Wild Nights (Hell's Highway MC)

By: Blakeley Wilde


 “Come on in,” I whispered as I opened the screen door to my seedy motel room. “Be quiet. My co-workers are asleep next door.”

Blaze flashed a crooked smile and tip toed inside. He slipped his muscled and tatted arms around my waist and with minimal effort spun me around to face him. He pushed his mouth onto mine, but I pushed him away leaving a mix of whiskey and menthol cigarettes on my tongue.

“Hold on,” I said.

An hour earlier, we had met at the biker bar across the street from where my co-workers and I were staying. Tess, Raquel, and I were all hairstylists in town for a tradeshow. A little procrastination on my part left us with very few options as far as hotels went. We were stuck with picking from various rats nests or having to break the bank with a credit card busting five star hotel. Not wanting to shell out $400 per night for a room, we ended up at a sketchy little hole-in-the-wall by the airport for a fraction of the price of the nicer place. As long as it was bedbug free, we all decided we’d live with it. Besides, we were only in town for a couple of days.

Blaze wasn’t the kind of guy I’d typically go for, but I was pretty sure I would never return to Tulsa, Oklahoma for any reason ever again. I was also fresh off a breakup and craving some sort of man’s touch or at least attention of some sort. Blaze was a biker who rode with the Hell’s Highway motorcycle club. They seemed pretty rough around the edges and a little scary, but this was going to be a quick, one night thing plus I was drunk, so I didn’t care.

Earlier in the evening, Tess, Raquel and I headed to our respective rooms after dinner. By about 9:00 p.m., I was wide awake and feeling a little adventurous. I buzzed the girls and asked if they wanted to go across the street to the biker bar to get a drink. Both declined to my dismay, but it didn’t deter me from going anyway.

After teasing my long blonde hair and ironing in some lose waves, I slicked on some cherry red lip gloss and added an extra coat of mascara to my curly lashes to make my green eyes pop. I slipped on a black push up bra and some tight skinny jeans and a low cut, black, silk blouse. I slid on my nude wedges for some extra height and was out the door.

If my ex saw me now, he’d probably think I looked like a gussied up whore. He’d probably tell me I was begging to get fucked like a little slut. He was so prude for a guy. He should’ve thanked his lucky stars he was with a girl who loved sex as much as I did.

From the minute I walked into the smoke-filled dive filled with drunk men in head to toe denim and leather, I could tell that a man in the corner in a black, leather jacket had honed in on me. I tried to pretend not to notice his eyes following me from across the room. He stood by the pool table, leaning against it with his pool stick in one hand and his other hand bracing himself on the table. His eyes didn’t leave me for even a split second. I found an empty stool by the bar and ordered myself a vodka cranberry and made it a double.

Ten minutes later, no one had even so much as said hello to me, and I was feeling rather foolish.

“Miss, would you like another drink?” The husky, balding bartender asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the same towel he had just used to wipe down the bar area in front of him.

“No, thanks. I’ll be going shortly,” I replied. I felt like such a loser. Maybe I looked like I was trying too hard.

“If I bought you a drink, would you stay?” the mysterious man from across the room was now standing behind me. I could feel the vibration of his words down the back of my neck. He was as close to my body as he could be without actually touching me.

Startled, I jumped, nearly knocking over my empty glass.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he smiled. His grin was almost devilish. There was something behind those dark eyes, but I couldn’t quite pin it down.

“Maybe,” I replied. I suddenly went from feeling like a loser to feeling slightly adventurous. This was what I came here for after all. I just wanted a little attention.

The bartender gave me another vodka cranberry, making it a double again, and I drank up.

“I’m Molly,” I said. “Thanks for the drink, stranger.”

“I’m Blaze,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. He was so intense, and his face was tanned and a little weathered from hours spent riding his bike on the open road. “Not from around here, are you?”

“No, I’m from Seattle,” I lied. He didn’t need to know I was really from St Louis.

“What brings you in here tonight all by yourself?” he asked. “This is kind of a dangerous place for a girl to come to all alone.”

I debated in my mind on whether or not I should tell the truth. I just wanted some attention and maybe a little physical action if it were to go that far.

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