Enjoy this title right now, plus millions more, with a free trial

Only $9.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

The Biker and the Loner: Oil and Water, #3

The Biker and the Loner: Oil and Water, #3

Read preview

The Biker and the Loner: Oil and Water, #3

ratings:
3.5/5 (3 ratings)
Length:
231 pages
3 hours
Publisher:
Released:
Nov 20, 2020
ISBN:
9781393479376
Format:
Book

Description

​I told him something I shouldn't have.
I gave him something I shouldn't have.
He went away to die—I prayed that he'd survive.

​I shouldn't have done that either.

Now, five years later, he's back. Mangled, but alive. And it's all my fault.
He has my secret. He has my card. And he's determined to finish what we started.
This is not how it was supposed to go.
But when has life ever been obedient to our wills? 

Publisher:
Released:
Nov 20, 2020
ISBN:
9781393479376
Format:
Book

About the author

S. Ann Cole is a voracious reader, a moody writer, and a lover of anything that distracts her from the real world.She hates chocolate. Candle-lit dinners and all that hearts and flowers stuff makes her feel awkward. Coffee makes her drowsier than ever. And she spends way too much time talking to herself.When Ann is not abusing her computer keyboard, you can find her nosing a novel, watching anything on television that makes her laugh until she breaks into hiccups, studying the Bible, or sipping red wine.


Related to The Biker and the Loner

Related Books

Book Preview

The Biker and the Loner - S. Ann Cole

Dedication

This entire series is dedicated to Karen Anne L.

I have not forgotten how kind and gracious you were to me.

From the Author

If while reading this book you come across any word, terminology, slang, misrepresentation/misappropriation of culture or religion that makes you feel hurt, uncomfortable, or offended in anyway, please do not hesitate to contact me.

My aim is to do better, listen, learn, and grow as I go. I'm not perfect and I don't know it all, but I'm willing to adjust, adapt, and make changes where necessary.

One Love. One Blood. One Heart.

––––––––

_____

This book is set in Denver, Colorado, a state of which I am not a resident.  To familiarize myself, I have done a lot of research and asked a lot of questions. That said, if despite all my efforts you, being a resident of Denver, Colorado, come across any inaccuracies, I do apologize, especially if it affects your reading experience. Feel free to contact me and I’ll make corrections where necessary.

Thanks,

Ann

Theme song for this book:

A Lovely Mess by Front Porch Step  

Chapter 1

Ley, Age 19

––––––––

I stare at my soul in the flickering flames. It screams and writhes and hollers, but no one hears.

No one ever hears. Not since Papà died. My soul wails for attention that comes but never stays.

Hush, Heart. You’re being dramatic as hell. I roll my eyes at my internal histrionics and tug at the lapels of my denim jacket.

It's well after midnight and I’m at the Den of Heathens motorcycle club’s compound, attending a send-off party for one of the members—Scratch. Or, as the Club Cats sometimes call him, Lothario. Because wherever he is, two or more women are also gathered, on him. Though it’s not hard to see why. He’s hot. And big. Big. With dark eyes and a come-hither grin. Courtesy of being half Samoan, his complexion is a beautiful natural bronze and his hair grows and flows like water— dark, thick, and wavy.

And yes, I’ve had a crush on him since I first laid eyes on him. But, at the same time, I hate him. So, then, what am I doing at his send-off party in North Denver feeling sorry for myself?

Well, a few months ago, I’d been on the prowl; sad, depressed, and desperate to find someone to break me in. That is, get rid of my pesky V-card so at least that would be my choice. My hymen pierced on my terms.

I was on the verge of giving up after I failed even at snatching a male escort on account of being underage, when I saw him while waiting to get my tire changed at The Metal House Auto Repair Shop one afternoon. Grunt. Scratch’s club brother.

He was in the parking lot with his girlfriend, and the unbridled affection he oozed toward her had me mesmerized. The way he looked at her, touched her, smiled down at her as if nothing else in the world mattered except her. It was beautiful.

Intrigued, I’d sighed and wondered what that felt like. To have someone look at me like that, touch me like that, smile at me like that. So... I did a bad thing.

I stalked him.

Not because I was infatuated with him. Not because he was tall, lean, and sexy. But because he fascinated me. His girlfriend fascinated me. Their love fascinated me.

That’s how I found out he was a member of the Den of Heathens MC.

All I had to do was ask a few questions from the hang-around girls at the Heathens bar across the street from the auto shop about how to become one of them—a Club Cat—at the Den of Heathens compound.

Gotta get one of ‘em bikers to stick it in you first, baby girl, one had told me while she puffed on a cigarette. She’d looked so frazzled, with dark puffs under her eyes, the artificial blonde fading from her brown roots. If you’re good, a tight lay, they’ll claim that ass and make you a Steady.

You get to choose first, though, another added. You choose who you want to hit it first. If he accepts and claims you, you’ll become off-limits to the others. If he doesn’t claim you, congrats, you’re a Club Cat, free for the taking.

All of it sounded awful, but it didn’t deter me. I mimicked the style of the other women, accentuating the parts of my body that made men leer. This earned me permission onto the compound, invitation to parties. And when the vultures started to descend, I named Grunt as the member to hit me first.

Rules of the club: Until Grunt touched me, no one else could. So, knowing he had a girlfriend whom he gazed at like she was the light of his life, I knew my chances of that happening were slim.

Shortly after, however, news of their break-up spread around the compound. I was devastated for them, for their love, but also selfishly hopeful.

I hated how the other men looked at me, leered at me, made me feel like a piece of meat. Grunt though, he never even noticed me. Like, at all. The others were closing in, and I became desperate for his attention so we could do the damn thing and get it over with. So one night, I bribed one of the bikers to sneak me into Grunt’s room.

When he got in and found me half-naked on his bed, he snarled at me so violently me I started to cry. Broke down and told him I desperately needed him to take my V-card. That I wasn’t in love with him or even interested in being with him. All I needed was for him to take it from me.

Deflating my hopes and nullifying all my efforts, he told me that he couldn’t and why; he was still in love with his ex, and as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t over between them.

But then he did something kind. He offered to be a friend if I needed one. He would claim me as his Steady—exclusive girlfriend—so the other bikers would back off. And so, we became friends. The first friend I had since Papà died and I was pulled out of school. I became so dependent on his friendship that, behind my back, people whispered that I was obsessed with him.  I wasn’t. Grunt was just...my safe haven.

Until, one day, he dropped me.

He and his ex-girlfriend got back together, and I wasn’t allowed to be around him anymore. Playtime was up for me.

Just like that, I was a loner again. Grunt had been my friend, but I was never his friend. Only after he abandoned me did I truly understand that.

That was over three months ago.

For some strange reason, even though Grunt's dropped me, none of the other bikers have even attempted to close in. Not that I want them to, but it doesn’t make sense. I still get invited to parties at the compound, and I still get along well with most of them, but no one so much as touches me. Somehow, that feels even worse than when I used to be lasciviously leered at.

So, yeah, that’s how I’m at a bonfire send-off party at the Den of Heathen’s compound, gazing into the blazing fire and being dramatic as all get out with my thoughts.

I suck back a swig of beer and turn my gaze away from the roaring flames of the blaze, leaving my soul there to die. People are all around me, but I’m so alone.

I hate their parties and their lifestyle. The guns, the drugs, the debauchery. Still, I come when I’m invited. I go to their wild, depraved parties to escape. To escape my head, myself, and her.

The men here are big, rough, bearded, tattooed, and scary as hell. Now and again they’ll blast rounds of gunshots toward the stars, or a fistfight breaks out, broken noses and busted lips. Curse words and insults are showered like confetti.

Clinking beer bottles and bearded grins, barely clothed women with gyrating hips, the mingling scents of both cigarettes and marijuana, couples screwing against tall trees, a grab of a breast here, a hand under the skirt there...

And yet, as judgmental as I am toward it all, I still prefer to be here, among the Heathens, than at home.

I get out my phone and check the time. 1:16 AM. I should get up and go home. If Grunt were still around, he’d let me crash in his studio so I wouldn’t have to drive home inebriated, or ask his best bud, Scratch, to take me back. Alas, after he reconciled with his girlfriend, he moved in with her. Sometimes I resent him. And then my conscience scolds me for being selfish.

Instead of getting up to leave, I lean back in the old plastic chair and resume fire-gazing. Maybe the fire is my god, like the red witch from Game of Thrones. Maybe if I stare into it long enough, deep enough, it will reveal to me my destiny.

Why do I need to look out for you?

The deep, gruff, unmistakable voice jolts me from my reveries, and I press my lids together for a quick second and take in a deep, bolstering breath before I turn in his direction.

At some point, the man of the night had dropped his big, muscle-bound, Samoan body into the wicker chair next to me and I hadn’t noticed.

A bottle of beer dangles from his long fingers, half his face cast in darkness, half in the glow of the fire. He eyes me like he always does—with deep curiosity.

Scratch is, for lack of a better description, a panty-wetter. In a big, bad, tatted biker way. He’s hard and impenetrable, but radiant, like scratches on steel. Thick, black hair and eyebrows, a full soft beard, firm lips, and dark eyes. His sex appeal is undeniable, and his irresistibility makes him popular with the women.

When I first met him, all I wanted to do was kiss him, and he’d smirked at me like he knew it. Somewhere along the line, with each short, awkward interaction, I developed something inexplicable for him.  He has this thing that he does to me, where he chucks me under my chin like I'm a kid. And although it’s usually done with an amused smirk and a condescending comment like you’re cute, I came to cherish those chin chucks, as I realized that he didn’t do it with anyone else. Only me. Slowly but surely, I tumbled into infatuation with him...

Until one night, when I overheard him call me a crazy bitch to Grunt.

Granted, I did give him reason, what with all my co-dependent obsessiveness with his best friend. But still, it was mean and hurt my feelings. Since then, I’ve tried to steer clear of him, because surprisingly enough, his words weren’t enough to obliterate my idiotic feelings for him. Silly me, right?

What? I ask, confused.

Was told to look out for you, he informs me. I wanna know why.

Look out for me? Who would...? Of course... Grunt. Well, that’s nice of him. It would be even nicer if he came back and un-abandoned me, though.

You’re relieved of your duties, I tell him, turning my attention back to the fire. I don’t need a guardian angel.

You can’t relieve me if you didn’t charge me. And trust me, there’s nothing angelic about this son of a bitch.

I scoff. I didn’t mean an angel of heaven. I turn and give him a pointed look. "I can get to hell all on my own, thank you very much."

He chuckles as if it’s the funniest thing. Looking forward to seeing you there, then. Hope you won’t be off-limits down in the pits, too.

Hmm. His words are startling. First off, I had no idea I’m still categorized as off-limits. But it explains a lot. Second, he’s never showed an ounce of interest in me before. Even when everyone else ogled and secretly tried to get with me behind Grunt’s back, Scratch was the only one who never showed any sexual interest in me whatsoever.

To know now that he’s wanted to all along, well, this is good news. Not because I’m interested in his whoring ass anymore, but because my mission for conning my way through the gates of this MC was never accomplished.

I still have my V-card.

I still need it gone.

With Scratch leaving to join the Marines tomorrow, he’s an even better candidate than Grunt was. If my fire god is good to me, then this man who called me a crazy bitch will die in battle and never return. How did I not consider this before?

I toss a conspiratorial wink at the bonfire before looking to Scratch again. Tipping my head to the side, I drink in his features once more. Yep, still hot, still irresistible. Who said I was off-limits?

He gives me a weird look. "Did you just...did you just wink at the bonfire?"

Yes, I did, I deadpan. Who said I was off-limits?

Who do you think?

That’s ridiculous. We’re not together anymore. I wave a hand around. He’s not even here.

He shrugs. Doesn’t matter. He’s still a brother.

Rocking forward, I set my beer down on the patchy-grassed earth, then straighten up from the chair and move to sit astride him. He seems taken aback by this bold move, but the desire broiling in his eyes for me keeps him from protesting. I’ve hung around here long enough and observed the Club Cats mannerisms, saw how they seduced the men. All I have to do is mimic them and Scratch will be mine for the night.

In a sultry tone, I rejoin, "And what if I say I’m available?"

He swallows.

I slide my hands under his biker vest and rub my palms over his cotton-covered chest. "What if I say I want your big, hard cock inside me right now?"

His erection swells beneath me, hard and threatening. But again, he swallows and replies, Can’t do it...Grunt—

Picture me, I say, bringing mouth to his ear and licking his lobe, legs spread wide on your bed... I’m pink and glistening, dripping wet for you.

A groan reverberates in his throat.

Your cock is so hard for me it’s painful, I continue, and you’re fisting yourself while you watch me slide my finger inside my own heat. You’re jealous...so jealous of my finger. You want to take its place...plunge deep inside me, feel my warm heat clench around your hard dick. I bite his earlobe and lick the side of his neck. Now, what’s stopping you?

His chest heaves up and down. Beneath my palm, his heartbeat thumps wildly. As if in an effort to control himself, he digs his fingers into my thighs astride him. But his desire is stronger than his restraint, because in the next second, he curses under his breath and growls, Screw it.

When he jerks up from the chair, I almost topple over. He catches me before I do, locking his strong arm around my waist and whisking me off with him. His long strides eat through the crowd while my baby steps struggle to keep up.

In minutes, we’re at his trailer, the noise from the bonfire at the back of the compound dulled. He yanks open the door and drags me in. When he turns to me, his eyes are blazing with lust and heat.

I feel a brief moment of fear, considering I’ve never done this before and don’t know what to expect. Maybe riling him up like this wasn’t the best idea. Because he doesn’t know. Which means he’ll likely be rough. Should I tell him?

Nah, he’ll back out. Scratch doesn’t seem like the kind of man who has the patience to do soft and gentle. Plus, they’ll all know that I’m a fraud and no doubt ban me from the compound.

So, with bravado, I urge him on by sticking my chest out and licking my lips.

Grabbing my face between his big paws, he growls out, You better be worth it. Right before he slams his mouth down on mine.

––––––––

~

My reflection stares back at me from the small, black-edged mirror in the tiny bathroom of Scratch’s trailer, my wet hair hanging down my shoulders in thick clumps. I’ve showered away all the evidence, the blood, and now I’m sore between my thighs.

Losing my V-card is nothing like I thought it would have been. Isn’t sex between a man and woman supposed to feel good? Better?

It didn’t for me.  Pain, burning discomfort, and tears are what I experienced. It felt as if I was being split open with

You've reached the end of this preview. Sign up to read more!
Page 1 of 1

Reviews

What people think about The Biker and the Loner

3.7
3 ratings / 1 Reviews
What did you think?
Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

Reader reviews

  • (5/5)
    Love this author's work. Been binge reading her books for over 2 days.