Loving The Biker (MC Biker Romance)

The characters and events portrayed in these books are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. 

Copyright ©2016 by Kristen Middleton

All rights reserved.

This book is purely fiction and any resemblances to names, characters, and places are coincidental. The reproduction of this work is forbidden without written consent from the author. The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Loving the

Biker

One

Terin

“You
are
going to be there, right?”

“Of course,” I said, setting my keys and gun down onto the kitchen counter. “I’d never miss my own sister’s bachelorette party.”

“Not deliberately, but I know how involved you are with work and lately things seem to be slipping your mind.”

“I told you before, I didn’t forget about the fitting appointment,” I replied, walking over to the refrigerator. I opened it and grabbed a container of leftover pepperoni and mushroom pizza.  “I was held up in court.”

“You could have at least sent me a text,” scolded my younger sister, Torie. “We waited around for you for over an hour.”

I snorted.

Yeah, that would have went well.

“I was on the witness stand. I couldn’t ask the judge for a ‘texting break’,” I replied, picturing Judge Cornweather’s reaction to a request like that. He was a cynical, ornery, old goat who had little patience for any kind of courtroom interruptions. Pausing in the middle of my questioning to send a message would have given him an aneurism.

“I know.” She sighed. “At least we’re the same size and was able to stand in for you at the fitting. Have you tried the dress on yet?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“So, what do you think?”

“Not bad.”

She gasped. “What do you mean, not bad?”

“It’s nice,” I replied, putting the pizza in the microwave.

“But not beautiful or gorgeous. You hate it.”

“For God’s sake, I don’t hate it.” I should have known she’d over-react. Torie had always been sensitive, and this wedding was giving her so much anxiety that even she couldn’t wait for it to be over.

“Is it the color?”

The dresses were dark red and made of satin. Honestly, I didn’t mind the color. What I minded was the plunging neckline, which showed more cleavage than I was comfortable with. I wasn’t going to tell her that, however. It was her wedding and I wanted my younger sister to be happy. She’d fallen in love with the dresses and I wasn’t going to make a fuss. “Torie, you know how I feel about wearing dresses in general. They’re just not my thing.”

“What if I told you that I was getting married just to see you get into one?” she said, a smile in her voice.

“I’d say that was a costly decision and you could have just paid me the money directly,” I replied, grinning.

She laughed. “Damn,
now
you tell me?”

Torie adored her fiancé, Tom, and had always dreamed of getting married ever since she was old enough to play with Barbie dolls. They were both realtors and full of energy. They’d, also just started their own business of buying shitty homes to renovate and resell. They seemed to have the ideal relationship, which worried me. In my line of work, their life seemed too good to be true and Tom, a little too ‘perfect’.

“I think you can still get your deposit back on the banquet hall if you want to cancel,” I teased.

“You wish,” she replied, taking a drink of something. “You’d love to see me leave Tom hanging at the altar.”

“Now
why
would you say that?” I asked innocently.

“You think he has skeletons in his closet.”

Yes, my sister knows me well.

“He sends you flowers every Friday, draws your baths, reads you books, and cooks these amazing, gourmet meals. Are you sure he isn’t gay?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because gay men are so thoughtful and know how to pamper their partners.”

“How would you know?” she asked.

“Ricky.” My old roommate had been gay. He’d moved to Florida, a couple of years ago, and I missed him dearly. We still talked on the phone, but only a couple times a year. He’d been one of my best friends and had given me a lot of advice about men.

“Oh yeah. How is he these days?”

“Good. The last I heard he was opening up his own fitness club.”

“Tell him ‘hi’ the next time you talk to him.”

“I will. Anyway, back to Tom. You know I love you and only want what’s best. He’s just seems so… I don’t know… flawless.”

“You’re just cynical about men. I don’t blame you, since you obviously deal with sociopaths all day long. Seriously though, Tom is by no means perfect.”

“Right. He gives your cat ‘massages’.”

“Tom says that it releases cytokines, which in turn releases natural painkilling chemicals and is good for the digestion, too.”

“Of course he would know that,” I mused.

“Being a cop, I’d think you’d be happy that I found a good guy,” she said sternly.

“I am happy. If he is a good guy. I mean, I certainly want him to be.” I sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’m cynical and paranoid. I don’t want anyone hurting my little sister.”

“I love you, too.”

“Thank you.”

“You know what you need?” she asked. “You need some cytokines released. When was the last time you slept with anyone or had your kitty massaged?”

Removing the pizza from the microwave, I thought about Jason, the last guy I’d had sex with. I’d met him at the gym. He was a lawyer and seemed to have had all of his shit together. After going out with him a couple of times, we ended up in his bed and although it hadn’t been mind-blowing, I’d enjoyed it. What I hadn’t enjoyed was finding out that he was married and the way it happened.  His wife, who was apparently concerned about the amount of time he’d been spending at the gym, hired a private investigator. After finding out he’d been cheating, shot him in the thigh. He’d survived, but it had been such a harrowing experience that I wasn’t in a hurry to jump into bed with anyone else.

“How do you know I haven’t been getting laid?” I asked, shoving a piece of pepperoni into my mouth.

“Please. You’re not the only one who studies people, you know. There’s a reason why I sold seven expensive homes last month,” she replied. “Anyway, there’s going to be a lot of hot guys at the wedding. Some are wealthy realtors that make more in a month than you probably make all year. Just think, you can marry one of them, quit your job, and not have to worry about catching bad guys anymore.”

“I like catching the bad guys,” I replied. “And… I’m making decent money now. In fact, I was just transferred to the Street Gang Unit in Jensen.” There were actually three teams. The Suppression Teams, Graffiti Strike Force, and Gang Investigations. I was part of Investigations.

“That’s what mom told me,” she said. “Does that mean you’re going to be butting heads with the Gold Vipers?”

“You could say that,” I replied, having already gone through some of the club’s records. Their president, Slammer Fleming, had recently been murdered, which was one of the reasons why I’d been transferred to the unit. Between the Gold Vipers and their rivals, the Devil’s Rangers, bodies were piling up and the task force needed more man-power.

“They’re not all bad guys,” said Torie, as if reading my mind. “In fact, I know Tank. I think he’s the V.P now.”

“He’s been recently promoted to President,” I said frowning. “And what do you mean, you know him?”

“We graduated high school together,” she said. “And, I went out with him once.”

My eye twitched.

Our father, a man who’d spent thirty years of his life as a cop, had to be rolling over in his grave right about now.

“Hello? Terin?”

“I wasn’t aware of that. Did mom know?” I replied, no longer hungry. I shoved the food away, went to the refrigerator and took out a beer.

“No. She wouldn’t have understood.”

“That’s an understatement. I can’t believe you dated a thug.”

“He’s not a thug. At least, he wasn’t back then. Honestly,” she chuckled. “It wasn’t the worst date I’ve ever had, either. The guy was hot and talk about funny. I remember laughing so hard that I almost peed my pants at the restaurant.”

“Good thing there was only one date with Mr. Comedian.”

I’d learned that one of Tank’s girlfriends had been murdered, three years ago. A girl by the name of Krystal Blake. We suspected that it was her death that actually triggered an all-out war between the Gold Vipers and the Devil’s Rangers. Now there were four dead men linked to both clubs, including Jon Hughes, the last Devil’s Ranger’s Mother charter president. Slammer was the most recent death, however and we knew that there’d be more retaliation.

“He isn’t a bad guy. I’m telling you.”

I rolled my eyes. Torie was so naïve. “Maybe not back then, but his club is definitely involved in some major criminal activity.”

“Like what?”

I took a sip of my beer and licked my lips. “You know that I can’t get into it with you. But… let’s just say that if you’re on the Gold Viper’s bad side, moving to another country would be a wise choice,” I said, saying more than I was supposed to. But, she was my sister and I needed her to know the truth. “Or buying life insurance.”

“Really? They do so much for the community. They even donated a large chunk of money to this Cancer Awareness Benefit that I helped host last summer. Slammer, Justin’s father, donated over ten grand. He’s a generous man.”

“He is also deceased.”

She sucked in her breath. “Really? That’s horrible. When did it happen?”

“About four weeks ago. I take it you didn’t see it on the news?”

“I haven’t had a lot of time to
watch
the news.” She sighed. “That’s too bad. He was so funny. I met him and his wife Frannie, during the benefit. They seemed like such a nice couple.”

“You do realize that the money he donated to your benefit was dirty.”

“You don’t know that for sure. He had a legitimate business,” said Torie.

“Oh, you mean that strip joint?” I snickered. “What’s the name? Oh yeah, Griffin’s. That place is a cesspool of drug dealers, junkies, and hookers. They’ve busted some of the girls that work there for prostitution and drug possession.”

“It’s a strip joint. I guess that I’m not surprised. Look, I’m just saying that the Justin I knew, back in school, was sweet and I can’t imagine him being a murderer.”

“I’m not saying that he is either. But, the Gold Vipers, in general, are bad news.”

“I hear you. Anyway, enough about them. I just wanted to make sure you’re going to be at my bachelorette party.”

“When is it again? Friday?”

“No, Saturday,” she replied. “I’ve told you several times. Please, don’t tell me you have to work.”

“I have it off and don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

“Good. A party bus is going to be picking us up at eight. My place. Don’t be late.”

A party bus sounded too confining and the thought of being shut in with a bunch of drunk, hell-raising women was already giving me a headache. “Why don’t I just meet you at one of the bars? I’m not going to drink anyway.”

“Bullshit. You’re drinking and you’re going to let loose and have a good time, even if it kills you.”

I took another swig of beer. “This is your party. I don’t need to let loose.”

“You’re right. It is my party and if you don’t arrive at my place, before eight, dressed to kill and ready to get your freak on, I swear to God… I’m going to make the holidays hell for you. I’ll even make you pick up Aunt Dottie from the airport this year.”

Our great aunt was annoying, rude, and bossy. Not only did she complain about everything and everybody, but she had the mouth of a sailor. I could only stand so much of her rantings and the thought of spending time alone with her was enough to make my eye twitch.

“Fine. I’ll be there,” I mumbled.

“I knew you would,” she replied, a smile in her voice.

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Thank you. Everything I learned was from my big sister,” she said. “But, we both know I have nothing on her.”

I grinned. She was probably right.