Colt:Great Wolves M.C. Book Three

By: Jayne Blue

Chapter One


For some people, nothing says welcome home like the smell of homemade cookies and apple pie. For me, it’s the wafting stink of oil refineries and shipyards.

Home ...

That’s a hell of a word. In my thirty-three years, I was still trying to figure out if I had one. Every time I thought I’d found a place to settle, something drew me back to this place. Lincolnshire, Ohio. Once a shining port city on the western banks of Lake Erie, now it was home to about a dozen shut-down automotive plants.

Anyone in their right mind had already hightailed it to the suburbs or over the border into Michigan. But here I was, walking into The Shires bar looking for a stiff drink, a plate of their World Famous Coney Dogs and a little bit of peace. I was only going to get one out of three.

I drew a few sideways looks from the patrons along the wall as I walked to the bar. It was the cut they saw, not me. The back of my black leather vest had the Great Wolves, M.C. logo sewn into it, and everyone in this town knew what that meant.

Don’t fuck with me.

I slid onto a bar stool. The bartender turned. His eyes widened then narrowed to near slits when he recognized me. A little of the color drained from his face. Yep. He remembered me all right, even though I hadn’t darkened this particular doorstep in over a decade.

“Good to see you, Colt,” he said, his words a little hesitant. He threw a towel over his shoulder and extended a beefy hand to mine. I took it and shook hard. “Catman and the boys were already here last night. Everything okay?”

I widened my eyes and jerked my head back. Catman was the Great Wolves M.C. Lincolnshire chapter president. I was here to see him but it was early yet, just past noon. There was real fear in Rick Malloy’s eyes when he asked the question and I knew I was missing something. But I was on my time right now. Whatever drama he meant could wait. I shrugged and tapped the bar.

“Jim Beam double neat?” Rick asked. Yeah . . . it was early for the hard stuff but it had been a long damn day and what the hell.

I smiled. Yeah. He remembered. I made a gun with my hand and pulled the trigger, shooting Rick a wink. Rick and I grew up together. This was his dad’s place and his granddad’s before that. Which was kind of fucking depressing and comforting all at the same time.

Rick slid my bourbon across the bar to me, and I downed it quick. Then two more after that. My head started to feel good and numb. I was just about to put in an order for those Coney Dogs when light fingers skittered across my back. They belonged to one hot piece of ass. She slid on the stool next to me flashing a smile past siren-red lips and with ample cleavage straining at the top of her black halter top.

“You’re with the M.C.,” she said, using a breathy voice she had to be faking. “I haven’t seen you before.”

Yeah. She was one of those. This cut came with a lot of baggage, but one perk was the draw of biker bangers just like her. She had bleach blonde hair teased a little too high. She wore a black leather skirt and red heels. She held up a finger, and Rick slid some fruity drink in front of her.

“Take it easy, Bridget,” he said. She shot him a withering stare.

“It’s all right, Ricky,” I said, knowing he hated being called that. “Put her drink on my bill. Bridget and I were just starting to get to know each other.”

“What’s your name, baby?” Bridget said. She slid her hand up my thigh. She wasted no time and tapped the crotch of my jeans. Another smile lit her face at what she found there.

I make no apologies. It had been a long, hard ride out from the west coast and this girl was pretty, stacked, and looking for a good time. After hours with nothing to saddle but my ride, Bridget here was looking smoother than the bourbon.

We had some conversation. I don’t remember what. Bridget said her place was just around the corner, and she didn’t have to twist my arm to get me to go with her. But Bridget was more charged up than I thought. Three steps out the back door and she was already pulling my arm, turning me to face her, and rubbing her tits all over me. Fuck. She smelled good. She felt even better. We didn’t make it past the alley next to The Shires before I had her up against the brick wall. Broad fucking daylight. Oh yeah, this girl liked the wild side all right. I looked around; we were alone.

She linked her hands above her head and rubbed herself against me harder as I slid that tight leather skirt past her thighs and the tube top down. Her perfect Cs popped out and said hello. I tweaked one pert little nipple then licked it and blew on it, getting it pebbled just right. She arched her back and moaned a little, letting me know she wanted more where that came from. Then I slid a hand down between her luscious thighs. Shit. Bridget went commando that night.

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