Bewitching the biker, p.1
Bewitching the Biker, page 1
Bewitching The Biker Glenna Maynard © 2021 all rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, business, establishments, locals or events is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, business, organizations or locals is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Suggested Reading Order
Bewitching The Biker
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Author’s Note
Playlist
Acknowledgments
About Glenna
The Biker’s Cherry
Royal Bastards Third Run
Dedication
To my RBMC readers.
This series wouldn’t be what it is without you.
Suggested Reading Order
The Biker’s Kiss
Lady & The Biker
Tempting The Biker
Keeping The Biker
The Biker’s Lucky Charm
Taken By The Biker
Bewitching The Biker
The Biker’s Cherry
Claiming The Biker
Loving The Biker
ROYAL BASTARDS CODE
PROTECT: The club and your brothers come before anything else and must be protected at all costs. CLUB is FAMILY.
RESPECT: Earn it & Give it. Respect club law. Respect the patch. Respect your brothers. Disrespect a member and there will be hell to pay.
HONOR: Being patched in is an honor, not a right. Your colors are sacred, not to be left alone, and NEVER let them touch the ground.
OL’ LADIES: Never disrespect a member’s or brother’s Ol’Lady. PERIOD.
CHURCH is MANDATORY.
LOYALTY: Takes precedence over all, including well-being.
HONESTY: Never LIE, CHEAT, or STEAL from another member or the club.
TERRITORY: You are to respect your brother’s property and follow their Chapter’s club rules.
TRUST: Years to earn it...seconds to lose it.
NEVER RIDE OFF: Brothers do not abandon their family.
Bewitching The Biker
I’m an outlaw.
A man who takes what he wants without asking, and what I want is her.
I’ve been bewitched by a vixen. The witch has me under her spell.
She hexed me.
Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I’ll prove it.
I’m not supposed to fear anything. I never have.
Until her.
They call me Sandman, but Bianca is the one haunting my dreams.
Bewitching the Biker is book 7 of the Royal Bastards, Charleston WV, Chapter but can be read as a standalone.
Chapter One
“That’s a fucking great idea,” Pam slaps a palm on the bar. “Knew I liked you.” She winks at Wylla Mae.
I continue to drink my beer at the opposite end of the bar, ignoring the Ol’ Ladies and their hair brain ideas for their Halloween party. An hour ago, the theme was zombies. Fuck that shit.
There’s nothing worse than a dead whore. Thankfully East, Wylla Mae’s old man and my Vice Prez, put his foot down and said we aren’t doing that shit. Last thing I want is to try getting laid and a bitch’s caked on fake blood makeup rubbing off on my dick when she goes down on me.
Got blood on my dick once when one of the club hangarounds started her period. I shudder at the memory. Thought her pussy had grown teeth and tried to eat my dick. Watched a horror movie about that scenario once. Fucked with my head for weeks.
“Sandman,” Pam coos my name.
Fuck. She’s pregnant and driving us all bat shit crazy with her cravings. We all cater to her though, because at the end of the day we’re all elated for her and Link. They’ve had a hell of a time conceiving. “Yeah, babe.”
“Need a favor.” Her lips curve into a smirk as she pulls her dark hair into a ponytail.
Here we fucking go. East is already chuckling. Fucker.
“Whatcha need, sweetheart?” I’m a glutton for punishment.
“A Ouija board.”
I blink. “A what?”
“Ya know. A spirit board. We’re going to have a seance.”
“I think the last thing you need to do is tempt the devil, woman.”
“Don’t be a party pooper. Just think how much easy pussy you’ll get when I scare everyone’s knickers off.” She grins.
I shake my head but entertain the thought. “It’s not the worst idea you’ve had.”
“There’s this antique shop downtown. They sell crystals and stuff. I bet they’d have the real thing,” Wylla Mae cuts in. “A girl I knew from high school used to work there on weekends for her grandma.”
“If and it’s a big if I go get your toy, will you stop bugging me?”
Pam taps her red fingernails on her chin pretending to even contemplate my question when we both know the answer. “Probably not, but you won't know until you give in.”
“What’s the name of this store?”
Wylla Mae touches the screen of her cell phone. “Enchanting Heirlooms.”
“Anything else?”
“Cheese fries,” Pam practically moans the words out with a little drool.
“You sure that’s it?” I know her. I’ll get halfway back, and she’ll want waffles with chicken or some shit.
“For now.” She smirks with her she-devil smile.
“Right. May want to send Nav to get those fries. I might be a while.”
“That’s a good idea.” Wylla shuffles her newborn son, Milo from one shoulder to the other. “I’m getting hungry too.”
East picks up Mia, their daughter from her playpen at his end of the bar. “Why don't I treat you ladies to lunch?”
Place is becoming overran with babies, bottles, diapers, and shit during lunch time. Wylla Mae stops by every day to see her old man with her rug rats in tow. Most brothers don’t complain, but we never set out to be a damn daycare. They want that shit they can move it down the road to Zoe. Link’s sister. Her and Pam opened a daycare together.
Prez has been busy at home with Alexa and the twins since she gave birth. A boy and a girl. Jovie and Jarod. Which means Prez isn’t around as much and East is here filling in and that brings us full circle back to Wylla Mae stopping by with the kids.
Kinda hard to get laid and party when there’s a bunch of kids constantly shitting their pants around.
I hurry out of the clubhouse before whatever shit that has been knocking all the old ladies up attaches itself to me. Having brats of my own has never been in my plans. Doesn’t really fit into my lifestyle. I love the single life. I’ve never been much on superstitions, but the past year there seems to be a damn baby boom. As my momma used to say there’s something in the fucking water. Best not to drink it.
I throw a leg over my Harley Davidson Softail, appreciating the paint job Roane did on my girl recently to match the tattoo he designed of a cemetery on my left bicep. Brother is mad talented. I grab my sunglasses from where I had them hooked on the collar of my tee and ride out.
Enchanted Heirlooms is a corner shop in downtown Charleston that appears as if it’s sat here since the town was founded. An old block cement structure. Guess it fits the name. I park in front of the green, fancy pole light and look up when I get that sensation deep in my gut as though someone’s watching me.
I stare at the shop window, but I don’t see anyone. Only old furniture and a coup’la plants. An earthy scent hits my nose. The doorbell sounds over my head as I enter the premises.
“I’ll be right with you,” a female voice calls from somewhere in the back.
I scan the store. To my left there’s vintage dressers and a few chairs. Wood carved boxes on a shelf. Along with statues of naked women. Animal skulls and a few that appear to be replicas of human ones. To my right however is rows of candles, crystals, some type of altar. Suppose that’s where the enchanted part of the store name ties in. Witches.
Shit. Where in the fuck did Wylla Mae send me?
The sounds of nature filter through the sound system, sounds like river water moving over rocks.
“Can I help you?” The same female voice from moments ago blows right in my ear.
I turn and that’s when I see her. A woman that barely reaches my chest. Dark unruly curls, olive skin, and eyes so blue they remind me of sea glass. The woman is dressed in a black knit halter that clings to her body, showing off her ample cleavage, paired with a flowing black skirt that hugs her hips and covers her ankles. Her purple toenails peek out the hem revealing that she’s barefoot. There’s a thick black leather cuff wrapp ed around one of her wrists. The choker wrapped around her slender throat has a small crystal dangling from the center.
On instinct I reach out to touch the stone that reminds me of the stripes of a tiger.
The smooth stone is warm to the touch.
“Pretty,” I murmur, and her gaze meets mine, but I’m not talking about the stone. Fuck me. She’s gorgeous.
“Tiger’s eye. Is there something I can help you with?” She eyes my cut. “Sandman?” She quirks a brow staring at the patches sewn on the front.
“Yeah. Looking for a Ouija board. You sell that shit here?”
Those gorgeous blue orbs turn into slits, narrowing on me. “No.” Her voice rises as her lips tighten. “Try the board games in the toy section at Walmart. This isn’t a novelty shop.” She turns, strutting to the counter where the cash register is set up. What she lacks in long legs, her ass more than makes up for.
“You ain't gotta get that sweet ass all riled up, baby doll. Was told you got the real deal here.”
“First of all, don’t call me baby doll. Second, I said we don’t sell what you're searching for. Third, you need to leave.”
I pull out my money clip. “How much?” I drop a few hundreds on the counter.
She grips my wrist, eyes locking with mine. I freeze, unable to move. Either captivated or hypnotized. I’m not sure which. “Me solum relinquatis. Non revertemur.”
“The fuck did you just say to me?”
“Leave,” she grinds the word out like a warning and releases my wrist.
“Bitch,” I mutter and snatch my bills off the counter. I shake my head as I leave. My feet hit the sidewalk and a crow lands on the seat of my bike. “Go on. Shoo. Get the fuck outta here.” I wave my arm toward him, and he caws before flying away.
The second I’m back on my motorcycle thunder claps over my head so loud the world seems to shake. I stare back at the shop window, scanning the inside. I don’t know what I’m searching for.
I ride out and head to the house I rent with Hound, getting fucking drenched in the process. The weather forecast didn’t say shit all about any damn rain today.
I pull into the garage where Viking is down on all fours with a piece of cheese hanging out of his mouth. Bastard might as well move in too. If he’s not at the clubhouse or his gym, he’s here. I shut off my girl and hang my cut on the rack we keep by the door that leads to the laundry room.
“The fuck are you doing?” I ask him as I drag my shirt over my shoulders then my head. I wring the water out over him, and he curses.
The cheese falls from his mouth. “The fuck, asshole. I’m trying to catch this cat that ran in when I pulled up so Hound’s dogs don’t eat it.”
“About the only pussy you can nail.” I laugh and use my shirt to flick him in the middle of the back with.
“Ahh,” he cries out. “You’re dead, dick face.”
“Just trying to toughen you up for your next fight.” I grin as the red welt appears on his back. I move in behind him and grab the back of his hair while making a motion of doing him up the ass.
“Get off me. I swear to Satan I’m going to kill you.”
“Baby, you know I love it when you threaten me.” I slap his ass and proceed into the laundry room to strip out of my wet jeans. Damn rain made my ass itch. I toss my wet shit in the washer. I’ll deal with it later.
I hit the kitchen in my boxer briefs for a beer. Hound is at the stove cooking up some tacos.
“Fuck, man. I just mopped and shit. You’re dripping water everywhere.”
His chocolate Cane Corso, She-Ra comes over and sniffs at the water I tracked in. I give her a scratch behind the ears before she resumes her position on the rug in front of the sink. The rest of his pack is in the backyard in their kennels. Brother trains dogs for security and shit.
“Need to find you a woman fast. You’re starting to nag at me like a bitch.”
“Don’t worry about it. My game is strong.”
I snort. “That’s why Zoe won’t return your calls.”
“Fuck you. That’s cold. For that shit right there, you don't get any of my tacos and we both know they’re damn good.”
“Whatever,” I mutter and crack open the tab on my can. I slurp down half and slam it down on the counter as I belch.
“Why you all wet anyway?”
“Got fuckin’ soaked in that downpour on the way home.”
“I didn’t think it was supposed to rain.”
“Yeah, me neither. Pam and Wylla Mae sent me to some witchy woo store, and when I left got drenched.”
“Witchy woo?” he raises a brow and moves to drain the grease off his hamburger meat.
“Some shop downtown that sells old shit and crystals.”
“The hell did they want from there?” he mixes in the seasoning, leaving the meat to simmer.
“A fucking Ouija board. Can you believe that shit?”
He walks to the fridge and takes out his veggies. “I don’t fuck around with the afterlife. Neither should you.” He points the knife he’s using to cut the lettuce with at me. It’s part of a set that Prodigy made him at his forge.
I make a face at him. “You believe in ghosts and shit?”
“Don’t you?”
“Nope. I didn’t get what they wanted anyway. Little witch bitch at the shop wouldn’t sell to me. Started cursing at me in Latin or some shit.”
“Fuck.” He deadpans, giving me a serious look. “Latin?”
“Fuck if I know sounded foreign an old.”
“She hexed you.” He grins, a flash of white appearing out of his burly beard.
“Man.” I blow him off and hit the shower.
Hexed. I snort.
Chapter Two
10 years old
“When I fall in love, he’ll be strong. Protective.” I set my intentions as I cleanse the inside of my spell jar with clover like Gram taught me. The white smoke swirls in the bottle and drifts out slowly. Armed with a small spoon and funnel, I begin my spell. I add in pink sea salt first. “He’ll be tough. Big. Scary. Have tattoos. And he’ll only have eyes for me.” I add in my collection of herbs and petals. The small scroll of paper with my initials along with a tiny heart charm are the last to go in. I prick the tip of my finger with a lancet. Gram would tan my back side if she knew I was dabbling in blood magic, but I’m careful. She taught me well. Drops of my blood soak into the paper and coat the ingredients of my spell, binding it to me. Using a pink crayon and a lighter I seal the jar. The pink wax drips over the cork and down the sides. Lastly, I set the small glass jar under the glow of the full moon. Then I rip up the picture I cut out of the yearbook of Logan Smith and burn the scraps.
Boys are stupid jerks.
I hope I never see him ever again.
I know what kids at school say about me.
That I’m weird.
I’m creepy.
That I’m a witch.
I don’t need them to like me.
I like me and that’s what counts.
**
Present day
“Today’s the day,” Gram’s premonition replays in my head.
“Today’s the day,” I mock to myself. My Gram...I love her. I do, but she’s bat shit crazy. Always muttering nonsense about this, that, and the other. Her favorite pastime is telling others when they will meet their true love. Fancies herself as a matchmaker. Says she has the sight.
Some folks around here call her a fortune teller or a witch. Most don’t believe in a lot of that hocus pocus, but you’ll never hear anyone say it to my Gram’s face. She makes a living off telling other people what they want to hear. There’s nothing magic about telling fortunes. It’s all in knowing how to read people and asking the right questions. They will tell you all you need to know to give them a reading. She says people don’t really want the truth. The truth would scare them. Give them smoke and mirrors and tell them what they want to hear.
Our life isn’t as magical as the movies or books. Though if I had to pick one to represent Gram and me, I’d go with ‘Practical Magic’. I smile at the thought of midnight margaritas.
The sound of a motorcycle cutting off in front of the store grabs my attention. I glance past the window display and see a man clad in denim and leather throwing a leg over a Harley. The first thought to cross my mind is damn. Damn he’s tall. I get a good eyeful of him and turn my attention back to restocking the newest batch of our pheromone enhancing perfume that keeps flying off the shelves. I guess the secret is out that a dab or two on the neck and wrists will drive a man wild. Good thing too. Business hasn’t been the greatest as of late.
