Tanner:A Black Widow MC Romance - Olivia Jones
Tanner
My only love is the road and women are just pit stops.
I wake up in the hospital after another bar fight and she's standing over me—tall, busty, and begging to be touched.
But she thinks her degree makes her better than me. To hell with her.
My MC is my life and my brothers always come first. So why the f**k am I letting Grace get so close?
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Chapter One
Tanner
My fingers danced around the rim of the shot glass. I lifted it up to eye level and swirled the alcohol around. The shot of Jameson burned as it ran down my throat, warming my insides. I slammed the glass down on the bar and waved the bartender over.
Randy and I had known each other since we were boys. I remembered us playing cops and robbers in the trailer park, the old people yelling at us to keep it down. Those were carefree days. Now Randy owned the Stinky Goat and I joined the Black Widow MC. It's weird how things turned out.
“Want another, Tanner?” Randy grunted, wiping the bar with a white towel.
I nodded and watched as he poured me another shot of whiskey. I nursed this one slowly, taking a few sips at a time. My head was already fuzzy and the room was spinning. Soon enough I'd be in the restroom puking my guts out into the nasty toilet.
“Anymore and you won't be able to drive home,” Randy said.
I grinned stupidly. “I think we passed that point a long time ago.” Randy left the bottle of whiskey next to me and I filled my glass again.
“Who looks good tonight?”
I looked over to find Caleb sitting next to me at the bar. I wasn't sure if he'd been sitting there the entire time or not. He wore the same leather cut as me with a big black widow spider on the back. He ran his hand through his shoulder-length blond hair and scratched the stubble hugging his chin. Caleb was the Vice President of the motorcycle club and he was the one that pushed me to become a prospect. Now I was a full-fledged member and there was no turning back.
I looked around the room at all the chicks. It was Friday night and the bar was almost half-full. The Stinky Goat had become a become a popular hangout over the years for outlaws and degenerates. Randy wasn't entirely pleased by the type of customers but he loved the cash it brought in. I scanned through the crowd and recognized most of the women—that meant I'd slept with each and every one at least once or twice. I glanced back at Caleb. “Looks a little boring tonight.”
“How about that one?” Caleb pointed over my shoulder. My eyes followed his finger and landed on a brunette with tattoo sleeves.
“Been there already—twice.” I took another sip of whiskey and let the alcohol relax me.
“And that one?”
“She likes to call me Daddy in bed.”
Caleb chuckled and seemed impressed. I could get any girl I wanted. It just came naturally to me. I had the uncanny ability to get panties to drop to the floor. I've been neck deep in women ever since.
Caleb put his hand on my shoulder. “Okay hot stuff, how about that looker over there?”
I gazed over and locked eyes with a curly red head I'd never seen before. Her large tits were falling out of her under-sized bra and her short shorts stopped right at the bottom of her ass cheeks. She held a pool cue in her hands and bent over to take a shot. The view was glorious. I'd definitely remember if I fucked her before.
“Now Caleb, that is one chick I've never had.”
Caleb slapped me on the back. “Go get em' champ.”
I lifted my butt off the bar stool and had to hold onto Caleb to steady myself. My stomach was turning over and over again and it took all the willpower in the world to keep myself from throwing up. I took a deep breath and waited for the nausea to pass. I swaggered over behind the girl and slipped my hands around her waist.
“How about you come home with me and I'll show you what heaven looks like.”
She turned around and flushed, her chest heaving up and down. My pants tightened as my erection stiffened. This chick was smoking hot. Tonight was going to be fun.
A voice came from behind me. “Get your hands off my girl, motherfucker.”
Me? A motherfucker? Nobody talks to me that way.
My hands left the girl's waist and I clenched my right fist. I spun around, swinging my elbow in the air until it connected with the man's face—except he stopped me. The whiskey must have made me slow, because next thing I know I'm on the ground and his fists are pummeling my head. I try to block as many of the blows as I could. Good thing about alcohol is that the more you drink, the less pain you feel.