Page 1 of Bride for the Bikers

BRIDE FOR THE BIKERS

AN MC REVERSE HAREM ROMANCE

1

LIGHTNING

It'san ugly world we live in, and God sure as fuck didn't put the four of us in it to make it any prettier.

The Diamond Oasis, a towering casino hotel made of glass, steel and white marble, looms over us like a monument to some rich asshole’s dick envy. Which, if you ask me, is exactly what it is.

From the front, it gleams like Vincent Mesner’s got people fucking handwashing the thing every night. The alley behind it, however, is another story. I kick my heel into the dumpster I’m leaning against, and the dull, metallic rattle is immediately followed by surprised squeaks and rustling. I wonder if Mesner’s guests know all this fancy shit is just a paper thin veneer on top of the same rat filled world the rest of us live in.

“Relax. Always in such a fucking hurry,” Thunder grumbles, glaring at me. “Right from your first breath.”

I grin. “You were right behind me, dickhead.” I’m the older brother, but only by minutes.

Shadow checks his phone. “Shut up, both of you. The door should unlock in three, two…”

The latch clicks right on time. “Fuck yeah, let’s do this. Mesner’s lucky Indie’s not dead or we’d be doing a lot more than just crashing his fucking party.”

Outlaw nods, murder in his black eyes. On the surface, Mesner keeps his hands clean. Hotels, the casino, some kinda crypto shit, but underneath, he’s got his fingers in all sorts of pots he wouldn’t want the public to know about. Like the dirty fucking drugs that hit South Side—our turf—last month, killing two people and putting a dozen more in the hospital. Indie, one of the regular sluts, who should’ve fucking been safe at the club party, was one of them, though she’s recovering.

When we first noticed something was up, Eagle-eye—the president of our club, the Screaming Eagles MC—sent a warning that should’ve had Mesner backing up, but apparently he didn’t take it seriously.

He will after we’re done.

“Good to know the info’s solid,” growls Shadow, as he follows Thunder through the open backdoor. He loosens his shoulders with a shake, like he's prepping to jump into a fighting ring. Then Outlaw, making sure his piece sits easy in his belt. The goal isn't to get to shooting tonight, but if it comes down to it, we're fucking ready. I'm the last man in, closing the door behind us and hiding that anyone ever passed through.

“That's the trouble with fancy-ass security,” says Thunder. “Only takes a greedy person or two, and it all fucking falls apart.”

“Or it’s a setup,” notes Outlaw, glancing up at the little black camera dome in the ceiling over us.

“Well, it either is, or it isn’t,” I say with a grin and a shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Let’s get in, fuck shit up, and get the hell back out.”

Thunder gives the stairs a look. “How many floors did you say?”

“The whole building? Forty-two.” Shadow takes the lead up the first flight.

“Jesus fuck. You sure there isn’t a service elevator or something?” Even bitching, Outlaw doesn't hesitate to follow.

“We're only doing seven,” I say with a laugh, giving him a nudge right in the center of his Screaming Eagles back patch. “You’re the fucking youngest. You should be running up these stairs.”

“Only by two years, asshole.”

“Shut it,” says Thunder from above, always business. We might be twins, but I'm the one who got the fun gene.

A door slams open a floor ahead, and a hotel staffer rushes down the stairs, pausing when he sees us coming up from below. Obviously, a bunch of MC members isn't what he expected to run into. We step to the side and I put on my prettiest smile. From the terrified look on the guy's face, my dashing good looks are wasted on him. “Come on, hop to it. Time's wasting.”

He skitters by, more worried about his job than whatever we’re doing in the stairwell, but only barely. I twitch my leg and he jumps about a foot, rushing down to the next floor and escaping into wherever the door goes.

“Was that necessary?” asks Thunder, rolling his eyes at me.

“Oh come on, it was funny. It’s not like I actually tripped him.” The other guys chuckle, but Thunder just shakes his head.“You’re the one who told me to relax, remember? If that stick was any further up your ass, you’d be spitting toothpicks.”

He flips me off without a word.

Finally, we get to the door to the seventh floor. The sign says “Staff only,” but we push through. I half expect cops to be waiting on the other side, but it's empty, just as promised. So far, so good.

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