Page 2 of Mile High With the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC #10)

On either side of the aisle, there are massive chairs that can be rotated to sit in rows or to face each other for eating or being social.

Bull and his companions have set themselves up on one side with a table in between.

The other two, dressed like he is, are sitting across from each other, with cards and poker chips laid out like they’re in the middle of a hand.

When Bull moves past me to sit down, I finally see the back of his vest, where in big capital letters, the words Screaming Eagles MC are written around a massive logo of an eagle.

These guys are bikers. And I’m pretty sure not the puttering around on the weekends with their suburban friends kind.

“Didn’t know this was a full service flight.

” His shaggy hair is a deep mahogany red, bleached lighter in spots by the sun, and a short beard traces his hard jawline.

“No need to be scared, Honey. We only bite a little.” There's a slight scratch to his voice, and nothing innocent about the glint in his big baby blue eyes.

The third man cocks his head and his brown eyes slide slowly down my body.

His ears are so heavily pierced I wonder if it messes with the airport security machines, and there are two rings through his left eyebrow as well.

His dark hair is short and spiky, and his jaw is covered in a thick five o'clock shadow that looks like it'll be eleven o'clock if we give it another five minutes.

It almost, but not quite, covers up a nasty scar.

“Who’ve you got there, Bull?” He asks. Colorful tattoos come down both arms, over the backs of his hands, and all the way out to his fingertips. He taps the cards he’s holding against the table as he watches me.

Bull points at his friends in turn. “Diesel, Shrapnel, and me. Bull, but you probably figured that out.”

I’d be terrified to run into them in a dark alley, but they seem friendly enough. And Bull did just save me. I do a little curtsy. “I’m Rory, and I’ll be your hostess for the… not evening I guess, but the rest of the flight. Anything I can get you guys?”

They stand up and crowd around my cart. I’m a respectable five-five—a little taller in these shoes—but they are all at least half a foot taller, and far outweigh me.

Bull is true to his name, burly and built like a redwood.

Diesel is a couple inches shorter, with biceps that are making his t-shirt fight for its life.

Close up, I spot a tattoo of a naked pin-up girl on his arm.

Shrapnel is in between, built lean and strong.

Shrapnel’s vest has the same Screaming Eagles MC logo on the back, and the name tickles something in my memory, like I should recognize it.

Oh, crap. They were the ones all over the news when that news studio was attacked and a judge was killed.

The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but in spite of knowing that they’re probably bad news, my curiosity is piqued.

It’s like being around big scary dogs that look ooooh so soft and pettable.

Touching might be worth the risk of getting nipped.

Diesel holds up a beer that if I remember correctly costs about fifty dollars a bottle. “Huh, never seen this one before.” With practiced ease, he lines the top up with a metal edge on the chair and pops the cap with a quick hit.

Shrapnel pours himself a scotch on the rocks with the Macallan that Stewie turned down earlier.

Bull rummages through the cart and takes a bottle of organic bloody mary mix and mixes it in a glass with a splash bottle of vodka my Dad bought at auction.

“Juice? Seriously?” Shrapnel asks.

Bull snorts. “We’re on a plane! What’s the point of flying if you don’t get a bloody mary? Right, angel?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Absolutely. I think I’ve got some olives and garnish in here somewhere.”

“Fucking perfect.” Bull gestures at the table. “Grab yourself something and have a seat. We need a fourth. Poker is the game.”

I shake my head. “I shouldn’t. I’m working.”

“Aw, c’mon.” Diesel’s flirty smirk invites me to do mischief. “What those fancy assholes up front don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

“Well…” Poker would be fine, right? I take a bottle of fizzy water and inch closer to the empty seat in their section.

Shrapnel sweeps the cards together and shuffles them. Butterfly and bridge, like in a casino. Not his first time. “You know how to play, right? We’d be happy to teach you.”

It’s my turn to smirk. My old boarding school prided itself on not allowing screen time outside of classwork.

With very little else to do, they might as well have been trying to turn us all into card sharks.

It’s definitely not Diesel’s first time at a table, but I still wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve played more than they have. “I think I remember the rules.”

“We’ll go easy on you, angel,” Bull says. He pops an olive in his mouth and grins. I don’t know how, but he manages to make it sound a little dirty.

Shrapnel pats the free chair next to him. “Then sit your pretty ass down. Some things are more fun in a group and it’s always more fun with a beautiful woman.”

I throw a quick glance towards the front of the plane. We have a couple hours at least, and I know Dad will want to keep me out of sight as much as possible. The chances of getting called back to the front are slim at best.

“Okay. Deal me in.”