Death Lords Motorcycle Club: Annie, Michigan, and Easy (The Motorcycle Clubs Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

haven’t looked at my personal account balance for a while. I haven’t needed to. I don’t pay rent or the home utilities. Those are provided by the church. Clothes are kept to a minimum because we don’t want to appear like we are misusing parishioner funds. And before Easy showed up at the library, I had no occasion to be overly concerned about my wardrobe.
    Tuesday night, however, I’m looking at the sad contents of my closet. I have jeans, flats, blouses and skirts. My skirts are A-line and hide everything from my knees to my butt. None of these items, either individually or in any combination, say hot biker chick. I went for the jeans and my favorite red top that has small puff sleeves and a scoop neck. In my ears, I hooked small silver hoops and from the bottom drawer, I retrieved the leather cuff.
    It’s too large for me and the large silver clasp is surprisingly heavy. My heart beats a hundred miles per minute as I climb into my car and drive to the granary. Some say the granary looks like a milk carton but I think it looks like the Death Lords are raising their middle finger to anyone around who might object to their presence.
    There are only a few bikes in the gravel parking lot in front of the old barn doors of the granary. I’ve never knocked on a barn door. Would anyone even hear me? As I approach, though, I notice a small side door is situated to the right. I knock, nervously, watching the leather band move up and down on my wrist.
    I don’t have to wait long. The door opens and the broad body of Dakota Raleigh fills the door and by fill, I mean, I can’t hardly see beyond him. He was a big guy in high school, but since our graduation five years ago, he’s bulked up. And he has traded his high school leather bomber jacket for a thin leather vest proclaiming him to be part of the Death Lords.
    “Annie Bloom?” He gawks, jaw slightly unhinged. Not quite the response I was hoping for but the one I expected. I hide a sigh.
    “Yep, it’s me.”
    He steps forward and closes the door behind him. I take a big step back so I’m not bowled over. “Yeah, we don’t take to solicitations and shit—I mean, stuff—like that here.”
    “I’m not soliciting.”
    “Yeah?” He quirks an eyebrow skyward.
    “I’m here to see Easy.” I raise my wrist so that the leather band is obvious. He looks at the band, then at my face and does a double take as if the vision of the two together doesn’t fit in his head. Then a broad smirk spreads across his face.
    “Shoulda known. It’s always the quiet ones.” He reaches behind him and opens the door. Standing back he extends his arm and gestures for me for me to enter. “Come on in.”
    I step inside and get an immediate sense of motor oil and exhaust. It smells like a garage. The concrete floor even bears dark stains which I assume are from motorcycle leaks and not, well, blood or other waste. The granary appears cavernous from my viewpoint with the ceiling soaring at least two stories.
    To cover my nervousness, I start talking. “You been a Death Lord a long time, Dakota?”
    “Two years since I patched in. I go by Rider now.”
    “Is that your road name?”
    He smiles. “That’s right. Know your biker lingo.”
    I feel hot-cheeked. “I work with Pippa Lang.”
    “Judge’s old lady?”
    There are a lot of terms used in bikerland I don’t like and old lady is one of them. “I don’t know how old she is, but yes, I think they’re dating.”
    I follow him across the concrete to double doors that are hung on a rail system like you see in the fancy house magazines. He pushes one aside and we step into a large room. This time the floor’s concrete is polished. There’s a big fireplace at one end surrounded by several chairs and sofas and a long bar to my left. There aren’t many people here.
    “Dating’s what we did in high school, Annie. You don’t date a Death Lord.”
    He sounded so self-important; I can’t resist needling him. “Is the club