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  RIDERS

  The Road To Ruin (I)

  K.M.Liss

  RIDERS

  The Road To Ruin (I)

  By Katrina Liss

  Copyright 2015 K.M.Liss

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

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  XSEX Books

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is sold subject to conditions that it cannot by way of trade be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent, in any form or cover, other than which it is published.

  Disclaimer: This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on real figures, are purely the work of the author’s imagination.

  Thanks & Acknowledgements

  Love and thanks to my family and friends, for believing in me and encouraging me to write my little heart out.

  Chapter One

  It was Friday night in Olson, Kansas, and Riders bar was packed.

  The customers were stacking up and I was struggling to keep pace, I hadn't built up speed on the job yet. I kept a smile plastered firmly on my face, and did my best to cope.

  “Stop smiling at everyone like a goddam idiot and get a move on, girl, we're fuckin' busy,” Mickey said.

  “I could do with some help to be honest,” I admitted.

  He tutted. Mickey tutted a lot.

  “Kells,” he called to across to Kelly, who was meeting and greeting at the door, and her head swiveled toward him, “need you on the bar, sweetheart.”

  She gave him her usual simper of a smile and writhed her way through the crowd to the bar. I was quite sure they were more than just friends. The way they spoke and looked at each other was a dead giveaway.

  Mickey was glowering at me, as if being new, slow and inexperienced was a terrible sin, but I smiled brightly at him. I felt that was the best option at that moment, because I really wanted to slap his face.

  To add insult to injury he goosed my ass as he passed behind me. The guy really was a disgusting chauvinistic asshole.

  I stood there angry but silent, trying not to react to his rough grope, and sadly realizing I was getting far too used to accepting it.

  “Smiling makes the world go round, happy staff equals happy customers,” I pointed out, trying to hide my anger, while smiling at the cute guy opposite me, passing him his change.

  “You can keep them happy after closing time, earn yourself some big tips, like the other girls.”

  Not only was Mickey a lecherous bastard, he was a pimp as well. And unfortunately the long haired biker grease-ball was my boss.

  I scowled at him, ignoring his filthy remark. He'd been dropping strong hints I should turn tricks, since the second I'd arrived.

  Yeah... like that was gonna happen. Over my dead body.

  But Mickey Green's prostitution racket aside, the pay was good. I was prepared to put up with the shit going on around me to get the cash. Besides, I was only here for ten weekends while I was on vacation from Kansas State University for the summer.

  I'd just finished my second year at K-State, studying Law. This year had been such hard going. I wasn't sure if I was cut out to be a lawyer, if I was honest with myself. But I'd see how it panned out. Give it my very best shot. I wasn't a quitter.

  I wanted to be successful, to have a respectable well paid career, and becoming a lawyer was an intellectual and glamorous way to earn money.

  I wouldn't need to depend on a man for anything. That was so important to me after all that had happened to my mom.

  Her situation had taught me a big lesson in life. She wasn't particularly academically minded and she'd not been encouraged much by my Gran, or her teachers at school. She openly admitted she hadn't tried too hard at her studies. She'd been far too interested in other things. Basically hanging out with boys. As a result of her lack of qualifications, she'd never had a good job, relying on waitressing or bar work. That was where she met her mistakes.

  Carl, my dad had been her first mistake. She'd been just eighteen when she met him, and nineteen when she gave birth to me. At twenty, a few weeks after they'd finally got their own place, he just upped and left town without a word. My sister Philipa's dad, Artie, was a complete womanizer and after two years screwing Mom around he moved on to a rich widow. Her last love David, stayed for four years before he left us high and dry, having drained the little cash we had with his drinking habit.

  She'd been far too dependent on men to support her and they'd walked all over her and let her down.

  She was broken hearted, broken in spirit, crushed and ruined. It upset me so much when I thought of it. At thirty eight she was still very beautiful but so lonely and mistrustful. She never went out with men anymore. She said she didn't have the emotional energy to cope with any more disappointment.

  No man was gonna ruin me. I was driven by what was in my head, and definitely not by my heart. I was extremely guarded, suspicious of men and cautious about letting any guy get close. Apart from Johnny. He'd found a way in via the back door. He started out as a friend. We may have slept together, after a drunken night at campus party, but that had been a big let down. It was clear, after a few weeks, that we weren't destined to be together that way.

  A sea of faces appeared before me as I rushed around serving bottles of beer, soda, wine and spirits.

  It started to quieten down a little after nine, as the drinking pace slowed and the lightweight drinkers drifted off. It was still pretty full, mainly with guys, and one group of girls who were having a rowdy party in a booth.

  “Go have a five minute break,” Mickey said, sending me off to the restrooms, with a squeeze of my backside.

  He was such a sweet and generous boss. Not.

  I nipped in and out of the restroom quickly. Having missed dinner, I was hungry, so I sneaked into the kitchen to eat the sugar covered donut I'd brought with me. We weren't allowed to eat in the bar; it was a liquid environment only. Mickey was very strict about rules.

  No time-wasting. No girl chat. No phone calls. No food. No drinking alcohol. No chewing gum. No sucking mints.

  No breathing maybe...?

  Starving, I stuffed the donut in my mouth greedily, the sugar coating spread just about everywhere round my lips. I ran a glass of water to wash down the dough, which was stuck in my throat.

  I leaned against the counter as I drank, licking my sugary lips, gazing around.

  My friend Julia worked in the kitchen. During the day the bar was a diner and she was the chef's assistant. Julia was the one who got me the job. She knew they were looking for a waitress, and I'd been a waitress in Manhattan, up until a month ago, when the restaurant I'd worked for closed down.

  I turned up for the interview with Mickey, but he immediately told me the diner waitress position was filled, and offered me a job bartending and cocktail waitressing instead. I was very pleased as he described it as a much better one; better pay, and the opportunity to make a lot more in tips.

  Little did I know what he was grooming me for.

  I snorted in disgust.

  Not the kind of tips I wanted to earn.

  There was no way was I going to get involved in what went on in the back rooms; the rooms where the looser of Mickey's bar girls earned a lot of extra tips by sharing intimate body parts
with guys.

  Still, a job was a job. It was just a shame I didn't get to work alongside Julia. I was looking forward to that. I couldn't say I was too keen on many of the girls I worked with in the bar. I liked Sally, the cleaner, and particularly newly wed Jessica, who tended bar. I'd spent a while chatting with her in the restroom. But the other half a dozen were either bitches or a whole load of immorality. Not the kinda girls I wanted to associate too closely with.

  Chapter Two

  The low rumble of motorcycles shook through the building like an earthquake. Their glaring lights moved past the windows, then died.

  Excitement grew inside me as the silence of anticipation descended on the bar. I served someone with a round of vodka shots when the door flung open and there they were.

  The Riders.

  A bunch of guys after whom the bar was named. They were Mill Creek Ranch hands who rode real horses on the ranch for a living, and packed some serious metal horsepower on the road.

  A tough bunch of guys if there ever was one. Apparently, from what I'd heard from Julia, one of them usually ended up in jail on a Friday or Saturday for some reason or another.

  Christie, Cherry and Lola descended on the four of them as they arrived. The girls sounded like squealing stuck pigs, as they competed with each other, covering them with kisses and draping arms everywhere. The men moved through the throng, shaking off their female entourage, as they headed for things of more pressing importance... a drink at the bar.

  Joshua Lyle, the head honcho and no-good son-of-a-bitch, stood before me.

  He was the hottest, sexiest, most self-assured piece of attitude on the planet.

  He could well have the words 'come hither, and thou shalt be burned' tattooed on his dick.

  I may be inexperienced with men, but I knew his type. Bad news. The type my mom had made mistakes with. She openly admitted she went for the wrong sort. She was drawn to looks and bad attitude and here was a prime example of it.

  His swept back brown hair spoke to female fingers, calling out to them to grab it; his wicked hazel eyes stole a girl's soul, and he had the kind of lips you'd want to devour from dusk till dawn.

  “Eight beers, sweetheart.” His deep voice rumbled through me like thunder. “Mickey put that on my tab will ya, pal,” he called across to Mickey who raised a thumb in acknowledgment.

  “Okay... there you go,” I muttered, as I grabbed the bottles from the cooler and popped the lids, lining them up on the bar. He passed the other three guys two each.

  He leaned over the bar, on his forearms, cocked his head and slowly fucked me with his eyes.

  It was a lazy look that said, you don't wanna know the kind of things I'd like to do to you.

  I bristled with indignation and annoyance, while I burned beneath his gaze.

  He smiled widely, flashing his perfect white teeth.

  “So...you're new to Olson, I guess?” he asked.

  “I don't live here. I live in Preston,” I explained politely, trying to keep my smile cool.

  Preston was the town next door, seven miles away.

  “What's your name, girl?”

  “Tiffany.”

  “Tiffany... pretty name.”

  “What's yours, boy,” I addressed him in the same lowly manner as he'd addressed me and pretended I didn't know his name or that his pop owned half the town, and the surrounding zillion acres of farmland. Not to mention the bar I was standing in.

  “Joshua, call me Josh.”

  “Oh, can I?” I wasn't sure if my sarcasm was lost on him, but he did raise an eyebrow,

  His eyes continued to roam very openly over my scantily dressed body.

  The bar uniform Mickey made us all wear didn't cover too much skin. I hesitated to call it a uniform. Underwear would have been a more apt description. It consisted of low cut black satin hotpants, monogrammed on the back pocket with a silver R, and a stretchy rhinestone-studded cropped black vest. I'd completed the brief ensemble with black over the knee socks and my black converse trainers. With my long blonde hair secured in a high pony tail and bubblegum pink lipstick, I thought I'd managed to achieve a naughty cheerleader look, rather than than the intended biker tart.

  Mickey had insisted I try on the micro hotpants at my interview, explaining that I needed to have the right sized ass for the job. He then proceeded to have a hands on feel of my female assets, to ensure I wasn't carrying too much padding up top. That had stunned me into enraged silence, but the heavy slap to the rear shocked the hell out of me. I'd been unable to keep silent any longer.

  “Do you mind?” I'd snapped at him.

  “I can't say I do...no...” he sniggered, dirtily, “when can you start, sweetheart?”

  He'd served up his sexual harassment with an on the spot job offer. And he hadn't even looked at my resume. Warning bells rang loudly in my ears at that point, but I needed the job.

  Not that Mickey really bothered me that much; he was just a pain in the ass, and a creepy, dirty jerk-off; I could handle him. He didn't cause me to lose much sleep.

  I smiled at Joshua, briefly, telling myself sternly that he was not as smoking hot as he seemed and definitely not the most gorgeous guy I'd ever encountered. But my eyes knew I was lying. They kept straying his way to get a bigger visual fix.

  I was pretty sure Joshua Lyle wouldn't ever need to pay for extras. He'd get any girl he wanted for free. Especially here, where his pop owned the bar business that Mickey managed.

  As I looked at Joshua, I couldn't stop the flashback of the previous weekend.

  Somehow, my erotic man fantasy had left my head, and had become real life flesh and blood.

  The minute he'd arrived through the door, Jessica had nudged me, as I stood in staring adoration.

  “Don't ever go there, okay?” she'd whispered in my ear.

  “Why not?” I'd asked, idly fishing for information. I wasn't intending to go there. I had no problem looking and fantasizing though.

  “He's a heartbreaker through and through. Christie's been hot on his tail for the past two years... practically throws herself at him... but she'll never tie him down, you can tell, he's just not interested in that kind of thing.”

  “I'll keep that in mind,” I smiled.

  “The Lyles are like royalty round here...”

  She went on to explain who he was, with a good amount of detail, and I lapped up the words with great interest.

  Joshua and three of the other Rider guys sat down in a booth, receiving table service.

  I'd been looking his way, unable to stop staring.

  As I watched him through the evening, it had seemed as if all my senses were on high alert, absorbing his movements, his smile, the sound of his voice and his deep and filthy laughter.

  My man fantasy had lounged lazily in the booth, swigging his beer and swinging his knee around. His ultra pale ripped jeans and Guns 'n Roses T shirt hit my spot. As did the unkempt brown hair and the can't-be-fucked half-laced boots on the end of his long legs.

  He really had made me drool. Sweet heaven, he was way too hot.

  Christie, had been their 'cocktail waitress', Mickey's tarted-up term for the a beer girl, who waited on the booths. She'd interrupted my erotic study, delivering another tray of beer to the guys. By this stage they were well on the way to drinking themselves stupid.

  She'd wrapped her arm around his neck and given him an enthusiastic kiss on the mouth. He'd pushed her away good-naturedly, with a pat on her black satin ass.

  I hadn't quite believed it when she bobbed down, and very discretely slipped under the table, maneuvering between his legs. I had to hand it to him, his facial expression gave nothing away, as to what was going on. Although he had slammed his bottle of beer down very hard at one point, just a minute before Christie re-emerged. As she'd hugged him, before she wandered off, it had all seemed rather sad. She must have been so desperate for his attention, to do that kind of thing in the bar.

  But despite that, inexplicably, I'd wanted to
lick his half laced boots for his cool handling of the situation.

  I brought myself out of that heated memory and picked up a cloth, starting to dry some washed glasses. This was a constant chore which went on all evening.

  “Hey... Tiffany,” I looked up, and his warm eyes twinkled at me. “Need a ride home?”

  “It's okay, I have transport, thank you,” I refused politely, but I couldn't help but imagine being pressed up tight against his sexy back on his hot Harley... my arms around his waist... all that high ranking horsepower vibrating and throbbing beneath us.

  I had my own bike... not a great sex machine, like his V-Rod... but it got me around in reasonable style. It was the cheapest way to travel between home, college and work.

  “Maybe another time, huh?” His eyes held mine as he took a sip of his beer.

  “Yeah, thanks for the offer anyway. ”

  At that point our conversation ended, as one of the pole dancers climbed on the bar to a round of loud cheers.

  The volume of music was ramped up and I took advantage of another short breather.

  I gazed around the packed bar. It had a lot of atmosphere.

  It was nicely done out. Tasteful. Which was quite amazing as Mickey was anything but.

  A monochrome color scheme set the tone. Large framed posters and photographs of Harleys hung on the pale grey walls, together with a faded out Hell's Angels denim vest and some shiny bike parts. The glass in the windows had been painted with some neat biker scenes in silhouette.

  I wiped the bar down. The black granite bar-top looked expensive, and the silver pumps shined with the regular polish they received.

  It was a pretty cool working space, not a seedy dive bar. From the superficial aspect anyway.

  The clientele who stood before me were mainly twenties to forties guys. I knew a few were bikers, but most were just ordinary working men who enjoyed a good 'guys' night out.