CRASH (A Stone Kings Motorcycle Club Romance) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Daphne Loveling
she knew a man named Leviticus. She looked at me like I had two heads. “Leviticus?” the waitress squeaked, as though I’d said his name was Daffy Duck. “No, sorry, I don’t know anyone with a name like that.”
My face flushed in embarrassment. I was becoming more or less used to feeling like a space alien in my interactions the past few days. I had thought that changing my clothing would be enough to help me pass as one of the “worldly” people (as the people in the community called them), but it seemed as though the things that came out of my mouth were just as strange. I didn’t think it was my appearance that was calling attention to me. Though my clothes were a little dirty by now, they didn’t seem too different from what other people were wearing around me, though perhaps a little less revealing than the clothing preferred by most of the young women my age.
I had finally managed to cut my hair in a gas station bathroom when one of the buses I was on stopped for a break. It had never been cut in my lifetime, as women of the WFZ Ranch were told that to cut their hair was a sin in the eyes of God. My hands were shaking as I picked up the scissors to do something that no woman in the community would ever think of doing. In the end, I had been too chicken to do anything drastic, but I did manage to cut off almost a foot, and it now fell to the middle of my back, which seemed like a “normal” length that wouldn’t attract attention. I had bought a toothbrush and toothpaste at the same stop, so I didn’t think my oral hygiene was causing any negative reactions.
I tried again with the waitress. “Well, would you know where I could find a biker? Like, a motorcycle rider?”
If anything, the question just seemed to amuse her more. “Like, any motorcycle rider?” she asked, her darkly penciled brow cocking in what I was pretty sure was mockery.
“The person I’m looking for is a motorcycle rider,” I explained, willing the ever-hotter flush in my cheeks to go away. “I thought, if I could find someone who knew other motorcycle riders, they might be able to tell me where he is.”
She shrugged. “You could just go hang out downtown and wait for someone on a motorcycle to show up,” she suggested. Her eyes flicked away from me toward a table of boys about her age who were roughhousing noisily. It was clear she was getting bored with talking to me. I thanked her, and she wasted no time setting down my check and heading toward the boys’ table. I absently watched her as she flirted shamelessly with the best-looking of them, her voice growing teasing and animated.
Taking a sip of my orange juice, I thought about my next move. Actually, the waitress’s suggestion about going downtown and trying to find a motorcycle rider wasn’t a bad one. At any rate, I couldn’t be very choosy, considering I had basically no other ideas. I reached into my pocket for my few remaining bills, paid my tab, and wandered outside.
Downtown Lupine was about a mile and a half from where the bus had dropped me off at a combination bus depot and truck stop. I walked the distance along a dusty highway with no sidewalks, and eventually came across the area, which primarily consisted of one long main street lined with bars, restaurants, and shops of various kinds. I covered the several blocks from one end to the other, noting a smattering of motorcycles along the way. Eventually, I stopped in front of another diner, where a cluster of them were parked. These machines were larger and more imposing than the others I had seen, and some of them had leather side bags, or skull designs on the gas tank.
Pushing down my nervousness, I decided that talking to whoever owned these motorcycles would probably be my best shot at learning where Leviticus was. There were no benches or places to sit that I could see, so I sat down awkwardly on the curb to wait.
I’m not sure how much time passed, but eventually a group of men came out of
My face flushed in embarrassment. I was becoming more or less used to feeling like a space alien in my interactions the past few days. I had thought that changing my clothing would be enough to help me pass as one of the “worldly” people (as the people in the community called them), but it seemed as though the things that came out of my mouth were just as strange. I didn’t think it was my appearance that was calling attention to me. Though my clothes were a little dirty by now, they didn’t seem too different from what other people were wearing around me, though perhaps a little less revealing than the clothing preferred by most of the young women my age.
I had finally managed to cut my hair in a gas station bathroom when one of the buses I was on stopped for a break. It had never been cut in my lifetime, as women of the WFZ Ranch were told that to cut their hair was a sin in the eyes of God. My hands were shaking as I picked up the scissors to do something that no woman in the community would ever think of doing. In the end, I had been too chicken to do anything drastic, but I did manage to cut off almost a foot, and it now fell to the middle of my back, which seemed like a “normal” length that wouldn’t attract attention. I had bought a toothbrush and toothpaste at the same stop, so I didn’t think my oral hygiene was causing any negative reactions.
I tried again with the waitress. “Well, would you know where I could find a biker? Like, a motorcycle rider?”
If anything, the question just seemed to amuse her more. “Like, any motorcycle rider?” she asked, her darkly penciled brow cocking in what I was pretty sure was mockery.
“The person I’m looking for is a motorcycle rider,” I explained, willing the ever-hotter flush in my cheeks to go away. “I thought, if I could find someone who knew other motorcycle riders, they might be able to tell me where he is.”
She shrugged. “You could just go hang out downtown and wait for someone on a motorcycle to show up,” she suggested. Her eyes flicked away from me toward a table of boys about her age who were roughhousing noisily. It was clear she was getting bored with talking to me. I thanked her, and she wasted no time setting down my check and heading toward the boys’ table. I absently watched her as she flirted shamelessly with the best-looking of them, her voice growing teasing and animated.
Taking a sip of my orange juice, I thought about my next move. Actually, the waitress’s suggestion about going downtown and trying to find a motorcycle rider wasn’t a bad one. At any rate, I couldn’t be very choosy, considering I had basically no other ideas. I reached into my pocket for my few remaining bills, paid my tab, and wandered outside.
Downtown Lupine was about a mile and a half from where the bus had dropped me off at a combination bus depot and truck stop. I walked the distance along a dusty highway with no sidewalks, and eventually came across the area, which primarily consisted of one long main street lined with bars, restaurants, and shops of various kinds. I covered the several blocks from one end to the other, noting a smattering of motorcycles along the way. Eventually, I stopped in front of another diner, where a cluster of them were parked. These machines were larger and more imposing than the others I had seen, and some of them had leather side bags, or skull designs on the gas tank.
Pushing down my nervousness, I decided that talking to whoever owned these motorcycles would probably be my best shot at learning where Leviticus was. There were no benches or places to sit that I could see, so I sat down awkwardly on the curb to wait.
I’m not sure how much time passed, but eventually a group of men came out of