Free Born to Be Wild by Patti Berg

him.
    Leaving this lonely alley seemed like a good place to start. “Is there some reason you’re stopping here?” she asked, staying put on the back of the motorcycle even after Max swung his right leg over the gas tank and slid off the bike.
    “You wanted waiters, right?”
    She looked at the motorcycles around her, at the Dumpsters lining one wall, at the huge, graffiti-covered warehouses that surrounded them, and she laughed. “I suppose they’re lined up on shelves inside, and you just walk down an aisle and pick out the ones you want.”
    He grinned. “Something like that.”
    He was teasing, of course. She knew full well that he couldn’t find qualified waiters in a storage building on the outskirts of West Palm Beach. “Really, Max, where are we?”
    “The Hole in the Wall.”
    The Hole in the Wall , she repeated to herself, then frowned. “This isn’t a biker bar, is it?”
    “A hangout,” he corrected, as if his choice of words would give her a cozy feeling about the place. “I spend a lot of time here.”
    “That doesn’t surprise me, but what are we doing here?”
    “Taking care of business, just like I said. Are you going to stay out here or go inside?”
    She had no way of knowing what kind of business he could have in an old, dilapidated warehouse, but she’d heard stories about bikers and what they did in their free time, things like drinking and carousing, not to mention having their way with women. She couldn’t imagine Max mixed up in anything so disreputable, but that didn’t mean the people he hung out with weren’t a bit on the shady side.
    “Well, what are you going to do?” he asked, combing his fingers through his hair, only to have it fall right back into its natural state of disarray.
    She slipped off her helmet and looked at the big black door and the huge, racy motorcycles, with lightning bolts, fanged serpents, and fire-breathing dragons painted on their gas tanks. Thoughts of the men who rode them, and the knowledge that they’d be inside, helped to quickly make up her mind. “I believe I’ll stay here, thank you.”
    Max shook his head as he walked to the door. “Suit yourself.”
    Even though Max had put down the kickstand, she settled the tiptoes of her silver spikes on the ground and hoped the bike wouldn’t topple over. She was five-feet-ten-and-three-quarter-inches tall, she was packing a few too many pounds on her frame—or so her ex-fiancé had told her—but she still felt small on the massive Harley.
    She slid from her perch to the scooped out part of the leather seat, where Max always sat, and put her hands on the grips. Suddenly she didn’t feel so little. Riding along as a passenger she had no control, was totally at the mercy of the man at the helm. But sitting in the driver’s seat was exciting, empowering.
    “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
    The sound of Max’s voice drew her gaze toward the door. She’d gotten so carried away by the thrill of the bike between her legs that she hadn’t noticed he was still in the alley, that he’d been watching her movements. “A girl could get used to this.”
    A slow grin touched his lips. “Then keep it warm for me while I’m inside. I won’t be long.”
    He opened the door and she heard a blast of music—a heavy guitar and the heavier beat of drums—before the weighty metal door slammed with a deep clank behind him, leaving her all alone.
    The sense of power left her when she realized the only thing keeping her company was the sunlight bouncing off the chrome of half a dozen motorcycles. It was quiet now, lonely, and it seemed as if the walls were closing in on her.
    Being alone was nothing new. She’d been alone many times as a child, when her mother would run off unexpectedly, leaving her behind for months at a time, with only Charles and her nanny for company. But she’d been on familiar ground then.
    Right now she was out of her element, too far from the places where she felt at home. She should be