Page 3 of Mile High With the Bikers
They stand up and crowd around my cart. I’m a respectable five-five—a little taller in these shoes—but they are all at least half a foot taller, and far outweigh me. Bull is true to his name, burly and built like a redwood. Diesel is a couple inches shorter, with biceps that are making his t-shirt fight for its life. Close up, I spot a tattoo of a naked pin-up girl on his arm. Shrapnel is in between, built lean and strong.
Shrapnel’s vest has the same Screaming Eagles MC logo on the back, and the name tickles something in my memory, like I should recognize it.
Oh, crap. They were the ones all over the news when that news studio was attacked and a judge was killed. The little hairs on theback of my neck stand up, but in spite of knowing that they’re probably bad news, my curiosity is piqued. It’s like being around big scary dogs that look ooooh so soft and pettable. Touching might be worth the risk of getting nipped.
Diesel holds up a beer that if I remember correctly costs about fifty dollars a bottle. “Huh, never seen this one before.” With practiced ease, he lines the top up with a metal edge on the chair and pops the cap with a quick hit.
Shrapnel pours himself a scotch on the rocks with the Macallan that Stewie turned down earlier.
Bull rummages through the cart and takes a bottle of organic bloody mary mix and mixes it in a glass with a splash bottle of vodka my Dad bought at auction.
“Juice? Seriously?” Shrapnel asks.
Bull snorts. “We’re on a plane! What’s the point of flying if you don’t get a bloody mary? Right, angel?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. “Absolutely. I think I’ve got some olives and garnish in here somewhere.”
“Fucking perfect.” Bull gestures at the table. “Grab yourself something and have a seat. We need a fourth. Poker is the game.”
I shake my head. “I shouldn’t. I’m working.”
“Aw, c’mon.” Diesel’s flirty smirk invites me to do mischief. “What those fancy assholes up front don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”
“Well…” Poker would be fine, right? I take a bottle of fizzy water and inch closer to the empty seat in their section.
Shrapnel sweeps the cards together and shuffles them. Butterfly and bridge, like in a casino. Not his first time. “You know how to play, right? We’d be happy to teach you.”
It’s my turn to smirk. My old boarding school prided itself on not allowing screen time outside of classwork. With very little else to do, they might as well have been trying to turn us all into card sharks. It’s definitely not Diesel’s first time at a table, but I still wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve played more than they have. “I think I remember the rules.”
“We’ll go easy on you, angel,” Bull says. He pops an olive in his mouth and grins. I don’t know how, but he manages to make it sound a little dirty.
Shrapnel pats the free chair next to him. “Then sit your pretty ass down. Some things are more fun in a group and it’s always more fun with a beautiful woman.”
I throw a quick glance towards the front of the plane. We have a couple hours at least, and I know Dad will want to keep me out of sight as much as possible. The chances of getting called back to the front are slim at best.
“Okay. Deal me in.”
2
BULL
Got her.Maybe now things will get interesting.
Shit, I know flying like this is first class luxury, but I’ll take the wind in my face and grit on my skin any day. Planes are just big metal waiting rooms in the sky, if you ask me. Rory’s a cute little thing, with her white blonde hair and those dove gray eyes. Shrapnel’s right. Things are always more fun with a beautiful woman.
The bloody faces of the guys we were in town to rough up flash through my mind, and it makes me pause. Okay, maybe not always, but those fuckers weren’t exactly innocent, and we didn’t even kill anybody. Doing favors for the mob never sits quite right with me, but the Screaming Eagles and the Giordanos go back for years now. They’re not bad for a bunch of stuck up suits. When you think about it, this was practically a paid vacation, and as much as I love our Prez, Eagle-eye wouldn’t have gotten us spots on a private jet.
Shrapnel deals and Rory picks up her cards, glancing at them before putting them back down like a pro. Her eyes flit between the three of us. A little nervous. A little curious. There’s more toher than meets the eye and I like it. Not that anyone that works for Connor fucking Whittaker would normally give us the time of day. Especially one that looks as good as her.
“Been working for Whittaker long?” I toss three cards and replace them.
She wets her red lips. “A few years.”
I can't help myself from following the motion of her tongue, already imagining it sliding along the ridge of my cock. She looks real fucking good in that uniform. Maybe I’m no better than the guy in the hall, but at least I know to keep it a God damned inside thought.
Diesel takes a swig of beer. “He a decent boss? The papers make him sound like an asshole.”
Rory’s eye twitches. “He’s okay, but I—I really shouldn’t talk about him. He’s a very private person.”
