Free Gravel (MC Biker Romance) by Alicia Tell Page B

his jaw and
slammed his fist on the counter. “Right NOW.”

 
    He’d been standing here going
rounds with me for the past ten minutes. He wasn’t about to leave anytime soon.

 
    “I’m sorry, sir,” I said. My bottom
lip quivered. “M-my manager is not here.”

 
    I tried to hide my trembling
fingers but it was nearly impossible. The man standing before me had crazy in
his eyes like I’d never seen before. He was about two seconds from flying
across the counter and clocking me in the face if I didn’t give him what he
wanted.

 
    “I knew I never should’ve stayed
here,” he said. “This is such a rat hole, shit infested motel.”

 
    “I-I’m sorry, sir,” I stammered. “I
can give you a free night’s stay if you’d like.”

 
    “Why the fuck would I want to stay
another night in this dump?” he said as he squared his shoulders back and shot
me an incredulous glare. “I’m only going to tell you one more time. Get your
manager here. I don’t care if you put him on the phone. I want to talk to
someone. NOW.”

 
    “Is there a problem?” another man
said as he walked in behind the crazy guy.

 
    The jingling of the bells on the
door had never sounded so sweet.

 
    Standing by the doorway was a guy,
not much older than me, dressed in head to toe black leather. His dark hair was
slicked back under a blue bandana and his full lips were surrounded by a hint
of stubble.

 
    “Yeah,” the disgruntled customer
said as he turned around to face the mysterious guy. “Someone jacked my car up
in the parking lot overnight and this bitch won’t do anything about it.”

 
    “Excuse me?” the leather-donning
man said as his face twisted into an angry contortion.

 
    “My car-,” the guy started to say,
but he was immediately interrupted.

 
    “Did you just call this nice, young
lady a bitch?”

 
    As he took a step closer to the
crazy guy, he began to tower over him. He had at least five inches on the
douche bag and about thirty more pounds of muscle.

 
    “Care to tell me why it’s her fault
your car got damaged?” the hunk in leather asked. His stare was intense, as if
he was burning holes into the crazy guy.

 
    Silence.

 
    “I’m going to give you three
seconds to get your sorry ass out of this motel,” he said through gritted
teeth. “Don’t ever speak to a woman like that again, and don’t ever show your
face around here again. You hear me?”

 
    The crazy guy glanced outside to
see a line of bikes parked outside the building.

 
    For a second, I thought the crazy
guy was going to challenge him, but the moment he saw the bikers outside the
building, he practically sprinted out of the lobby.

 
    “Are you okay?” the guy said as he
approached the counter. “Did that guy touch you?”

 
    I tucked a strand of wispy blonde
hair behind my ear. “I’m fine. No, he didn’t touch me.”

 
    “I’m Raze,” he said. “Raze Ganoway .”

 
    “Mia,” I replied, sheepishly
realizing I was donning a tacky, plastic name badge on my shirt.

 
    His lips curled into a sweet smile
as his face softened and our eyes locked.

 
    “Now that that’s settled,” he said.
“I’d like to book some rooms. My guys and I will be coming through here every
couple of weeks. I’d like to set up an ongoing reservation.”

 
    “I can help you with that,” I said
as I turned towards the computer. My face turned beet red. I was suddenly
flustered in his presence. In the quiet motel lobby with the ancient, peeling
wallpaper and chipping ceramic tile floor, it was just us .
I could feel him staring at me.

 
    He leaned up onto the counter,
resting his strong arms just mere inches from me. The creaking of his jacket
and the smell of polished leather took me far away to a place of adventure
beyond these four walls.

 
    In my mind I was riding on the back
of his bike, arms gripped tightly around his waist, the rumble of the road beneath us and the