Devil's Angels Boxed Set: Bikers and Alpha Bad Boy Erotic Romance (10 page)

“Because of who and what Dad is, I’m practically a virgin. Even the college boys in my classes at school know who my father is and steer clear of me. Some are put off by my size, but most are just plain scared to death of my father.”

“I love your size,” replied Pax. “You may have noticed that. And I’m not afraid of your father. But I am afraid of what he—or the Knights—might do to you if they catch you here with me.”

She stared at him, her eyes overflowing with tears.

“Sammie Johnson,” he said. “I never asked your last name. Why does it have to be Johnson?”

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” she answered. “Romeo and Juliet were able to bring their warring houses together.”

“But don’t forget,” he answered with an almost-laugh, “at the end of the play both Romeo and Juliet were dead.”

“It didn’t have to end that way,” she said, almost pleading. “They died because they didn’t tell each other what they planned to do. If they had talked to each other and planned together what they were doing, they could have both lived.”

“Maybe,” he answered. “Or maybe their families would have killed them both and kept right on fighting each other until everyone was dead.”

“So what do we do?” she asked. “I love you, and you say you love me. Do we try to pretend that none of this ever happened? Do we try to keep this a secret? Do we run away together? What do we do?”

Pax gave a very deep sigh and said, “We figure that out in the morning. Tonight we make love like it is our last time—because it might be. And then we fall asleep in each other’s arms.”

Pax began moving his hands over Sammie’s body once again. Despite her fear and sadness, her body soon began to respond. So did Pax’s. After many minutes she was once again thrusting to meet his hand, and he entered her once more. This time their lovemaking was much slower and they clung much more tightly to each other. This time it wasn’t passion, but closeness that both were seeking. They sought the closeness that might be denied them after tonight. They sought the closeness of two people who needed each other very much. They sought the closeness of two lovers who might soon be separated by death... or by events totally out of their control.

Soon they were both spent, and Pax fell asleep still lying on top of her. Sammie lay awake, listening to his breathing and wondering what tomorrow would bring. Could Romeo and Juliet survive? Could they bring peace between their families? Or would they and their love and their families be torn apart in a war between the Hell’s Marauders and the Camden Knights?

Tomorrow would tell.

CHAPTER FOUR

Paxton Keller twisted the throttle on his Moto Guzzi Norge and felt the big motorcycle engine roar in response. Technically, the Norge wasn’t an off-highway bike, but it had a very rugged suspension and could easily handle the firebreak trail on which he and his wingman, Short John, were riding. Of course, if they broke down or got stuck up there, or if a ranger saw them off-road with low mufflers and no heat guards, they could end up with some very costly tickets, but that didn’t worry Pax. The scrub brush was green this time of year, so fire danger was minimal. And he often had ridden his goot through rougher terrain than this trail with cargo that would get him much more than just a high-priced ticket.

Besides, unless the ranger was flying a helicopter, it was unlikely he would be able to catch him, especially on the all-terrain vehicles they normally drove on patrol. The Norge was, after all, a favorite of the German police because it could quickly accelerate to above 140 mph on the
Autobahn
. Pax had run at or above that speed once or twice on the highway, and on rough terrain like he was presently traveling, he had regularly reached speeds well above 80 mph.

As they rose in elevation, Pax could feel the air cooling around him and could smell the tang of the desert scrub brush. He smiled as he identified the smell. That closeness to the environment around him had been one of the things which had first drawn Pax to motorcycles. In Camden, the differences in air temperature were more likely caused by the changing density of the buildings, and the tang in the air often smelled and tasted like welding smoke, which continually drifted over the city from the shipyards. The effect was the same, though. Pax loved to ride because on a bike it was as if you were flying through the world, and on a bike you were a part of the world through which you flew rather than being isolated away in a cocoon of steel and glass.

Pax slowed to a stop in a large, open area and paused to look at the nearby mountains. As he did so, he found himself wishing that Samantha was with him. If she were riding with him—and if his bodyguard didn’t have to remain so close to him at all times—he would have been able to pull off into one of the  grassier areas on the low hillsides and roll out a blanket so that they could lie together and watch the mists burn off Squaw Tit Peak. Maybe they could even make love in the open sunshine.

But Sammie wasn’t with him; and even if she were, with recent events, Short John would never risk him being alone and unprotected unless it was absolutely necessary. Pax took a deep breath of the fresh air and slowly exhaled. He glanced at his wristwatch. No time to dawdle now. Even if Sammie were with him and conditions were different, he had responsibilities. It was time for him to get back to the clubhouse to make sure that this morning’s run went off on schedule.

“Time to go back,” Short John reminded him as he stood staring off at the mist-shrouded peaks.

Pax merely nodded his head, turned and accelerated his bike back down the cleared trail toward the distant highway. Soon they were roaring down the asphalt back into the heart of town. Several minutes later they turned onto Avalon Lane and into the parking lot of what was formerly The Avalon Supper Club.

The Avalon had been closed for decades. The former president of the Camden Knights, Long John Silverman, had inherited it from his uncle and moved the Knights from Camden to Phoenix. Now Long John was dead under mysterious circumstances and Pax, his closest friend since childhood, was President-elect of the Knights.

Long John’s death may or may not have been an accident. And it may or may not have been related to the fact that the Camden Knights regularly smuggled drugs north through the Arizona deserts for a drug lord who went by the name of “The Boss.”

Pax didn’t like or trust The Boss, and despised having to call him that. He often wondered if The Boss was called “El Jefe” when he was south of the border. What he was called in Mexico made no difference. They always met in the deserts of southern Arizona. Whenever they met, The Boss spoke perfect English and his minions always referred to him by the English title. Pax couldn’t be sure that The Boss wasn’t actually an Hispanic living in
Estados Unidos
. Again, it made no difference, but it gave him something to think about besides the fact that Sammie was not with him this morning and that he missed her deeply.

When they arrived at the Avalon, Pax had expected the lot to be more or less empty, but there were twenty or more bikes parked near the entrance. In many clubs, almost all of the bikes would have been nearly identical, or at least they would have been the same brand and probably the same model. But the Knights were originally formed as a club that loved motorcycles of all types, and that love for everything on two wheels—or three—had not dimmed. Parked by the door were hogs and goots and jap yappers and a couple of those weird Canadian reverse trike 3-wheelers called “Can-Ams.” There was even an antique Norton flathead that belonged to David Dengler, their resident computer geek who was better known as “Double D.”

“What’s up?” asked Short John.

“Don’t know,” Pax answered. “I guess we have to go inside to find out.”

As they walked inside, Short John looked around and said, “Oh... an initiation.”

The main area of the former supper club was filled with a dozen or so “Knight Mommas.” If the Camden Knights had been a rock band, these women would have been called “Groupies,” but since it was a motorcycle club, they were called “mommas.” A slut by any other name is still a slut.

There is something about rich or famous or powerful bad boys that attracts a certain type of woman. And there is something about being rich or famous or powerful that causes a man to take advantage of such women, whether they be called groupies or mommas or whatever.

There had been a time when Paxton had been more than willing to take advantage of the mommas. Some of the mommas or wannabe mommas he had experienced were still young and pretty. Most were past their prime, which comes and goes rapidly in such a rough life. But young or old, they threw themselves at him, and he very willingly accepted what they offered. It was good, more or less, while it lasted, but it didn’t take long for Pax to realize that meaningless sex was just that, meaningless.

Long John, however, had loved the mommas of every age and made regular use of them. Once, when Long John asked why Pax had backed off from action with the mommas, he had told his long-time friend that sex with a power-starved groupie was like using someone else’s body to masturbate. It was sexual release, but it was empty. Long John’s only response was, “There is no such thing as bad sex.”

The fact that the gang had gathered for a momma initiation meant that another young woman had thrown herself at the Knights in hopes of being imbued with some of the power and mystique that they thought resided beneath the leather jackets. Pax was pretty sure of what he would find when he went to the back of the old dance floor, and he was pretty sure who he would find leading what was going on.

He was right on both counts. A dozen or so Knights were gathered around the open door to the women’s restroom. More were standing inside.

“Make ‘em crawl to get in,” Long John had said, “and they are yours forever.” Thus, the initiations were done in the old restrooms. It was actually a step up that today it was the women’s restroom rather than the men’s.

As Pax pushed his way through the assembled crowd and entered the small room, he could see Keith Stoudt, Long John’s former wingman, standing near an open stall directing traffic. Keith and Long John shared many of the same flaws, including a weakness for the mommas. Keith, however, had very few of Long John’s positive traits.

Keith had expected to be transferred to Pax as a bodyguard and wingman after Long John had died, but Pax knew that Keith had no loyalty to him, or for that matter to the club itself. And then there was the fact that there was no satisfactory answer as to why Long John was riding alone when he died.

Keith greeted him with “Hiya, Pax. Gotta a new one who wants to be a Knight Momma.”

A woman’s voice could be heard from the stall, panting and yelling, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!”

A Knight stepped out of the stall and Pax looked in. A naked, heavily tattooed young blond was more or less sitting on the toilet seat. Somewhere in the time before The Avalon had closed, someone had put handicap handrails in the narrow restroom stalls. The blond woman’s arms were duct-taped to the rails on either side of her from the elbows down to her wrists so that she was almost supported by her arms and barely resting on the seat. Her legs were lifted into the air and taped to the handrails from the ankles nearly to the knees, so that she was lewdly spread open and available to any of the Knights who wanted her. From the condition of her body, several had already had her. From her cries, it was obvious she was eagerly awaiting the next in line.

Pax saw a large Knight's “K” with a lance extending from its center tattooed on her stomach. The K was tilted slightly so that the tip of the of the lance just touched the very top of the slit between her legs. Pax shook his head as she invited him with her eyes. Her bright blue eyes were wide open, but empty. She was a typical momma, only more so. She was totally empty, thought Pax, and trying to fill herself up with something she thought she could get from the Knights.

“You know what I said about this!” Pax said firmly to Keith. “I said this type of thing was going to stop.”

“She came to us!” Keith answered heatedly. “And I think it is pretty obvious that she is willing - very willing. The other mommas didn’t have to strip her and tie her in place or anything. She willingly left her clothes in the other room and got into position all on her own. All the other mommas had to do was tape her in place. This isn’t even low-hanging fruit, Pax. This is sitting-on-the-ground-begging-us-to-pick-it-up prime pussy.”

Pax was about to say something else to Keith when he heard a muffled cry from the stall next to the open one. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Someone who stopped by earlier this morning,” answered Keith with a deep chuckle. “She might be next.”

Pax opened the door to the closed stall and immediately turned red with anger—no not anger, rage. His body stiffened and quivered as his face slowly took on the color of heated iron. The hinges of the door bent from the force with which he was gripping the metal. Sitting in the end stall, naked and bound just as the blond woman had been, was Samantha Johnson, Pax’s girlfriend.