Free Ridden Hard: Taken by the Heaven's Assassins MC by Gale London Page A

see, I already have a drink,” I reply over the loud rock music, holding up my almost-full martini glass without bothering to turn around.
     
    “Ah, but that will soon be gone, and then you’ll be looking for another. This way you won’t have to wait.”
     
    I smile to myself and take a painfully slow sip. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, as if daring me to turn around and look at him. “And what makes you think I don’t plan on nursing this one drink all night long?”
     
    “Oh... call it a hunch.”
     
    The bartender approaches with a second martini, sets it in front of me with a bemused smirk, and then quickly retreats. Ignoring the duplicate drink for now, I swivel on my stool and face the stranger, giving him a quick once-over from head to toe. Early thirties, good facial features, visible tattoos on his neck, chest and wrists, tight acid washed blue jeans hinting at a decent package lurking beneath.
     
    Quite acceptable material for a quickie!
     
    Raising the first martini glass to my lips, I jerk my head back and swallow its contents in a single gulp – olive and all.
     
    Grinning coyly, I lick my lips sensuously as the slug of alcohol burns its way down my esophagus. “Good call there, cowboy!”
     
    The man’s eyebrows curve upwards in mild surprise, and he tilts his head back and takes a swig of his own drink – a bottle of cheap American beer, which is definitely the bar’s top seller. “Well then... you’re welcome. New in town?”
     
    “Nope.”
     
    “Mmm, still... don’t think I’ve seen you ’round here before.”
     
    “Oh? Then you must not have been paying very good attention. And that hurts my feelings.” I pout playfully.
     
    “Entirely my loss, I’m sure. It’s just... well, you look a little out of place with that fancy dress on.”
     
    I bashfully touch the front of my form-fitting but certainly not “fancy” dress, running a finger around the inside of the swooping neckline and casually pulling it a few inches lower to expose more cleavage. “Oh. Well, do you think I would look more in place without the dress?”
     
    I watch the man’s pupils dilate which he quickly covers by taking a long swig of beer. I’m sure he’s thinking he just hit pay dirt!
     
    “Um, perhaps we should take a ride back to my place... where I could give you my honest opinion. At least, before you go and do anything too drastic in front of these, um... sensitive folk.”
     
    Glancing at the veritable sea of menacing bikers and cheap women surrounding us, I snort with amusement. “Oh, but I do so love being drastic! Still, perhaps we should stay in neutral territory. For now.”
     
    “Your place then?”
     
    Chuckling softly, I reach blindly behind my back for the second martini glass. “No, I think not.” Raising the full glass to my lips, I take a slow sip and re-cross my legs in such a way that he’s guaranteed to get a flash of white panties. “But, if you’re interested, you could always give me your honest opinion without leaving the bar.”
     
    “Yeah? What did you have in mind?”
     
    I smile and hold out my free hand, which he quickly grasps. Rough, calloused skin – and yet remarkably well manicured nails, too. Clearly someone who works with their hands, but cares about their personal appearance.
     
    Sliding off the stool, I lead the stranger through the noisy throng of inebriated humanity, past two rows of deeply scarred pool tables, and towards the center rear of the bar.
     
    The man hesitates when it becomes obvious that we’re heading to the restrooms. “Um, yeah, could you wait here a second? I should let my, uh, friend know not to come looking for me.”
     
    “Which one’s your friend?” I ask, genuinely curious.
     
    The man cranes his neck, trying to see past people’s heads, and then points. “Over there, by the darts. Blackish hair. Sunglasses.”
     
    Following his finger, I spot a tall and ruggedly handsome