Free Striker: No Prisoners MC Book 1 by Lilly Atlas

He’s here?” She scrambled to her feet like she was preparing to bolt.
    “Gumby,” he called out. “Follow him. See where the fucker goes.” Gumby sprinted to his bike and shot off after the car that sped up after it passed the clubhouse.
    Striker slid his hands up Lila’s arms to her shoulders, and turned her to face him. “Hey, babe. Lila, look at me.”
    She faced him, and the frightened look in her eyes caused an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness in Striker. He felt a gut-wrenching need to ensure her safety, similar to the night he shielded her from the Grimm Brothers. “There is no fuckin’ way he’d drive in here. Not unless he had a death wish.”
    Jester raised a brow at Striker’s forcefully spoken words. Striker wasn’t usually one to rush to a woman’s defense, but the statement seemed to be what Lila needed to hear.
    Striker watched her gather herself, take a deep breath and nod at him. It was then he noticed what she was wearing, or rather how little she was wearing. He trailed his eyes down her body, and dropped his hands from her damp shoulders, clenching them into fists at his sides. It was either that or reach out and palm her tight ass encased in tiny spandex shorts. On top she wore a neon yellow, stretchy tank top that ended just above her belly button, and left an expanse of creamy skin he wanted to lick. He forced himself to wrench his eyes back up to her face.
    “Let’s go into the clubhouse and get you a drink. Anyone you know have it in for you?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She shook her head as she answered, but a thoughtful look crossed her face.
    Striker placed a hand on her lower back and steered her toward the clubhouse with Jester trailing behind. He enjoyed the feel of her satiny skin under his callused hands. Unable to stop himself, his thumb caressed a circle on her soft flesh, and he heard her emit a small gasp at the intimate contact. When they reached the heavy metal door, he held it open for her.
    “Ladies first.”
    Lila turned. “Jester.” She motioned him forward with a snarky grin.
    Jester hooted out a laugh and slung an arm around Lila’s shoulders. The action pulled her away from Striker, and Jester propelled her through the door. “Girl, you are gonna be some trouble, aren’t you?”
    Striker was glad her sass was coming back so quickly. Seeing her so unnerved had caused a twist of fury in him. He followed them through the door with a shake of his head. Lila was already trouble, just not the kind that Jester was referring to.

Chapter Eight

    Lila’s eyes took a minute to adjust to the dim lighting after being out in the blinding Arizona sun. She blinked the space into focus, and scanned the room. She never expected to be in here and couldn’t keep her wild curiosity at bay. The main room was large, and her interest was drawn to a well-stocked, carved wooden bar running along the entire left wall. A handful of four-person square tables rested to the right with their chairs flipped on top. The center was open, allowing people to pass through toward the rear of the room.
    A long staircase at the back of the room led to the second level. License plates, street signs, motorcycle prints, and a fair number of pictures of almost naked woman littered the walls, giving the place an eclectic, masculine Americana style. She had to admit it wasn’t what she’d been expecting. In her mind she pictured the place as a dirty, smelly frat house of sorts, and was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness and order of the clubhouse. She could even get behind the masculine biker decor, except for all the nude women plastered on the walls, but men will be men.
    Jester uncurled his arm from around her shoulders as they reached the bar. “What’s your poison, darlin’?”
    “Oh, um, I’ll just have whatever you have I guess. Isn’t it a little early for a drink?”
    “Nope,” Striker answered. “Rule is, if you’ve nearly been run down before noon, all