Naked for the Knuckleheads (erotic MC club motorcycle romance) Page 8
And then Sara and Melissa clambered out of the car and he was gone; roaring off down Las Vegas Boulevard and out of their lives forever.
“Wow,” Sara murmured, standing there in last night’s dress, aching and tired. “That was… That was the most intense thing to ever happen to me.”
“Yeah,” Melissa reached over and squeezed Sara’s hand. “I kinda want to go home and tell Trevor all about it.” But then her cheeks turned pink. “But I know I can’t ever tell him.”
The two women walked, hand in hand, into the lobby and headed to the elevator. Sara checked the time on her watch. It was nearly 2 o’clock; with not a lot of time left for them to go and collect the cashier’s check that was about to change her life.
“C’mon, let’s get changed,” she fumbled with the keycard for their hotel room – achingly aware of how drab and modest their budget room at the Tropicana would seem after the splendor of the 32nd floor of the Monte Carlo. “Maybe we can grab some lunch before we collect my winnings.”
She pushed open the door to the hotel room – and Melissa screamed.
The place was wrecked.
The beds were overturned. Their luggage and clothes were strewn around the room. Every drawer was hanging open, or ripped from the dresser completely.
“What the fuck,” Melissa staggered into the room. “Were we robbed or something?”
But clearly not – Sara’s jewelry box and iPad were still there, along with all of Melissa’s gadgets.
The two women stepped into the room, looking around in complete bemusement. And then the door SLAMMED shut behind them.
Melissa and Sara span around.
Standing behind the door, holding a gun, was Howard Chang.
“I’ve been waiting for you all night, you bitch,” the pale Chinaman hissed, lifting the semi-automatic he clutched in his pudgy hand. “Where is my million dollars?”
Chapter Seventeen
Sara froze, staring at the cold, black, unblinking eye that was the barrel of Chang’ gun.
“Where’s my money,” the Chinaman spat again, taking a threatening step towards them. “I want my million dollars!”
Melissa whimpered. Sara reached over and squeezed her hand.
“You cheated me, last night,” Howard hissed, his knuckles white as he squeezed the handle of his gun. “You and that Harley-riding plotted together, and that’s why I lost.” He raised the gun. “Well, Howard Chang never loses; so give me my fucking money.”
Sara struggled to speak.
“I-I don’t have it,” she stammered.
“Where is it?” Chang hissed. “I need it, now.”
Sara’s mind raced. What was she going to do? The check for a million dollars was waiting for her at the Monte Carlo – but she was damned if she was going to give it to this fat asshole.
“J-just give it to him,” Melissa whimpered, squeezing Sara’s hand.
“I don’t have it,” Sara spat, and her mind continued to race.
“Where is it?” Chang hissed. “Tell me right now, or I’ll blow this blond bitch away.” He aimed the gun towards Melissa.
“No!” Sara cried. “Stop! I’ll tell you.”
And then she had a stroke of genius.
“It’s with him,” she explained.
“Him? Who’s him?”
“Flint,” Sara stammered. “The biker. We split the money. He has the check with him. He was going to deposit it today.”
Chang sneered in satisfaction.
“Well, I’ll kill you two bitches and go and get it from him.”
“Waaaaah!” Melissa sunk to her knees, cowering.
“No!” Sara yanked her friend to her feet. “You can’t. First, you don’t even know where he is. Second, you need both our signatures to cash it.” With a jerk of her thumb, she indicated Melissa, “and you’re not getting anything if you hurt her.”
“Fine,” Chang spat. “Where is he?”
“A-at his garage,” Sara explained. “An hour outside of town. Let us get dressed and we’ll take you.”
“Fuck that,” Chang reached behind him and opened the door. “We’re going right now.” And with that, he jerked his gun, ordering them wordlessly back out into the corridor.
* * *
Howard Chang must have seen a lot of old gangster movies, because he hid his gun the same way Humphrey Bogart and Jimmy Cagney did in those old flicks – throwing a newspaper over his arm to conceal the weapon.
Like that, he ordered Sara and Melissa into the elevator and out into the lobby of the Tropicana, where they’d just returned just minutes earlier.
His car was waiting for him outside – a nondescript Ford rental. He ordered the two girls into the front seat.
“You drive,” he told Melissa. “And make one wrong move,” the fat Chinaman warned, as he squeezed in beside them, “and I’ll shoot you bitches where you sit.”
Melissa sniffled, but obeyed. A moment later, the car was rolling down Las Vegas Boulevard towards the freeway.
Melissa was crying, terrified. Fortunately, Sara was made of stronger stuff.
“You’ll never get away with this,” she hissed.
“Yes I will,” Chang spat. “You don’t understand – I have to.” He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his free hand. “That million dollars? I owe it to some business partners of mine. The sort of people you don’t want to owe money to.”
The gun poked Sara in her ribs.
“I’m a dead man if I don’t get that money; but I’ll make sure you and that blond-haired bastard are dead too, if it comes to it.”
Sara gulped.
It wasn’t tricky to remember the way to the Knucklehead garage, and Melissa did a good job driving. Within minutes, they were on the freeway – and then out in the endless, sun-baked Nevada desert.
They drove for an hour through the broiling sun – the view not quite as pretty when you have a gun in your ribs.
Eventually, though, the stark profile of the garage appeared on the horizon, and Melissa rolled to a halt outside the dusty, abandoned-looking hanger.
“C’mon,” Chang ordered, and Sara and Melissa clambered out of the car.
“T-the suite’s this way,” Sara stammered, leading them towards the open garage door.
A moment later they were disappearing into the gloom of the old hanger, and Melissa was openly crying.
“Shut up, you bitch,” Chang hissed, “or I’ll really give you something to cry about.”
She fell silent, sniffling and whining.
They stepped inside the garage. Chang shuffled slowly along behind them; pulling the newspaper off his gun so they could see the murderous glint of the long, grey barrel.
“This’ll scare that bastard,” the Chinaman grinned. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”
With that, they stepped into the living quarters of the Knucklehead garage.
Clearly, the slumbering bikers had woken up. Porn had been replaced by the Lakers game on the projection screen, and the sound of raised voices and laughter reverberated around the cool, dark garage.
Flint was sitting on the bed, and when he heard voices, he turned to the doorway and peered at the uninvited guests walking into his garage.
His eyes widened as he saw Sara and Melissa’s familiar faces.
“H-hey, ladies,” he stammered – but didn’t get any further than that.
Immediately, Howard Chang barged past the girls and into full view, brandishing his gun. He waved it across the room, loosely covering all of the half-drunk, sleepy bikers there.
Chang barked: “Where’s my bloody money, you blond bastard?”
He lasted about five seconds.
The moment the pudgy Chinaman lifted his gun, the room full of bikers leapt to action.
Chang found himself brandishing a gun – but staring at five guns in return.
Each one of Flint’s posse was packing – and each quick-drew their semi-automatics the moment they saw Chang raise his.
“O-oh, shiiit,” he groaned, looking from gun, to gun, to gun. Finally, a dark, wet stain appeared in the front of his pants. He was literally pissing himself.
“Oh, thank God,” Sara threw herself into Flint’s arms, as the biker struggled up off the couch and ran over to them.
* * *
Within minutes, the cops were there.
Like most biker gangs, Flint and his boys weren’t altogether fond of men with badges on their turf – but, luckily enough, at least a couple of members of Flint’s posse had valid carry and conceal permits, and for once in history the police were more interested in the man in the suit than the garage full of tattooed bikers.
Flint and Sara quickly explained the situation to the cops – leaving out certain key details – and they hauled Howard Chang away in handcuffs.
“As soon as I saw the gun,” Sara explained to Flint, as they stood in the forecourt of the gas station, watching Chang get crammed into the back of a police cruiser, “I thought of you. He’s foreign – I guess he never considered that the people he was trying to rob might have been armed as well.”
“Thank fuck for the Second Amendment,” Flint nodded. “And that fat fuck can thank his stars we didn’t blow holes in his ass the moment we saw that gun.”
Sara checked the time on her phone.
“Shit, it’s nearly three o’clock,” she ran her hand through her hair. “I’ve got to go to the Monte Carlo and collect my winnings.”
“Here,” Flint was digging in his pants for his keys. “I’ll drive you.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Kind of a nice way to see you off – pocketing a check for a million bucks.”
Sara looked up and smiled at him, and her heart raced a little.
She looked inside the darkened garage for Melissa.
“You coming with us?”
Melissa was sitting on the ratty couch, with Dog and Fats snuggled up next to her. Already, Dog had his hand on her thigh and Fats was whispering in her ear.
“I, er…” Red faced, Melissa looked up. “I think I’ll just hang with these guys until you’re finished. Okay?”
Sara rolled her eyes. She dreaded to think what kind of condition Melissa would be in by the time she came to pick her up.
“C’mon, baby,” Flint grabbed Sara’s hand and pulled her towards his Harley, parked out in the baking sun. “You’ve got a million dollar appointment to keep – and you’ve earned every penny.”
Epilogue
Life was never the same again.
That same day, Sara became a millionaire – or, she would have been one, if she hadn’t had to pay 25% of it on her taxes. But it was enough to change her family’s life; and ensure that when she returned home to her husband and kids the following day, none of the conversation was about what she’d got up to that weekend.
Flint, the former reality-show star and notorious biker gang leader, became famous for another reason shortly afterwards. Sara saw him in the news as it was reported that the man he’d helped get arrested, Howard Chang, was actually deeply connected to North Korea – and the people he’d owed money to were his secret agent paymasters.
For a reality show star once famed for being a “bad influence on the children,” it was weird to suddenly be hailed as a patriot and national hero.
Sara never saw Flint again – but she did see him on TV countless times afterwards, and even see “Knuckleheads Garage” get picked up for a second series when she and her husband moved houses, to a gorgeous five-bedroomed place they were able to afford thanks to Sara’s incredible poker winnings.
In fact, just four weeks after that incredible weekend in Las Vegas, Sara couldn’t help but look back at it all like it was a dream, and that none of it had ever really happened.
Well, until one Sunday morning, that is.
“Are you okay, honey?” Sara’s husband called through the bathroom door, as he got the kids ready for church.
“Yeah,” Sara called, hunched over the toilet. “I just don’t feel so good.” Her stomach gurgled, and she leaned forward to throw up once again.
As a matter of fact, she hadn’t felt good for the last couple of mornings; and she had a horrible suspicion why.
In all the excitement of capturing Chang, and winning a million dollars, Sara had completely forgotten that she’d spent half a day having unprotected sex with a garage full of well-hung bikers; and she’d never bothered with the morning after pill the following day.
Once her heaving stopped, the nauseous housewife hauled herself onto the toilet and reached for something she’d kept hidden in her toiletries draw – a dollar store pregnancy test.
Two minutes later, it came back positive.
Sara felt like throwing up all over again.
But before she could, her cell phone buzzed.
Still feeling woozy, the beautiful housewife reached for it and checked her messages.
It was from Melissa:
Oh shit. I’m pregnant. What are the odds?
Sara allowed herself a wry laugh.
Given how she and Melissa had a made a million dollar bet on those six handsome, horny bikers, the odds were probably higher than either of them had realized.
The End
Thank you for reading this book!
I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (which was a lot!) And if you didn’t, please get in contact with me and tell me what you didn’t like - I’m always grateful to get feedback on how I can make my work better!
If you’re interested in reading more, check out my author profile on Amazon – or follow me on the social media channels below. I’m always eager to hear from my readers, and in return I’ll be sure to let you know when my stories are available for a free download, and post a ton of other cool, fun and sexy stuff.
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I look forward to hearing from you! And thanks again!
Love, kisses and other indoor sports,
Simone Scarlet
New York, 2014
Also by Simone Scarlet
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