Tempting The Biker (Royal Bastards MC: Charleston, WV 3)

“You have.” Nickel punches me.

I stay quiet because we both know he’s right. Asshole.

“You sure Banks is the guy you want to put on her?”

“Something I should know about him?”

“Just saying if I had a pretty little thing like that at my place all alone for the weekend, I wouldn’t be here. I’m sure Banks will keep it in his pants.”

“Fuck.”

I pull my cell out and dial Banks. “Never mind, man. False alarm.”

The jukebox starts up and one of the hangarounds gets on the pole. Her tight body gyrating against the cool metal. Myla is gorgeous like an exotic flower in her bright orange bikini glowing against her tan skin.

“Hey, Murder,” a voice like velvet purrs in my ear, as a beer appears in my hand. I look up and see Kristen, another muffler bunny.

“Thanks, darlin’.”

“Anything for you, handsome.” Her fingers caress mine.

“Fuck off with that shit. You know better,” I grit.

“I just...you look tense.”

“She ain’t wrong,” Nickel tacks on.

I rub the back of my neck feeling another headache coming on. Fuckin’ Ruthie. Shit is her fault. If she didn’t give me Rochelle, I’d killed her ass years ago.

Patting my pockets, I pull out the joint I confiscated from Alexa and Nickel gives me a light.

I sit back and smoke my joint, drinking my beer, watching the girls on stage but only thing on my mind is Alexa in that damn cheerleader uniform. Fuck me. I’m fucking fucked in the head. I must be crazy, and sex deprived. I keep telling myself to make things work with Ruthie and I’ve tried. I’ve given her and Rochelle everything they ever wanted since I got out of prison.

How is it I’m on the outside and still feel locked up. Gave everything to this club. Gave up my daughter for seven years. Went in when she was five. Got out when she was twelve. Came home to a wife who hated me and a kid who didn’t know me.

Been trying since the day I was released to make it up to them. Both of them, but no matter what I do, I make shit worse.

Chapter Two

I’m dancing around the living room waiting on my pizza to arrive. Sweet Emotion by Aerosmith, belts through the speaker. It feels weird being at Rochelle’s with everyone gone but there’s no way in hell I was staying home with my bitch of a mom in that prison. I can’t breathe in that house. My parents expect perfection. Not a hair out of place. Everything neat and perfect. My father is a psycho who thinks allowing me to use a tampon makes me a whore. If I stayed there another second, I’d suffocate.

I take another drink of my hotter than piss beer. I hate the stuff but right now I need an escape from my shitty life crushing me down. Rochelle has no idea how lucky she has it. Her parents are cool as hell. Her mom is a bit uptight but still she’s cooler than mine. Her father is a different story. I don’t know how I feel about him, but sometimes I think I catch him looking at me. Not in a creepy way. The man is way hot. He doesn’t even look old enough to be her dad, but he was like sixteen or something when she was born.

Headlights flash through the living room window. I go to the kitchen and grab the money James gave me. I’m freaking starving. I’ve not ate since dinner yesterday. I was five minutes late to breakfast this morning and my father refused me my plate. Said I should be on time if I want to eat and dared my mom to give me any lunch money. I was too embarrassed to ask my friends if they could loan me five bucks. I lied and said I was on a new diet. I know Ro would have gave it to me no questions asked, but we don’t have the same lunch period because I’m two grades above her. Flicking the porch light on I open the front door.

“You here alone?” Todd mumbles like he has rocks in his mouth, sweeping his hair back from his forehead, revealing his busted-up face.

“Jesus. What happened?”

“Fuckin’ told you I needed that weed. This is all your fault, cunt.” He shoves me and kicks the door shut as he enters the house.

“I’ll get you your money. I promise. I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry. Okay?”

“You’ll do more than that.” His fingers dig into my arm.

“Stop. You’re hurting me.”

Todd laughs. “Hurting you? Look at my face,” he snarls, bloody spit flying at me.