McKelle (Heller Raiders MC #7)

Chapter One

Cruz

The vibration from my Harley Street Bob rumbled into my groin. Considering how I felt about my dick and the girl with her arms wrapped around me, it was a good fucking feeling.

Steel tailpipes, leather seat, raw power. Riding my Harley gave me a rush and sent a tingle ripping along my spine. I was on my way to the Heller Raiders MC with two wheels down and McKelle on the back of my ride.

I slowed the bike as we approached the compound. The exhaust of a Harley was like a song to a biker. The engine popped and roared as I gave the throttle a little gas sending the vibration into my balls.

Ten-foot fencing protected the private property of the MC.

Friday night, and the gates were open. I rode along the wide lane between rows of bikes.

Guys, called patches in the MC, stood around the fire in the oil drum, probably talking about the glory days of riding their bikes and riding their old ladies.

Tales from long before my time in the MC.

I was a prospect for the club, proving my loyalty and paying my dues in service.

The clubhouse was a converted church. Stained-glass windows stretched the front of the building.

Bikes filled the parking lot, and the smell of barbecue from the smokers saturated the air.

McKelle’s best friend, Kiss, stood next to one of the OG’s, Sully, at the oil drum. She waved, and McKelle tapped my shoulder. I stopped by the front oak doors of the church. She climbed off the bike and tugged off her helmet.

The old men at the oil drum stared. My girl was fit as fuck. She turned to me and tried to tame her wild hair with her fingers. “I’ll see you inside.”

Jeans rode low on her hips, and the tank beneath her open leather jacket molded to her tits.

With deep blueish-green eyes and full lips, she was model beautiful and built like a figure eight racetrack.

Blonde hair draped to the middle of her back.

She had the good-girl-gone-bad vibe. To be with me, she had to be a bit rebellious.

Before she could step away, I tucked my fingers into the front of her jeans. She resisted as I tugged her closer.

“Are we good?” I asked.

We’d had a fight earlier. Like her pearl-white BMW S1000R sportbike, my biker girl ran hot.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I said.

“There’s something wrong with me.” She rested her hands on my shoulders and rolled her eyes. “How can I hate you and love you at the same time?”

“You love me?” The words slipped out slowly and teasingly. We didn’t do the cupid version of love. McKelle liked to get dirty. Maybe that was why she put up with me. She might race bikes at the track, but I was her adrenaline. And she was simply mine. End of story.

“Like I said, there’s something wrong with me.” She leaned forward, and I slanted my lips over hers. My grip on her tightened as I tasted the edge of her mouth, licked her lips, and claimed her pierced tongue with mine. She moaned and kissed me back. This was where we were good.

When the rest of my life was shit, I still had McKelle.

She’d ride my ass as hard as she rode my cock.

Usually angry sex, but with McKelle, she was all fire, and when she was pissed, sex was in another fucking stratosphere.

Although, I’d known I was going to piss her off when I’d lied to her.

But fuck, we’d had the same argument. Working with her old man and hanging out at the racetrack. Neither were my scene.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

She glanced down. Her fingers slid along my thigh and defined the edge of my dick with her fingertips. I was half hard, even after forty minutes of fucking her happy again.

“I know, but it’s not about being sorry. Don’t tell me you’ll be at the track and then blow me off. I’m tired of making excuses to my dad. He needed you yesterday. I told him you’d be there and then I had to come up with a reason why you weren’t.”

McKelle’s dad belonged to a racing club, Nitro Racing, and he had no love for me or the MC. “We both know he didn’t want me at the track with you. He doesn’t want me in the same hemisphere with you.”

“It’s not about him. It’s about me. You should’ve been there because I wanted you there.”

“Next time. I promise.”

“You have to make your promises count, Cruz.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “You promised you’d be there.”

I didn’t try to hold on to her as she stepped back, turned, and jogged over to meet Kiss.

Looked like I wasn’t done groveling yet.

Because no way was I hanging out at the track with a bunch of assholes on crotch rockets.

If she wanted me at the track, it would be another broken promise or another fight.

We were talking about McKelle. Either way it was going to be a fight because I wasn’t good with dads, and she wanted me to be best friends with hers.

A night in the MC playing billiards, winning money off the guys, and hanging out with Kiss would take the bite out of her anger.

Kiss had a few months of clean time. McKelle was good for her.

And Kiss was good for Blue, one of my best friends in the MC.

Dozer was the other. When I’d decided to prospect for the club, Dozer became my sponsor, otherwise known as my mom.

He’d talked about a brotherhood. He said Hellers were family by choice.

Considering my family, I hadn’t been sure I wanted in.

But then I’d met Blue. Some people gave perspective on life.

Blue was that for me. I thought I’d had a fucked-up childhood, but I hadn’t been through the mindfuck Blue had.

I guess we all had scars from our damage.

Kiss had heroin. Blue had— Blue had dealt with trauma I couldn’t conceive.

At least his perpetrator was dead. And so was Kiss’s dealer.

We all had secrets. Their secrets weren’t mine to tell.

I guess I was better at keeping secrets than I was at keeping my promises.

Between stopping Blue from superman-ing off tall buildings and preventing Kiss from cashing in a pharmaceutical death, McKelle would never know what I’d done for them. Not just because of the club. As a friend, I was loyal as fuck. But in the past, as a boyfriend, I’d fucked up a few times.

Kiss referred to me as a work in progress.

All I wanted was a yes vote to get my patch. Prospecting was like being on probation. Give it time, and I’d fuck this up, too.

I backed the bike into an open spot and made my way to the oil drum.

Sully rested a hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the group. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

“Oh, yeah?” Had he heard something? Friday night at the MC.

Church. The night the board met for club business.

I remembered the night I’d gone from hang-around to prospect.

A slip of adrenaline fired through my veins and anticipation coiled in my gut.

Maybe tonight, I’d finally sew on the Heller colors.

“Tank got the official word today,” Sully said.

Bullet flicked his cigarette butt into the oil drum. “Shit that went down at the container yard links back to Moreau. Apparently, the dead DA had dirty hands. He was involved with the Irish mafia. Anything he had his hands on is being scrutinized.”

Blue had gotten his patch because of the fight that night. Details were sketchy. No one liked to talk about the days when dead bikers had filled the morgue.

Night Crawlers, a rival MC, had put a hit out on Blade and Rogue. No one talked about what happened at the warehouse either, but somehow Bullet’s old lady, Stormy had been caught in the middle because her ex was mafia and in deep with the DA.

To get to her, they went after Bullet. Only they nearly killed Blue, and Kiss spiraled, ending up back on the street, deep in her addiction. The way I heard it, Stormy killed her ex to save Bullet.

The Hellers changed after that. I wished I had been around. I would’ve fought for the club. I was fighting my way in now.

“Bullet, send a couple of your girls over to Willy.” Rogue, VP, laughed with a big fucking smile on his face, and this guy never laughed. He idled at asshole.

The biker was huge, and I’d heard stories of the havoc he’d caused with his fists. One of the reasons I kept my distance from Jazzy, his old lady. She had bigger balls than most of the guys in the MC. I’d hate to piss her off.

The club princess had become a queen when she’d sewn on the Sergeant at Arms patch, and I was still cleaning up piss in the bathroom, working the bar of the club, and waiting for Dozer to decide I was ready for full patch membership in the MC.

Fuck being a prospect. I wanted the patch so fucking bad. But until Dozer decided I’d earned it, he wouldn’t ask the patches to vote. All it would take was one fuck up, and I’d be out. I had to get a yes from everyone. Until I’d earned it, I had a lot more ass kissing to do.

“I’m sure Bristol would get on her knees for Willy,” Bullet said.

I’d heard the name Willy, aka William Banks. He was the attorney for the MC.

“She’ll give him a proper thank you.” Bullet might have given up his whores for his new wife, but he’d never be out of the skin trade. He’d moved into live streams. His girls called themselves Good Girl Studios. Cam girls.

“Did Willy say when they’d cut Tank loose?” Torch listened from his place in front of the smokers and grills. I didn’t know the road captain of the club well, except that he was tight with Blade, president of the MC.

“A couple weeks,” Sully said.

Part of prospecting was knowing the history of the MC, knowing the bylaws, and knowing when to speak up and when to shut up. Tank went down for weapons charges, but he could’ve been looking at life.

He wasn’t the only one. The club had a body count, and I’d added to it. Another reason I should have my patch.

“I’ll catch you later,” I said to the guys.

Rogue followed me into the building. “You’re behind the bar tonight.”

No shit. I’d be serving them until I was cleaning up puke from the assholes who couldn’t hold their liquor.