Bikers Don't Ask Twice:: (Outlaw MC Erotica) by Roseleigh Gorge Read Free Book Online Page B

of the medicine his sick wife needed.
 
     
    I walked to the back door and looked at the lock. It was a simple Yale lock and it should be no sweat to pick it. If not, well in that case I had my crowbar and I would just bust open the door. Not too subtle, but I wasn't leaving here empty handed. And I had a little time to work in but not all the time in the world, so it was sometimes better to be a little forceful. Say a cop drove past and thought he'd see about getting himself a late night beer, what would I do then? Tell him I’m the bar maid?
 
     
    Luckily I slid the bolts on my third try. Lock picking was something I was really good at. I'd bought the lock picks and then practiced on all the locks on my flat over and over again until I could actually shut my eyes and flip them open. The hairpin lock trick you see in movies is bullshit for the most part though, so don’t believe what you see. And don’t even get me started on trying to use a credit card to open a door.
 
     
    With the lock taken care of I just needed to step inside and get the safe. I tensed my arms in anticipation of the heavy load I was going to have to carry. Then after taking a deep breath I turned the door knob.
 
     
    It wouldn't budge.
 
     
    I rattled it a few more times but there was nothing doing. I looked at the lock to see if a bolt had slid back down but sure enough none of them had. The lock was taken care of alright. So why wasn't the door opening?
 
     
    I stepped back and looked over the door. I couldn't see any more locks. There definitely wasn’t a bolt or anything like that, so it must be something else. But what? I couldn’t see anything. I started to feel myself get anxious. Then something caught my eye. The "push" sign on the door, it didn't quite lay flat. It jutted out in the middle as though there were ridges running underneath it, and the corners were turned up as though it had been peeled back a few times. I pulled the sign back and saw straight away what the problem was.
 
     
    "What the hell?" I said aloud.
 
     
    There was a key code entry pad on the door. It was new, as if it had recently been fitted, and it looked sophisticated. This was way too expensive a security procedure for a dive bar like this, so what was going on?
 
     
    I knew then that my whole situation was bleak. You couldn't crack these things, you couldn't break them. You either knew the numerical code or you didn't.
 
     
    "What a waste of time," I said.
 
     
    "You're telling me. You got me out of bed," said a gruff voice behind me.
 
     
    I felt ice in my chest as my blood froze in my veins. I could picture a man behind me in the blue uniform of a cop, hand cuffs at his waist and gun drawn. Should I make a run for it? Maybe try to knock him over and get past him while he wondered what the hell was going on? No that was stupid. Even if I were capable of knocking a man over I’d probably get a bullet in my back as soon as he got to his feet.
 
     
    I put my hands up behind my head. "Okay you got me," I said.
 
     
    I turned round.
 
     
    It wasn't a cop in front of me. It was a man dressed head to toe in biker leathers. He was only a foot away from being as big as the ceiling and he carried the brutish body of a professional wrestler. His hair was a dirty blonde and ran almost to his shoulders, and blonde stubble ran along a bone-straight jaw. A thick red scar ran down his right cheek. It looked like someone had taken a sharp knife to a piece of steak. Pity for him, I thought, because it was the only blemish of an otherwise pretty good face. But the look on the face now wasn’t good.
 
     
    "You can relax, I'm not going to arrest you." His voice was deep and when he spoke there was a tenor in the air.
 
     
    I breathed out.
 
     
    "But I might kill you."
 
     
    He turned his back on me and walked toward the bar. He lifted the latch and went behind the counter, then he took a glass and a bottle and poured himself a shot of amber