Page 81 of Whirlwind

The kicker?

To the right in the background, a pair of boots haphazardly lay on the floor. No, not just any boots—Beck’s famed bespoke leather boots designed by famed Italian shoe designer Roberto Santore for whom the guitarist has modeled.

In her IG post, the super sexy Vanders remarks how comfy the bed is and what a long night it had been. Holy hotness, Batman.

More like a holy mess!

Vanders tagged the location of this pic as a loft building in downtown Nashville. The same location where, sources confirm, Beck had been staying. Allegedly in Music City to work on a film soundtrack, Lanier was obviously having forbidden fun at night.

Ms. Vanders could not be reached for comment. Neither could Mr. Lanier. Sources say Vanders hastily left their secret love nest one morning as did Lanier later the same day.

Could this be the reason the lead guitarist didn’t join his band for their splashy party in Vegas at the end of their recent tour?

Could this be the reason that none of his bandmates would comment on his absence and Myles’s bad mood?

Oh Beck, you bad, bad boy.

Fans are anxious and waiting to see how all this drama will play out and affect Freefall as the band is due back in the studio very soon to start working on their second album.

What’s next for Beck? For Myles? Will these two hotties of rock and roll be able to work together again?

Stay tuned for more on this sizzling story as it unfolds. Be sure to Follow, Like, and Comment for #allthenews #Freefall #BeckLanier #sexxxytimes #justjana #MylesCreighton #LisaVanders #couplenews #newsgasm

33

Violet

“How about Itake my shirt off for you, hon?” The One-Eyed Jacks prospect grinned at me, his bulky chest expanding as he leaned back against his bike in the crowded parking lot of Dead Ringers Saloon, a huge biker bar roadhouse north of Meager.

I took a final round of shots of him. “If you want, but trust me, I got all your macho and chrome just fine.” He flexed the bulging muscles of his colorful tattooed arms for me, his chest puffed up against the super tight, low cut, V-neck T-shirt he wore.

Ay caramba.

Tonight was Biker Night at Dead Ringers, and loads of clubs had shown up to show off their custom designed choppers and hang out and party. A local monthly event for decades, it was the only night that the Saloon allowed bikers to wear their club colors. I’d come with Wes to take photos and hang out and have a good time.

If possible.

I focused on the hot dude posing for me giving me come hither sass, but an image of Beck getting it on with that sexy model whose viral post I’d seen on Instagram earlier today kept ramming itself in my lens instead.

Suddenly, hot biker dude tensed, his eyebrows shooting up, his I’m-so-hot-and-you-know-it grin snapping off his face. I lowered my camera.

“Hey, Ding, what’s up, man?” Wes stood beside me, holding two big cups of beer.

“Wes, hey. Cool, everything’s cool.”

Poor boy probably figured me and Wes were a thing. Although Wes was not an official member of the club, he was still considered a son of the MC and respected for his dead father’s long service as President. I checked my final shots in my camera. “Thanks for your time, Ding. Nice bike.”

“Sure thing. See ya.” The prospect took off into the crowd.

Wes handed me a beer. “You let them flirt with you all the time.”

“Not all the time.” I swallowed down the cold brew.

“I didn’t realize super buff was your style.”

“It’s not. But hey, I wouldn’t kick any such hunk of man out of bed if he got the job done.”

Wes snorted. “You’re so practical. Speaking of getting laid—”

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