Page 1 of Biker

CHAPTER 1

BRONCO

I nod at Sam across the bar as he puts a beer in front of me and I immediately take a drink. I need this moment to unwind. It’s been a long few weeks, and I haven’t been home very long from the trip I took down to the New Orleans chapter with a few of my brothers.

We went down there to get some information and got sucked into a little drama with the VP and his woman. But, for a brother, we’d gladly wade through a river of blood if need be. I know any of my brothers would do the same for me.

Now, Prodigal, the VP of the NOLA chapter of the Devil’s Saints has claimed Wrenley as his old lady. Which is good. It was clear they were dancing around the inevitable. I thought Prodigal was going to ripmyVP’s head off. I wouldn’t have blamed Prodigal, Rites was flirting hard with Wrenley, but it was only because he wanted to give Prodigal a little push.

He needed it.

Maybe that’s what I need—a push.

It’s not like I have anyone in my life that I’m interested in though. The only women I’ve interacted with lately are club angels, who I would never make my old lady, and sometimes a random piece of pussy who come to my garage and flirt with me. Then there are the women who approach me in the bar the club owns. No one has made me want to settle down, even though it’s been a little while since I’ve been with anyone. Even before I went to NOLA it had been a while.

When I joined the Devil’s Saints 12 years ago, I didn’t think the free pussy would ever get old. Then I turned 30 two years ago, and it started to wane. The way the angels throw themselves at all the brothers, which is what they’re supposed to do, don’t get me wrong, rubs me the wrong way. The desperation I could read on them became something I couldn’t ignore anymore.

Maybe it wasn’t always this way. Maybe it’s just the angels we have now. I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them finds a way to trap one of us. I don’t want it to be me which is why I started looking outside the club more often when I wanted to hook up. I’ve never entertained the flirting women at the garage because I don’t shit where I eat, but I’d pick someone up for a night of fun from Sacrifice’s Altar, the bar we own.

Then, even that started becoming predictable and boring. All those women wanted was to say that they spent a night with a Saint. It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about who I am. It was about my patch and my cut.

I want something more. How is it possible, at 32, that I have no idea how to go about finding more? I’ve been trying to figure out where I even begin for weeks now.

I’m not one to do online dating. The whole thing sounds fucking horrible and too time consuming. Between running Devil’s Wheels, the club’s garage, and my duties as Road Captain, I don’t have time to try and try and try and try again with a woman.

Maybe I’m old fashioned, but I thought I’d meet someone organically. But where? I’ve met plenty of women at the bars and they only want a good time. I’m not going to pick up a customer. What options are left?

I feel a hand glide up my back and around my shoulder. The moment I look at the red nails of the woman who is touching me, I know who it is, and I try my hardest not to groan in annoyance.

“Cherry,” I grit out through my teeth while clenching my jaw so hard that I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.

Cherry used to frequent my bed…along with the beds of the rest of my brothers. It’s been clear I haven’t been interested in months, but it hasn’t stopped her from trying to get my attention. It’s like being on a broken carnival ride, one that makes you feel like you’re going to throw up. Yet, you bought the ticket, and you handed it to the operator, and you’re still strapped into the contraption.

“Bronco,” she purrs and it’s not sexy at all. “I haven’t gotten a chance to hear about your trip. Did you have fun in New Orleans?”

There’s something about her tone as she asks me about my trip. I finally look over at her and see the jealousy buried in her eyes.

“You don’t need to know shit about my trip,” my voice is low and threatening.

Cherry apparently doesn’t hear it because she flips her hair over her shoulder and pouts at me. “I just wanted to know if you had a good time,” she emphasizes ‘good time’ and it’s clear what she’s asking me.

I could take the high road here and be a good guy, but why would I? I don’t owe her a damn thing. The club angels are here for the brother’s enjoyment. They can always say no to us, we don’t force anyone to have sex and we sure as hell don’t force anyone to be here. They enjoy being with the brothers and they get something out of the deal as well.

We take care of the angels. We provide them with room and board, but we usually also give them jobs in our businesses or at the clubhouse, depending on what they want to do and their schedules. It’s not uncommon for an angel to be in school and they’re using the club to make it easier for them financially and in terms of time.

“I had a real good fucking time.” I flash her a sinister grin and she blanches slightly. “The angels they have down there are primo. Who doesn’t like fresh pussy?”

As her eyes narrow, I barely stop myself from barking out a laugh. She looks pissed and while it might come back and bite me on the ass later, I can’t bring myself to care right now. I’ve needed to put her in her place for a while now, but I haven’t.

I don’t even know why today is different. Maybe it’s because of the black business card burning a hole in my pocket. All it says is KNK and a website. It only took a moment for me to pull it up to find out it’s a matchmaking service.

I have no idea how the card got onto my desk at Devil’s Wheels, but there it was, sitting there like a beacon, or a sign. I didn’t fill anything out, but the thought has been churning in the back of my mind since I tucked it into my pocket instead of tossing it into the trash.

I’ve never considered a matchmaker. It’s not exactly organic, but at the same time I don’t think I’m going to meet the kind of woman I want out in the world by chance. What would the odds be for me to come across a sweet woman with a kinky side where she enjoys me ordering her around and treating her like a fucking queen? And be okay with my lifestyle and fit in with my brothers like she belongs?

It’s a tall order, even I know it.

“Well,” Cherry swallows hard and I force myself to stop thinking about the card and focus on the way she’s pushing her words past her lips, “it’s great you had a good time.”

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