couldn’t ever remember experiencing anything like it. It was disorienting. She really was adrift in a lonely spot, she thought, and then pulled out her phone to determine her location and figure out how far away help could be.

Debating whether the car would be hotter with the window open or closed, she heard the welcome sound of a vehicle approaching. She let out a deep breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding. The noise of motors multiplied into a deep rumble that seemed to echo from every direction. Then they were upon her.

A long line of black-clad helmeted men on motorcycles filled her vision where moments before had been an empty stretch of road. Instinctively, she rolled up her window and locked her door. She ducked her head and without being obvious, watched the parade of about a dozen roaring vehicles power by her. She exhaled loudly again when they were past. Not the kind of roadside assistance she had been hoping for. Strangely though, they put her in mind of warriors off to do battle. Though, who the enemy was, she wasn’t sure. Not her, she hoped.

Sonya turned to her phone and, using her GPS app, determined that the town of Elkington should be about twenty minutes down the road in the direction the bikers had gone. Then she attempted to locate a garage in that community.  While she was searching the business listings, a rusty white pickup truck came from the direction of the town and pulled up in front of her car. Two men climbed out of the cab and sauntered back towards her. Both wearing grimy grey wife-beaters, the bearded one was holding a beer in his hand and slapping the other on the shoulder. His leering grin showed gaps where teeth were missing. Help or harm? She gripped her phone and tried to make a snap decision.

Before she could decide whether to roll down her window to thank them for stopping or dial 911, the throbbing of a motorcycle halted the men’s progress. One of the bikers had turned around and come back. He, too, pulled off the highway and parked his bike behind her car. Now she was truly trapped. Though it wasn’t like the car would go anywhere anyway. Were the three men in cahoots, she had time to wonder before the man in black strode past her window towards the other two.

He stopped beside her front fender and stood still without saying anything. A crest showing a stylized bird with flaming wings was centered on the back of his black leather vest.  Hellbirds, Sonya read the word stitched in red below the picture.   The bearded man took a step back before he said, “S’alright, Big D. We was just aiming to see if the little lady needed help.” He looked over at his clean-shaven companion who bobbed his head and kept his red-rimmed eyes on the biker.

The tall man tilted his helmet in the direction of the pickup, and the other two men scrambled back to the vehicle and sent dust flying when they pulled back out on the highway.  Before she could decide if she was in a better position or not, the biker turned towards Sonya and removed his helmet.

Better. Definitely better, she decided. Chestnuts. His eyes were the exact color and glowed with the same sheen as the chestnuts she used to collect in her grandparents’ backyard when she was a kid. Unbelievably, his hair was the exact same chestnut shade. It waved to just below where his collar would be, if he were wearing a collar. Or a shirt under his vest. She could feel her face flush when she realized she couldn’t take her eyes off the strong planes of his tanned face. He had a small silver scar below his left eye. Tilting his head, he offered a crooked little smile that seemed to power her window down on its own.

“Didn’t think those boys were the right ones to give you a hand,” he said in a voice that sped her heart up. “Out of gas?”

Sonya moved her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Wincing, she shook her head.

He leaned closer and looked into her eyes. “So what seems to be the problem?”

She cleared her throat and managed to stutter, “It just slowed all …all by itself and … and, everything stopped uh, working … you don’t have to …I can just call …”

He flashed that lopsided grin again and then said, “How about if I have a look under the hood? Could just be a loose connection.”

Sonya nodded and watched him. He had a barbed wire tattoo circling one sculpted bicep. He reached the front of the car and looked up, catching her eyes on him. His expectant gaze mesmerized her. He made a motion with his arm and said, “Could you pop the hood, maybe?”

Red-faced now, she scanned the buttons on the dash, running her hand over them frantically. Which one? She had never had occasion to need it before. The man the others had called Big D, and she wasn’t even going to speculate about the meaning of that, shook his head and called, “In the glove box.”

She found the yellow hood release and tidied her sable brown hair into a neater configuration while the man was hidden in the depths of the non-operating engine. She turned the key when he asked and was secretly relieved when her car still wouldn’t go. She wasn’t ready to drive away from this heady encounter just yet.

Still, when he offered to go into town for a tow truck, she declined his suggestion that she get a lift on the back of his motorcycle. She wasn’t sure if she was afraid of him or of her own reaction to him. She had never ridden on a motorcycle, and the thought of wrapping her arms around him and holding on filled her with both terror and longing.

Once he was out of sight, Sonya shook her head and told herself to get a grip. Likely the man was a criminal with a harem of waiting women. After the messy breakup with Jimmy six months ago, she had vowed to remain unattached for the foreseeable future, and she wasn’t going to let a chance encounter with a gorgeous man alter her outlook. Though the package was wrapped very nicely indeed.

She pulled a wet wipe from her bag and freshened her face, neck, cleavage, and underarms. Reapplying her makeup, she decided against letting her hair down in this heat. She told herself she was just attempting to look presentable for when she got into the town. And, she reminded herself, there was still the question of getting her car repaired and making it to Albuquerque. She promised herself she would present a professional demeanor.

She couldn’t control her flush of pleasure when the tow truck pulled up and the chestnut-haired hunk got out and hooked her car up. He wore coveralls and no longer sported his leather vest.  Strangely, the one-piece work wear seemed to emphasize his broad shoulders and slim hips. He tapped on her window and said, “Sorry, you can’t be towed with your vehicle. You’ll have to ride up front with me.”

A wistful sigh slipped out before Sonya smiled and nodded. He helped her climb up into the cab of the truck with a hand on her upper arm. His touch sent sweetness coursing through her body. She had to concentrate to keep her weak knees from folding before she was seated. She couldn’t remember ever having a reaction like this to any member of the male species. She felt like she was under the influence of some powerful drug, and she had a bad feeling that it could be addictive.

After he had climbed into the driver’s side, checked the side mirrors, and started the truck, he looked over at her and said, “I’m Derek. Derek Neal.”

“S-Sonya,” she said and feasted her eyes on his rugged face briefly, before turning quickly and looking out at the passing landscape. She didn’t want him to notice her flushed face. Her whole body felt flushed. In the most delicious way.

“Quite a lonely spot,” she said.  She found that if she didn’t look at him, she could manage to get a few words out. “Lovely, though.”

“So where you headed, Sonya?” He asked.

The way he exhaled on the second syllable of her name felt like a caress. “A- Albuquerque. For the Balloon Fiesta.  American Woman magazine commissioned a piece on women of the air.”

“It’s not a one-day deal, is it? ‘Cause we may need to order a part for your car. It could take a day or two.”

She shook her head and managed to avoid gazing at him in wonder. His capable hands on the steering wheel captured her attention. God, they were perfect. Like what a hand model of a working man would look like. She wanted to touch them. She wanted them to touch her.  Soothe her heat, or stoke it. Sonya inhaled deeply and looked out the side window at the passing scenery. She looked inward and tried to locate and pump up her professional self. She needed to beat down the wanton woman who had possessed her. “I’m not too worried. It’s a nine-day event, and I can miss a day or two.”  Her lips slipped up into a half-smile as she congratulated herself on sounding professional.

Derek reached behind the seat, lifted the lid on a small cooler, and handed her a cold beer. Then he pulled one out for himself, popped the top, and drank deeply.

She stopped herself from commenting on the advisability of drinking and driving and held the cold can against her forehead before opening it. She would just sip it, she decided, because she was already feeling woozy enough just being in his company. But, the ice-cold beverage slipped down her throat and felt surprisingly refreshing.

When she realized the beer was almost gone, she asked, “Why did you come back?”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “I saw you sitting on the side of the road and thought I would bring the tow truck back, but when I saw the Wilson brothers heading in your direction, I thought to save you some trouble.”

“Th-thank you, Derek,” she said without risking a look at him. It felt good saying his name. “I did think they looked unsavory, but I wasn’t sure …”

“Unsavory,” he repeated and looked over at her and nodded. “That is a fitting adjective for that pair.”

Sonya finished her beer and then said, “You’re not wearing your colors now. I think that’s what they’re called.”

Derek nodded again before he said, “Colors are for club business. This is just business business.”

Sonya nodded and looked around as they entered the small town of Elkington. Derek made a couple of turns and then pulled into a garage that had a big D on the sign. Inside that large letter were the words ‘erek Neal Motors.’
So that explained the name
, she thought as she turned to him and said, “Oh, it’s your place. Here I was worrying that your boss would wonder where you were.”

Her comment brought the endearing grin back to his face. “I’m more comfortable being my own boss,” he said as he pulled the tow truck into one of the three bays in the garage.  As he climbed out of the cab, he said, “Okay, let’s figure out what’s wrong with your car and see how soon we can fix it.”

Sonya nodded, unfastened her seat belt, pushed open the heavy door, and attempted to climb gracefully out of the high vehicle. Derek was there to catch her when she stumbled on impact with the cement floor. She may have leaned into him more than necessary, but his hard body withstood the impact nicely, and he gave her a saucy wink before breaking contact. Concentrating hard on appearing normal, she managed not to melt into a languid puddle at his feet and followed him into the shop.

A big man in coveralls slid out from under a racing-green sports car and looked up at them. He sat up on the grease-stained wooden board, adjusted the ponytail holding back his shaggy long grey hair, and said, “You’ve rescued another looker, Derek. Don’t know how you always manage it. Whenever I have a tow-truck call, it’s always a white-haired hag with a walker and a yappy ankle-biter.”