Shaken, Not Stirred, Page 3

  My love of motorcycles and the freedom of the ride pretty much goes no further than the fact I own a Harley and I work on custom-built choppers. Kyle's goes a little further in that long before I met him, he patched into a motorcycle club called Mayhem's Mission that's based out of Jackson, Wyoming. The owner of Teton Choppers, a grizzled, old military veteran that earned the nickname ZZ because of his long ZZ Top-like beard, employs quite a few members from the club. ZZ isn't part of Mayhem's Mission, but he also doesn't seem to have a problem with them either, seeing as how they provide a lot of his recurring business.

  I'm not exactly sure if there are any criminal workings inside of the club. I've never asked Kyle and he's never volunteered, but I have to think there's something going on there because Kyle carries a gun on him at all times as well as a burner cell phone in addition to his regular one. Doesn't take an advanced degree to know something shady goes down, but it's none of my business. He doesn't bring that shit around our workplace and otherwise seems to be a solid dude.

  Kyle rides ahead of me and by my calculations and the fact that I can smell salt on the air, I figure we're getting close to the ocean. He's a classic biker. Arms raised in the air as he holds onto his ape-hanger bars, long, blond hair flying behind him. The skull on the back of his leather vest leers at me... a creepy, hollow-eyed skeletal head with pointed teeth dripping blood and flames leaping from the eye sockets. I think it's a patch that's designed to inspire fear in the average viewer, but it doesn't affect me in that way. I've come to know quite of few of the guys that ride with Mayhem and while some could be considered a little certifiable, they're mostly dudes that share a love of Harleys and the lifestyle that comes with riding them.

  Kyle only talked to me once about joining the club. I listened patiently while I was repairing a cracked cylinder head on a 1988 Sportster and tuning in to only about half of what he said. I heard things such as camaraderie, riding free, wild parties, and all the free pussy you could ever want. While my ears perked up slightly over the abundance of pussy within the club, it just wasn't something I was interested in. I was only interested in doing my job and riding in my spare time, providing a good life for Zoey, and trying to figure out what the fuck I wanted to do with my life.

  Yeah... had no clue what I wanted to do, but I certainly knew what I didn't want to do, and that was to be a cattle rancher. While I loved certain aspects of the job, it just wasn't what I wanted to devote my life to. It was expected of me to following in my dad's footsteps. However, a part of me was holding out hope that my younger brother would step up to the plate, take an interest in the family business, and alleviate me of the responsibility.

  Up ahead in the distance, I see a long bridge spanning over a wide body of water, which I know from the map I had looked at earlier was the Roanoke Sound. I knew just on the other side of that bridge we'd officially be on the barrier islands known as the Outer Banks and for the first time since we left Raleigh after lunch, I was starting to get a small feeling of excitement. It would be nice to take a break and fuck... I can't remember the last time I took a vacation just for myself. Ever since Zoey was born fourteen years ago, I'm not sure I've done anything just for myself.

  Which is fine by me.

  Zoey is and always will be my number-one priority. She comes first in all things.

  I follow along behind Kyle as we rumble down the highway and cross over onto the island. We head north toward Nags Head and the ocean opens up on my right, the midday summer sun sparkling on the blue-green waters.

  I'm no stranger to the Atlantic. I was stationed for a brief time in North Carolina, just a few hours south of here aboard Camp Lejeune Marine Corps base, which abuts right up to the ocean. It was my first duty station after I got out of boot camp, and it's also where Bri got her first taste of the East Coast as I brought her and Zoey out here to live with me when Zoey was just six months old. We stayed here for almost two years until I was sent to Camp Leatherneck in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan and Bri and Zoey moved back to Wyoming to live with her parents during that eighteen-month deployment. I spent the rest of my enlistment in San Diego, where... before I knew it... my time in the military had come to a close, and I was once again faced with the prospect of joining the family cattle business or finding something else that would keep me out from under my father's thumb.

  Now, it had never been my original intent to marry Brianna. It was not something I remotely wanted to do. I had dated her for a few months after I graduated high school, but it only took those few months for me to realize she was bat-shit crazy. And apparently, it only took the same amount of time for her to end up pregnant so when she showed up on my doorstep claiming I would be a father in less than eight months, I panicked. I wasn't ready for fatherhood. I sure as shit didn't want a wife. I was enlisting in the military to get far away from my current life, and now I was saddled with responsibilities I didn't want.

  Some would say that with a young wife I detested but a beautiful daughter who I adored, it would have been stupid for me to turn down my father's offer of joining on at the ranch again. I'd have free housing and a good paying job. It was the smart decision to make.

  Instead, I took the job as a mechanic at Teton Choppers and have been somewhat satisfied with my life. It doesn't pay what ranching pays but it paid enough, and I was able to support my family just fine.

  That worked out for me for almost nine years, during which time I ascended among the ranks to become ZZ's top mechanic and I shared management duties over the shop with Kyle. During that time period too, I finally wised my ass up and realized I didn't have to be married to a woman I didn't love only for the sake of sharing a child. I finally wised up enough to realize that I wasn't teaching Zoey what a healthy relationship would look like, and I was doing her no favors by continually putting up with her mother's shit just to keep the peace in the house.

  But... after nine years, I am not feeling that full measure of satisfaction any more. I've been itching for something different, and this is made more so by the fact that my dad has been pressuring me to come back into the fold. My brother has decided he doesn't want to grow up apparently, and my father wants someone to pass the business on to.

  I have a decision to make.

  Go back to ranching or figure a way to do something with my life that will have enough meaning to sustain me personally and professionally.

  I'm hoping my buddy, Nix Caldwell, can help me reason this shit out. He's in New Jersey so I'll make a quick trip up there so we can discuss an idea I've had brewing, which has really been consuming my thoughts since I'm considering a move to North Carolina.

  Kyle's brake light comes on, pulling me out of my thoughts, and he starts to slow down as I see a teal-blue Jeep on the side of the road up a ways. As we get closer, what becomes even more interesting than the Jeep is the woman that's standing behind the vehicle with her emergency flashers on.

  Leave it to Kyle to want to pull over and help a damsel in distress, but fuck... how can I blame him? The woman is beyond magnificent.

  We cruise slowly past her to pull over in front of her Jeep. She tilts her head to the left to watch us cautiously and in that brief glimpse, I catch golden-blonde hair that comes down to her mid-back. It's all windblown and messy with whiter streaks of highlights filtering throughout. She's got on a pair of the tiniest cutoff shorts I've ever seen, cut so high in the back I can see the crease of where her ass cheeks meet the backs of her legs, a spot on a woman I find to be so fucking sexy.

  Long, long, long tanned legs spill downward out of those shorts, and a quick glance back up her body reveals a gorgeous C cup set of tits mounded nicely under a tight white tank top.

  But what really catches my interest is her face as we idle on by her.

  It's stunning. I mean fucking runway model-like.

  High cheekbones, straight nose, sweetly puffed lips slicked with gloss, and crystal-blue eyes. Her skin is golden everywhere, and there is a slight dusting of freckles over
her nose and cheeks. She looks like the all-American cheerleader blessed with the body of a Victoria's Secret model.

  No wonder why Kyle was pulling over to offer assistance, but there's no doubt I would have pulled over myself had I not been with Kyle. This woman was too fucking gorgeous not to stop and render assistance to.

  Chapter 3

  Casey

  My first indication that I had a flat tire was the fwapping sound that made me first think a helicopter was flying overhead. It took only a few seconds and a brief glance upward since I had the top off my Jeep to know it wasn't.

  I pulled over and having no clue what to do with a flat tire, immediately called Hunter before I even got out to look at the damage. When I reached his voice mail, I left a brief message. "Baby sister here. I'm stuck on 158 with a flat tire. As soon as I can get some stud to stop and help me change it, I'll be in to work. Or, you could get your butt out here and change it for me. I'm just about a quarter mile south of Wilby's. Later, gator."

  When I hung up, I called Brody. It paid to have two helpful older brothers.

  Unfortunately, I got Brody's voice mail as well, but I didn't even break out into a sweat that I couldn't reach him because I had other options. Which meant I called Wyatt and while I did reach him, he told me I was shit out of luck because he was still on duty and as much as he was a cop and lived to serve and protect, his captain would not appreciate him leaving to help a friend change a flat tire. The only other bit of help he offered was the number to the local garage, which I declined. That would take too long and being as it was the start of the summer season, I knew it wouldn't take long for someone to stop and help me. Especially not when I was wearing a hot pair of Daisy Dukes.

  Just so no one would misinterpret my need for help, I switched on my flashers and got out of the Jeep, walking to the back where I vaguely remembered I had a spare tire attached to the rear swinging tailgate. It's not that I really noticed it before, and I'm sure the salesman must have mentioned it to me when I bought the vehicle, but really... why would I need to know that? Even if I knew where the spare tire was, I wouldn't know what to do with it.

  I see a car in the distance coming up from the south, so I immediately start rummaging through my very empty rear trunk area. I'm not looking for anything in particular but I figured it would at least look good to be bent over slightly so that any person of the male species that might be in a rush and not inclined to stop would think twice about that.

  The car approaches and flies by, honking with two guys sticking their heads out the windows and yelling, "Damn baby... you're hot."

  Assholes.

  If I'm so damn hot, why don't you stop and help me change my flat tire?

  Two more cars pass, neither eliciting a honk or catcalls, leading me to believe they were filled with girls heading out for a day on the sunny beach.

  With an impatient glance at my watch, I consider calling the garage when I hear the deep and unmistakable rumble of motorcycles approaching. Holding my hand up to my forehead to shield the sun, I see two approaching from the south and a small thrill runs through me. There's just something about a man on a motorcycle that gets my own metaphorical engine rumbling.

  Quickly turning toward the rear of my jeep, I again strike a distressed damsel pose and pretend to rummage around, bent over, ass sticking out nice and perkily. The bark of the engines gets louder, and I can tell they are slowing down. I lift my head, turn it to the left, and see two potentially gorgeous and maybe even badass bikers slowly gliding by. The first one looks a little scary with long, blond hair and a full beard. As he starts to pull off the road in front of my Jeep, I notice the black leather vest he's wearing has a freaky-looking skull with bloody, dripping teeth on the back and the word "Mayhem's" written over the top and "Mission" across the bottom.

  Before I can even think to be a little leery, my eyes cut to the next bike slowly crawling by and Oh. My. Freakin'. God.

  Now, this is the type of biker that would star in my fantasies. He's not wearing a leather vest but just sporting a simple black Harley Davidson t-shirt that fits tightly across a broad chest. Both of his arms are covered in tattoos, and I even see a peek of ink running up the right side of his neck. Faded jeans with a small hole in the right thigh that only draws my notice because of the way they form to a long and solid leg, accompanied with some kick-ass black boots. My eyes lift quickly to his face and although I can't see his eyes because of the dark frames he's wearing, I can see plenty of shaggy, black hair that curls and flips out from under the small helmet that covers just the top part of his skull. His head turns to face me as he rides by and although I can't see what color his eyes are, I can feel them running all over my body. By the small quirk to his lips, I know they are finding appreciation in what he sees. I, in turn, appreciate the thin, dark goatee that surrounds those lips and a perfectly square and dimpled chin just below.

  Both bikes pull over and stop about twenty feet in front of my Jeep. The silence is almost deafening when the engines are cut, but then the squawk of seagulls in the distance and waves crashing on the beach takes up residence in my ears.

  I shut the back tailgate and walk down the driver's side of my Jeep toward them, careful to make sure no other traffic is getting ready to drive by. Both men have their long legs on the ground, balancing those massive machines between their thighs. They remove their helmets almost in synchronicity and while the blond tightens a bandana he has around his long hair, the other guy runs his fingers through his choppy, dark layers. While I'm not into guys with extremely long hair like the blond, the dark one's looks just long and soft enough that a woman's fingers would get lost in there and never want to let go.

  When I reach the front of my Jeep, I rest my hip against the fender and cross my arms under my breasts, which yeah... I know will make them the center of attention.

  My eyes focus on the dark-haired guy as he stands up from his bike and lifts a well-muscled leg over. He's tall and that's something I appreciate since I'm unnaturally tall for a girl. His backside is as nice as his front in those faded jeans and the black tee pulled just as tight across his shoulder blades. His arms are corded with muscle and one bicep flexes beautifully as he reaches up to take his sunglasses off as he turns in my direction. Even from twenty feet away, I can see his eyes are the lightest of blue, which pop from underneath thick, dark lashes and slashed eyebrows that give him a dangerous sort of air.

  Both men walk toward me. I glance quickly at the blond and as he removes his sunglasses, his eyes immediately lower down to my breasts. The other guy though casually tucks an arm of his glasses into the neckline of his t-shirt and holds my gaze as they walk closer.

  "Flat tire?" the blond asks and when I look back at him, his face holds a friendly smile.

  "Flat as they come," I quip and flash him my pearly whites.

  "Good thing we stopped to rescue you then," the blond replies, flashing me his own grill.

  Pushing away from the fender, I turn to walk to the back of the Jeep, knowing both men have their gazes pinned to my ass as they walk behind me. "It's the back right tire."

  I abruptly stop at the back corner of my Jeep where I point down at the flat, only to have a solid male body connect with mine. Large hands come to my hips and I hear a deep, rich rumble. "Whoa, Goldie... give a man some warning before you stop your trajectory."

  I know, without looking, that this is the dark-haired biker, because his voice rolls deeper than the blond's does. The sound of his sexy voice coats over my skin like a velvet blanket and his hands are warm as they grip me surely just below my waist. With a slight pushing motion, he moves me to the side and steps past me, releasing his hold so he can squat down beside my tire.

  Reaching a hand out, he touches a finger in between the treads and gives a slight tap. "You picked up a nail."

  I squat down beside him to take a look, not because I really care, but because I want to get a little closer to him. My knee bumps his as I tilt my head to the side to
look. "What does that mean?"

  Both of our gazes lift up and connect... his light blue eyes latching on to my cornflower ones. God, this man is pretty with his hard jawline and just about the most perfect set of lips I've ever seen on the male species. The goatee is what sets that face apart though, giving him a sexy, rough look.

  "What that means," he says with a smile as he stands up and holds a hand out to me. I place mine in his and he helps me rise from my squat position, "Is that we need to put your spare tire on. You can then get the nail pulled and the hole plugged as an easy fix."

  The blond-haired guy opens the back of my Jeep, pops open a little compartment on the side wall that I hadn't noticed before, and pulls out a lug wrench and a jack. I watch him as he closes the tailgate and proceeds to work on getting my flat tire off.

  When I turn my attention back to the man who is still holding my hand in his, I give him my prettiest smile and briefly pull my bottom lip in between my teeth while I look at him coyly. When I let it pop free, a move that I know makes men think certain things about my lips and mouth, I say, "Well... it's my lucky day to have had two hot men stop to help me."

  The blond gives a bark of a laugh as he pulls the tire free, and the dark-haired guy's hand tightens on mine. "I think we're the lucky ones," he says with a wink, and then takes a step in closer to my body.

  Because he's so much taller than I am, I have to crane my neck to look up at him. He stares right back down at me with a hint of challenge in his eyes. Then he surprises the shit out of me when his free hand comes back to my hip where he smoothes it along the denim down to the frayed edges. With just his fingertips fingering the fluff around the cut hem, he murmurs, "I mean... what's a guy to do... seeing a sexy woman like you standing here on the side of the road just waiting to give a man a heart attack in these little shorts."

  His words are low and seductive, yet still loud enough that his friend heard him because he snorts loudly as he starts to work the jack underneath the Jeep. My eyes slide down to look at the blond as he squats, and I see a knowing grin on his lips.