Badass Biker

By Lily Harlem

The Devil’s Barbarians, a notorious one-percenter MC, have arrived in town. Debauchery, brawls, and cocky charm, oh yeah, it’s all going down.

LEAH
Carter Harris is danger with a capital D.
I have to avoid him. Resist temptation.
Riding into the sunset on the back of his Harley is not an option.
Or is it?
Wild passion. Heady longing. Bad-boy looks. Hell yeah, I could be persuaded.

CARTER
Leah White might be the biggest challenge of my life.
She’s tiny but feisty. She’s independent yet those lost eyes tell me she’s crying out for a man.
And that man is gonna be me. There’s no question about that.
Now all I gotta do is seduce the heck out of her, even if that means resorting to dirty tactics.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight
• Release date: Dec 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9780369504920

Lily Harlem

Lily Harlem is an award winning, multi-published author of erotic romance and erotica. She lives in the UK and since giving up a career in nursing has been widely published on both sides of the Atlantic. Her stories are made up of colourful characters travelling on everyone's favourite journey, falling in love, and with the bedroom door left well and truly open readers are warned to hang on for the ride, or rides as the case might be.

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2021 Lily Harlem

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0492-0

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Audrey Bobak

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For all my readers who enjoy a badass hero, who, at the end of the day, is just a guy who likes a girl!

BADASS BIKER

Dirty Bikers, 1

Lily Harlem

Copyright © 2021

Chapter One

Leah White had planned on spending her free day shopping for a new outfit, yet she found herself in a courtroom—the very courtroom she spent half her life in since qualifying as an attorney three years previously.

In here, every sound echoed around the pale wood-panelled walls. Sometimes it seemed as if the heartbeats of the accused did the same. The high windows were opaque, turning the white South Dakota sunlight ethereal, and it was easy to believe they were being watched over by a higher deity.

All rise, the clerk called.

Leah’s friend and fellow attorney, Willow, stood and turned to her.

You’ve got this, Leah mouthed, giving the thumbs-up sign.

Willow managed a tight smile and tapped the side of her head, checking for stray hairs that had escaped her high ponytail. A nervous habit.

It was Willow’s first lone bench trial defending, and she’d asked for Leah’s support. Seeing her nibbling on her bottom lip, frowning and fidgeting, Leah knew coming along today had been the right thing to do.

And the new dress for her father’s stuffy mayoral garden party could wait. She didn’t want to go anyway. Why would she?

She stood, along with the rest of the courtroom. Judge Lincoln walked in, robe billowing and his brow creased like a plowed field.

He was Leah’s least favorite judge to preside. And today, he’d have even less patience than usual. The annual Pierce Bike Rally meant not only was the town completely overrun with MC clubs during the event, the resulting debauchery, fights, and bad behavior also meant the court would be overrun for weeks afterward.

Judge Lincoln sat.

Everyone followed suit.

While he shuffled papers, his movements fractious and impatient, Leah touched the small heart locket that sat beneath the hollow of her throat and looked past the court reporter at the defendant.

Carter Harris.

Her stomach tensed and she snatched her breath in.

He was staring straight at her. Bangs of his brown hair, the color of fallen autumn leaves, fell to his eyes—eyes that were piercing blue, even from this distance. His mouth wasn’t set in an anxious line as it should have been—as everyone else’s would be at this moment. Instead, it was curled at the right side, a half smile, a cocky hint of a grin.

She released the locket and tipped her chin. Her scalp heated.

Carter Harris was a senior member of the Devil’s Barbarians, a notorious one-percenter California motorcycle club. He was young, late twenties, but his prospecting period had been short owing to the fact his father had been the chapter president before taking a bullet to the brain a few years previously.

His gaze didn’t waver. He just sat there, watching her.

She looked away and resisted the urge to fidget with her collar, her necklace again, or the buttons on her white silk blouse. Unable to help herself, she glanced back at him.

The heat tormenting her hair roots intensified because he was still watching her, still kind of smiling her way.

Damn it.

With determination, she kept her expression neutral and set her attention on Willow, who appeared to be writing last-minute notes.

Willow wouldn’t be pleased that Carter hadn’t taken her advice. She’d told him to put on a suit for court and a tie to go with it. Instead, he wore his leather cut over a black Nirvana t-shirt, and a pair of shades were poked into the frayed neckline.

Judge Lincoln cleared his throat. Let’s begin.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Leah saw Carter’s head turn toward the bench.

She braved another look as the judge started proceedings.

Carter’s cut stretched over his broad shoulders, and a sprinkle of stubble grazed his sharp jaw line. His Adam’s apple was prominent, and his nose had a bump in the center, as though it had been broken. He had a dip beneath his bottom lip that softened his face somehow, balanced the intensely masculine features in a way that made her wonder if he had a gentle side.

Gentle side. As if?

The Devil’s Barbarians had a list of members who appeared to be in a contest to please the devil. Guns. Contract killings. Drugs. Hell, it was rumored they acted as vigilantes and had castrated several pedophiles on their home turf.

So, you see, your Honor, Willow was saying. My client here was simply caught in the crosshairs of a brawl.

"A deadly brawl," the judge said.

That might be the case, but there is no blood on his hands. Willow gestured to Carter. He was injured himself in the fight and received ten stitches to his right forearm following a knife attack.

The judge frowned at Carter.

Carter’s expression remained unchanged, and he didn’t squirm or look away as Leah had become used to defendants doing under Judge Lincoln’s scrutiny.

Police statements report him carrying a knife, the judge said.

He took it, your Honor, from the man who had just stabbed him.

A man from another motorcycle club?

Yes, your Honor.

Carter licked his bottom lip in a casual way, as though he were watching something vaguely entertaining on television instead of a conversation that would determine whether he went behind bars for the next couple of years.

The judge sighed. Mr. Harris, every year I see your sort come through this town, and every year I have the miserable job of sifting through the various criminal activities and deciding who we have room for in the state penitentiaries. He shook his head. Quite frankly, I’ve had enough of it, but what can I do?

Carter opened his mouth.

No! The judge held his finger up. That was a rhetorical question, Mr. Harris. I have no interest in your suggestions.

Carter closed his mouth and shrugged. He glanced at Leah.

Her spine stiffened and her throat tightened. Why did he keep focusing on her? She’d never met the guy before. Would never see him again after this court appearance.

Over the years, I’ve learned, Judge Lincoln was saying, that club loyalty is just another word for club violence. I’ve dealt with mass brawls, robberies, vandalism, illegal weapons, and once a rogue sniper. He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. It would be best if you all just stayed on your own damn turf. His eyes rolled heavenward. Excuse my French.

The courtroom fell silent. The ticking of the huge black clock behind Carter was the only sound.

And the truth of the matter is, the judge said, I don’t think for a moment you’re innocent, Mr. Harris. You were there with your … what do you call them … club brothers, to cause mayhem and settle vendettas. There was a reason you were nearby when a man was murdered, and that’s because you wanted to see him dead whether or not it was you who did the deed. However… He paused and his scowl deepened. Much as I’d like to put you and your freewheeling anarchist buddies behind bars until you’re too old to get your leg over a bike, I simply don’t have the resources. And on this occasion, Mr. Harris, there is not enough evidence to put you on the jailtime list. He tapped his pen on a pad of paper, as if he did indeed have a list. Being near to the scene of the crime does not equal guilt in a court of law. You’re free to go. He banged his hammer, scraped his chair back, and stood.

Instantly, the conversation in the room grew, quickly moving from a hum to a loud talk.

Willow turned to Leah. She was beaming.

Well done, Leah said, grinning. Willow had put the work in with the notes she’d presented to the judge. She deserved a victory.

But did Carter deserve freedom?

Again, she glanced at him. He unfolded to his full height and pushed his hand through his overly long hair. It fell straight back into place around his face and ears and the nape of his neck.

And then he grinned at her, wide and open, as though she were the one person in the room he wanted to celebrate with.

Not a chance, Leah muttered and reached for her purse. It was time to get out of the courtroom. Maybe she’d squeeze a trip to Boutique Barn and find something for the garden party she was obligated to go to as the mayor’s daughter.

Willow leaned across the wooden divider. Meet you out the front? She made a drinking motion. We have to celebrate.

Leah nodded. Of course. See you in a minute. There’d be no dash to Boutique Barn, not once they’d gotten into a booth at Cheers and Beers. Not that Leah really minded.

She turned and walked between the rows of chairs, her high heels tapping. A sense of being watched, her ass in particular, prodded her sixth sense. It was Carter, she was sure of it. His gaze was on her behind the way it had been on her face during the trial.

She tipped her chin and strutted faster, eager to get out of there. Flattening her palm on the heavy oak door, she escaped into the corridor, took a left toward the front entrance, and tightened her hold on her purse strap.

If she never saw that man again, it would be too soon.

See you tomorrow, Floyd. She waved at the security guard and made it outside.

She paused at the top of the steps and took a deep breath. The air was tight with humidity, and the sun instantly warmed her AC-cool cheeks and shoulders.

The low menacing growl of bike engines rumbled toward her.

To the left of the courthouse, three shiny black Harleys were lined up, each with a rider atop.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen such a sight before. She’d grown up in Pierce. But today, she looked at them anew.

Why?

Perhaps it was because of the judge’s words about freewheeling anarchists. These were men living a lifestyle that shunned the law and order she held so dearly. They mocked a justice system that kept civility in the vast country she called home.

What was it they wanted? What did they have to prove all the time? And why didn’t they fear death the way other people did?

Suddenly a loud horn blasted out: one of the bikers working his dual tone.

She pressed her hand to her chest, the sound having made her startle.

Ah, I see I have a welcoming committee.

Leah spun around and almost bumped her nose on black leather.

Carter Harris.

She looked up and took an instinctive step back. She swallowed and increased the already tight grip on her purse.

Seems I have a night of celebrating. He gestured to the three bikers. Wanna join me?

Celebrating the fact a man was killed and as yet no one has been found guilty? No thanks. She gritted her teeth so hard it hurt her jaw.

A man died. He inclined his head, the sunlight caressing his hair and highlighting golden strands. But it wasn’t without reason.

Leah knew she should walk away, but her inquisitiveness got the better of her. What does that mean?

He grinned, not that half smile he’d sent her way in court, but a full-on beam that showed he had perfect teeth. Come for a drink and I’ll tell you.

That’s a hard pass.

He raised his eyebrows. Too stuck-up to date a biker, huh?

My father is the mayor.

His eyebrows went a little higher.

I have standards.

And I’m beneath yours.

I … I didn’t say that, I… Her scalp itched. She wished she’d walked away ten seconds ago.

Yeah, you did. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets, his thumbs angled in such a way they pointed at his groin. But I don’t hold grudges, at least not with beautiful women.

She opened her mouth, closed it again.

Leah. Sorry I got caught up. Willow was at her side.

Leah, Carter said. Pretty name.

Carter. Willow frowned up at him and clutched a stack of folders to her chest. I just told you you’re free to leave Pierce.

I know. He tipped his head and gnawed on his inner cheek as if thinking.

Willow looked between them. Carter this is Leah White. Leah, Carter Harris.

Pleasure. Carter reached for her hand.

Before she could snap it away, he took it, wrapped his cool fingers around her hot skin, and drew it to his lips. He kissed the backs of her knuckles, not taking his gaze from her.

The moment his grip slackened, she snatched her hand back.

And what do you do, Leah White? No, don’t tell me. Daddy is the mayor, so you enjoy a life of dinner parties, lunching, and shopping in only the best boutiques.

Oh no. Willow shook her head. Leah is an attorney, my mentor actually.

An attorney. I’m impressed.

Leah saw a flash of surprise cross his eyes. He hadn’t been expecting her to have a brain. Don’t be. Impressed, that is. It’s not your concern.

It is if I need another attorney one day, which chances are I will. You got a card or something I can have?

"I have an or something."

Which is?

A goodbye. Have a nice life, Mr. Harris, and try not to get yourself slung behind bars again or murdered too soon. She linked her arm with Willow’s. Come on, there’s wine with our name on it.

She tugged Willow down the steps, again knowing she was being watched. The man’s eyes left a heated trail down her spine that had nothing to do with the sun kissing her blouse and pressing it to the flesh on her back.

But why had an MC guy singled her out? She was hardly his type with her prim blouse, pencil skirt, and sleek black bob. He no doubt went for a woman in Daisy Duke’s with boobs spilling from a low-cut top. Tattoos up her arms and bleached hair down her back.

Perhaps it was the relief of being let off his charge. It had addled his neurons. Made Carter Harris forget who and what he was.

Chapter Two

Carter Harris supped on a bottle of beer and realized for the first time in his life he’d cared about how someone had seen him. More than cared. It had damn well pissed him off the way he’d been put in a box because of who and what he was.

And that box had a big fat no written on it.

Leah White was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that. When he’d first set eyes on her across the courtroom, he could have believed she’d been made of porcelain with her pale flesh, delicate features, and slender, regal neck. Her skin had been sweeter than honey on his lips, softer than velvet. Sure, he could get hard for her, in a heartbeat, but more than that, her feminine fragility had knocked on the door of his protective streak.

An attorney.

Dealing with assholes and dipshits day in, day out, she’d meet the worst kind of people—ones without morals, with no gumption, sick individuals who lay no loyalty with anyone or anything.

And she’d looked at him as if he were one of them.

No damn way. Carter’s loyalty to the Devil’s Barbarians had been unwavering since the day he’d been born into the club. He’d been a club baby, a club kid, and now was one of the club leaders having sat at the Barbarians’ table throughout his twenties.

And he’d never let a club brother fight alone, which was exactly what had happened in Roxie’s Bar when fellow Barbarian Rio Sanchez had taken a knife to his guts. The fight had started and so had he. That was the way it was.

Hey, Carter, wanna shoot pool or what? Wyatt spun a cue from one hand to the other.

Sure. Perhaps that would get rid of the itchy sensation Leah White’s words had left him with. Not just her words, the look she’d given him. The entitled tilt of her chin, the snub of her nose, and the snatch of her hand.

What’s poking you? Wyatt asked.

Nothing.

Which means something. He paused as Carter hit a red into a pocket. Thought you’d be pleased to walk out of court without cuffs today.

"Yeah, I