Free Rider: An MC Club Alpha Male Romance by Helen Lucas Page A

out. “What’s next on the agenda?”
     
    “Dinner. So, get upstairs and make me something,” I ordered. She rolled her eyes, but more playfully than in frustration. I slapped her ass as she went by me and she giggled, running a few steps into the building.
     
    This was all fun and good but I was in dangerous territory here. I couldn’t be letting myself fall in love with this woman. I just couldn’t.
     
    Not only because we were supposed to be doing a job together, a job that would mean my death if it failed—fuck my life. I didn’t care that much about it. Not in the long run.
     
    No, I couldn’t fall in love with her because she was Fred’s and I hated the idea of taking her from him, even in death.
     
    I could see why he had loved her. Why he always carried snap shots of her. Why he bragged about her, bragged about how smart and successful she was, graduating top of her class at FSU and getting all sorts of offers from the big Miami law firms. She was going to be paying all the bills when he got home, he declared. He was going to sit on the couch, drink beer, and watch football while she was at work every day, making bank for them.
     
    But he never got home. He never got the chance.
     
    Dinner was more of the same. Claire tried some more of the hot sauce and it lit up her face again like a firecracker, shades of red and pink I swear I’ve never seen before blazing across her cheeks.
     
    “I really, really can’t understand how you eat this stuff…” she gagged, setting her plate down and shaking her head.
     
    “I do and it’s great,” I retorted with a chuckle.
     
    “What’s the next step in my Damned training anyway?” Claire asked once she was able to talk without stopping every few moments for a drink of water. “I mean, I can ride fine, but I’m not allowed to talk about that…”
     
    I hesitated and then went for it.
     
    “You need tattoos. Lots of them.”
     
    “Oh. Right. That.”
     
    “I’ll take you to my artist. He’s one of the nicest, most trustworthy guys I know. He goes the name of Gentleman Joel. He’ll take good care of you, but you’re trying to look the part of a girl who hangs out with bikers, so you’re going to need to get a lot of work done in a very, very short period of time. It… Could get rough. That’s why I wanted you to learn to ride first—you’re going to be healing for a few weeks and it would have hurt something awful to fall off the bike onto freshly tatted skin.”
     
    “The things I do for work,” Claire sighed, shaking her head.
     
    “So, start thinking about what kinds of shit you want.”
     
    “He did all your tattoos?”
     
    “That’s right.”
     
    “Can I get a sleeve like yours?”
     
    “Sure. Hell, that’d be a great idea—it’s gonna’ take a long time, but that’s what we’re looking for.”
     
    “I don’t have any tattoos. Does it hurt?”
     
    I shrugged.
     
    “Depends on where you get it. But in general, not too bad. It just feels like you’re being scratched. Like you’re getting a shot at the doctor’s office.”
     
    “I hate getting shots.”
     
    “Well, they’re going to feel real easy after this,” I said with a grim smile.
     
    “What did I sign up for…” Claire murmured, sitting back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling.
     
    After dinner, I left Claire at the apartment and headed to the clubhouse. Spending too much time with those jokers made me feel sick, but I had to be putting in appearances.
     
    When I got there, there was a Haitian kid tied up outside. His face was bloated and bloody, completely distorted. He smelled like piss—I didn’t know if it was his or someone else’s.
     
    “What’s with the kid out there?” I demanded as soon as I entered.
     
    “That was one of Bolo’s guys. He was trying to pass off some coke that he said the sting missed. Turned out to be ninety-percent sugar,” Fatman roared from his place on the couch, a sawed-off shotgun laid out