The Biker's Omega Read online

  The Biker’s Omega

  By

  Lisa Oliver

  Book One – Alpha and Omega Series

  The Biker’s Omega (Book One: Alpha and Omega Series)

  Copyright © Lisa Oliver, 2015

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Design by Lisa Oliver

  Pictures purchased through Dreamstime.com

  First Edition January, 2015

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, Lisa Oliver. [email protected]

  No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from Lisa Oliver. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights and livelihood is appreciated.

  The Biker’s Omega is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning:

  This book contains material that maybe offensive to some people including graphic language, cursing, explicit sex between males, male-male sex, anal intercourse, oral, rimming.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Harley Davidson Fat Boy Motorcycle – Harley Davidson

  Dollywood Theme Park, Knoxville

  The Barbecue and Blue Grass Festival, Dollywood, Knoxville

  Dedication

  To all my lovely readers who understand when I am supposed to be writing one thing, and yet write something like this instead. It is you who keep my fingers on the keyboard – thank you so much.

  Chapter One

  “We got ‘em good, did you see that?”

  “Yeah, got the fags good. They never saw what hit ‘em.”

  “Did you see when I…?”

  Trent Beaumont tuned out the two idiots who had been in the club all of five minutes and who thought it was funny to brag about beating up a couple of twinks. The Epitaph Motorcycle gang’s living room/bar was large, yet it seemed almost dark and dingy, no matter what time of the day it was. Trent liked the fact that he could sit in a corner, and basically ignore everyone around him. The bar itself was the room’s central focus, and most of the club members hung around there, laughing it up and doing the stupid things that drunk people did. Trent didn’t get drunk, and he preferred to keep to himself when the men he rode with were tying one on.

  Mentally wincing when he heard one of the blowhards make some comment about putting his boot into the man he attacked, Trent took a deep breath to calm his wolf. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling edgy, but his wolf was pacing in his mind, and he didn’t like it. That usually meant something big was going to happen. Personally Trent swung both ways, preferring men, but sleeping with women when he needed to. He hated gay bashing with a passion, but he would never mention it in the Epitaph’s clubrooms. He liked his balls and his head where they were. The club’s staunchly anti-gay message had been drummed into Trent from the day he was approached to join, ten years before. He had kept his need for a small, tight ass hugging his cock, to himself ever since. But listening to the two idiots at the bar, was sorely testing his patience.

  Gritting his teeth before he yelled out something he shouldn’t, something like how it really wasn’t manly or tough to pick on guys who were considerably smaller and less likely to fight back than the two men who were holding court at the bar, Trent turned his back and then gave a low groan as he met the sultry eyes of Stephanie. Like she needed eye contact to come onto him, he thought grimly, holding his breath as she approached. Her perfume always overwhelmed his senses and he had a hard time holding back a sneeze every time she came near him.

  Tall and slim, with a pair of knockers that had been greatly enhanced by science, Stephanie was the head bitch in the Epitaphs. It was rumored that she used to be the main squeeze for Clive, the club president, but in the ten years Trent had been in the club, he had never seen any sign of it. She was definitely head female in the club though, and virtually every male in the club lusted after her. Stephanie had standards though – no screwing the underlings when only the club hierarchy would do. And since he’d been made Sergeant of Arms six months before, Stephanie had her sights firmly set on him.

  “Hey, there, big boy,” She lisped, flicking her red hair over her shoulder in an effort to look seductive. Trent tried not to cringe. Stephanie’s normal voice was strident and Trent didn’t mind that, but she seemed to think that doing a Marilyn Monroe impression was the way to be sexy. All it did was set Trent’s nerves on edge and his wolf scurrying to the back of his mind.

  “Hey Steph,” he said gruffly, focusing on his beer and trying to breathe through his mouth. Fuck, she smelt more pungent than normal. Did she bathe in her perfume? She was another reason he preferred to sit in a corner and keep quiet. While Trent had bedded his fair share of women at the club, he didn’t enjoy doing it unless he was really horny, and getting hit on by women was something he didn’t think he would ever get used to. It went against his Alpha nature.

  Running her fingers lazily up Trent’s tattoo covered arm, Stephanie continued in her faux sexy voice, “I thought it was about time we got together, big boy. You’ve been stalling me long enough.”

  “You’re too good for the likes of me, darling,” Trent said, thinking no. Fuck. Not ever. He had no problems getting a hard on for a female, even if it wasn’t his preference – he had a vivid imagination and knew how to use it. But he wasn’t stupid enough to get involved with a toxic perfume cloud, not even once. His wolf would never forgive him and he didn’t think he could breathe long enough to enjoy the act.

  Stephanie set her brightly painted lips in a pout, and Trent wondered what on earth she had injected them with. He was certain she wasn’t born with them that shape. “No one turns me down,” she said and the lisp was gone from her voice – replaced with venom. Trent shivered. This was more like the woman he knew.

  “I’ve been here ten years, Stephanie,” Trent said determined to be reasonable. While he didn’t know if she was sleeping with the President or not, he knew she had considerable influence in the club and he didn’t want to lose his position. “You’ve never made a move on me before while you’ve been sober. Let’s not change things.”

  It was true. Stephanie had come onto him fairly regularly since he first joined the Epitaphs, but Trent had always brushed off her overtures as the ramblings of a drunk woman. Fortunately when she was drunk she could be easily distracted into the arms of another. Sober was a different story and from the steely look in Stephanie’s eyes, the woman hadn’t touch a drop of alcohol in days.

  “You weren’t the Sergeant of Arms before,” Stephanie said bluntly. “Now it’s your job, as part of the inner circle, to entertain those of us in the female hierarchy, and I called first dibs on you. You’re not going to get another fuck in this club until you go through me first.”

  Fists clenched, one around his bottle of beer and one at his side, Trent fought to keep the anger from his face. As he stood up, unravelling hi
s full height, he guessed he might not have been a hundred percent successful because Stephanie stepped back a bit and dropped her hand from his arm.

  “I fuck who I want, when I want,” Trent snarled quietly, not wanting to draw attention to what was going on. The bar room of the clubhouse wasn’t overly crowded but the Epitaphs were a curious lot. “When I took this job I got told I was in charge of weapons and club safety, not pussy fulfillment. You want to get filled that bad lady, there are plenty here who would take you on and thank you afterwards.”

  Stephanie’s eyes narrowed and she tapped her lip with one pointed finger. Trent noticed that her nail and lip color didn’t match – not a good look. Besides Trent preferred his partners natural and clean smelling. “Clive will hear about this,” she threatened.

  Trent shrugged. “The day he tells me who to fuck is the day I walk, sister, and he knows it.” Grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, Trent swung it over his shoulder and brushed past Stephanie. He needed a ride far more than he needed a fuck, especially with a woman who would crush his balls instead of lick them.

  Hurrying past the two gay-bashers at the bar, Trent was almost at the door when a hand grabbed his arm. Thinking it was Stephanie again, Trent snarled and swung round, almost knocking the person off his feet. It was Bob, one of the men mouthing off earlier, whose cocky look had fallen off his face and he was looking at Trent in shock.

  “What do you want Bobbie? Can’t you see I’m heading out?” Trent said, barely holding onto his patience.

  Bob’s cocky look came back in an instance. “Did you hear what me and Todd did, Sarge? Got a couple of fags over on Main Street. Did them over real good. You’d be proud of us, Sarge, real proud. We beat them into the pavement. Real fighting skills.”

  “Why did you bash them?” Trent didn’t have time for this shit.

  A look of confusion came over Bob’s boyish face and a splash of red hit his fair cheeks. “Because they’re fags, Sarge?” His voice tilting on the question.

  “Yeah. So. Did they come onto you? Did they pick a fight with you? Were they making out on the main road or something? What did they do to cause the fight?”

  “No, Sarge. Nothing like that. They was just walking down the street, but they was fags. We could tell by the way they was dressed, so we bashed them.”

  Shaking his head at Bob’s lack of proper grammar, Trent snarled. “You were wearing your leathers, yes?” Bob nodded. Of course. From the smell of it Bob probably never took his jacket off.

  “So you were wearing club colors. You assaulted two men on Main Street for no reason and now you’ll bring the police to our door the moment those two men give their statement. What have I got to be happy about? The last thing we need is the police hanging around here.”

  “But they was gay,” Bob protested. “We don’t like fags. They’re an abodimation.”

  “The word is abomination, fucktard,” Trent snarled, his previous anger at Stephanie spilling over onto Bob. Some days he regretted the fact that he lived and worked among humans. Many of them had no sense of honor and having to hide who he truly was, was another stress Trent added to his list.

  Toning down his snarl to a mean growl, he continued, “If you mentioned to them that you were beating on them because they were gay, which I bet you did because you couldn’t keep your big mouth shut if your life depended on it, then we are talking about a hate crime. That could bring the Feds to our door, given that this is not the first time this has happened. Is that what you set out to achieve? Bringing the Feds to our clubhouse? With all we got going on here?”

  Trent noticed that everyone in the club was silent, watching him and Bob, but he really didn’t care. The day a club full of humans bothered his feelings of safety, was the day he hung up his boots and dropped dead.

  “I didn’t…I…we…er…we…we weren’t thinking about that,” Bob spluttered out.

  “No exactly. You never fucking think – either of you. Get Todd and meet me outside. It’s about time someone knocked some sense into that fucking head of yours and I’m not making a mess in here.” Without looking to see if his orders were being followed, Trent stalked outside, putting his jacket on the seat of his Harley that sat gleaming under the moonlight. When he turned around, Bob and Todd were standing at the club entrance, the fear etched on their lily white faces.

  At six foot six, weighing over 250 pounds, Trent had perfected his look to inspire that very fear. His huge muscles were covered in tribal tattoos – all down his arms, and across his shoulders and back. He kept his dark hair short, his sharp face clean, but he knew it was his eyes that were his most powerful feature. Almost black, they glowed with yellow spikes through them when he was angry – a sure sign his wolf was lurking under his skin. Even humans had the sense to know when a predator had them in his sights even if they didn’t know what he was.

  “Get over here,” Trent yelled. “I don’t want to waste the energy chasing you idiots before I bash your fucking heads in.”

  “We weren’t doing anything wrong,” Bob protested as dragged a reluctant Todd along with him. “They were faggots. We hate gays. We did what was right. Gay people shouldn’t live in this town.”

  Trent snorted. Orlando, Florida, was one of the most gay friendly places in the US. In fact he didn’t know why the Epitaphs set up base here, because it was a great town for anyone in the LGBT spectrum. But maybe that was why. It wasn’t Trent’s place to question why Clive did what he did. He just did as he was told, and at the moment he had two heads to crack and his wolf was getting antsy.

  “You bash who you want on your own time, idiots,” Trent said, as he grabbed the two men by the collar of their jackets and shook them roughly. “But you don’t bring shit down on this club.”

  Dropping Todd for a moment, he swung his fist at Bob, felling him to the ground with one punch. Ooops, not. Bob was out cold. Forcing his wolf under control, because when Trent got angry he didn’t think to curb his natural strength, he picked Todd up under the arms, lifting his feet off the ground. That’s when Trent smelled it. A delicious blend of blackberry and hazelnut with a hint of…no, it wasn’t possible, an Omega wolf. These two fuckwits had not only beat up on two gay men in town causing havoc for the club, but one of those men was an omega wolf shifter, and if the cock Trent had hardening in his jeans was signaling anything at all, that same wolf was Trent’s mate. Todd had been hands-on with the man. His mate!

  “You stupid fuck,” Trent snarled, as he pulled his fist back and smashed Todd across the face. The sound of bones breaking did nothing to appease his temper but Trent knew he had to get out and find the man who Todd and Bob had attacked. Trent had never wanted a mate mainly because he knew his fated one would be a male and that could cause all sort of problems for him in his current life. But that wolf, his wolf, was hurt and as an Omega, he would need an Alpha by his side.

  Leaving Todd and Bob unconscious on the ground, and ignoring the yells of the rest of the club, Trent ran to his bike, pulling on his jacket. Bob said they were on Main Street when the fight went down. Hopefully he could pick up the scent from there.

  Chapter Two

  Marly Miles stomped into his small apartment, and threw his keys on the side table. Flipping off his shoes, he went straight into the bathroom and started the shower, grimacing at his reflection in the large mirror. Yes, his bruised cheek and puffy eye would heal, and heal quickly, as would the stomp marks he had on his ribs. Marly lifted the tattered remains of his t-shirt, grimacing at the bruises that were already yellowing on his rib cage. Just as well he got out of the hospital when he did, because his accelerated healing could have resulted in some awkward questions.

  Getting beaten up for looking gay wasn’t something that bothered Marly too much. He was a wolf shifter, and tougher than he looked. And it wasn’t as though it hadn’t happened before, although this was only the second time since he had left his home pack. But since he had left his pack, and headed south to Florida, he had known he w
as different and he didn’t care who else knew it. He wasn’t going to stop expressing himself, through his clothes and the way he looked, regardless of what others thought about him, or what they thought they knew about him.

  Omegas always got a hard time in a traditional pack, and being male hadn’t helped the situation. Not when most Omega’s were female. He knew he was a rarity, but his previous Alpha had considered him a freak and after one beating too many – okay, he really shouldn’t have been perving on Thomas the Beta wolf after the delicious looking man had shifted – Marly figured it was time to go where he would be appreciated for his cute looks and stunning personality. He didn’t need a pack to keep putting him down all the time.

  But looking at his bright pink t-shirt that used to have the words “Size Queen” blazoned across the front of it in rhinestones, Marly almost wanted to cry. It had been his favorite shirt. There was nothing that could be done to save the top – not a freaking thing. He would just have to throw it out, and Marly cringed at the thought. He took good care of his clothes – mainly because they were so expensive and he didn’t have a lot of money, but he’d gotten lucky more than once in his colorful shirt.

  Snarling, Marly ripped the remains of the t-shirt off his body and threw it to the ground. Slipping out of his skintight jeans was a little harder to do – God, they were going to have to be dry-cleaned to get the grease and stains out of them. More money he didn’t want to spend, but he wasn’t losing a pair of jeans as well as his shirt.

  “All because of those fucking phobic louts,” he muttered as he stepped into the shower. Tipping his head back and letting the hot water flow through his long blond hair, Marly tried to let the tension ease out of his body. He had been having a perfectly lovely day. He’d only worked a half day at his job as retail assistant at Cody’s Corner, a wonderful little men’s boutique that specialized in the latest fashions, so after work, him and Michael, the other shop floor employee, had gone out for a leisurely lunch.