Biker B*tch Read online

  5

  Travis had never been so bored during a blowjob in his life.

  After he’d left the vineyard, he’d been restless. The rest of the Heaven’s Sinners were busy, so he’d stopped by Ginger’s place, a studio apartment above the tattoo shop she owned. She actually wanted to be his. And he’d wanted to want her. They’d dated on-and-off for a couple of years, but he still didn’t feel that for her.

  Sure, she used enough suction. And, every so often, his dick hit the back of her throat. But his mind kept wandering to the Jawa he and Chevy wanted to retool for the Concours and whether they had enough paid invoices that month for him to buy the parts he needed to help his buddy out with the contest bike. Hell, she was probably thinking about nail art or some shit.

  This is what he got for dating a girl for her sexual prowess instead of her personality. She’s dating me for my patch, so what’s the difference?

  Ginger must have noticed that whatever she was doing wasn’t getting him to the finish, because her pink-tinted head came up, and she looked at him with concern. “Where the fuck are you?”

  So much attitude. If she were a certain redhead, that alone would have done it for him. He’d never been into sweet, easy pussy. Unless it was thinking about Skyler that night in the barn—

  No. I’m not thinking about Carrots while Ginger’s polishing my cock like a pro.

  He pushed up on his elbows and she sat back on her heels. She looked like a punk-rock pin-up, and she deserved better than a guy who wished some girl he hadn’t seen for ten years was there instead of her. That thought deflated his erection completely.

  “Nothing you did, babe.”

  She smirked at him and cocked her head. He liked Ginger a lot, but she didn’t stir him up like Carrots. And that was a problem. Continuing this mutually agreeable, friends-with-benefits thing was no longer fair. They’d promised each other that they would end it when it was time. And now, it was time. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel bad, though. He wasn’t going to tell her why he had to break up with her, he was just going to stop calling her for sex. She’d figure it out soon enough. He wasn’t even sure that she would be upset. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

  “I thought I was taking your mind off things?”

  “Not your fault, Ginger.” He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. “But I think we’re at the end of the road.”

  Ginger merely nodded and shrugged a shoulder. No heavy recriminations. No tears.

  Travis swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled his pants on. He leaned down, kissed her on the cheek, and walked out.

  Travis climbed off his bike and headed into the corrugated metal building that housed the Foundry—his metalworks studio and his best friend Chevy’s garage. Inside, a virtual wonderland of tools and projects that would fill any grease monkey’s heart with joy awaited him.

  He and Isaac used to dream about building custom bikes and restoring classic cars from the time they’d gotten their hands on the first Indian skeleton when they were twelve. It was a dream that Travis had kept alive even as his brother lost his way.

  After Isaac had died, he didn’t want to build bikes anymore. He’d found himself taking scrap metal and chrome and making things out of them, not useful things, but sculptures, doors, gates, objects made out of twisted bits and pieces—like his insides on the outside.

  He made a bunch of them for people in town, and then some people from out of town saw them. Now, he had clients all over the world and more requests than he could possibly fill.

  He was glad he smelled coffee along with grease when he went in his office. He poured himself a cup and sat down to go through invoices. He could see Chevy—named for his freakish ability with a motor—working on a monstrosity of a bike through the shop window. The former Army Ranger was jamming out to the Foo Fighters. Six-foot-four and huge, but he still looked like a dork. Whatever he had to do to make working on that thing fun.

  Chevy turned down the music when Travis walked to the doorway between their two spaces.

  “How long have you been working?” Travis asked.

  “Couple hours. I want to get this done.”

  “You gotta hire some more guys.” The sale of the family vineyard had allowed him to buy a building that would accommodate the production of bigger pieces. He’d also invited Chevy to use the space for his custom build shop.

  “But then I’d have to fucking talk to people all day, Trav. You’re basically the only person I like.”

  Travis loved having his friend work out of the same space. Living alone and spending his days making shit with no purpose made his club, the Heaven’s Sinners, the brotherhood they provided, a necessity for him.

  “Yo. You look beat to shit,” Chevy said.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Chevy wiped his hands on a rag sticking out of the pocket of his coveralls. Travis picked up a tool and stuck his head under the hood.

  “Care to share? Ginger keeping you up?”

  “Nah, man. I’m not seeing her anymore.”

  “Good thing. She’s a skank.”

  “She’s not a skank. She’s a nice girl. Just not for me.”

  “Care if I take a shot at her?”

  He gave Chevy a pointed look. “You just said she was a skank?”

  His friend smiled. “Yeah, but I like skanks.” He turned back to the bike and worked his wrench. “I’ll be flush once tourist season starts. All I gotta do is post up at the wine bar and some tipsy divorcée will take one look at me and drag me back to her room at a B&B. Like shootin’ fish in a barrel.”

  Travis laughed. Ever since Chevy had come back from Afghanistan, he went through women like tissues. Something happened to his best friend over there, but he wouldn’t talk about it. And Travis wouldn’t push it—not now.

  Travis loved women—the way they smelled, the way they talked, the way their hips moved—and he’d had his share of relationships. But nothing stuck. Somewhere along the line, he always got scared that he couldn’t protect them. That, somehow, being near him would put them in danger. That they would slip through his fingers—just the same way that Isaac, his father, and even Carrots had.

  They worked without talking, music filling the silence until lunch. “My sister sent some sandwiches,” Chevy said when his growling stomach interrupted the music for the fifth time.

  “Sara spoils you.” Another smirk from Chevy.

  “Hey, I’m sharing with you. And of course she takes care of me. I’m an excellent brother.”

  Sara owned a bakery and café in town, and he knew the sandwich would be amazing. She worried about her brother a lot more than Travis did. Although Chevy’s life seemed to be copacetic from the outside, sometimes he couldn’t keep the haunted look out of his eyes even with a willing woman and a long ride.

  They went into the office to eat. Sure enough, the club sandwich, fancified with some avocado spread, was damn good.

  “You know Skyler Clark?” he asked as he shifted in his chair. “She’s back in town. Ran into her yesterday at the feed store.”

  “You mean Bridget Bardot with red hair?” So, Chevy remembered. “That fuckity mouth with the little gap in her teeth. Goddamn.”

  “Shut the fuck up. You won’t be getting anywhere near her.”

  “Why, pray tell, the fuck not? I take it from your strong language you plan to get all up in Ms. Clark’s gorgeous business? She’s still gorgeous, right? I bet she’s got really nice tits now.”

  Chevy was just trying to piss him off at this point. And it was working. One thing about a friend he’d had his whole life was that he knew how to crawl up his ass and annoy the hell out of him. “One track mind much? Man, I don’t know if she’ll let me anywhere near her ‘business.’”

  “The girl whose pants you can’t get into hasn’t been born, Trav.”

  He scoffed and took the last bite of his sandwich. “She told me to get off her land.”

  “I would have paid to see that shi
t. I’d have brought some fuckin’ popcorn. And tissues, because—boobs.”

  “You’re disgusting. And you’re going to keep your paws off Carrots.” Anger burned through Travis and shocked him. He rarely got angry at his friend. Chevy just smiled and poured some of the chips into his mouth. Of course, Chevy’d made him angry enough to declare himself regarding Skyler. Behind the good-natured philanderer was an evil genius.

  “So, how are you going to make sure she is, in fact, your Carrots?”

  Acid came up his throat at thought of her belonging to anyone else, quickly chased by doubt flooding him.

  “I don’t know, man. She’s tough, and there’s a lot of water under the bridge.” Travis leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

  “This is going to be fun. Abner Travis, at a loss when it comes to a woman.”

  “She’s so much more than she was before. I mean, before, she was just a kid. Now, she’s just—wow—womanly and tough and mouthy.”

  Chevy laughed went back to work, shaking his head.

  Got to find a way to stop thinking about her. Or fuck her. Or both.

  6

  Skyler had been instructed to show up at Sara’s café at two p.m. sharp. Michael had befriended Sara through his deep devotion to her croissants. But his penchant for pastry came at a price—and Skyler had to pay it, even though seeing her high school friend made her sweat as nervously as defending her dissertation had.

  Sara Camden looked up from the counter when the bells chimed. “Skyler. Aren’t you pretty as a picture?”

  Skyler was shocked Sara seemed genuinely happy to see her. Isaac and Sara were sweethearts before he died. Sara had more reason than anyone else to hate her.

  “You, um, look great, too.” She wasn’t quite sure what to say. Her eyes filled with tears that she ruthlessly tamped down. She’d missed being in a place where people knew her much more than she realized. For almost a decade, she’d been moving forward, never looking back. Being with Sara, one of her oldest friends, felt so good that she almost ached.

  “Sit down. I’ll pour us some decaf and we can catch up.” Sara spoke to one of the servers and motioned toward the back booth for Skyler to sit. She watched her old friend buzz around the café, talking a few straggling customers out of their guilt over buying a dozen chocolate chip cookies. She hoped Sara would bring over some dessert to go with the decaf.

  She was nervous. Sara was the only girl in her class who didn’t treat her like shit after her arrest, but Skyler had turned away from her anyway. After everything that had happened with her father and Isaac, the only person she’d wanted to be around was Travis. She hadn’t even answered any of Sara’s e-mails or letters at college. Grown-up Skyler felt terribly guilty—and stupid—for this. She was sure Sara was ready to read her the riot act for disappearing for ten years without a word.

  Then, to add insult to injury, a guy in a sheriff’s uniform rolled up to her table and took a seat without asking permission.

  The guy was a caricature. A good-looking caricature, but still.

  His hair was slicked back and he wore those stupid aviator glasses. He had that square-jawed look that appealed to almost everyone. And, when he took off his glasses, she saw why he probably got whatever he wanted—his eyes were alarmingly blue and hard.

  He didn’t look familiar—must be new in town—and she wondered what he’d heard about her. Did he know she was considered the Diablos Santos’ princess or that she’d been unknowingly complicit in her father’s criminal empire? Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t new, and it was most likely being spoon-fed straight from the Winemakers’ Association or Roy. Or maybe her record never actually got expunged and he was here to tell her she was still on double-secret probation.

  She steeled herself to hear what he had to say, relaxed the muscles of her face, and looked him straight in the eye. One thing her father had taught her was how not to show fear. He never really liked emotional displays, not even when her mother was alive, but she’d only ever managed the look.

  “Am I double-parked, Sheriff…” She leaned in to get a look at his nametag. “Summers?”

  “Ethan.” His mouth flipped up into a half-grin, and he relaxed visibly. “In fact, you’re using up two spots with that ugly beast, but that’s not why I’m here.” He cupped his hands together on the table and leaned in. Looked down as if he were gathering his thoughts.

  She had no patience for this concerned-law-enforcement-professional act. “Why are you here?”

  “Officially?” He looked up and she almost wanted to be attracted to him. Dating the sheriff would really clean up her image. She nodded.

  Then he opened his mouth again and ruined the whole attractive thing he’d had going for a moment. “Some citizens in Sebastopol are concerned about your sudden reappearance in town.”

  “Oh, really? Let me guess. Is it Merle and Roy?” She could tell by the way he blinked that she’d hit the nail on the head. He was just a shill for the people in town with money. Sebastopol really hadn’t changed at all in the last decade. But she was ready to move forward. And to do that, shit had to stop.

  “I’m just here to make wine, Sheriff Summers.” Skyler spared a glance over at Sara, who fidgeted like she wished she was close enough to hear. The sheriff’s gaze followed hers and his face softened. So, he liked Sara? “Regardless of what anyone told you, any association I had with the Diablos Santos ended when my father went to prison.”

  “For life. Felony murder.” Ethan’s words were matter-of-fact, but they dripped with judgment. “Isaac Travis, right?”

  She dipped her head in acknowledgment while the memory zipped under her skin like a hundred tiny razors. She couldn’t argue. Even though it was a set up by a gang from Santa Rosa, her dad killed Isaac when he sent him to that drop point, sure as if he’d pulled the trigger himself. “If the police hadn’t pulled me over and arrested me, the drugs Isaac was killed over would have shown up on time.”

  Never mind that the guys who killed Isaac might have shot him anyway to get out of paying, and killed her, too. Her father sure as hell hadn’t thought about that when he’d told her to pick up a package from his office and take it to an address in Santa Rosa. She wasn’t certain that he’d have been all that broken up had she died in that house with Isaac. Once he became the president of the Diablos Santos, his love for his brothers had eclipsed any love he’d ever felt for his blood family.

  Skyler had believed she was taking medicine to an old lady, not unloading a case of OxyContin for her dad’s motorcycle club. Before that night, she hadn’t even known the Diablos were outlaws. She’d been stupid enough to think that they were just weekend riding enthusiasts.

  But fuck if she was going to explain herself to this shithead square. He’d obviously already made up his mind about her. Nothing she said about her own naiveté was ever going to change his mind—it hadn’t worked for the rest of the town. So, fuck him. Let him think she was who Merle Givens said she was. She’d mind her own business, make wine, and the rumors and innuendos would taper off eventually.

  They had to.

  The sheriff sighed and leaned back. “Did you notice any apple tarts left?” He patted his flat belly. “I have to run an extra ten miles a week from Sara’s tarts.”

  “Are those the only sweets of Sara’s you sample on the regular?”

  The sheriff smiled at her question and stood. “You were never formally charged in connection with your father’s crimes. And despite what Merle Givens has to say, I don’t think you were involved. But, if you want my advice, I wouldn’t get caught up in anything that would make the rumors seem true.”

  The sheriff must have decided he didn’t want to run his extra miles because he waved at Sara and left the shop without any sweets.

  Moments later, Sara sat with a sigh and a giant piece of lemon tart with two forks. “I feel I ought to apologize on behalf of my current paramour.”

  “He seems like a jerk. I hope he’s good in bed,
at least.”

  Sara shrugged. “He’ll do for now, I suppose. But, if he’s being a dick to you, I’ll throw him over.”

  Skyler raised an eyebrow. “You’d do that? He’s not bad looking for a cop.”

  “He’s not my only friend from high school. You are.”

  “Still after all this time?”

  Sara nodded. “Tell me everything. I can’t believe it’s been a decade. You never wrote. You never called.”

  “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Sara grabbed her hand, and Skyler started, but didn’t pull away.

  “Not many people want to be friends with a drug dealer.” She was starting to think something in the water here erased her memory. No one had reacted to her coming back like she expected.

  Sara made a choked sound and released her hand. “Everyone knows that it had nothing to do with you. Your dad practically abandoned you at the Travis house after your mom died.” She took a sip of coffee and then a bite of tart.

  Skyler believed her, and felt guilty again for discarding her friendship with Sara after leaving town. “I guess you’re right, but Merle and Roy don’t seem to think so.”

  “Yeah, but they suck. Everyone else should be nice to you.”

  Sara gave her a broad smile. Her friend was just as dazzlingly beautiful as she’d been in high school, even more so. Skyler had been so jealous of the way boys responded to Sara back then. She had acres of brown, wavy hair and giant brown eyes. Her smooth, honey-toned skin had always glowed with All-American goodness.

  “Have you seen Travis since you got back?

  “The first damn day.” She rolled her eyes, but felt heat spread in her belly remembering the way his rough hand had grazed her skin. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. He came into the feed store while I was buying tampons.”

  Sara made a face. “Mortifying. How was it?”

  “I ran away.”