Lamp Riders: A Jinn Motorcycle Gang Novella by Augusta Hill Page A

though, as she didn’t think the gruff bikers would appreciate being compared to the mindless, sterile drones of a bee queen.
    Bikers were some of her favorite customers; tough but fair, they didn’t try to get discounts on candy bars like the coked-up truckers did. Truckers were crass and always trying to look down her shirt or get her to ‘sit on their lap just a moment’ like they thought they could fool her into thinking they were Santa Claus. If Santa Claus existed, Celia figured he wouldn’t smell like oil and lube and be selling drugs out of the back of his truck, unless something had greatly changed since she was a child.
    No, bikers weren’t like that. They were certainly foul-mouthed and quick-tempered, but they had their own samurai-like code, and for the most part they weren’t going to make a lady uncomfortable in her own store. They were good tippers too, knowing her family’s business was even at the best of times on shaky economic ground. They’d leave a twenty-dollar bill sitting on the counter after a whole crowd of them had come in for cold sodas, tipping their heads at her as they left to go God knows where. The crusty old bikers had quite a soft heart underneath, and she always liked when a troop came in to the store.
    So it was with some eagerness that Celia stood up from her struggle with the soda crates to peer out the window. However, as she looked out the dust-encrusted back window, she was greeted with quite a surprise. She didn’t see the normal group of pudgy, middle-aged guys with enormous mustaches and smelly vests that she expected.
    No, this group of about a dozen men was a sea of muscled slabs of pure testosterone, barely concealed behind straining crisp white t-shirts and various leather jackets. They were quite easily the hottest group of bikers that Celia had ever seen.  It took many open miles to reach this outpost, but each man had perfectly tussled hair as he popped off an expensive looking helmet; shades of beautiful golden, auburn, and black locks shone in the sunlight like it was a shampoo commercial for the United Nations of Bikers. Celia was mesmerized by how clean the guys looked too, with no road dust or grit visible anywhere. The air even seemed to have a faint smell of citrus and vanilla cupcakes wafting through it, as the guys milled outside.
    “There is no way I can smell them from in here. I must be hallucinating. Can you get so turned on that you hallucinate?” Celia mumbled to herself. She considered how long it’d been since she had a date in this forsaken town; it was possible that the rush of blood to her lower body was, in fact, making her dizzy.
    As she watched open-mouthed, the group of beautiful men began to tromp towards the wooden steps leading to the door of the trailer. Realizing she was soon going to see them in person, Celia scurried from the aisle and went to the front counter fluffing her hair as she went. Her long, straight black hair never really got any volume, but it was worth a shot, especially with the Dream Crew wandering in. She considered unbuttoning her shirt to show some cleavage, then looked down to find herself wearing a boring, slightly stained t-shirt.
    Dammit, I need to start dressing up for work , she groaned inwardly.
    Before she could fuss further, the store’s flimsy screen door swung open, and the trailer began creaking in protest as beefy men poured in. Broad shoulders made their way to the chip section, and firm butts wandered over to the ice cream cooler. Everywhere Celia looked there were rippling, stacked bodies that belonged on magazine covers. Her eyes swung around wildly, trying to take it all in, and she briefly worried about giving herself eyestrain.
    “Ma’am, do you have any maps of the county around here?” a low, gravelly voice said, very close to her left ear.  The voice was rough with a sweet note to it, like it was made from rock sugar.
    Celia pried her eyes off the jean-clad rears in front of her and