Free Shooter (Burnout) by Dahlia West

frowned at him and shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I’ll call a cab, it’s not even a big deal. I’ll-”
    Chris sighed. “Jesus, Slick. Stop busting my balls. I thought we were past that.”
    “I’m not busting your balls!”
    “Then what’s the problem?”
    She chewed her lip. “I can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.”
    Chris stared at her. “You work in a biker bar,” he pointed out. “You worked at a biker bar in Denver.”
    “Yeah, but I didn’t go home with them!” she insisted. “And you don’t even have a helmet. Shouldn’t you be wearing a helmet?”
    Chris grinned and shook his head. “Only on road trips. Not in town.”
    She scoffed. “Well, that’s ridiculous because most accidents happen within five miles-”
    “Slick, are you really gonna stand there and lecture me for longer than it would take to actually drive home? I swear to obey all rules of the road and get you home in one piece. A whole six blocks from here ,” he added sarcastically. When she hesitated he said, “I’m here, you’re here, you’re going my way anyway. Get your jacket on.”
    Hayley briefly considered the cost of the cab and more to the point the wait for it to get to the bar and decided it did, in fact, make more sense to get a ride with Chris. “Okay,” she finally said. He nodded and gestured for her to head out the swinging door.
    She shrugged on her jacket as he held the front door open for her and zipped it up against the chilly air. She was following him to her bike when she heard raucous laughter of some stragglers leaving the bar. She moved a little closer to Chris as they walked toward his Harley.
    “Hey!” someone yelled. “Hey, barmaid!”
    Hayley gasped a little, and grabbed Chris’s arm, turning a little to see the prospect, Jack Prior, and a third man ambling in their general direction.
    “It’s fine,” Chris assured her in a low tone that only she could hear.
    He could feel the tension radiating off of Slick as two Buzzards, the Buzzard actually, and a prospect came toward them. The prospect looked happy while Preacher Prior was, as always inscrutable. Chris held his ground as the two men and the kid stopped in front of them.
    “Hey,” said the kid. “I was pissed at you,” he told Hayley.
    She swallowed hard, but before she could respond the kid laughed. “But now I’m not. So listen,” he said, leaning in. Chris watched Slick visibly recoil. “How ‘bout you get on my bike and we go back to the clubhouse for those drinks?”
    Chris didn’t even bother to wait for an answer. He casually slipped his arm around Hayley’s waist, spreading his hand wide along her hip. Slick was so wary of the Buzzards that she barely noticed. “Sorry, kid. This one’s mine,” Chris declared. The kid frowned.
    “Got yourself a house mouse, Shooter?” Preacher asked, eyeing Hayley with a seemingly disinterested glance. But Chris knew from experience that nothing Preacher did was random or meaningless.
    “Yup,” Chris responded, choosing not to say more. He wasn’t sure if Hayley knew what a house mouse was but if she did, thankfully she didn’t contradict the implication that he was using her for sex.
    The kid looked pissed. “He fucked a blond last night and it ain’t even his house. She lives next d-”
    Preacher brought his fist down, slamming it into the kid’s nuts. Hayley jolted and Chris held her tighter to him, hoping she could keep it together. The prospect doubled over in pain while the third man laughed. “None of your business who he sticks his dick in,” Preacher declared. “Shooter says the barmaid’s his; makes her his. End of story.”
    Chris gave the man a curt nod. “Preacher,” he said by way of good bye.
    “Shooter.”
    Chris turned Hayley around and guided her toward his bike. “Everything’s okay,” he told her softly. “Just get on the bike. That’s all you have to do, Hayley. Just focus.”
    They reached the