Rough Rider: A Biker Erotic Romance by Tamara Knowles Page A

door from the outside, and then either went into the bar or the club through separate doors which locked separately at night. Since patrons didn’t have to go outside the building to carry a drink from one establishment to the other, they didn’t violate the “taking beverages outside” portion of the liquor laws when they carried a drink from the bar to the club.
     
    Hannah was beautiful, and she moved like a dancer, but she wasn’t desperate enough...yet…to start stripping in public to pay off her student loans. She was desperate enough, however, to spend twenty minutes each evening practicing her barista skills.
     
    She had just finished her second foam giraffe when she heard a commotion outside. She had a panic button under the counter that would lock the front door. Just behind it was a second button that could summon the police. They were the owner’s concession to the fact that the area got a little rougher after dark.
     
    A figure appeared at the door. He was obviously a biker, but he didn’t look threatening. In fact, he looked scared. Hannah’s fingers hovered over the panic button as she watched him, but she didn’t press it. He struggled to pull the door open and staggered into the shop.
     
    The young man moved unsteadily across the open space to the counter, and then walked around the bar to where Hannah stood. Her fingers hovered over the police call button, but he stopped and said in almost a whisper, “Lock the door. For your own safety, lock the door.” Then, he slid to the floor behind the bar.
     
    Hannah immediately pushed the panic button. A loud buzz and click announced that the doors had indeed locked. Seconds later, five more leather-clad bikers appeared on the doorstep. One of them pulled at the door and rattled it loudly.
     
    “We’re closed,” Hannah called out. “I’m cleaning the machines. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”
     
    Two of the bikers held their hands above their eyes and pressed their faces against the window to look closely into the interior. Hannah was afraid that they would break the glass and enter, but apparently satisfied that she was alone in the locked shop, they walked on down the street.
     
    “They’re gone,” she said to the prone young man lying almost directly beneath her. As she glanced down at him she suddenly thought, He can see right up my skirt. Then, she realized that his eyes were closed. She also noticed that his face was drawn tight in pain and his hand was holding back blood that was seeping onto his shirt just above his belt.
     
    He opened his eyes briefly and then closed them again, either in consideration of Hannah’s modesty or, more likely, as an attempt to deal with the obvious pain. “Please, don’t call the cops,” he said softly. His voice was more like a hoarse whisper, and it was made ragged by the pain.
     
    “You need a doctor,” said Hannah, as she knelt beside him.
     
    “No EMTs either,” he gasped. “They’d have to report it. Things would get very...complicated.” He took several ragged breaths and continued, “Besides, then they’d know that you helped me, and they’d come after you.”
     
    “Who are they ?” she asked.
     
    “The Devil’s Angels,” he replied, his voice seeming to grow stronger. “If I wasn’t lying on my back, you could see that I’m a member of the Wheels from Hell. We’re rival motorcycle clubs.”
     
    “Why are they trying to kill you?” she asked, a combination of fear and concern evident in her voice as she spoke.
     
    “Collateral damage,” he replied, as he pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned his back against the counter with his legs out in front of him. “They really want to kill Micky, but they’ll settle for anything with a wheel on the jacket.”
     
    He took several slow and measured breaths before continuing, “Both clubs more or less claim the same territory, but we had a truce. That is, we had a truce until Micky O’Brien