Home > Sold to the Bikers

Sold to the Bikers
Author: Stephanie Brother








"I'm gonna have to see some ID there, miss." Heavy metal booms out of the doors behind the bouncer at the Eagles’ Roost and echoes off the walls across the street.

He folds his muscled arms over his broad chest and looks down at me with stern, dark eyes made even more imposing by the white scars that slash across his face, straight through his right eyebrow and continuing down his cheek.

I shudder to think what might’ve caused them, but they do nothing to detract from his high cheekbones, strong jaw and lips that look ready to kiss a girl senseless.

“What? Oh, right.” I snap out of it and flash him my driver's license, while I stretch up on my toes to see over his shoulder into the bar. This is exactly the kind of place my little sister shouldn't be if she's going to get her life back on track. She promised me she’d gotten rid of her fake ID. Guess not.

He picks the card out of my fingers with a quick grab. His tattooed arms flex as he aims a flashlight down to read. "Twenty-two? Really? This fucking real? You don't look twenty-two."

"Of course it's real! Come on. Do I look like I’m here to party? I just need to pick up my little sister." Who for some reason—even though she was the one who called for me to come pick her up—is nowhere to be seen.

He grins mischievously as he pulls his long hair out of his eyes. "You look plenty good to me, but if you're not a paying customer, maybe I shouldn't even be letting you in."

"Please! I don't have time for this."

The glint in his eyes makes it almost seem like he's flirting, but there’s no way a guy like him would flirt with me. He’s rough and wild, just like this bar. I could totally see him leaning against the counter with a bottle in his hand and a girl on his arm, but that girl’s not me. Five minutes together and he’d find out I can’t string two sentences together with a hot guy.

Maybe it's the desperation in my tone, or just that there are more people lining up behind me, but he relents and returns my license. "Go ahead, but save a dance for me." And then he winks over a cocky smirk that probably has him drowning in pussy when he wants it.

Yeah, that’s not going to be happening. I’m just grabbing Sandra and getting us the hell out of here. I have to be at work in the morning, and Ramona isn't known for her mercy. Apprentices are a dime a dozen for one of the top bakers in the city.

“I just need to…”

“Not stopping you.” The bouncer moves only a tiny bit to the side, forcing me to squeeze past him if I want to get into the bar. I'm sure it's on purpose. I shift back and forth on my feet, trying to decide what would be less embarrassing to press against him—butt or boobs. Butt, I guess?

The only padding I feel when I push past is me, because he’s rock muscly hard. It's with a hint of both relief and regret when I finally pop through, leaving him behind.

I risk a glance over my shoulder, and find him looking my way with a wolfish gaze. When he notices, his smirk widens into a grin, and I snap my attention away and duck inside before I make an even bigger fool of myself.

The bar’s bigger than I expected, and packed with rowdy-looking people. There’s so much denim and leather it could be a cowboy bar, but the undercurrent of motor oil and exhaust suggests motorcycles instead of horses. Not to mention the jackets and vests with patches that say stuff like Ungrateful Bastards, Black Squad, or Screaming Eagles. Yep, definitely bikers. I don’t know much about them aside from what I’ve seen on the news, but even I can figure it out.

And it’s definitely not the kind of place Sandra should be.

“Nice ass, sweetheart. Wanna back it up over here?” a guy with a beard that could rival Santa’s says with a chuckle.

He laughs harder when I ignore him to push through. These guys aren't classy, that's for sure. Where the heck is Sandra?

I squeeze around a pool table, just as one of the players pulls back his cue and breaks. The crack of the balls scattering startles me right into the arms of a muscular wall with arms and legs. He catches me easily and looks down like a fisherman examining what he's got on his hook.

"Fuck, usually I have to make the first move, but here you are." He smiles, and my mind goes blank. He's got a square superhero jaw and a nose that looks like it’s seen a few fists. His dark eyes are startlingly similar to the bouncer’s and the rest of him is built like a superhero too. His black T-shirt is stretched across a chest so broad that I could probably use his biker vest as a cloak.

His massive hands rest on my hips, holding me close so I have to crane my neck to look at him. I haven't been this close to a man since—well, the guy at the door, actually. But before that? Who knows?

Between working and helping Sandra, I don't exactly have a lot of time for men. A part of me that I mostly try to ignore lights up just below my belly at how easily he’s holding me in place. His biceps are as big around as my thighs.

"Um, I’m good now, thanks." I tap his arms, and try to push off his chest despite knowing how useless it is. He doesn’t budge. “Let me down!”

For a moment longer, he looks at me, then releases me so suddenly I almost launch myself away from him. "You with somebody?"


Another biker, his hair blond and hanging in choppy waves around his face, pushes past the big one. His face, with its short reddish stubble, doesn't look much older than mine, but his steely gray-blue gaze could belong to someone ten years older. When he smiles, though, he could pass for a very naughty choir boy. "Who's this? You keeping her all to yourself?"

“The only thing you guys are keeping me from is my sister!” I wail in exasperation.

"If she's as cute as you, I'd look towards the back, where the lights are lower." The blond one grins. "Happy to show you the way."

I lean his way before snapping back straight and pointing towards the back. What am I thinking? “No thanks! That way?”

What is it with these guys? Is it the vanilla essence attracting them? There are sexy women all over this bar that I bet would have no problem showing them a good time. The best they’ll get out of me is a tasty muffin.

God, if these guys are having this kind of an effect on me, I can only imagine what Sandra’s up to.

The big one nods. "Can't miss it. Just don’t get too close to the stage or someone might offer you a job."

I blink, twice, then spin on my heel, leaving them behind. And this time, very pointedly not looking back, I weave through the crowd.

It's not just bikers, even if they make up most of the clientele. There's a group about my age who look like college students in one of the booths, probably celebrating the end of the year. I try not to feel resentment. It's not their fault a car crash stole that carefree life from me, but in another world maybe I’d be there with them, and Sandra would be graduating from high school with her old friends.

Distracted, my elbow goes straight into the gut of a huge, grizzled biker. He coughs and looks down at me in shock.

“Sorry!” I squeak, half expecting him to backhand me.

"Easy, mouse," he says with a laugh, stepping out of my way.

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