Riding in the Night (Live Free MC Erotica) by Selina Kinsey Page A

night.
     
    “He going to be OK?”
     
    I said, “Never had a problem before. What
now?”
     
    “One more drink and we hit the road.”
     
    “What makes you think I’m going anywhere with
you?”
     
    He reached behind the bar and grabbed the
bottle. He poured us each a drink. “Stay if you want. I can see how
you’d be attached to this place. So much charm.”
     
    I took my drink from his hand and said, “OK,
smartass. Before you take me away care to tell me your name?”
     
    “Bishop. That’s what people call me anyway.
Like a religious guy, not like a chess piece. I’m the guy everyone
goes to when they have a problem. They used to at least.”
     
    “My name is Marie,” we shook hands and
laughed at the silliness of shaking hands so long after meeting,
but there was a spark between us as we did,
     
    I locked up and he got on a motorcycle.
     
    “No way, those things are death traps.”
     
    “It’s safe. Especially when I’m in
control.”
     
    I hesitated but took got on the back. Don’t
ask me why I was doing what I was doing. Going off into the night
with a strange man -- a bloody man -- on the back of his motorcycle
was the craziest thing I had done at that point, but maybe I needed
the crazy. If he had come along on any other day, at any other
point in my life things wouldn’t have gone down the way they
did.
     
    We tore through the streets, going way too
fast, but I never felt in danger, not once. He was a master of his
bike, taking every curve and hill with ease and confidence. I had
never been on a bike before and I wasn’t prepared for the deep
vibration running through my body, starting between my legs. I
gripped him tighter and felt the warmth from him.
     
    We rode for a long time. Despite my
reservations about the bike it was an amazing way to see the city,
especially at night. The lights, the after hours crowd, the smells
I could never get in a car. I was hooked.
     
    We stopped at little joint I was surprised to
see open this late. It was a small concrete building with a neon
sign in the window that said, “Now Frying.”
     
    We went inside and it smelled fantastic. A
little man with a greasy apron came out of the back and smiled big
when he saw Bishop. He noticed the cut above his eye but didn’t say
anything about it. He shook my hand and introduced himself as
Smitty. He ran behind the counter and got a half empty bottle of
whiskey and two glasses. He brought them around to us and promised
something tasty soon.
     
    We sat at a table. As Bishop poured our
drinks I said, “What do they make here?”
     
    “Fried chicken mainly, but Smitty will fry up
just about anything if you ask him.”
     
    I noticed a slight southern accent as he
spoke. It hadn’t been there earlier.
     
    “I’m from Kentucky, but my accent only comes
out when I’m drinking. Or talking about fried chicken.”
     
    Smitty came out with two plates of chicken
and french fries. It was hot, greasy, and delicious. We stopped
talking as we stuffed our faces. When we were done I thought I
might explode. We sat back with our drinks and enjoyed the feeling
of a good meal in our stomachs.
     
    “What about this?” I said, pointing to his
cut.
     
    “I had a disagreement with some people. It’s
fine.”
     
    I didn’t get a chance to ask anymore. Four
guys in matching leather vests came in. They came right to the
table. The biggest guy stood next Bishop. He had buzzed hair and a
belly so big I doubt his vest could have closed properly. Each guy
had patches on their vests.
     
    “Bishop,” said the big guy.
     
    “Taylor,” said Bishop.
     
    Taylor stared, but Bishop looked over each
one of them.
     
    Taylor took a deep breath and said, “You got
a problem now. You know Smitty’s is our turf and here you are.”
     
    Bishop stared right back at him and said,
“Smitty’s is Eagles territory and that means rival Motorcycle Clubs
can’t come in here, but since I’m not a rival MC, I’m just here as
a