Francesca
The case and police work was fraught with paperwork; therefore, it didn’t surprise either of them when finding evidence and building a case against Zook took weeks rather than just a few days. Francesca wasn’t happy about the whole thing, but she had little choice but to accept it. It gave them both an excuse to run around the city all day, spending long, passionate nights in their hotel room every night. Francesca wasn’t in a hurry to give that all up, but she was in a hurry to know that Logan was free. Then they could go anywhere: Paris, London, or back to Nevada, where the filming for the next season would be starting without her soon.
Since they had little to do, they explored Boston. First, Logan took her to all of the museums, famous landmarks, and must-do tourist sites around the city. He avoided his old haunts, keeping miles between him and where his people might be. Until the day the police arrested Zook, Logan didn’t want Francesca to be anywhere near his old stomping grounds. And Francesca was quietly very happy with that idea.
They relaxed, went to go see movies, went for walks around the park, and just took their time visiting every nook and cranny of the city that was so tall and bright around them. Francesca even grew to like the ugly grey asphalt look of the city, and she began to be able to forget the acidic smell of garbage that permeated the whole place.
Much to both of their delights, Zook was arrested after three weeks. He’d been caught trying to flee the police, but he was found after a short chase hiding in some old lady’s garage underneath her car. Once that was cleared up, Logan left her for a time, going to ensure that the MC was safe enough to bring Francesca around to.
He came back looking tired and threadbare. Francesca ran her eyes over every inch of him, looking for injuries, but found none. He was just tired; the stress from the last few weeks had been weighing heavily on his shoulders, no matter what Francesca tried to relieve it.
Glad for good news, Francesca decided to celebrate by pulling off all of Logan’s clothing with her teeth. No matter how many times she fucked this man, no matter how many times his huge, throbbing cock pumped into her, making her quiver with orgasms over and over again, she never tired of the feel of him thrusting inside of her like a jackhammer.
Just thinking about him was enough to soak her underwear right through. It was enough to send lighting through her veins and to warm every corner of her heart, too.
“What do you think I should wear?” Francesca asked, holding up a t-shirt and a sparkling tank top, trying to decide between them.
Logan snorted at her. “No one will care, Francesca; just wear something casual and comfortable. It’s a motorcycle shop, so it’s not real clean.”
“What are your people like?” she asked for the hundredth time, running mascara through her thick, black lashes. “Do you have any women in your club?”
“Just try to keep them out.” Logan chuckled and pointed to one of the rolled up shirts in her luggage. “Wear this and your jeans and you’ll be fine. As for my people, well, they are as diverse as any group of people, Francesca. I’m not sure how to answer that one; some are jerks and some are friendly. They are all from poorer families, mostly, poorer parts of the city. Most of us get into this line of work because we don’t have any other choice. It’s that or the streets, that or abuse, that or selling drugs. So, I don’t really know how to answer your question.”
Francesca took in all of that information, feeling a little sick to her stomach. “Were you kicked out onto the streets?”
He nodded nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter to him anymore. “Yes. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father never forgave me. I have siblings and a father somewhere, but he kicked me out as soon as I was old enough to get a job. The MC took me in, gave me a chance.” Logan’s eyes became distant and dark for a moment before he turned back to her. “But none of that matters anymore.”
Francesca’s heart fluttered in her chest at the look he gave her. And she couldn’t help but smile back.
# # #
Logan
“And this is Blade,” Logan said, pointing to a short, stocky woman with beautiful, long golden hair, shaved close to her head near her ears.
The woman was covered even more thoroughly with tattoos than he was, and she grinned like an idiot and shook Francesca’s hand. “Hear you got the boss out of jail and Zook into it.” Blade grinned, displaying a gap in between her teeth where someone had once punched them out. “We owe you for that, girly.” Blade’s voice was that of an eighty-year-old woman who had been smoking for sixty of those years, rough and filled with gravel. Her overly-tanned skin was as rough as leather and just as tough.
“Blade was my third; Zook was my second. So I guess you are second-in-command now, aren’t you?”
“Damn straight. I’ve been mostly running this place anyway while you were out searching for clues. And ladies, apparently.” Blade laughed. “You’ll have to watch yourself; I might just be stealing all this away from you while you’re waiting for the cops to clear up your name.”
“That might not be such a bad thing. Maybe I’ll look into retiring,” he said, keeping his voice low so just Blade and Francesca could hear. Much to his delight, Blade laughed like a damned hyena, and Francesca turned a beautiful shade of red.
Logan then introduced Francesca to all of his men and women in the MC. He greeted all of the happy faces and took note of those who looked less than pleased at his return. Most were shocked at Zook’s betrayal, but some of the members looked a bit like they were sorry that he failed.
“I’ll win them over,” he thought, but his heart really wasn’t in it anymore. He saw his world, not through the lenses he’d looked through his whole life, but how Francesca must see them. They looked like a ragtag bunch of losers who had banded together so they could mean something. Perhaps that had been admirable to him once, perhaps he felt like he fit in here for most of his life. But not anymore.
They toured the rest of the converted warehouse in which most of the MC’s activities, both legal and not so legal, took place. “If I come back here, this will be the first thing I fix. We need to be a legitimate group for the world to take us seriously. It will be 100% clean if I ever become head again.” But he didn’t feel like he belonged at the helm of this anymore. Perhaps he was too old, or too tainted by Francesca’s world to be able to live happily in this one anymore.
Sighing, Logan showed her around, trying to push those thoughts away and focus on Francesca.
Francesca glanced up at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the warehouse. “So this is all yours?”
“Ours,” he answered, immediately. “It no more belongs to me than Diamond Savoy belongs to your mother. I’m just a piece of the puzzle, not the whole thing.”
“So how many people are part of Satan’s Chaos anyway?”
Logan’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced up at the ceiling. “Maybe a hundred, if you count everyone. Not everyone lives here, though; some of the other guys have families, other places to live. Mostly the worst off of us come to live here, and we mostly never leave.”
The cavernous ceilings were grey and metal, reflecting the sounds of the rain through the whole building. It sounded like a heavy storm of hurricane proportions from inside, but it was a drizzle; the walls echoed noise around. “This is where we house and fix the bikes. We take in a lot of work from other people outside of the MC, too; everyone around here trusts us to fix their bikes when they need it.” Logan pointed to the racks of bikes, standing up in the far corner. Next to them were racks and racks of tools and spare parts, taking up most of the space. The rest was filled with the bikes that the MC owned and used.
Most of the bikes were free for anyone to use, but a few had names written on them. Logan was happy to see his second ride was still intact. His favorite bike was still back in Nevada at Francesca’s house. Good thing he had a spare.
“The rest of the space over there are rooms for everyone who lives here and some other communal spaces. And our meeting rooms and some other things. And that’s about it.”
Blade, who had been following the tour, grinned widely with her gaping teeth. “And of course, there’s the junkyard outside, but it’s not exciting enough to go splashing around in the rain to go see.”
Francesca’s eyes were huge circles of emerald. “It’s really impressive. You know, other than that one time you drove me home, I’ve never been on a bike before. Can you teach me how to drive one?”
Logan chuckled. “I’ll drive you around, but you don’t want to get caught trying to drive around here without a motorcycle license.”
“The police don’t like us much here, so they check everyone driving a bike anywhere near the MC, hoping to bust new recruits.” Blade made a face. “Drives me crazy.”
Nodding sagely, Francesca looked Blade up and down. “So, tell me the story behind the name ‘Blade,’” she said, grinning at Logan’s tattooed second.
“Oh, girly, you have no idea what you have just unleashed,” Blade cackled in response. “It all started about ten years ago, on this very spot —”
And Francesca was riveted.