Ghost Ride: A Biker Erotic Romance

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

  Ghost Ride copyright @ 2014 by Sophia Hampton. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

  GHOST RIDE

  “Margaret Rice! Please rise!” John, the Sergeant-at-Arms, bellows.

  I rise from my chair feeling pale and nervous. I don’t know why I’m nervous. I have known these guys for years. Hell, some of them helped raise me when Daddy passed away; but, this is something I have been working for, waiting on, for a long, long, time, so I guess nervous is okay.

  “Step forward!” John commands, his expression stern.

  I step away from the table and walk to the front before stopping in front of Philip, President of the 417 Motorcycle Club.

  “Margaret Rice. I am about to administer your oath of induction. Are you prepared to accept this oath?” Phillip asks, as John retreats to the doors at the back of the room.

  I swallow hard. “I am.”

  “Please raise your right hand and repeat after me.” When my hand goes up, Philip begins, “I, Margaret Kimberly Rice…”

  “I, Margaret Kimberly Rice…” I repeat. Before Philip can continue the doors bang open at the back and the room erupts into shouts. Already on edge, I jump at the sound before whirling to see a fucking ghost stride into the room. The room begins to spin, as I suddenly get light headed. I take two steps the side and sit down in an empty chair before I fall. The room is in bedlam as Shane Perry struts into the room like he owns the joint.

  ***

  It takes a moment for me to get my wits about me as the room swirls. Shane had disappeared without a trace fifteen years ago. Everyone, including me, thought he was dead. But, here he stands, big as life, wearing his 417 club jacket just like the last time I saw him.

  I stand up, straightening my wedding dress. Wedding dress? I blink hard and look again to see myself in my jeans and shirt once again. What the hell?

  Shane and I had just become lovers when he disappeared. We were young, barely twenty years old when he… left? He was in pre-law at Converse and I was helping out in Daddy’s shop and attending a trade school. There was no note and all of his possessions were left behind with the exception of his hog. I cried for days and practically the entire town of Moore was in shock. I have had a few lovers since Shane, but nobody could ever replace him. I walk to the milling throng, gently pushing my way through the crowd.

  “Hey, Maggie,” Shane says, looking down at me with that smile that can melt a woman’s heart. I draw back and punch him in the mouth as hard as I can.

  “Shit!” I shout, shaking my hand as pain radiates out from my abused knuckles. Punching someone looks easy on television, but it hurts!

  Shane takes a half-step back in reaction to my punch, then slowly tongues the bloody spot. “Good to see you, too,” he deadpans.

  “You son-of-a-bitch! You walk away for fifteen years, then come back like nothing has happened? Why are you back?” I shout in the now silent room.

  “I’m back to take over my club,” Shane says, as if the answer is obvious.

  “Your club? This was never your club! This was Daddy’s club!”

  “It’s my club now. Isn’t that right?” Shane says, looking directly at Philip.

  Philip lowers his head in deference to Shane. “Of course. I knew my position was only temporary.”

  Shane smile as me. “See? Everyone out! I have to talk to Maggie.”

  The rest of the club members disappear. “What do you want?” I sneer, seething inside.

  “I have some bad news.”

  I feel my heart sink. “What?”

  “You’re not joining the 417s.”

  “What?” I shout. “Who the hell do you think you are? Do you really think you can come barging in here after all this time and tell me where I can and cannot join?”

  “I’m the President of the 417s, that’s who. And I’m telling you, you’re not joining. It’s the reason I’m here.”

  “You mean to tell me you came back, after fifteen years, just to prevent me from joining the 417s?” I ask, my voice as cold as an arctic wind.

  “Yep!” Shane says cheerfully. “Motorcycles aren’t for women.”

  I feel myself go hot with rage. “You mother-fucker. I’ll have you know I own one of the most respected antique Harley-Davidson restoration businesses in the country. I know more about motorcycles than you ever will.”

  “Yeah, but that’s working on them. I’m talking about riding them. You have to have balls to ride a bike. I think you know where that leaves you.”

  He is so smug about it I want to kill him. “Fuck you, Shane!”

  “I don’t know what you are so mad about. Your own father didn’t want you to join. I’m just carrying on the family tradition.”

  “That’s different!” I shout.

  “Is it now? How?”

  I splutter in impotent rage for a moment. Shane’s right. It isn’t different; but now that Daddy is dead, I am finally going to get what I have been wanting for as long as I can remember. A 417 club jacket.

  Daddy formed the club in 1974 and served as its president for nearly twenty years. The club is named after Highway 417. It’s the highway that leads into Moore, South Carolina, where the club is based. The 417s are an “in-law” bike club. In other words, we are all just normal people, with normal jobs, living normal lives. I never understood why women were not welcome in the club when Daddy was president, but they weren’t. Daddy was kind of old school that way. He always explained it away by saying, “Motorcycles are not lady like.” I still don’t know what the hell that means. It has taken years of persistence and effort to finally break down that barrier.

  “You can’t do this!” I shout in a rage.

  “Already done,” Shane says with a grin. “Now, why don’t you run along, so we can get down to business.”

  I stand there, mouth agape, unable to believe what is happening or, more accurately, what has happened.

  ***

  I wake up the next morning, rumpled and hung-over. So fucking close! Only to have Shane snatch it.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I scream in a panic. Shane is standing at the foot of my bed, watching me.

  “Seems you have made a good impression on the boys in the club.”

  “Get out! Get out before I call the cops!” I shout pulling the linens up to cover my nakedness. How the fuck did he get in here? And why is he naked?

  Shane grins at me. “Now, Maggie, what are you so upset about? It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”

  “Shane! Get out!”

  “Okay. If that is what you want. I thought you would want to hear what I came say.”

  “What?” I ask, suddenly interested.

  “Well, it seems the rest of the crew has changed my mind about you joining the club.”

  “Really?” I ask, suddenly excited again.

  “Really. But…”

  “But what?” I ask warily.

  “But...you are going to have to prove you are worthy of joining.”

  “Worthy? I told you, I own and operate a motorcycle restoration business. I work on or have restored half the bikes in the club. How much more worthy do you have to be than that?” I demand.

  “That’s not enough. You have to prove you can ride.”

  “Prove it to who?
You?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And how would I do that?”

  “It’s simple. We race. You and me. From the Pioneer to a little trailer I have in the woods. I’ll show you on a map. If you can beat me there, you’re in. If not…”

  “How far is it from the Pioneer?”

  “Not far. About twenty miles, but part of it is dirt track.”

  “So, if I beat you from the Pioneer to your trailer and I’m in. Simple as that?”

  “That’s it. And bring an owl.”

  “An owl?” I ask in confusion.

  “Yes. An owl. You know, hoot, hoot,” Shane says, hooting like an owl. “You can get one at the pet store.”

  ***

  I arrive at the Pioneer, the restaurant where we hold our meetings, with an owl in a cage strapped on the back of my bike. I’m surprised how easy it is to buy an owl. I found them right next to the parakeets.

  Shane and the rest of the club are there, milling about in the dark parking lot. It is late, nearly midnight and the restaurant is closed. Philip takes my owl and opens the cage. Then, he removes it and places it on Shane’s outstretched arm. Shane looks deep into the bird’s eyes, then with a gentle upward thrust of his arm, he allows the bird to fly away.

  “Why did you have me bring an owl, if you were just going to turn it loose?” I ask indignantly. Owls are easy to find, but that doesn’t mean it was cheap.

  “I am setting you free,” Shane says. “Your will is now as free as he is, your fears as silent as his wing beats, your mind as wise as his.”

  I look at Shane, wondering how many drugs he has taken in the past fifteen years. Before I can say anything, I realize that I do suddenly feel free. All my fears are quiet and everything seems so clear. I watch the bird, as it suddenly banks and swoops into a small copse of trees and disappears.

  “Right…whatever. You ready to do this?”

  “Whenever you are,” Shane says, as he begins to remove his clothes.

  What the fuck? “Shane! What are you doing?”

  “Getting undressed to race. What does it look like I’m doing? Get busy.”

  “I’m not undressing and riding a bike in public! Are you crazy?”

  Shane pauses for a moment. “Oh. That’s too bad. I thought you wanted to join the 417s.”

  I stew for a moment. Fuck it! I start undressing, but I have only gotten my riding jacket off before I start having second thoughts. Do I really want to do this? Do I really want this so badly that I am willing to risk everything for it? Getting caught riding through town naked on a bike would be humiliating enough; but if I were to crash without my leathers, I could be seriously hurt. I dither, torn, afraid of making a bad decision.

  Shane swings a leg over his bike. He sits astride of it as hums it to life, and then revs the engine. “Do it or don’t,” Shane says calmly. “But make a decision.”

  I take a deep breath and remove the rest of my clothes.

  ***

  The moment the flag girl…when the hell did she get here... drops the flag, I whack the throttle open and dump the clutch. I have to lean forward to keep the front wheel on the ground. I am lighter than Shane by a good amount and my bike has a few special tweaks, so I take him easily on the hole-shot. By third gear, I risk a glance over my shoulder, my rich, red hair blowing in my eyes. Fuck! He’s right there! Right behind me! How is that possible?

  I am nearly at full throttle already, but I twist the grip to the stop. Shane and I flash through town, the street lights flashing like a strobe as we bellow down empty roads. I brake hard, inadvertently locking the rear tire as I lean to make the turn onto Highway 417. My mistake costs me and Shane slips through on the inside. As I bang up through the gears, my bike bellowing its war cry. I lean down, nearly pressing my tits into the tank, as I cheat the wind as much as possible.

  For the next eight miles, I claw back my lead, since my bike is marginally faster than Shane’s. 417 is a minor highway, but it is deserted. There should be brightly lit houses on the sides of the road but they are dark, like all the buildings in Moore. It is as if Shane and I are the only two people left on earth. We round a curve and I recognize my turn off point.

  I once again brake hard, my lighter weight pays off by allowing me to go deeper and brake harder. I open up a two or three bike gap on Shane before I dive for the turn, my bike dragging and scraping from my deep lean.

  ***

  The road is barely a twin dirt track with weeds growing in the center. Our bikes are road bikes and the dirt track is rough and slippery, making the bikes hard to control. I struggle to keep the bike moving without crashing in the loose dirt, fighting it as it skids and slips. I am barely doing twenty miles-per-hour and I can see Shane’s headlamp dancing behind me; so I push, but it is so dark and my headlamp is bouncing so wildly I can barely see.

  It was a bright moonlit night when we left town, but in the few minutes that Shane and I have been riding the night has grown dark and ominous. With a flash and roar, the heavens open and it begins to rain in torrents. I can’t see and the dirt track quickly becomes nearly impassable. I work the throttle, the bike struggling for grip even more in the slippery mud, as it slides and skids.

  Suddenly I am down. It happens so fast I don’t even feel myself fall. Before I can get clear of the bike, Shane passes. His rear wheel sprays me with mud, as he fights to keep his bike moving. “No!” I scream in rage and frustration.

  I haul on my bike, straining in the mud. My feet slip and slide, as I struggle to get the heavy bike upright again. I leap astride the machine and thumb the starter. The bike cranks, but it won’t fire. “Come on, baby. Come on, baby,” I chant, encouraging the bike to start. It hits, roars, then stalls. I thumb the switch again and it roars to life, coughs once, then bellows strongly. I stomp it back into first gear and gently release the clutch.

  Shane has opened up a sizable lead, but I ride recklessly, risking it all. I have come too far to give up now. Then, I see the trailer. I’m gaining on him, but not fast enough. I’ve lost. After all this, I’m going to lose. But fortune smiles on me and he goes down in the mud, just as I did. I push just a little harder.

  Shane’s bike is blocking the track and he is just getting to his feet, as I arrive. I’m afraid to try to go around, so I dump the bike and let it fall into the mud. I leap his bike, but slip and fall as I land. I look up and he standing over me, smiling.

  I want to cry in frustration, but I won’t give the bastard the satisfaction. I leap to my feet, preparing to run, when Shane grabs my arm. I struggle, kicking and punching, but he holds me with ease. Suddenly, he pulls me to him, kissing me fervently. “I love you, Maggie,” he says before giving me a push toward the trailer. “Run. Run for what you want.”

  I stare at him in confusion. Then, I bolt, running as hard as I can. It can’t be more than a hundred yards to the small trailer, but Shane was an All-State high school football player and I know I can’t out run him. I stumble again, feet slipping on the soggy ground. The blinding rain makes it difficult to see, but I feel Shane’s hands catch me, steadying me as I run.

  “We’ll finish it together,” Shane pants, as he runs beside me.

  As the dirt track ends at the trailer, Shane falls back a bit, just enough to make it clear that I reach the trailer first. I should be winded, but I feel great. Better than great. Shane stands there, covered in mud, his blonde hair plastered down from the rain. He has never looked better. In fact, he looks better now than he did fifteen years ago. Hell, I think he looks better now than he did at the start of the race.

  I take three sprinting steps and hit him hard and high. We go down in a tangle of arms and legs, rolling on the soggy ground. The minute we hit the ground, I attack him with feverish kisses. I must be a slut, a strumpet, and a harlot of the first order. I can’t control my desire and I’m a slave to my body. I am burning with lust and I must have him.

  I grab Shane’s cock and shove it straight into me. He roars in pleasure, a
s I begin to bounce furiously on him, fucking him for all I’m worth. As the rain roars down around us, we fuck like animals. I scream at him in fury as we fuck, enraged that he would try to take from me the one thing I want most and have been working my whole life to achieve.

  We claw at each other as we tumble, first me on top, then Shane. We fuck harder than I have ever fucked before, as we scream in pleasure. Each of us demands more and more. I come three, four, ten times as we fuck. We roll again, Shane’s member still inside of me, as he clasps me to his chest, driving into me with the speed and power of a jackhammer.

  Suddenly, Shane throws me off of him with a roar, as his cum erupts from him in geysers. I land on my ass in the mud and I start to scramble back for him. I intend to fuck him stupid and to beat him again by making him beg for me to stop.