Read Online Devil on My Shoulder: A Biker Erotic Romance (Camden Knights MC) by Emily Stone - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Stone
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This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
Devil on My Shoulder @ 2014 by Emily Stone. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
Devil on My Shoulder
Paxton Keller made several quick motions with his left hand and then pulled his motorcycle into the parking place in front of the Wild Kat Bar. Jimmy and Short John, his wingmen, pulled their bikes in alongside him, making sure, as he had, to keep the bikes pointed out toward the street in case this was a trap. Tommy, the front buffer, continued on around the block to look for signs of trouble. Dave, who had been riding back buffer, also pulled into the parking spaces, but his bike faced outward in the opposite direction of the others to give him a clear view of traffic approaching from the rear.
Pax sat astride his bike with his left foot holding him in balance. Out of habit, he revved the engine several times as he waited for Tommy to return. The Wild Kat wasn’t a biker bar—it was a college bar near the University of Arizona campus in Phoenix—but that didn’t mean it was safe. You didn’t have to be at a biker bar for it to be a trap. You didn’t have to be on enemy turf for them to kill you.
Short John put down his kickstand and dismounted. He stood beside his bike looking carefully at the surrounding streets and buildings. Rooftops were clear. No windows were dark and open. No vans were parked nearby.
Short John was almost six-four, but the former president of the Camden Knights was known as Long John, and so Short John, although much taller, was stuck with the name.
Actually, Long John was short. He was only about five foot eight. There were many women who believed that Long John’s name was accurate, but referred to a totally different aspect of his anatomy. The truth was, however, that it had nothing to do with height or physical endowment. When Pax and John were in grade school together, one of their teachers made them read Treasure Island. Since John’s last name was Silverman, he immediately became Long John Silverman after the pirate of a similar name in the book. Later he grew into his name, so to speak, and became somewhat of a legend in high school.
Now Long John was dead. It was an accident, or at least that was what the official police reports had said. Pax wasn’t so sure. Yes, it was a dangerous curve. Yes, the impact with the trees had been at high speed. Yes, it had all the signs of someone who had lost control on the curve and careened off the road into the trees. But something wasn’t right. If Long John was going off the curve into the trees, he would have dropped the bike. But the bike didn’t slide into the trees as if it had been laid down. It went into them head-on.
Maybe it was an accident. Motorcycles aren’t so much dangerous as they are unforgiving. Long John might have made some minor mistake that at lower speed in a wider curve wouldn’t have been significant. But at speed in that tight curve, it had been fatal.
Or, maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe it was just shit luck. Maybe a deer or some other animal had run across the road in front of him. He could have even hit a bird or flying debris as he went into the curve. It could have been anything. It could have been an accident, but late last night Pax had received a whispered phone call that said: “If you want to know who killed Long John, be at the Wild Kat Bar at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
That was all it said, but that was enough. So, tonight Paxton Keller, President-elect of the Camden Knights Motorcycle Club, waited
Devil on My Shoulder @ 2014 by Emily Stone. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
Devil on My Shoulder
Paxton Keller made several quick motions with his left hand and then pulled his motorcycle into the parking place in front of the Wild Kat Bar. Jimmy and Short John, his wingmen, pulled their bikes in alongside him, making sure, as he had, to keep the bikes pointed out toward the street in case this was a trap. Tommy, the front buffer, continued on around the block to look for signs of trouble. Dave, who had been riding back buffer, also pulled into the parking spaces, but his bike faced outward in the opposite direction of the others to give him a clear view of traffic approaching from the rear.
Pax sat astride his bike with his left foot holding him in balance. Out of habit, he revved the engine several times as he waited for Tommy to return. The Wild Kat wasn’t a biker bar—it was a college bar near the University of Arizona campus in Phoenix—but that didn’t mean it was safe. You didn’t have to be at a biker bar for it to be a trap. You didn’t have to be on enemy turf for them to kill you.
Short John put down his kickstand and dismounted. He stood beside his bike looking carefully at the surrounding streets and buildings. Rooftops were clear. No windows were dark and open. No vans were parked nearby.
Short John was almost six-four, but the former president of the Camden Knights was known as Long John, and so Short John, although much taller, was stuck with the name.
Actually, Long John was short. He was only about five foot eight. There were many women who believed that Long John’s name was accurate, but referred to a totally different aspect of his anatomy. The truth was, however, that it had nothing to do with height or physical endowment. When Pax and John were in grade school together, one of their teachers made them read Treasure Island. Since John’s last name was Silverman, he immediately became Long John Silverman after the pirate of a similar name in the book. Later he grew into his name, so to speak, and became somewhat of a legend in high school.
Now Long John was dead. It was an accident, or at least that was what the official police reports had said. Pax wasn’t so sure. Yes, it was a dangerous curve. Yes, the impact with the trees had been at high speed. Yes, it had all the signs of someone who had lost control on the curve and careened off the road into the trees. But something wasn’t right. If Long John was going off the curve into the trees, he would have dropped the bike. But the bike didn’t slide into the trees as if it had been laid down. It went into them head-on.
Maybe it was an accident. Motorcycles aren’t so much dangerous as they are unforgiving. Long John might have made some minor mistake that at lower speed in a wider curve wouldn’t have been significant. But at speed in that tight curve, it had been fatal.
Or, maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe it was just shit luck. Maybe a deer or some other animal had run across the road in front of him. He could have even hit a bird or flying debris as he went into the curve. It could have been anything. It could have been an accident, but late last night Pax had received a whispered phone call that said: “If you want to know who killed Long John, be at the Wild Kat Bar at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
That was all it said, but that was enough. So, tonight Paxton Keller, President-elect of the Camden Knights Motorcycle Club, waited
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