Biker's Bride

By B. B. Hamel

I never wanted to be owned by a biker.

I'm a good person, a normal college girl. But when I witness a gang murder, my future hangs in the balance.

Nobody can save me. Except maybe the cocky a**hole from my past.

Ford Cook is a hard man. He leaves waves of violence and broken hearts everywhere he rides. His tough body is covered in tattoos and muscles, and he doesn't care how many skulls he cracks to get what he wants.

And in order to keep me safe, he expects me to become his bride.

Now I'm claimed by the man who left me so many years ago. I hate him for what he did to me, but I need him to save my life.

Even though my new husband is an arrogant bastard, I can't help but stare at his ripped body. He knows what I'm thinking, and he's going to make me say it.

I want him, but I hate him so much.

I'm not sure how long I can take it. I need to play the part of a biker's bride, or else get handed over to the people that want me dead.

Biker's Bride is heart-pounding violent, very sexy, and features a hero with a dirty mouth. It's only recommended for audiences 18+.

Biker's Bride is a standalone, full-length novel. No cliffhanger. Guaranteed HEA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B. B. Hamel
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201066024

B. B. Hamel

B. B. Hamel writes steamy stories that make fans squirm. As an Indie author, fan support means everything. For more information, visit BBHamel.com.

Book preview

1

CARALEE

The bike tore down the highway, heading toward the border.

It was a cool, comfortable night in the desert as we tore down the highway. I held on to Rod’s back as his bike tore up the pavement, flying fast through the wind. I loved the sound of it whipping past my ears, even through my helmet. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at me, revving the engine higher, pushing us faster.

I’d known Rod for a while now, ever since I’d left the small Texas town of Wimberly for college. We met in my very first week; I went to a bar with some friends and there he was, chatting them up confidently. He ended up taking my roommate home that night, but we became close friends after that.

It was Rod that dragged me into a world of violence, drugs, and excitement. The world that my piece of shit father once tried to keep from me. The only thing that made me feel alive. He only gave me brief glimpses, but they were enough.

The bike was practically screaming as we flew through the night. I loved the feeling of speed every time we rode. He didn’t bring me along on his trips very often, but he’d said tonight should be a pretty low-key night, and afterward we could go for as long of a ride as I wanted.

I loved being on the back of a bike. I had no interest in actually driving one, but I loved the feeling of the speed and the excitement it rushed through me. I could stay there forever, riding through the world, letting it flash by.

I knew Rod was into some serious stuff. I didn’t know what exactly, but the patch he wore on his arm said it all. He said they were called the Rebel MC, although he never really brought me too close to them. I knew they had a clubhouse, and I knew there were a bunch of other clubs in the area, but Rod made sure I stayed at a close distance.

For a while at least. Soon enough, I started going to parties with him, parties with men that were totally unlike the boys I knew at school.

We didn’t go to a lot, but he dipped my toes into the water of the MC world. I was terrified but excited, and every time Rod promised more.

We pulled off the highway, heading down a dirt road. I hadn’t seen Rod in a few months because he had spent some time in jail, but he had promised me a good ride if I came with him on a little club business. He didn’t say what it was, but I could guess.

We were in the middle of a desert at night. What else could he be doing?

He continued riding for another ten minutes before finally pulling off the dirt track. He cut the engine and stepped off the bike.

Here we are, he said.

I climbed off, stretching my legs. Where is ‘here,’ anyway?

Mile one thirty-four, ten minutes down the dirt road.

Pretty specific.

He shrugged. This is how it happens. You get a place and you show up.

I crossed my arms. And what exactly did we show up for?

He grinned at me. Go hide over there, behind those bushes. You’ll see.

I frowned at him. I knew Rod was in love with me, had known it ever since we’d first met. I never felt the same way about him and never led him on, but for some reason he just kept coming back for more. I wasn’t sure if this was his attempt at impressing me, but it was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable.

How dangerous is this? I asked him.

Not dangerous at all. I wouldn’t bring you to something like that.

Then tell me what we’re doing here.

He sighed. Just hide, okay? I can’t tell you. Club business and all. But if you happen to see, well that’s another thing.

I shook my head. This is weird, Rod.

Suddenly there were headlights in the distance. I could hear the distant rumble of engines.

Loud, motorcycle engines.

Go, he said. They’re coming.

I gave him one last look and then turned and ran behind the copse of bushes. I was far enough away that I was hidden in the darkness but near enough that I could still see him.

This was how Rod operated. One day he swept into my life and dragged me to some sketchy party and then disappeared again for months at a time. I had no clue where he lived or how he normally spent his time, but I liked being around him.

He was like a little brother to me. Exciting, but still always searching for my approval.

Normally I wouldn’t go with him without a little more information. But I had just finished my last final of senior year, and I needed a long ride to de-stress. He promised we could go as far as I wanted if I just went with him for one small errand.

I didn’t realize that errand would take place in the middle of nowhere, and that I’d have to hide in the bushes.

Soon, five bikes pulled up, surrounding Rod. The guys all looked like he did, tall and muscular and covered in tattoos. They climbed off their bikes, and Rod started talking to the man in the very center.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it seemed like a normal enough conversation. Eventually Rod went into his riding bags and pulled out a package. He tossed it to the guy, who instantly pricked it open with a knife and tasted what was inside.

Drugs, I realized instantly. Rod had brought me to a drug deal.

I stared in horror as they began to talk again. Rod looked a little more agitated, a little uncertain. I wanted to get out of there, to run the hell away, but where could I go? I was far away from a main road and miles away from civilization.

The gunshots rang out in the night, exploding through my ears.

It happened so fast. One second Rod was arguing, and the next the men took guns from their jackets and began firing.

Rod dropped to the ground, unmoving.

Fear jolted through my spine, ice-cold fear. I could taste the horror on my tongue, and I wanted to scream.

I had to clamp my hands over my mouth to keep from making any noise.

The men stood around for a minute, smoking cigarettes and laughing. One guy grabbed the bag from Rod’s bike and tossed it over his own bike. To my horror, I realized that my purse was inside Rod’s bag, and those guys now had proof that I was here. Soon, though, they all climbed onto their bikes and rode off into the night.

I stayed in the bushes for another ten minutes, until I was sure they were gone.

I don’t know what made me leave the bushes. I stumbled out toward Rod, terror in my chest, horror in my brain.

He was lying there covered in blood.

There was so much blood, a long, deep pool stretching out around him.

His eyes stared up at me, empty, motionless.

Finally, I began to scream.

2

FORD

"F uckin’ Snakes been making moves on our turf," Clutch said.

Almost like they’re begging for a war, Spoil agreed. He was thick and heavy, almost fat, but his size fooled many men that underestimated his speed.

I laughed at the two of them. Snake is half our fuckin’ size, I said. They’re not so stupid.

Still pretty big, Spoil said. Might be they want to take a little piece of what we got.

Let them try, Clutch grunted. He was a big man, scarred along his throat. I been itching for a little fun.

I laughed, shaking my head. Spoil and Clutch were the local chapter enforcers, and they pretty much thought about nothing but murder and violence, which was their job.

Which worked just fine for me. You boys know I love nothing more than breaking skulls, I said, but say we hold off.

Whatever, Ford, Spoil said.

I poured the big men another shot of whisky and filled my own glass to the brim. It was late, and the clubhouse was pretty empty except for a few members and the usual club sluts still hanging around, hoping to be made into some unlucky bastard’s old lady.

To fucking violence, then, I said, holding up my glass.

The two guys laughed and clinked glasses, and we drank.

I think I might just get me some pussy tonight, Clutch said, looking around.

Not much talent tonight, I said.

When did that ever stop you, Ford? Spoil asked me.

I smirked at him. Yeah, true. Ain’t nobody ever said I don’t love pussy.

We laughed and I drank again, sighing. Clutch stood up, his eye on this skinny little blond thing hanging out alone at a table. She was clearly begging for someone to take her home and hump her fucking whore brains out, which was exactly what Clutch had in mind.

Excuse me, boys, he said. He walked off and Spoil laughed, shaking his head.

Damn guy, he said. Probably gonna fall in love with this one, too.

What do you mean?

You didn’t hear? Clutch had some big falling out with his last old lady. Guess he got a little too into her, and she wasn’t feeling the same.

I shook my head, mystified. Clutch was a big, terrifying man, but when it came to women he was absolutely soft as hell. I’d once witnessed him break a full-grown man’s leg with his bar hands, and yet pussy could break him so easily.

Made no sense to me. Never made no sense why some guys got so damn wrapped up in pussy. The only things I cared about were myself, my club, and my cash. Sure, I loved to fight and fuck as much as the next guy, but I wasn’t looking for an old lady to tie me down, let alone some club slut to drag some drama into my life.

That just wasn’t my style.

You hear about the Mezcal? Spoil asked, cutting into my thoughts.

Yeah, I grunted. Mexicans pushing up, trying to get in on the drug trade.

Violent fucks, Spoil said. He went on to explain how the cartels and the gangs down south loved to perfect their torture and execution styles, and I mostly tuned him out.

It was just another typical night in the fucking Demons MC clubhouse.

We called Austin home and our home turf. For most of my life, ever since I was just a kid out of high school, I’d pledged my life to the club. We’d fought our way from one of a number of small clubs in the area to the premier club in all of Austin. We were the biggest, the baddest, the most violent bastards, and I had shed plenty of blood, both my own and others, to prove it.

For a long time, my life and the club’s life had been war. That was what we did, what we were good at. We broke the skulls of our enemies and claimed the Austin area for our own.

And we were strong from it. But once the war had finally ended a few months go, and peace came in, I realized that peace didn’t really suit me.

Some guys, they liked being able to walk around without wondering when the next hit was coming. They liked knowing that they weren’t always about to get murdered by some rival club.

But not me. I thrived on war, lived for the rush, the terror, the violence. I missed the feeling of a man’s face breaking against my fist, of the loud deathly crack of my pistol, of the roar of our club riding out in formation to break the necks of some fucks.

In short, I was bored. I could drink and fuck as much as I wanted, but there was still something missing.

And Spoil going on about Mexican killing rituals was not fucking helping.

Okay, man, I said, standing suddenly. I need a new drink.

What’s the matter with you, Ford? Spoil asked. I was just getting to the good part.

Tell someone else about it, man.

I walked off toward the bar and leaned up again it. TomTom, one of the pledges, was wiping down a mug.

Spoil looks pissed, he said to me.

That’s fine. Let him bitch and moan. Get me a beer.

TomTom shrugged and grabbed me a bottle, popping off the top and handing it to me. Think they’ll take any pledges on the deal tomorrow?

I gave him a look. Nah. And if they did, why do you think we’d take you?

Because I ain’t a pussy like the others.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe, maybe not.

I took a long drink of my beer and surveyed the club. It was just another boring Friday night. I had a nice buzz going, and I could feel my blood starting to rise. I needed to fight or to fuck, but there wasn’t anyone nearby worth beating on.

Just another normal, boring night.

Until the door slammed open and she stepped inside.

Her eyes were wide, haggard, terrified. Her clothes were dusty. Her hair was a mess.

And I recognized her instantly.

Every head turned toward her. She stood out like a sore fucking thumb.

A normal girl, a nice college girl. Fucking sexy in her way.

Worse, I knew exactly who she was.

Back then, she was a little different, younger, less experienced, but it was definitely her.

Caralee Lawson, the fucking girl next door.

What the fuck was she doing in the Demons MC clubhouse?

Someone, please, she said, her eyes wild, her whole body clenched. Help me. My friend was just murdered.

3

CARALEE

"S omeone, please, I said, barely thinking, barely even aware of what I was doing. Help me. My friend was just murdered."

The clubhouse was dead silent, and every single person was staring at me.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know why I had shown up in their place, or why I thought they could help me. But there I was, the decision already made, and I couldn’t take it back.

Do we look like the fucking cops? a guy with a scar along his throat said. The blonde sitting on his lap sneered at me.

They were bikers, I said, the words spilling out of me. Rod was a good guy. He was a biker too. Please, someone help me.

Another man sitting alone stood up and ambled toward me. He was huge, easily over six feet tall, and ugly as hell. He terrified me.

You should get the fuck out of here, he said.

Rod was in the Rebels, I said. And the guys that killed him, I’ve never seen them before. Please, I’m afraid. They have my wallet.

Why the fuck would you come here, then? he asked. This is the Demons MC. We don’t give a shit about a Rebel.

My heart sank in my chest, and the last few hours came pouring out of me in a single rush.

After I saw Rod’s dead body, I stumbled toward the main road. I walked for what felt like hours before finally finding the highway. I began to stumble back the way we had come, walking for hours.

If a car hadn’t come and picked me up, I had no clue how long I would have been out there. Fortunately, the nice older gentleman drove me into Austin’s city limits and dropped me off there.

I wasn’t thinking. I had only one idea: