LOGAN (BAD BOY BIKER ROMANCE) Read online

  Logan

  by

  Kyle Jacobs

  Copyright © 2016 Kyle Jacobs

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,

  dialogue, and everything else are products of the author's

  imagination. Any resemblance to people or events, living

  or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Bonus Billionaire Romance - Rich Dick

  Chapter 1

  Oliver

  "Holy crap. With a smoking body like that you aren't going to have any problems getting extra tips."

  Oliver turned from paying his taxi driver to see who was speaking to him. The speaker was a tall, stunningly handsome guy with short blond hair.

  "I'll take all the tips and compliments where I can get 'em," Oliver said, and he meant it. Paying the taxi to come all the way out here took almost the last of his cash. And after covering the cost for a few days in a crummy motel room, he'd need a big cash infusion and fast.

  "Just calling it like I see it, honey," the blond said as he clopped over in expensive boats. He offered his hand to Oliver. "I'm Edward. But you can call me Eddie since I think we're going to be working together."

  Oliver took his hand and shook. The grip was firm and his palm felt unusually dry. Like leathery burlap left too long in the desert sun.

  "You're here for the audition, too?" Oliver said, nodding toward the low level building they stood outside of. A huge neon sign read 'Hot Rocks', along with an outline of a shirtless cowboy. Both sign and cowboy appeared to be off for the morning, as the club didn't open until later that day.

  Eddie cackled. "No, not at all. At least, not any more. I just sort of, uh, help around the club."

  "Cool," Oliver said for lack of anything else. This blond worked here and was friendly toward him. Maybe this was just the angle he needed to secure a job.

  Eddie took this as a sign of genuine interest and became more animated. "Yeah, I stripped here for, oh, I dunno, maybe three years before the Club decided I was more important to them doing other things."

  "The Club? You mean the manager?"

  Eddie laughed. "No! The Club. You know, the real owners of this joint," he said with a thick tone of conspiracy.

  Oliver looked perplexed. Just then, two other smoking hot guys walked past them and into Hot Rocks through the huge glass front door.

  Eddie glanced at them, then took a step closer to speak to Oliver in almost a whisper. "The Macabre Jesters MC."

  Oliver felt suddenly mortified. Oh, no, he thought.

  His reaction must have looked like confusion because Eddie added, "You know, MC? Motorcycle Club? They're one of the more respected ones here in the valley." He looked at Oliver's expression with concern. "You've heard of them, right?"

  Oliver knew damn well who they were. He knew of all the Biker Clubs in this part of the country. And he certainly wanted nothing more to do with them.

  Damnit, Oliver thought. He didn't realize this was an MC business. Although most strip joints would be controlled by a MC Club or gang, he had hoped to find one which was free of that kind of influence. He really needed to do his homework before applying to these kind of places. But his skill set limited his options.

  Without realizing it, Oliver looked over his shoulder back toward the highway, which ran parallel to the bar's wide parking lot. He half expected to see a dark blue mustang there, crouching in wait. And Gavin glaring at him from behind the wheel.

  Maybe he should just leave now. But where else could he possibly go? He choices were almost none existent.

  "Are you all right, sweetie?" Eddie asked.

  "Yeah," Oliver said, composing himself. "I've heard of them. Just not sure if this really is the place for me, that's all."

  Eddie laughed. "I think you'll fit in just great." He hooked an arm through Oliver's, snuggling up against him like they were old high school buddies. He steered him toward the door. "I think the boys are gonna love you."

  The hot air from outside was immediately replaced by the cool air-conditioned environment of the club. Down a short hallway, and past an empty cloak room, they emerged into a vast open bar area. Dozens of tables lined several tiers. Oliver guessed that this place could easily seat several hundred patrons. All of the tables were angled around a wide stage that ran along one side. It was larger than others Oliver used before, with four different steel poles, strategically placed, for dancers to use.

  A long bar took up the entire wall on the opposite end of the room, furthest from the entrance. If a customer decided to leave, they would have to walk the length of the club and past the stage. The long walk was designed to give tipsy customers time to change their minds.

  All the interior work was of a very high quality. Nothing cheap here. Oliver took this as a good sign, but he wasn't fooled.

  "Must get really wild in here, with such a big crowd," Oliver said as he paused to look around.

  "Yeah, it can," said Eddie. "But you never have to worry. Customers can't touch the dancers, and if some drunk gets the wrong idea, the situation gets resolved real quick." Edward grinned and indicated a place at the far back. "The boys run a really tight ship."

  Oliver looked.

  Sitting around a large table against near the back end of the bar, sat a group of men. But not just any men. Each were of an intimidating size, and radiated an almost immutable confidence. The kind of confidence that one doesn't even have to think of, it just was. As a group they were both terrifying and awe inspiring for an outsider to behold. Like benevolent gods who had come down to earth to claim their kingdom, whether anyone liked it or not.

  The Macabre Jesters Motorcycle Club.

  Oliver swallowed, and felt a tingle of apprehension in his chest. Yup, those were bikers.

  "They're good guys," Eddie said, then shrugged. "For the most part. Just don't cross them." When one of the bikers appeared to glance in their direction, Eddie gave an excited little wave.

  But he, nor any of the other bikers seemed to care. They were immersed in their talk.

  "They look pretty serious," Oliver said.

  "They're probably talking Club business," Eddie said. "Almost always makes them grumpy." He tugged at Oliver's arm. "Come on, we'll get you in to see the manager."

  As Oliver let himself be pulled along, he looked back across the vast gulf that was the bar, toward the seated figures.

  One biker happened to be sitting in more light than the others, as if the room itself felt he warranted more attention. He was large, stocky in build, with short cropped brown hair. Oliver got just a glance of him, and was struck with how drop dead gorgeous he was.

  Then he caught his breath. He was looking back, locking eyes with him.

  Then Eddie yanked him further down the bar toward a series of couches outside what looked to be an office. Oliver was disappointed he couldn't ogle the handsome biker for a few moments more. But not as disappointed at seeing all the other stripper talent sitting h
ere. Tight jeans, bulging crotches and skin tight shirts assailed his vision.

  It seemed each guy was more incredibly handsome than the next.

  Eddie sat the two of them at a small table. "I'll get you ahead of the line, don't worry."

  "Cool," Oliver said. He didn't think it would make any difference when he got in to see the manager. There were so many stunning guys here, how could he even hope to compete?

  "Diseased twinks, the lot of them," Eddie whispered, then cackled. Oliver was suddenly hit with a feeling about this man. As if there was a tinge of sick desperation to his actions.

  God, I'm one to judge, he thought.

  Glancing at the closed door of the office Oliver asked, "What's his name? The manager."

  "Henry," Eddie said, and frowned a little. "A real scum bucket. But then aren't all strip club managers scum buckets?"

  "Oh, yeah?" Oliver said, trying not to sound to leery.

  "Don't worry. I'll get you in there and you just do your thing."

  "Thing? I dance for him in his office? Not on the stage?"

  Again, that annoying cackle. Eddie said, "No, stupid. You don't dance today. That's on audition night. This is the audition for the audition."

  Oliver was as confused as he was concerned. "What am I expected to do now?"

  Just then, the office door swung open.

  Eddie shrugged and said, "Whatever that pervert wants."

  Suddenly, a tall gorgeous guy scampered out of the office, his skin tight shirt was torn. He was crying hysterically. As he ran past a bewildered Oliver, a voice boomed from within the office. "Thanks, but no thanks, bitch!"

  Oliver, wide eyed watched the poor guy run to the front door and out into the heat. He turned to look at Eddie, wide eyed.

  "Guess he doesn't get an audition," Eddie said without a hint of humor. Then, he stood up and yelled, "Henry, I got a real looker here for you!"

  "Then send him in!" snarled the voice from the office.

  Eddie sat back down and grinned maniacally at Oliver. "You're up."

  Oliver was dumbfounded. What was he to do? With a setup like that all he wanted now was to follow that other guy out of here. But he couldn't. He needed this job. Desperately.

  Composing himself, Oliver stood up, smoothing unseen wrinkles on his tight jeans.

  Eddie leaned over and whispered too loudly, "Don't worry. Henry is one of those thirty seconds kind of guys. You'll be out of there in no time." Again, that cackle.

  "That's great," Oliver said. Horrified, yet totally caught up in the moment. He headed toward the door, past the open death stares emanating from the other dancers.

  "Slut." Someone hissed. Others giggled.

  Oliver ignored them, but as he got to the doorway Henry bellowed from within, "And close the God damned door while you're at it." His stride faltered.

  Keep it together, he thought. His heart was hammering in his chest.

  Then he entered the office, and closed the door.

  Chapter 2

  Logan

  "Now that you're no longer a useless Prospect we can tell you how business is going," said Logan. He leaned forward on the table with huge tattooed arms. The words Macabre Jesters MC was blazoned across one bicep. "Well, business sucks, and it sucks bad."

  Logan shifted in his chair and tried to make more of an effort to focus on the Club President's words. Three days ago Logan received his bottom rocker on his Club's patch, making him a full patch member of the Macabre Jesters Motorcycle Club. And for three days, and three nights straight he had done nothing but drink, party, and fight. His ears were still ringing from all the loud music, boisterous laughter, and knocks on the head.

  It made paying attention at his first ever full patch Club meeting a little challenging.

  Logan managed a gruff chuckle and said, "I already figured that out from the cheap beer you were feeding me last night."

  This brought laughter from the other members sitting at the table, albeit subdued. Usually, being in Hot Rocks was a little more festive. But Logan was known to get real surly when talking about business.

  Logan offered a grin, which came as some minor relief to the others. It was like watching a grizzly smile just before it bit you in half. "Yeah," Logan said. "But we thought you were too drunk to notice."

  More laughter.

  Logan sat up a little, which meant he was about to get serious, and and any more laughing could result in a potential beating. "But the situation is real. Business is down since our distributors got their asses reamed by the Feds. Now anyone of worth is locked up for the duration, or keeping a low profile."

  Others grumbled, but Logan only nodded. There was nothing he could say at this point, although something would be expected of him now, from a business stand point. He was new blood. The first new full patch member in almost eight years. And he had the disturbing notion that his patching in was sped up because Jonah, another full patch member, recently got himself locked up.

  This chapter of the Macabre Jesters was getting thin on members. Or 'quality' members, as Parker would say.

  As if reading his thoughts Parker, who sat next to Logan, said, "Logan's got Jonah's back. Not going to be a problem."

  Parker was Logan's best friend, and had spoke up for him when Logan was ready to be moved up from Hang Around status to being a Prospect. Prospect was the final level before being patched in as a Full Club Member. He had guided Logan through the ranks, and helped secure his full Patch status.

  Not wanting it to look like he needed Parker to speak for him at his first Club meeting Logan said, "Jonah's filled me in. Things are good." He kept it vague. Everything was vague when talking business in the open, even in their own strip club. It annoyed Logan that they were even there, and not in a more secure location, like the Clubhouse, but he kept his trap shut. Both Parker and Jonah had warned him not to question Logan without serious backup.

  Logan arched a brow. "Is that so?" He turned and looked at the large member sitting next to him. "All good with you?"

  Milo, a massive gorilla of a man, visibly blanched at having the attention turned on to him. "Yeah," the big man managed. "All good."

  "Okay, then," Logan said, and then turned the conversation to other more mundane Club matters.

  Logan noticed Milo glowering in his direction and chose to ignore him. Milo hated Logan. He almost spoke out against Logan during the membership vote, which had to be unanimous for a Prospect to get their Full Patch. But, in the end, he didn't. Probably because he didn't have enough juice with the other members.

  Now Logan suspected Milo was just biding his time before he did something to screw with Logan.

  It really sucked that Jonah had partnered with Milo on a crucial venture, just before he got thrown in jail. With Logan now covering Jonah's business, it meant he had to work with Milo, whether either man liked it or not.

  Suddenly, a muscle-head named Ryder, walked up to their table carrying a large tray full of clinking bottles. He had a comical grin on his face.

  "You guys up for some more beers?" he said, interrupting Logan who was talking to someone.

  Logan exploded out of his chair, a terrifyingly quick movement from someone so large. "Get that outta here while members are talking, you idiot!" Logan spat with rage.

  Ryder's eyes widened in fear, beer bottles tumbling about the tray. He turned and fled as fast as could, clinking glass with every step and quickly disappeared into the back kitchen.

  Logan sat back down, and shook his head. He looked toward Milo and said, "I don't care if he is your cousin. What makes you want to patch that moron into the Club?" Logan's incredulous expression caused some of the other members to chuckle.

  Milo could only avoid the Club President's gaze. He shrugged and looked down at the table.

  Once it became clear that business talk was more or less over, members started talking amongst themselves. Parker leaned over to Logan and said in a low voice, "And you thought your new buddy had in in for you before." H
e indicated Milo who silently fumed alone. No one was going to talk to him now, not without risking getting some of his stink on them.

  "Yeah," Logan said, keeping his voice down, too. "Sucks that I gotta work with him. At least it's just this one thing. After that is done, he best steer clear of me."

  Parker nodded, "He had high hopes his retarded cousin Ryder would now be prancing about with a full patch on his back. A full member that he could manipulate and control. Too bad Ryder keeps screwing himself over time and again."

  Logan knew Milo was both jealous of Logan's quick rise in the Club, and pissed that Logan's patching in had effectively negated any hope for Ryder to do the same for a good long while.