Page 2 of The Biker and the Loner
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, andher.
The men here are big, rough, bearded, tattooed, and scary ashell.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 fromGame 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 andun-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 tohellall 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 isgoodnews. 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 Inotconsider 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 justwinkat the bonfire?”
“Yes, I did,” I deadpan. “Who said I was off-limits?”
