As if riding in a cage made them tough. Not. Real men rode Harley’s.
I lifted my right hand in the air for my crew to see me alerting them of the oncoming traffic. Quino copied the gesture, then one by one, more members did the same.
It was the mad rush to get the weekend started. I felt that excitement in my bones. My club liked to party every chance we had. It made life better and my dick happy. A pretty woman to pound into was the best activity in the world.
Flashing hazard lights ahead caught my attention. I squinted trying to make out the person waving down cars like they had an emergency. Like dial 911 if it was so important.
If it was a dude, we wouldn’t stop.
If it was a woman, it was my civic duty to offer my assistance, especially if she was a looker.
I pointed, so my crew followed me to bypass the losers in cages. I needed to get closer before deciding if I’d help the person with car trouble. Moving into the right lane, the rain seemed to let up and my view became crystal clear.
Curves. A drenched white dress. Fire engine red hair.
I was most definitely stopping.
Time to piss off drivers, which I didn’t feel bad about. People in these parts knew who ruled this side of the Golden State: The Kings of Anarchy MC.
To be fair and truthful, my territory was east of I5, from the Oregon border to Sacramento. The west side was under the thumb of an old-school gangster I preferred not to think about right now.
Horns blared from my left side. I raised my hand toward the assholes and issued them the bird as I rolled on by.
A grin played on my lips as I glanced at my enforcer, Slay. I imagined I looked like a wet dog just like him. Whatever. We were stopping to help this poor woman, no matter how unsavory I appeared.
She’d still want me like every other woman.
Cocky much, Jefe? Damn straight I was cocky.
Women went into heat when in my presence. I just had that kind of sex appeal. Chicks dropped their panties and spread their legs without me having to ask. It was the leather cut that had a President patch and the flashy yellow Harley under me that drew their attention at first sight. And then up close and personal, they melted every fucking time. I’d say I lived a charmed life.
I jerked my chin at Slay and pointed at the exit coming up. Time to get off the fucking interstate. We could take Highway 20 up to the 45, then work our way through Butte Valley to San Diablo, my sanctuary.
Wiping my brow with the back of my hand, the chick frantically waved her hands in the air.
Gotta say, it was awfully ballsy of her. Did she not recognize us?
I signaled with my fist in the air for us to slow. She had a flat tire and appeared desperate. I wonderedhowdesperate…
The white dress was actually a shirt, soaked through. Just tempting the world with what was under it. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing was my hope. Goddamn, her dark nipples were hardened beads, begging to be sucked.
My cock rumbled to life and my mind was made up. I was helping this damsel in distress.
I parked my hog a couple of yards behind her little blue beater, then shouted, “Hey!” I nodded as I got off my bike and strolled toward her. “That sucks.”
“Tell me about it.” She sniffled, wiping under her red, runny nose. “Can you help me?”
“That depends.” I lowered my gaze to her chest and licked my bottom lip. Her breasts were full and perky, just as I liked a pair of tits to be. I could tell they were real. Not the fake shit some of the club girls had.
It irritated me that I couldn’t tell if she was over eighteen. Nowadays, girls liked to trick men into thinking they were older. I didn’t play that game. Doing time in a prison cell wasn’t high on my list of things to do.
“On what?” She straightened her back, standing taller, and crossed her arms in front of her. Defiance poured out of her brown eyes. If she thought she’d scare me off with her attitude, she would be wrong. Her sass turned me on more than her curves. “I don’t have money.”
“You don’t need any.”
“Oh, really?” She tilted her head and glared at me. “I don’t put out either.”
We’ll see about that.“How old are you?”
