Read Online Devil on My Shoulder: A Biker Erotic Romance (Camden Knights MC) by Emily Stone - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emily Stone
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outside the Wild Kat Bar while his bodyguards scanned for unknown enemies in the shadows around him.
Actually, his primary enemy was already known... the Hell’s Marauders. They were more of a protection association for the Hispanic community, but any power without accountability becomes corrupt. The Knights had.
The Marauders’ president, Theo Johnson, tried to keep them in line, but many of his members had relatives in Mexico and therefore access to drugs. They wanted to emulate the Camden Knights in bringing product north through the deserts of southern Arizona. Long John’s death could have been an attempt by the Marauders or some of their members to take over the Knights’ lucrative business. The Knights didn’t sell, and they didn’t buy. They just transported, but there was a lot of money to be made in that type of transportation when you were as good at it as the Knights were. They had never yet lost a shipment.
*****
Inside the Wild Kat Bar, bartender Sammie Johnson set down the glasses she was putting away and cocked her head to listen to the noise from outside. Four--or perhaps five--motorcycles were at the curb. One or two were slowly revving their engines. What puzzled Samantha was the sound of the engines. They weren’t hogs. They didn’t have the characteristic kah-poca, kah-poca, kah-poca of a Harley. But at the same time they didn’t have that higher pitched sound of the Japanese bikes favored by the local college students. And yet, they were modern bikes; they didn’t have the chuff-chuff of the old Indians or Nortons. Even the modern models of those bikes had a somewhat hollow sound to them. These were big bikes with big mills, but what were they?
Then an image of a policeman popped into Sammie’s mind, and almost immediately she said aloud, “Goots.” They were Moto Guzzis, popular in California, Texas and even Arizona as a police bike because of their large engines, power, and speed. Something told her, however, that these were not policemen gathered out in front of the bar.
That was verified when Short John stepped into the bar and looked around. He carefully scrutinized the few patrons who were there. He also looked carefully into the apparently empty, darkened corners of the bar. Then he stepped back outside.
As he turned to leave, Sammie could see the large K with a lance protruding from its center emblazoned on the back of his jacket. The K was the beginning of the word Knights, which was written in large, white gothic script across the back of the jacket. Beneath Knights, it said in red, “Camden.”
So, she thought, the Wild Kat was being visited by the Camden Knights.
A few moments later the biker returned, followed by a young man who appeared to be just shy of thirty years old. He, too, was wearing blue jeans and a black jacket that undoubtedly carried the Knights emblem. This one, however, was much more handsome and had an air of authority. He was a leader, and something about him attracted Sammie in a way that she had never felt before. Another Knight entered behind him.
As Pax stepped further into the Wild Kat, Sammie called out from behind the bar, “Corner booth, no windows behind it, solid wall, with view of both entrances plus the door to the kitchen.”
He smiled at her in response and asked, “What makes you think that I would want the corner booth?”
Sammie matched his smile and answered, “I have no idea what you want, but I am sure that your bodyguards will insist on the corner booth.”
“You got that, lady,” answered Short John curtly.
“Be nice,” said Pax to Short John, but intentionally loudly enough so that Sammie could hear him at the bar.
“No waitress tonight,” she announced. “But if you’ll just be seated, I will come over and get your order. Or one of you can come up to the bar. We have any drink you could want and just about any food that can be warmed up in a microwave,
Actually, his primary enemy was already known... the Hell’s Marauders. They were more of a protection association for the Hispanic community, but any power without accountability becomes corrupt. The Knights had.
The Marauders’ president, Theo Johnson, tried to keep them in line, but many of his members had relatives in Mexico and therefore access to drugs. They wanted to emulate the Camden Knights in bringing product north through the deserts of southern Arizona. Long John’s death could have been an attempt by the Marauders or some of their members to take over the Knights’ lucrative business. The Knights didn’t sell, and they didn’t buy. They just transported, but there was a lot of money to be made in that type of transportation when you were as good at it as the Knights were. They had never yet lost a shipment.
*****
Inside the Wild Kat Bar, bartender Sammie Johnson set down the glasses she was putting away and cocked her head to listen to the noise from outside. Four--or perhaps five--motorcycles were at the curb. One or two were slowly revving their engines. What puzzled Samantha was the sound of the engines. They weren’t hogs. They didn’t have the characteristic kah-poca, kah-poca, kah-poca of a Harley. But at the same time they didn’t have that higher pitched sound of the Japanese bikes favored by the local college students. And yet, they were modern bikes; they didn’t have the chuff-chuff of the old Indians or Nortons. Even the modern models of those bikes had a somewhat hollow sound to them. These were big bikes with big mills, but what were they?
Then an image of a policeman popped into Sammie’s mind, and almost immediately she said aloud, “Goots.” They were Moto Guzzis, popular in California, Texas and even Arizona as a police bike because of their large engines, power, and speed. Something told her, however, that these were not policemen gathered out in front of the bar.
That was verified when Short John stepped into the bar and looked around. He carefully scrutinized the few patrons who were there. He also looked carefully into the apparently empty, darkened corners of the bar. Then he stepped back outside.
As he turned to leave, Sammie could see the large K with a lance protruding from its center emblazoned on the back of his jacket. The K was the beginning of the word Knights, which was written in large, white gothic script across the back of the jacket. Beneath Knights, it said in red, “Camden.”
So, she thought, the Wild Kat was being visited by the Camden Knights.
A few moments later the biker returned, followed by a young man who appeared to be just shy of thirty years old. He, too, was wearing blue jeans and a black jacket that undoubtedly carried the Knights emblem. This one, however, was much more handsome and had an air of authority. He was a leader, and something about him attracted Sammie in a way that she had never felt before. Another Knight entered behind him.
As Pax stepped further into the Wild Kat, Sammie called out from behind the bar, “Corner booth, no windows behind it, solid wall, with view of both entrances plus the door to the kitchen.”
He smiled at her in response and asked, “What makes you think that I would want the corner booth?”
Sammie matched his smile and answered, “I have no idea what you want, but I am sure that your bodyguards will insist on the corner booth.”
“You got that, lady,” answered Short John curtly.
“Be nice,” said Pax to Short John, but intentionally loudly enough so that Sammie could hear him at the bar.
“No waitress tonight,” she announced. “But if you’ll just be seated, I will come over and get your order. Or one of you can come up to the bar. We have any drink you could want and just about any food that can be warmed up in a microwave,
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