The Biker and the Loner (Oil and Water #3)- S. Ann Cole

Chapter 1

Leyana, Age 19

I stare at my soul in the flickering flames. It screams and writhes and hollers, but no one hears.

No one ever hears. Not since Papà died. My soul wails for attention that comes but never stays.

Hush, Heart. You’re being dramatic as hell. I roll my eyes at my internal histrionics and tug at the lapels of my denim jacket.

It's well after midnight and I’m at the Den of Heathens motorcycle club’s compound, attending a send-off party for one of the members—Scratch. Or, as the Club Cats sometimes call him, Lothario. Because wherever he is, two or more women are also gathered, on him. Though it’s not hard to see why. He’s hot. And big. Big. With dark eyes and a come-hither grin. Courtesy of being half Samoan, his complexion is a beautiful natural bronze and his hair grows and flows like water— dark, thick, and wavy.

And yes, I’ve had a crush on him since I first laid eyes on him. But, at the same time, I hate him. So, then, what am I doing at his send-off party in North Denver feeling sorry for myself?

Well, a few months ago, I’d been on the prowl; sad, depressed, and desperate to find someone to break me in. That is, get rid of my pesky V-card so at least that would be my choice. My hymen pierced on my terms.

I was on the verge of giving up after I failed even at snatching a male escort on account of being “underage,” when I saw him while waiting to get my tire changed at The Metal House Auto Repair Shop one afternoon. Grunt. Scratch’s club brother.

He was in the parking lot with his girlfriend, and the unbridled affection he oozed toward her had me mesmerized. The way he looked at her, touched her, smiled down at her as if nothing else in the world mattered except her. It was beautiful.

Intrigued, I’d sighed and wondered what that felt like. To have someone look at me like that, touch me like that, smile at me like that. So... I did a bad thing.

I stalked him.

Not because I was infatuated with him. Not because he was tall, lean, and sexy. But because he fascinated me. His girlfriend fascinated me. Their love fascinated me.

That’s how I found out he was a member of the Den of Heathens MC.

All I had to do was ask a few questions from the hang-around girls at the Heathens bar across the street from the auto shop about how to become one of them—a Club Cat—at the Den of Heathens compound.

“Gotta get one of ‘em bikers to stick it in you first, baby girl,” one had told me while she puffed on a cigarette. She’d looked so frazzled, with dark puffs under her eyes, the artificial blonde fading from her brown roots. “If you’re good, a tight lay, they’ll claim that ass and make you a Steady.”

“You get to choose first, though,” another added. “You choose who you want to hit it first. If he accepts and claims you, you’ll become off-limits to the others. If he doesn’t claim you, congrats, you’re a Club Cat, free for the taking.”

All of it sounded awful, but it didn’t deter me. I mimicked the style of the other women, accentuating the parts of my body that made men leer. This earned me permission onto the compound, invitation to parties. And when the vultures started to descend, I named Grunt as the member to “hit me” first.

Rules of the club: Until Grunt touched me, no one else could. So, knowing he had a girlfriend whom he gazed at like she was the light of his life, I knew my chances of that happening were slim.

Shortly after, however, news of their break-up spread around the compound. I was devastated for them, for their love, but also selfishly hopeful.

I hated how the other men looked at me, leered at me, made me feel like a piece of meat. Grunt though, he never even noticed me. Like, at all. The others were closing in, and I became desperate for his attention so we could do the damn thing and get it over with. So one night, I bribed one of the bikers to sneak me into Grunt’s room.

When he got in and found me half-naked on his bed, he snarled at me so violently me I started to cry. Broke down and told him I desperately needed him to take my V-card. That I wasn’t in love with