The Biker's Omega (Alpha and Omega 1)

By: Lisa Oliver

Book One: Alpha and Omega Series


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.

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