Step on It: A Biker Erotic Romance (2 page)

"Viking Bar, 9:00pm, this Friday. One-and-a-half K each when you're done. Don't be late, and don't disappoint."

"Sure, we'll be there!"

The caller hung up without saying goodbye.

"Who was that?" Kat and Dana asked.

"We've got a gig this Friday," Helen announced, "at the Viking Bar."

Helen's band mates flinched as if they'd been electrocuted.

"Are you fucking insane, Hell?" Kat exclaimed in shock. "The biker bar? No one goes down there."

"He promised $1500 each if we play there," Helen told them.

"Fuck no!" Exclaimed Dana as she grabbed the phone from Helen's hand. "What was the number he gave you?"

"He didn't give me a number," Helen explained. "All he gave me was a time, a place, and a chance to pay next week's bills."

"Hell," Kat pleaded, "we can't go down there. If we do, we'll be eaten alive."

"Alright, fine," Helen said, getting up and grabbing her jacket as if to leave. "I'll go find the bar and tell the guy we're turning down his job offer, and you bitches can work on finding another bar that's prepared to book us."

She paused to look at her band mates and registered the reality check dawning in their expressions. They could take a risk for their next paycheck, or starve in the safety of their apartment.

Finally, she made her decision. "Fine, let's do it."

***

The Harpies practiced all week and got the word out to their fans about their latest gig. The Viking Bar's well-deserved reputation as a den of hardened thugs on motorcycles would probably discourage most of them. Still, cash was cash, and the Harpies reluctantly prepared to play.

The girls pulled up in the parking lot of the biker bar a little before half past eight. While Kat and Dana unloaded the equipment, Helen went around the front to let the owner know they'd arrived. The Viking Bar was bigger than most of the bars they'd visited previously. It even had its own repair shop attached to the side. The whole thing was owned and run by the Vikings MC, a biker outfit rumored to be involved in gun smuggling across state lines. “Rumored,” of course, because no case had ever made it to court, and the despite their intimidating reputation the gang had never actually caused trouble in the town. Suppressing the fear rising in her chest Helen pushed opened the doors, ignored the unnervingly lifelike picture of a snarling Viking brandishing a battle-axe, and entered.

The bar was already filled with patrons sitting at all available tables—all of them bikers. They were wearing identical jackets with the same "Vikings MC' logo emblazoned across the back of the shoulders and the same snarling warrior underneath. The image's glaring eyes were somehow more intimidating than the bikers themselves.

Then some of the Vikings noticed her. The din of conversation continued at normal volume, but several of the thuggish looking patrons stopped talking and turned to eyeball the twenty-something punk rocker who had just walked in. Helen strode past them, keeping up a cold and aloof exterior. But inside, she instantly regretted deciding to wear fishnet stockings and a miniskirt. The color scheme of her outfit suited the punk rocker look well enough, but with so many burly, crudely-cut men watching her every movement, the outfit made her feel acutely vulnerable.

"You look lost, little girl," one of the bikers remarked with a dirty smirk.

"Why don't you get lost, prick," Helen shot back venomously.

Her feisty response set off a round of low chuckles among the bikers. Helen did her best to ignore them and kept on walking through the maze of tables until she reached the bar counter.

"Are you the owner?" she demanded of the bartender.

The man turned around and put a newly polished glass on the counter.

"You must be tonight's entertainment," he remarked tersely. His voice was the same as the one on the phone.

Helen was taken aback at the sight of him. The man looked younger than many of the other bikers. He was obviously a member of the Viking's MC if his tattoos and Michelangelo muscles were anything to go by, but he had on a T-shirt on instead of one of those heavy biker jackets. Unlike the other bikers with their long, Viking-style beards, this man had a finely groomed chinstrap beard and moustache. His hair was blond and shoulder length, and his eyes were deep blue. He actually looked handsome, in spite of being a little rough around the edges.

"That's right," Helen confirmed. "My band mates are unpacking now.”

"Band mates?" The bar owner asked.

"Yeah, we're the Harpies. You called and told us to come and play at nine tonight."

"Oh, that's right," he replied with feigned flash of recollection. "It’s just that you look more like a high school cheerleader than a rocker."

Helen flinched at the comment, unsure if he'd just insulted her or not.

"You promised us 4500k for tonight," Helen confirmed as she regained her composure.

"1500k for each of you," the bar owner confirmed. "You'll get paid afterwards."

Helen leaned forward and planted her hands on the bar, trying to look intimidating.

"Don't even think about cheating us," she threatened. "You should hear what happened to the last guy who tried to cheat us out of our cash."

"Nice tits, by the way," the guy replied smoothly.

The comment short circuited Helen's tough exterior.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Your tats," he responded, pointing to the harpy-girl tattoo on Helen's chest. "I like it."

Helen glanced down at her chest. She was wearing an open necked T-shirt which exposed her rack as well as her harpy tattoo. The guy had definitely not been referring to her tattoo, but she found herself at a loss for words all the same. His body may have been rough around the edges, but his tongue was as sharp as a razor.

"Never mind my tits," Helen shot back belatedly. "You'll never get your hands on them."

"Sure." He smirked back.

Something about that smirk unnerved Helen even more than the sharp comments and the bar full of mean-looking bikers. This guy wasn't like any of the male fans she'd brushed off. They were all horny teenage boys who could only dream of getting their hands up her skirt. This guy was different. That self-assured smirk on his face, accompanied by a curious glint in his eyes, made it look like he'd marked her as his target. She hadn't issued him a demoralizing put-down—she'd issued him a challenge, and the smirk made it look like he'd accepted it.

"Your band mates are here," the bar owner remarked, gesturing to one end of the bar.

Helen followed his finger and saw that an improvised stage had already been created for them. Kat and Dana were already there, setting up the drum equipment and microphones.

"I have to get ready," Helen said. She turned to get on stage.

"You haven't told me your name yet," the bar owner called after her.

"Helen," she replied without thinking. "Helen Hall. And you?"

"Lee Evans."

"Nice to meet you, Lee Evans." With that said, Helen turned around and headed for the stage, trying not to wonder if Lee Evans was watching her ass move as she walked. Kat and Dana were probably right to warn against coming here. But it wasn't the thugs in biker jackets that made Helen feel vulnerable—it was the owner of the smirking face behind the bar counter.

***

All three Harpies helped finish setting up the band's equipment before they started their sound checks, all the while casting nervous glances at their audience. None of their regular fans were visible in the crowd of leather-clad bikers. Presumably none of them had the balls, or the stupidity, to enter the Viking Bar. If the bikers got rowdy, which they almost certainly would, there would be no cops to save them. The Harpies had effectively been invited to perform in the lion's den with a pack of hungry lions watching, and they'd been dumb enough to accept. Still, they had a show to do. And the only way to get out unscathed, and with cash in hand, was to play and to play well.

Helen stepped up to the mike and looked nervously at the assembled bikers. There was no need to get their attention with a little announcement or introduction. They were already watching. Plucking up her courage, Helen began to sing. Her a cappella introduction instantly enraptured the bikers, who sat up in their seats to listen. Beers were put down and seats were turned as the Vikings MC gave the night's entertainment their full attention.

Helen finished her solo and the rest of the band joined in. With Kat on the drums and Dana on the bass guitar, all three girls performed with their hearts and souls, forgetting that this wasn't their usual audience. Slowly the audience began to clap along as the beat entered their heads. The bikers may have looked like muscle-bound hooligans, but they were a remarkably disciplined audience. There was no yelling or screaming of the lyrics, no pushing and shoving, no scuffles between fans who got shoved—they just sat in their seats and clapped along, albeit with growing enthusiasm. None of this was what the Harpies were used to, but when they'd finished playing their first song, it was clear that the bikers had enjoyed it. A round of enthusiastic applause erupted from the floor amongst the bikers, many of whom rose to their feet, releasing a few whoops of approval.

Encouraged by the favorable response, the Harpies started on their next song. The bikers were just as avid about the Harpies' second performance as their first. None knew the words, but they continued to clap and some even hummed the tune after a while. The encouragement worked both ways. As they finished their second song they went straight into the third, playing even more energetically than before. Before this night none of the girls would have guessed that bikers would be into rock and roll, but the connection was obvious. The Harpies' newest fans loved every second of their performance, and they applauded after each song with obvious enthusiasm, minus the chaotic fanaticism of their usual fan base. Any of the Harpies' other fans who might have tried their usual antics here would probably be given a nasty beating and a boot in the rear.

After an hour of performing, the Harpies finally finished their gig. The bikers gave them a standing ovation and the girls took nervous bows before starting to pack up. The bikers too began to file out and head home, ordering last rounds of beer for the road home before leaving. The whole spectacle was pretty surreal to the rock band. Never once had they performed before an audience which had left the premises so smoothly and calmly. Normally the police would be escorting some of their fans out, but not here. The bikers weren't rowdy teenage boys and girls who couldn't hold their liquor or control themselves, and the cops probably wouldn't dare come down here anyway.

By the time the last of the bikers had left the bar, the Harpies had finished packing up and were ready to pick up their cash and go home. Lee Evans walked over with wads of cash in hand, giving one to each girl.

"1500 bucks each, as promised." Kat and Dana thanked him and started counting the cash. Helen put her cash straight in the pocket of her skirt without counting it.

As Kat and Dana were counting, Lee made eye contact with Helen. The look in his deep blue eyes was impossible to gauge, but something about those blue eyes transfixed Helen, making her unable to move—or perhaps unwilling to.

"You guys go on home," Helen said to band mates. "I'll see you back at the flat later on."

Kat and Dana exchanged puzzled glances.

"How're you gonna get back?" Dana asked.

"I'll get a taxi or something," Helen replied. "You go home and get some sleep."

Kat and Dana glanced nervously at Lee, wondering if it was safe to leave their best friend alone with him.

"Okay," Kat said reluctantly. "You have the phone number of the flat, right Hell?"