Tamed By A Knight (The Knight Riders MC #3)

Chapter 1

HUSH

“ G etting those factory rats hooked on our product was a stroke of genius.” Talon offers his excitement to Knight in the form of a hard pat on the shoulder. “Boulder hasn’t been this quiet since before they arrived. Looks like the Knight Riders are back on top.”

We’re sitting in Knight’s office, a museum of triumphs throughout his career as Boulder’s biggest badass.

Guns line the walls, with the most important mounted on a wooden frame with a plaque commemorating the day it was used.

Standing shelves and display cabinets have ornaments scattered across them, from MC badges and motorcycle parts to a set of bronze boxing gloves and bullet casings.

He’s a hoarder of mementos honoring the past.

“We never left the top, Talon.” Knight’s smirk, enhanced by the side-eye glance he’s giving Talon, shows the pride he has for what’s been accomplished. “Boulder’s ours, always was, always will be. Now and then, we’ve just gotta remind folks of the fact.”

Knight walks over to the chest of drawers on the far end of his desk and grabs three glasses out of it.

Bottles clink together as he searches for the one he wants to commemorate our success, before returning with all of them.

He knocks over a fat stack of cash with one hand to clear room for the glasses.

But all of this begs the question—why am I here?

It’s hard not to get nervous when our commander and his second in command ask for a sit-down meeting unprovoked, and when word came through the grapevine, I started making peace with the idea of becoming another trinket on Knight’s shelves.

No reason for those thoughts, of course.

I do what I’m told and don’t ask any questions. A job’s a job, and that’s that.

However, if I were called in here under some false narrative, my chances of arguing a case for innocence would be futile.

Loyalty is all that keeps these insane men from tearing your head off and feeding it to the wolves.

And once there’s any inclination of someone doing bad, they’re as good as dead.

Still, I can’t do anything but sit here and accept whatever fate has in store for me. Share a drink with my boss and my captain. Hope I don’t wind up in a shallow grave outside.

“And tonight, we celebrate.” Knight pours two fingers of whiskey, unknown in origin, with his hand covering the label, and passes them around. “To the good work we’ve done, both lining our pockets and protecting our people.”

We raise our glasses and clink. Both my superiors suck back their drinks in a swallow, but I only take a sip. Hard liquor isn’t my style. I like a beer, mellow and easy, rarely going for a second.

Gotta keep my wits sharp.

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing for us, Hush.” Knight’s attention falls firmly on me. “Strong silent type like you, probably don’t even realize it yourself.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Embarrassed to admit it, I shift my gaze to the whiskey tumbler in my hands.

“Fuck, the modesty on this guy.” Talon jumps in, making Knight chuckle. “Without you on the streets, dishing out ass beatings and making deals run smooth, this would’ve flopped. Big time.”

Doubt it. All the Knight Riders are capable of handling their own, but I’ll take the praise where it’s offered.

“Big time,” Knight parrots, “and that’s why we brought you here, maybe a little unceremoniously. Credit where it’s due, that’s how we make sure our ship stays afloat, and you deserve a whole bag of it all to yourself.”

“Thank you, but?—”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Hush, and I’m gonna stop you right there,” Knight cuts me off, pouring another round for Talon and himself.

“Everyone else will get their share of the pie, but this one’s for you.

A pre-celebration, if you will. We know the spotlight isn’t your thing, and want to extend our appreciation in a way you’ll receive it best.”

Knight turns to Talon, whose eyes shift to a clasped box on the desk. Cautiously, as if handling pure gold, he slides it closer to me.

“And it would be an honor if you accepted our gratitude in the form of a promotion.” While Knight speaks, Talon lifts the top of the box, exposing a new patch for my left shoulder.

The patch is in the shape of a teardrop. Below the peak is the signature Knight Riders emblem, a skull wearing a medieval-looking helmet, with “Hush” and “S.a.T.” below it.

Sergeant at Arms? Me? Seems so out of place, all things considered. Yet, my cheeks are burning from a smile I can’t seem to shake, and my mind’s racing with all the possibilities of what my future with the Knight Riders could hold.

Shit, and all this started with me thinking I was gonna get my ass handed to me by the big boss himself.

“I don’t know what to say.” My eyes hastily shift from the patch to Knight and back again.

“I’ll do the speaking for you then.” Talon stands upright, accepting the glass of whiskey Knight’s holding out to him. “Thanks, Knight, and yes, I’d be happy to move on up in the world.”

I repeat those words exactly.

They laugh, we clink glasses, and somehow the whiskey goes down a whole lot smoother this time.

Ten minutes go by, with celebratory jokes and Knight and Talon gulping down half a bottle of whiskey, when a buzzing in my pocket brings me back down to earth. Checking the face, ‘Tara’ is displayed on the caller ID, and if I thought my smiling was a problem before, it’s a killer now.

The two titans of our band of misfits are engrossed in their own worlds, reminiscing on the good old days. They won’t notice me step away for a second. Though I don’t move far, taking a few steps into the far corner of Knight’s office.

“Hey,” I answer casually.

“Hey. You busy?” Tara’s soft voice sends a tingle up my spine.

“What’s up?” Ignoring her question is easier than explaining what’s going on.

“I hate to do this again, but…” She trails off until loud music is all I can hear on the other end.

“You need a ride?”

“If you could? I’d be forever in your debt.”

“You know you’ve offered that up before, right? That’s a lot of forevers you’re giving up.” Talon and Knight both look over at me while I’m grinning like a fool in the corner.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” Tara’s casual, offhand flirtation doesn’t help when it’s just her and me alone. With them staring, I’m red as a tomato at this point.

“Give me a few. I’ll see what I can do. Where am I headed?” Clearing my throat uncomfortably, Talon cracks up in laughter.

God, the embarrassment truly is endless.

“Lavish.” She almost sounds upset at having to admit it. Probably due to the fact that I hate that place with every fiber of my being.

“I’ll pick you up inside.” Killing the call, I return to the table, where both men stare on with devilish smiles.

“You mind if I?—”

“Not at all.” Knight leans over the table to give me a firm slap on the shoulder. “New title comes with new perks. You don’t have to ask for our approval, no more.”

“Thanks, boss.” And with it, I’m off to rescue my damsel in distress.

Neon signs in pink, purple, and blue hang overhead.

Some multicolored and others mono, they blink the naked female form, acting as a spotlight and lighthouse to the lonely bachelors and bachelorettes of Boulder.

Their incessant buzzing makes me sick to the stomach on my approach, getting worse by the second as I square off against the seven-foot-tall brick shithouse guarding the door.

Above his head, the noisiest and brightest sign of them all, surrounded by a flickering mess of color and the words, Girls! Girls! Girls! , the club’s name holds steady. Lavish, the only club in all of Boulder, aims to please the female eye and attract lust-hungry men like flies to a fetid carcass.

“Need something?” the bouncer says after giving me far too much time to realize how much I hate this place.

“I’m here to pick someone up.” No eye contact means no trouble. I focus on his chest instead, the periphery focused on his arms. No telling what a man might do, unprovoked or not. Staying cautious of anyone and everyone is how you get far in this world.

“Don’t see anyone out here.” He scans the street, left to right and back again.

“She’s inside.”

“Yup, that’s my guess. But tell me, why would she be waiting on the dance floor and not here?” The bouncer folds his arms over his chest, raising a brow at me.

“I told her to wait inside. Safer than out here.” He’s doing his job. I have to remind myself of that before I let my temper flare unnecessarily.

“Call her and say you’re here then.” He scoffs and shakes his head like I’m some kind of dumb ass.

“Tried. Probably can’t hear her phone over the deafening music.” It’s times like these I wish I had Knight or Talon’s tenacity. Let me in or else . That’s how they’d sort this guy out. Make quick work of it and get on with their business.

The bouncer’s face hardens, and his eyes travel up and down to inspect me. Another scoff follows, and I ready myself for whatever bullshit’s going to spew out of his mouth next.

“I’m fucking with you,” he says, shattering my perception of what’s going on. “Saw your colors as soon as you rode in. Knight Riders are always welcome here.”

“Gonna let me pass?” I start walking to the door before he answers.

“Sure, but keep whatever trouble you’ve got inside to a minimum, will ya?” His head follows me, but he doesn’t move out of his chair. “Don’t wanna have to break up any fights.”

That’s the problem with cultivating a reputation, isn’t it?

I’m here for a girl, but how many times has that excuse been used to save someone inside?

And it’s not like the Riders to leave a place without cracking a few skulls in the process.

Then again, we’re not usually called for personal errands.

I’m hit by a wall of sound when I enter the main club floor.

Music blares from speakers hanging in every corner, and the DJ barks orders on how the dancers should be moving to the beat.

Overhead, men and women alike dance in cages on high platforms. Others hang over safety rails on the second floor.

Most dressed so scantily, they might as well not have worn anything at all.

I don’t understand how Tara can stand being in this place. Darkened surroundings with a dance floor covered in unicorn vomit from the lights overhead. I feel a migraine coming on from a few minutes in this hell.

Scanning the crowd for her as I walk through, I miss someone taking a drunken step back. He crashes into me, almost toppling over completely, but my strong frame keeps me upright.

“What the fuck, man?” he shouts before turning around. And when he does, he stumbles back at seeing just how much bigger I am than him. That’s what I want to believe, anyway. More likely than not, he’s too drunk to stay upright. “Watch where you’re going.”

Spotlights from the main floor wash over us while he flicks his hands dry from whatever drink he spilled on himself, and they give me the perfect opportunity to see his face in the darkness.

Not in the mood for this to turn sour, I make my mental note of him and walk away, hearing him drunkenly slur something at me.

Unable to speak and too much noise in the bar, I can’t make a word out.

My damsel in distress , the words ring in my mind as I shuffle from one table to the next, looking for Tara. It’s such a pleasant thought when I’m in my environment, where I’m in control, but out here, it feels like a distant dream.

I don't mind it when she asks me for a ride. Nor do I mind pulling up to these places and whisking her away before the night gets out of hand. Lately, I’ve been wondering while I’m searching for her amid the crowds alone.

Wondering if a girl like Tara and I could stand a chance.

She’s loud, out there, a party animal to the end, where I’m quiet, timid, and find myself preferring a night in over a loud and obnoxious drunk crowd.

But then I see her, casually sitting at the bar, light brown hair draped over her shoulders and a bright smile on her face while she talks to someone next to her. Not unlike tonight, it seems, as I stop on a three-stair high platform overlooking the more relaxed section of the club.

Stunning isn’t the right word to describe her.

It’s placid and weak in comparison. She’s standing this time, with her ass pressed out in a pair of tight blue yoga pants, while the rest of her is hovering over the bar to whisper something in the bartender’s ear.

Fuck, I could stand here for another hour gawking at her perfect peach, stretching the material nearly to breaking point.

Then again, that would be a disservice both to myself and to the rest of her exceptional physique. And tonight’s loose-hanging crop top seems the ideal shirt to get a peek at what waits beneath it.

Stop drooling and get a hold of yourself. You’re here to do a job.

Is there a difference between business and pleasure when it comes to her?