Taken by the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC)

I collapse between them. They're still pushing into me, riding out the ends of their climaxes, but I'm so limp. Nothing more than a sex doll between them at this point. I'm exhausted. Is this what my life's going to be like? Who needs cardio?

Hero slips out of me and goes to wash up. Wild Child settles back on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. That leaves me on top of King, my cheek against his broad chest, rising and falling in time with his slowing breathing. He puts his arms around me, running his fingers up and down along my spine and down to cup my ass, then back up. He's still in me, but is gradually making his exit.

I'm nearly asleep when he rolls me off and onto the bed. He even makes sure it's in a dry spot. Who says chivalry is dead? I moan a bit when he finally slips out of me, feeling strangely empty. On the other hand, I doubt it'll be long until they're back at it, so I should probably appreciate the rest while I can.

“God, I need a shower,” I mumble, absolutely certain that my legs have stopped working and that I'll never leave this bed again.

“I'll draw a bath,” says Wild Child. “Bring her in ten minutes.”

I blink up at him. “You have a bathtub?”

“Of course,” he says, like every self-respecting, slightly crazy, knife juggling biker would have one.

Not going to complain. I only wish I'd known sooner.

45

EMILY

It turns out Wild Child has bath bombs and bubbles and all sorts of stuff, because of course he does. The next couple of weeks, I make good use of it. All the guys have a bathroom connected to their room, so I don't have to worry about getting jumped by Janey anymore. Not that she's around. After the guys heard how she was the one who'd made sure Dad knew where I would be, she was persona non grata at the clubhouse. I almost feel bad for her, because I'm not sure where else she might go, but she made her own bed, so now she can go lie in it. I'm totally okay with not having to worry about getting her knife jammed into my back, at least.

The cops called both Mom and me in for testimony a couple of times, and I can't deny that every time it felt like a trap. Like Dad would suddenly appear, yell “Gotcha!” and then I'd be carted home under police escort and things would go back to the way they were, but it never happened. In fact, the investigator was pleasant, polite and took notes eagerly as we explained what our lives had been like with Dad, and about how he used me for his campaign. Not that lying is illegal, specifically, but domestic abuse is, and it was damning character testimony. The trial was surprisingly quick and I just got the news this morning that he's been sentenced to be put behind bars for a long time. King still grumbles that he'd be better off underground, but that people who abuse children also tend to have a worse time than most in prison, and that thought seems to please him. Me? I'd rather just forget about him and look forwards.

The anti-biker task force fell apart along with Dad, which means that while my guys aren't exactly safe, because their kind never will be, they're at least not about to be headhunted. Now that Mom has the estate, she has moved back there. Probably so she doesn't have to keep watching me get dragged off into one of the guys' bedrooms, but she's become a frequent visitor. I think that has more to do with Eagle-eye than it does me, though.

Ew.

Which brings me to now, right here, standing in the common room with King, Hero and Wild Child like a wall behind me. They've got their cuts on, fresh jeans and biker boots. Wild Child has refreshed his streak so the bright purple stands out against his natural black. It's about as formal as they get, and they're standing straight and proud. Hero has his hand on my shoulder, supporting me, which is probably good. I'm a little weak in the knees.

If anyone ever asked me how I pictured my wedding, it wouldn't be in a strappy T-shirt, short skirt and leather boots, surrounded by bikers and getting hitched to three guys at once, but here I am. And it's not technically a wedding, I guess, since this won't be entered into any official records anywhere, but that doesn't mean it'll mean anything less.

Eagle-eye stands before us, a grizzled one-eyed biker reverend, with Jupiter chasing his own tail around his legs.

To the side stands Mom, and to her this is probably an even weirder kind of ceremony than it is for me, but she's smiling. I'm not sure she understands the whole three guys at once thing, at least in a romantic way, but she's happy that I'm happy, and that's what matters. She stands out in her couture dress and designer shoes, but she fits in anyway. If anything, it has Eagle-eye distracted enough that he sometimes stumbles over his words, and that's unusual enough.