Page 3 of Rider Daddies (Venom Vultures MC #6)

RYDER

“Shotgun,” I say, swooping into Ash before he has the chance to go over and talk to her. “She’s mine. I will have to kindly ask you to back off.”

“Fucking hell,” he grunts. “It looks like the woman has just run away from her own wedding. Have some respect. The last thing she’s gonna want is you laying it on thick with her all night.”

I stick up my eyebrow. “Ever heard of a rebound?”

“Ever heard of respect?”

Ash has done well for himself, and I commend him for that, but he still gets on my last nerve.

He’s forty-two years young, not a fucking grandpa with a shriveled up pair of balls.

He likes to keep Saint and me in check. I guess he feels that it’s duty as an older brother to step in as father since we no longer have one.

But he needs to chill the fuck out.

Anyway, I suppose it’s not all bad. Him being all mature and respectful about our latest arrival only opens the door wider for me.

But before I get the chance to go over and introduce myself, Ash is already over there, dragging her away from a table of patched members who are already trying to wedge their way in.

Bastard.

I rush over, caught off guard by her scent. She smells like lavender and honey.

I’m swept off my feet already.

She smells divine.

And sounds divine.

“Is that an accent…?” I narrow my eyes.

“Italian, yes. I’m from Italy originally,” she says. She looks at me. Her eyes are a beautiful hazel color.

Ash can’t tear his eyes away from her either. Finally, he has found something else to look at other than his reflection in the mirror.

“Look,” he says. “I just came over here to make sure you’re okay.”

The woman glares up at him, projections from the light catching her pupils. “I’m fine,” she says curtly.

“Are you sure?” I look her up and down. “Sweetheart, I hate to state the obvious, but you are wearing a wedding dress. Is today your wedding day?”

“Technically,” she says, consulting the clock on the wall. “It was yesterday.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ash says.

“Yep,” she says. There’s a sarcastic lilt to her tone.

“I’m sure you are. Listen.” She straightens up, chin lifted.

“I need to get out of here ASAP. My car ran out of gas and this”—she scans the clubhouse—“looks like the kind of place that could give me a top up. I’m lucky in some ways that my car decided to give up on me outside of a… garage.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” I take a step forward. “You’re in for a treat if you think this is a garage.”

“What’s going on here?” Saint interjects.

Great. Just what we need. Saint fucking making an entrance too.

“You’re supposed to be on the discs, man.”

“And you’re supposed to be at the door.”

“Yes,” I say. “And as security, my job is to question anyone who’s not a patched member or prospect.”

Saint gives me the side-eye. He can continue doing that from afar, back behind his mixers.

“Look,” the woman says. She screws up her eyes, clearly restless from lack of sleep.

“I would be grateful if one of you could refill my car with gas.” Her eyes veer over to the bar.

“I also wouldn’t say no to a glass of water.

Ice, please, if you have.” She grits her teeth.

It’s the best smile she can give us. “I don’t have any cash or my Amex, but I’ll pay you back… some…other way.”

I lean in closer. “What kind of way?”

Ash elbows me in the side forcefully. “Hold tight,” he says to the girl. “Glass of water with ice coming up.”

“Thanks.”

“Here,” Saint says, the first to get his arm around her. “Take a seat.” He hurries off to grab a chair, setting it close to the bar. “What’s your name?”

“Um,” she stutters, mouth opening and closing. She does another sweep of this place with her eyes, like her answer to the question will depend on the opinion she has of our clubhouse.

Saint and I lean against the bar, waiting for her answer.

It wasn’t great timing on her part, crashing in here tonight.

Things tend to get pretty feral when we host our monthly parties.

Right now there are a few members on the tables, swinging belts around like they’re at a rodeo.

On one of the back tables, I notice a woman laid over the surface with a strained look, body jerking intermittently.

Looking closer, I see the shadowy figure of a man standing behind her, thrusting.

Our woman sees it too, lips parting in sheer surprise as she watches.

Some of our clubhouse whores get really into the music, and this often leads to the removal of clothes.

As the night thickens, the girls have a tendency to shred their lingerie, swinging around banisters and posts to flaunt their naked bodies.

That’s what’s happening now, since we’re a few hours into the party.

The bride gasps, bringing my attention back to her. I follow her gaze and see one particular patched member drawing a knife over one of the clubhouse whore’s bodies, circling the blade over each one of her breasts. Stimulating her nipples.

“Don’t worry,” Saint says. He puts his hand on her shoulder. I expect her to shake it off, but she doesn’t react. “He won’t cut her.”

“Then…what is he doing?”

“Things get a little bit wild here whenever we host a party. Don’t think too much into it. It’s just the bikers’ way of letting off some steam.”

“With knife play?”

Ash returns with the water, placing it in the woman’s hand. She necks it in seconds, then passes it back to him, empty. “Tequila, please. On the rocks.”

“Coming right up.”

She watches the bikers, eyes narrowed as if she’s trying to work out what sort of place she’s stepped into.

I study her face. Her cheeks have a pink hue to them, lips parted as she watches the night unravel.

“So,” Saint begins, squatting down in front of her. “What’s your name?”

She hesitates. “Lacey.”

“ Lacey ,” I repeat. “That’s a nice name.”

“Uh-huh,” she says absentmindedly, too busy watching the biker tease the knife down the woman’s bare torso. “And your names?”

“I’m Ryder, this is Saint, and over at the bar fetching you a drink is Ash.”

Lacey turns around to meet his eyes, flashing him a tight-lipped smile. “Cool.”

I watch her for a moment more, contemplating whether it’s my business or not to ask why she decided to run away from her own wedding.

“What did he do?” Saint tilts his head, brown eyes staring into hers. “Was he an asshole?”

“He snuck off around the back of the venue to make out with my best friend of nine years.”

Ouch.

I grit my teeth, circling around the chair so I’m facing her too. “That’s rough, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

There’s no way she’s telling the truth. Any man would be a fool to cheat on such a beautiful girl.

Women like her are hard to come by. But I see the look in her eye, pained by what happened, but also hardened.

Lacey tenses her jaw and sticks her chin into the air, shaking it off.

She’s a tough cookie. Already, I get the impression that there’s more to her than what meets the eye.

Ash puts the tequila into her hands and pulls up a chair, joining us.

He studies her the hard way he always does when he knows a woman is too good for him.

He’s sometimes difficult around women. I know he’s the type who goes to sleep at night fantasizing about falling in love with a girl, as opposed to cranking one out under the covers.

Ash has had a fair few relationships with the girls here, but it’s never been anything deep.

If he’s climbing into bed with a girl, it’s because she invited him.

“Lacey here was just telling us about her cheating ex,” Saint says.

Ash grimaces. “You did the right thing, running away.”

Lacey nods, eyes lingering at Ash’s face. She takes a sip of tequila, wincing at the strength. After the initial sting, she takes it well, gulping the drink down without flinching.

She looks around, eyes flicking between us all. “You look kinda…similar.”

“That’s because we’re brothers, sweetheart,” I say.

“Brothers?”

“Yes,” Ash says. “We’re in charge of this place tonight.”

“That’s right,” Saint says. “You’re looking at the Venom Vultures entertainment team.”

“Venom Vultures?” Lacey frowns. “What’s that?”

Ash shoots Saint and me look. We all know the score when it comes to telling outsiders about our business.

“A motorcycle club,” I say, earning a grimace from Ash.

“You guys ride around thieving?”

Ash throws me daggers.

“Uh…” I chuckle. “Not that kind of club, no.”

“Everything we do here is lawful,” Ash says. “No funny business.”

“Is that right?” Lacey arches one of her dark brows and turns out to the crowd, eyes shooting to the woman still bent over the table. Then, the knife. “I don’t know. This place seems more like a cult.”

Saint and I burst out laughing.

Ash looks at us funny and then proceeds to answer the question. “I assure you—this isn’t a cult.”

Her eyes linger on his face again, the look inside of them softening.

I’ve seen that look before. Ash is the quiet one in the group, but that always seems to draw women in. I think it has something to do with his piercing blue eyes. If girls want a diamond in the rough to admire, they’ll go to him.

“So, Lacey,” Saint says, “tell me. What are your plans now?”

She grits her teeth, white pearls glinting in the flashing lights. “Honestly? I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. I just needed to get out of California.” She takes another big gulp of tequila, swallowing it with ease. Atta girl. “I’m kinda glad I found this place, though.”

California? Damn.

Saint’s brown eyes deepen. “You’re glad you found this place? Why?”

She shrugs. “I needed a distraction.” She finishes the glass of tequila and sets it down on the bar, facing us again.

“I don’t suppose any of you guys have a charger?

USB-C? My phone ran out of battery on the drive over here and I need to text my mamma.

Let her know I’m okay…” She scrunches up her face, gaze returning to the knife. “I think.”