Rough Rider: A Biker Erotic Romance

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental
 

Rough Rider
copyright @ 2014 by Tamara Knowles. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

ROUGH RIDER

Hannah Kent cleaned the counter top for the hundredth time and watched the second hand of the big, old-fashioned clock move slowly toward
the twelve. Finally, a loud
click
announced its arrival and she said aloud, “Practice time!”

It was now officially 8:30 pm and she could begin practicing her foam animals and designs. The
Morning Star Coffee Shop closed at 9:00 pm, but it was rare to have a customer after 7:00 pm. This part of town was almost totally office buildings and was fairly deserted once the office workers went home for the day. Some of the cubicle rats worked late into the night, but when they finally left, they weren’t interested in stopping for a cup of high-priced coffee on their way home.

The machines at Morning Star were all computer-controlled, so a barista only needed to know how to select the right button for the espresso order. Even the latte art was computer-generated, so that the cup vibrated and shook in an exact pattern, as the thick, steaming milk mixture was added to the top of the latte. A trained monkey could probably do this job as well as a struggling college coed and the wages reflected that fact.

Just around the corner was another coffee shop that did not use the computer-controlled espresso machines. For some reason, people were willing to pay several dollars more per cup for espresso created by a skilled barista rather than the pulsing of a transistor.

Hannah had a choice of twelve buttons that ranged in color from light brown to black. There was also a choice of eight different patterns that could be applied in the latte foam. All of it was automatic, requiring absolutely no skill. Plus, it fed directly into the cash register, so that the only decision the trained monkey made was to correctly select which cup went with which order from a list on the screen.

But at 8:30, a half-hour before closing, the computer put the cash register into cleaning mode. Anything that cycled through the machines after 8:30 was assumed to be part of the cleaning process and was ignored. In the rare event that an order was placed after that time, it would be prepared by hand, and then entered manually into the cash register.

Since it only took about ten minutes to clean all of the machines, Hannah had twenty minutes to practice manually making espresso and manually forming her foam figures on the top. A skilled barista could make two or three times her current salary just around the corner or at any of the dozen or so up-scale coffee shops in town. She hoped to be hired at one of them once she refined her timing and foam skills.

Actually, Hannah’s true hope was that she would become one of the cubicle rats on the other side of the counter. In fact, getting her business degree in accounting from the local college was why she was now in debt.

Graduation came and went with no job offers; but, her student loans were due. She realized that she needed a job, even if it wasn’t in her desired field of study. She had tried bartending for a short time while still in school, but she didn’t keep that on her resume. She tried not to keep it in her memory either. It was something she would rather forget. The uniform was relatively skimpy and the customers were mostly drunken college students who were more interested in getting her into bed than tipping her for her bartending services.

The final straw was when the owner told her that she was too beautiful to be behind the bar. He said, “It’s making the other waitresses jealous that you are getting more tips. Besides, you could earn a lot more money on the pole.”

The pole he was referring to was located in the club, the other half of his establishment. State liquor laws prohibited nudity in a place where alcoholic beverages were served, but there was nothing preventing it in the room next door, especially since there were separate entrances.

Patrons entered the building through a single door from the outside, and then either went into the bar or the club through separate doors which locked separately at night. Since patrons didn’t have to go outside the building to carry a drink from one establishment to the other, they didn’t violate the “taking beverages outside” portion of the liquor laws when they carried a drink from the bar to the club.

Hannah was beautiful, and she moved like a dancer, but she wasn’t desperate enough...yet…to start stripping in public to pay off her student loans. She
was
desperate enough, however, to spend twenty minutes each evening practicing her barista skills.

She had just finished her second foam giraffe when she heard a commotion outside. She had a panic button under the counter that would lock the front door. Just behind it was a second button that could summon the police. They were the owner’s concession to the fact that the area got a little rougher after dark.

A figure appeared at the door. He was obviously a biker, but he didn’t look threatening. In fact, he looked scared. Hannah’s fingers hovered over the panic button as she watched him, but she didn’t press it. He struggled to pull the door open and staggered into the shop.

The young man moved unsteadily across the open space to the counter, and then walked around the bar to where Hannah stood. Her fingers hovered over the police call button, but he stopped and said in almost a whisper, “Lock the door. For your own safety, lock the door.” Then, he slid to the floor behind the bar.

Hannah immediately pushed the panic button. A loud buzz and click announced that the doors had indeed locked. Seconds later, five more leather-clad bikers appeared on the doorstep. One of them pulled at the door and rattled it loudly.

“We’re closed,” Hannah called out. “I’m cleaning the machines. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”

Two of the bikers held their hands above their eyes and pressed their faces against the window to look closely into the interior. Hannah was afraid that they would break the glass and enter, but apparently satisfied that she was alone in the locked shop, they walked on down the street.

“They’re gone,” she said to the prone young man lying almost directly beneath her. As she glanced down at him she suddenly thought,
He can see right up my skirt.
Then, she realized that his eyes were closed. She also noticed that his face was drawn tight in pain and his hand was holding back blood that was seeping onto his shirt just above his belt.

He opened his eyes briefly and then closed them again, either in consideration of Hannah’s modesty or, more likely, as an attempt to deal with the obvious pain. “Please, don’t call the cops,” he said softly. His voice was more like a hoarse whisper, and it was made ragged by the pain.

“You need a doctor,” said Hannah, as she knelt beside him.

“No EMTs either,” he gasped. “They’d have to report it. Things would get very...complicated.” He took several ragged breaths and continued, “Besides, then they’d know that you helped me, and they’d come after you.”

“Who are
they
?” she asked.

“The Devil’s Angels,” he replied, his voice seeming to grow stronger. “If I wasn’t lying on my back, you could see that I’m a member of the Wheels from Hell. We’re rival motorcycle clubs.”

“Why are they trying to kill you?” she asked, a combination of fear and concern evident in her voice as she spoke.

“Collateral damage,” he replied, as he pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned his back against the counter with his legs out in front of him. “They really want to kill Micky, but they’ll settle for anything with a wheel on the jacket.”

He took several slow and measured breaths before continuing, “Both clubs more or less claim the same territory, but we had a truce. That is, we had a truce until Micky O’Brien got caught screwing an Angel Momma in that little city park over on Fourth Street.

“She belonged to the Head Demon– that’s what they call their president. She started screaming rape as soon as she realized that they were being watched, but the Angels didn’t believe her. They beat the hell out of her and left her tied naked to a lamp pole with a sign that read,
Betraying Whore
. Mickey got away, but the truce is over and we’re outnumbered about twenty or thirty to one– especially after the new defections.”

He looked up at her. Suddenly, he looked like an embarrassed little boy and said, “Sorry about looking up your skirt. I’m truly trying to keep my eyes on your face, but you have a very nice body.”

There was something about his honesty that caused Hannah to smile back at him. She also took a step or two back and said, “This will make it easier for you. Lie there while I finish cleaning up. Then, if the coast is clear you can leave before I lock up for the night.”

“I need you to take me to a doctor,” he replied. His face still showed pain and he winced as he moved only slightly.

“I thought you said no doctors?” she asked.

“I said no EMTs. They’d have to report it. But I know a doctor who’ll treat me without reporting it. Do you have a car?”

Hannah silently thought out her answer before replying.
This was a dangerous man who was running and hiding from even more dangerous men who were trying to kill him. He didn’t want any police involvement even though he was obviously stabbed and beaten up without reason.
The voice in the back of her head was shouting,
Say NO! Say NO!
But the words that came out of her mouth were, “Yes, it’s parked in the lot around the corner.”

Why did I say that? He’s a biker! There’s no reason to become involved
, she thought.

She couldn’t help but think that he was a very handsome biker and his face looked so innocent and boyish when he apologized for looking up her skirt. Hannah suddenly realized that she had unconsciously stepped even closer to him. His eyes were mostly meeting hers, but she could see the quiver which meant that he was also glancing up her legs and, from his angle, he could see all the way up.
At least I have on a pair of new panties,
she found herself thinking. Then, she blushed and moved quickly to the other end of the counter to run the final machine through its cleaning cycle.

At five after nine, everything was clean and the cash register was balanced for the night. She put the money in the holding bag and dropped it into the floor safe beneath the counter. The owner would retrieve it in the morning and deposit it in the bank. Then, she told the wounded biker, “Stay there on the floor until I bring the car around. I’ll honk my horn twice rapidly. Can you get up and walk to the car by yourself?”

“Yes,” he replied, “but you’ll have to clean up the blood.”

For the first time she noticed a small pool of blood on the floor alongside him. She quickly wiped it up with a clean towel, and then handed it to him to hold over his wound. She hoped the towel would keep it from getting on her car seats, too.

“What’s your name?” she suddenly asked him.

“William,” he replied. “William Grims. Just like the reaper, only two of them.” He tried to laugh, but winced and coughed almost immediately. “What’s your last name, Hannah?”

“Kent,” she replied, “just like Superman’s sister.”

This time his laugh continued past the wince and cough.

***

All the way to her car, Hannah was telling herself that she shouldn’t be doing this. As she pulled up in front of the shop the voice in the back of her head asked her,
Are you crazy?
But her hands still bounced on the horn button twice and her feet scrambled to the door as soon as the
beep, beep
sounded.

William was even paler than before. He swayed slightly as he walked and Hannah had to help him to the car and hold him as he dropped into the seat. She stopped to make sure that the door to the coffee shop was securely locked and that there were no obvious blood drops on the floor. Then, she joined him in the car. He was slumped over with his eyes closed as she slid behind the wheel.

“If you pass out on me,” she said sternly, “I’m taking you to the hospital.” He suddenly straightened up and opened his eyes. “Where am I going?” she asked.

“Fourth Street, near Adams,” he replied.

They rode in silence for several minutes, as Hannah wound her way through the downtown area. “Where now?” she asked, as she turned onto Fourth Street.