“Okay?” Vortex called over his shoulder as I licked my lips.
“Yeah,” I said in a husky voice. I lay my cheek on his back as he started the engine. Oh hell, that was worse. The vibrations from the bike shot through my body, and tingles erupted in my pussy. The urge to clench my legs together and rub was almost overwhelming. Shit, what was wrong with me? I was being forced from my home, and instead of being afraid, I was getting turned on. Maybe I’d suffered a brain injury or something because I wasn’t acting normally.
Vortex steered the bike out of the car park and hit the road. At first, I was tense, wondering whether I was leaning the right way or holding on too tight. After a few minutes, I relaxed and began to enjoy the experience. It wasn’t what I'd expected, and I could understand why people rode. There was something special about this. A couple of times, I heard the faint tinkle of a bell and thought I was hearing things. But despite that, I really loved the ride.
I was sad when Vortex pulled up to some closed gates, swiped a card at an identification terminal, and entered a car park when the barriers opened. Around me were Harleys, various cars, trucks, and a couple of SUVs.
“This is our private space for the club. Nobody is permitted to drive on Main Street. Traffic would damage the town. Overthere is a visitor, guest, and staff parking area. That road leads to the town, which has some barricades preventing vehicles from entering. The only four allowed to drive in town itself are the sheriff’s car, the two fire engines, and the RRV that Doc drives.”
“Okay,” I replied. Once again, I heard a faint tinkle. “What is that?”
“My guardian slash gremlin bell.”
“Your what?”
Vortex laughed. “It’s called either a guardian bell or a gremlin bell. The tale goes that an old, grey, bearded biker was riding home alone one night. His saddlebags were full of gifts for children in a local orphanage. As he rode along the road, at one with it, a nasty group of road gremlins or goblins, depending on who’s telling the story, waited for him.
“These are creatures that set out to injure and trap bikers. Their sole aim is to cause a crash, and they use deer, other animals, rocks, boxes, and other things to create accidents. When the biker rounded a curve, they sprang their ambush, and he crashed, knocking himself out. When he woke up, he was in a ditch with his bike to one side, but one of the saddlebags was near him.
“The goblins thought they could finish him off, and in desperation, the biker began throwing things at them from the saddlebag. Finally, there was only a tiny bell left, and he rang it, thinking of the children to whom he’d promised gifts. The tinkling sound froze the goblins, confusing them. Noticing this, he kept ringing it. Even though they were confused, they were still between him and his bike.
“Close by, two other bikers had stopped to make camp and overheard the bell ringing. Curiously, they decided to check it out and discovered the injured man. They attacked the goblins, saving him. The old biker tried to pay them, and they refused.In the end, he cut some leather strips and tied bells to them, explaining that the sound confused the goblins.
“A biker can ride any road as long as they’ve got a bell and they’ll be safe from goblins. If you buy your own bell, it doesn’t work. They have to be gifted to you. The bell’s shape can trap evil spirits, while its sound chases them away. A gremlin bell, once given, is cherished,” Vortex explained.
“Wow, I love that story,” I said. “And you have one?”
“Inglorious gave me mine when I became a brother. We all have one.”
“Can you have more than one?”
“Yes. It means we’re doubly protected,” Vortex replied.
I shivered and looked around.
“We have a private path here that leads us into town and is only open to us. Saves us having to battle the potential crowds,” Vortex explained. Without a word, he took the backpack from me and smiled at my sneakers hanging from my neck.
“Good idea.”
“I thought so,” I replied.
“Come on, it’s cold, and I don’t want you ending up ill,” Vortex stated. He slung an arm around my shoulders and steered me away from the car park. As we turned the corner of the tree-lined path, I gasped. The pictures I had seen did not prepare me for the vision before me.
“Hey, you said this wasn’t a Wild West town?” I exclaimed.
“It’s not Deadwood. The houses are brick. There are a couple of brick buildings on Main Street, but most are wood. The club’s gone overboard with fire suppression systems. If a blaze takes hold here, we could lose the entire town. This burned in eighteen-ninety-three, so we don’t take any chances.”
Even though I was tired, I wanted to explore. The town called to me, and I smiled as I looked at the beautifully restored buildings. Vortex seemed to read my mind.
“I’ll take you on a tour in the morning, but it’s early hours, babe, so let’s get some sleep.”
I nodded and let him lead me to a building which had a sign hanging above the saloon-style doors. Unwanted Bastards MC—Private, it stated. Vortex pulled open the doors, and I was surprised to see two more behind them. Unlike the saloon doors, which were head-height, these were floor-to-ceiling and slid to the side.
“Yeah, it’s weird. But we had these installed to stop guests wandering into the clubhouse at night or when it’s empty. Usually, there’s someone here so we can chase them off. The club can lock the doors and be confident nobody’s going to invade us,” Vortex explained.
“I like the way they slide behind the wall,” I said as I studied the setup. It had been done with consideration and looked original.
“Yeah, that was Apache and Rock’s idea from Rage MC. They run a busy company. Blackrock Construction did all the restorations here and is now working on the houses behind Main Street.”
