Angels from Hell: A Biker Erotic Romance

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Authors: A. L. Summers
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Australian accent, taking my hand. “Sorry about the game. I sometimes get kinda involved. Nothing like killing Zombies on a Saturday night to pass the time.”
     
    “Where’s Gwen? Don’t you have a date?” Charlie asks.
     
    “Naw,” Shep says. “She kicked my ass to the curb last night. That’s cool though. She’d stopped putting out anyway.”
     
    I can feel my face heat in annoyance. It’s going to be a long four weeks.
     
    ***
     
    When I agreed to stay with Charlie, I thought it was understood that I would be sleeping on the couch, but Charlie insists that I take his bed. We argue about it. When he states it is the bed or a motel, I relent.
     
    I turn in early because I am exhausted, but something jerks me from sleep. As I lie in bed, I recognize the rumble of the garage door going up under my bed. Squinting, I look at the clock on the side table. I hear a heavy rumble of a Harley starting, then a shriek of another motor, the Honda I guess. I wonder where the hell they are going at one a.m., but I am too tired to care. I roll over and instantly fall back asleep.
     
    ***
     
    As I pad down the steps the next morning, Charlie is awake, but still sprawled on the couch. Shep’s door is closed and he is nowhere to be seen. He must still be sleeping. “What time did you get home last night, or rather, this morning?” I ask with a yawn.
     
    “What?” Charlie asks, clearly surprised at the question.
     
    “I heard the door go up last night when you left. I must have been dead to the world when you came back because I didn’t hear a thing. I was just wondering what time you got back.”
     
    “Oh, uhhh, about three,” Charlie says.
     
    “What is there to do at three in the morning?” I ask, as I head into the kitchen to look for coffee, tea, anything to get the blood flowing.
     
    “Oh. Nothing actually. Shep and I, we just go out and ride late at night sometimes. Enjoy the roads when there isn’t any traffic on them.”
     
    “Whatever. What’s the temperature outside?” I ask as I start the coffee brewing.
     
    Charlie looks at his phone. “About fifty,” he says.
     
    “Not the high, I mean right now.”
     
    Charlie begins to laugh. “Claire, you’re not in Green Bay anymore. Fifty is what it is right now. The high is supposed to be seventy-five.”
     
    “Damn. I thought it would be cooler in the mountains,” I say, mentally reviewing what clothes I have with me that might be cool enough. I’ll have to break out the summer gear when we get the truck unpacked.
     
    Charlie begins to snicker. “You’ll be in shorts and the rest of us will be wearing coats.”
     
    ***
     
    Two hours later, that is exactly what happens. Charlie drives the truck to the storage unit with Shep following on his bike and me in my car. When we arrive, six other bikes are parked along the fence. Shep joins them while I follow the truck through the gate with my car. As Charlie unlocks and opens the storage unit’s big roll up door, I see all seven guys walking towards us. All are wearing the same dark brown leather jacket that Charlie is wearing, probably with the same big Kings of Chaos logo burned on the back. “Looks like your gang is here,” I say as Charlie opens the truck.
     
    “It’s a club, not a gang,” Charlie says mildly. “We’re just a group of guys and gals that all happen to like to ride motorcycles. No different than Mom’s bridge club was.”
     
    “Uh-huh,” I grunt.
     
    “No, seriously,” Charlie says. “There are about thirty of us in the club. Last year, we raised nearly $50,000 for charity. We hang out together, go on weekend rides, stuff like that. There are lots of roads around that are great motorcycle roads. You should go with us sometime.”
     
    “I don’t know, Charlie. There’s a lot going on right now.”
     
    “I know, but think about it.”
     
    “I will,” I say as I help Charlie get the ramp hooked on the truck.
     
    It only takes an hour for the guys

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