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eBook Category: Erotica/Suspense/Thriller
eBook Description: Revealing Novel of Low-Riders and High-Flyers! From the author of the Predators and Editors top five pick, Trail of Seduction, a wild novel of bikers and biker babes. When Jake Edmonds, a road weary biker/loner, rolls into a small town, hoping to find some work and maybe a place to hang his helmet, he finds more trouble than he bargained for and meets two women who will change his life. Before the sun sets, he goes into a partnership with the Police Chief, Dave Pickett, an old biker buddy. Then a mysterious stripper named Crash, shows up at his door offering her services. Jack's surprised by how much she knows about him. She warns him about Pick and tells him of her lover, BJ, the previous owner and how Pick had him thrown in prison. The pair strike up a partnership that's sealed with much more than a kiss. Three months later, the Foxy Cock opens for business, and is a huge success. Then, one day, both Crash and Tiny, Pick's wife, appear in Jake's garage, and put on an erotic show, the likes of which he's never seen before. But, when the bar proves too big a success, the city tries to close it down and the partnership with Pick takes a nasty turn. Soon Jake finds himself falling in love with the mysterious, erotically talented Crash, threatened with violence by the sheriff, trapped in a deadly snare of intrigue and murder with ties in high places. Find out why Sensual Romance Reviews hails D. Musgrave's erotic novels, "An emotional roller coaster of needs, desires, doubts and rewards." Cover: Mia Jennings

eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, Published: 2005
Fictionwise Release Date: September 2005

6 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.0 MB], eReader (PDB) [187 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [170 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [151 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [180 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [204 KB], hiebook (KML) [451 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [244 KB], iSilo (PDB) [139 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [173 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [232 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [221 KB]
Words: 56610
Reading time: 161-226 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

I'd been on the road so long I didn't remember having a home, a place to call my own. After I'd finished my tour of duty in the Army, I took my enlistment money, bought a bike, and rode for years. Although my jacket's covered with patches from several gangs, I was loyal only to my bike, the open road, and my freedom. For more years than I cared to admit, I'd bumped around the western U.S., just my custom chopper, the asphalt ribbon, and me. Of course, there'd been the occasional female that I'd shacked up with for a few weeks, but none of them interfered with my desire not to feel tied to one place. Sure, I'd thought about settling down, but I figured it would be a disaster.

One hot day, with the sun turning my leathers into a sauna, I rolled into Alamosa. As I rode through town, I was amazed at how many statues of miners I saw. It seemed that almost every corner had some kind of memorial to the mining history of the area.

I stumbled onto Alamosa by accident, I'd heard from some bikers in Albuquerque that an old riding buddy of mine was living in town. I wasn't sure why, but I decided to find Ol' Pick and see if he could help me find a place to get some work and crash for a bit. I had no way of knowing that he had settled down.

Dave Pickett and I ran together for a while, back in the 80s. We'd broken a few hearts, and more than a few bones. Seldom had a day passed that one of us wasn't in trouble with some form of the law or some dude and his old lady.

We went our separate ways one strange day just outside of Provo, Utah. Pick got us into a load of trouble and we had to split up or both be caught. We didn't part on the best of terms, in fact, we almost came to blows over the whole ordeal. I may have been a crazy young buck, but a thief I wasn't. Somehow, I managed to make it east to Sioux Falls before the law hauled me in. Luckily for me, the evidence didn't point to me and they had to let me go.

That was the last I saw of Pick. Our paths never crossed once, in the following ten years. The last I'd heard of him, he was shacking up with some hot mama in Alamosa, but that was back in '89.

After tooling around town for an hour looking at the mining memorials, I stopped at a likely spot to grab a beer or twelve. The "Wounded Grizzly" seemed like a sufficiently seedy bar, especially for the likes of an old worn-out biker looking for a place to park his butt for a spell. I'd always had an attraction to places that most people called dumps. To me they seemed as close to a home as I'd ever had. The more run down the bar, the better. It didn't hurt that the sign on the front of the building advertised "Dancing Girls."

Just as I dismounted, a white Suburban with a star on the side, pulled up and a mean-looking cop with a barrel chest stepped out of the driver's side of his truck. He took one look at me and said, "Jake Edmonds? Is that you? Why you old fucker. What're you doing here?"

I pulled off my sunglasses and took a good look at the man in the brown uniform. After a few moments, I placed the voice. It was Pick. He was the Police Chief. "Don't you look respectable? How did you manage to pull this off?" I asked, pointing at his uniform and the shiny white Suburban.

He chuckled and looked over the top of his shades. "If I told you that, I'd have to ... well, you know the rest."

"You still on duty?" I asked.

"Does it matter? I'm the law. Who's gonna stop me?"

"Good Ol' Pick. Haven't changed a bit," I said, as we headed into the bar.

The inside of the bar was the standard-issue dark interior with unfinished wood floor and a couple of pool tables in the back. It could have been any bar in any town. Its only bright spot was the young tart dancing on the stage for no one in particular.

I'd seen so many women naked dancing that I shouldn't have noticed her, especially since she was wearing pasties and a G-string. But she had a look about her that caught my attention. I wasn't sure if it was the way she moved, or the way she looked, but I felt a stirring in the crotch of my denims. Apparently, I'd been staring at her and I felt a punch on my left shoulder. "You still with me? Shit, you'd think you hadn't seen a naked chick before."

I shook my head and pulled my gaze away from her, "I guess you caught me on that one. It's been a while," I lied. I'd left a sure thing a few days earlier for the road. She'd told me she loved me, so I had to bail on her; I wasn't ready for that sort of commitment.

"C'mon, let's have a few and shoot some pool. She isn't worth it."

"Is she trouble?"

"That's her middle name. I can't even count the number of wrecked lives she's left behind. Crash eats bikers for breakfast. The bigger and meaner, the better."

My interest rose, I took another look at her and she noticed. Her response was to drop to her hands and knees with her backside facing me. Looking over her shoulder, she watched my reaction as she pulled the crotch of her panties to the side and revealed her pussy and ass. I sighed as I saw her pierced clit and her ass gaping slightly, inviting me to insert my tongue, fingers, or whatever.

I glanced at Pick to see if he'd seen her showing her sex. I knew that in Colorado it was illegal for a bar to serve alcohol if girls are dancing nude. She obviously knew the law as well for when I turned back to her, she'd covered herself again and winked at me.

I was surprised to see such a hot dancer in a dump like the Wounded Grizzly. She had the looks and moves of those high-dollar girls in Vegas--a tight, muscular body and liquid hips.

Pick said, "Dammit, Jake, pay attention! You want to break or not?"

Again, I tore my eyes away from her body. "You break. I need a cue."

Pick chuckled and said, "Looks like you've already got one."

I looked down and the bulge was more than a little obvious, even through the jeans and leather chaps. I wondered why she'd had such an effect on me. It wasn't like I was hard up for some pussy.

The crash of ivory balls broke my gaze from the blonde hottie on the stage. The break was loud, and I turned in time to see the red three-ball drop into the corner pocket as the rest scattered around the threadbare blue felt. "Looks like I've got the little balls this time," Pick joked.

"You've had the little balls for as long as I can remember," I said.

"Fuck you, you old bastard. I'll run your ass in for disrespecting the law."

"I'm real scared."

He lined up another shot and I turned my attention back to the stage. The blonde was gone and some other woman was up there working very hard, but getting little action. I scanned the dimly lit bar and couldn't see her anywhere. Shrugging my shoulders, I turned back and watched Pick miss an easy shot.

"Nice, you been practicing?"

Pick grumbled under his breath and threw back a gulp of lukewarm beer. "What have you been up to lately? Nothing good, I bet."

"You know, same shit, different shit-town."

"Aren't you getting tired of the road yet?"

"A little. I just don't see myself settling down, getting hitched, and becoming respectable."

"Neither did I, but we're not getting any younger. Besides, you get used to knowing where you're sleeping, eating, and fucking."

I'd sunk three striped balls without a hitch and looked up at Pick. "What are you driving at anyway?"

"Just thought you might be in the mood for something more permanent."

Leaning on the table, I looked hard at him. "Buddy, I know you. What do you have up your sleeve?"

"The locals would prefer it if guys like you had a place of their own--outside of town. They're scared of you biker types. Even though y'all are a bunch of teddy bears, they believe the stereotypes."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Don't you think it's a bit of a fluke that I pulled up right behind you?"

"Now that you mention it..." I lined up a shot and missed.

"I got four calls about a stranger on a bike cruising town. To keep them happy, I tracked you down, and here we are."

"Are you telling me I need to leave and not let the sun set on my ass?"

"Maybe. Depends on your plans."

"I don't have plans. Never do. You know that."

Pick shook his head and looked up from the pool table. "Don't you think it's time you started to plan?"

I sighed and leaned against the wall. "Pick, I've got to tell you that, I am tired of always moving from town to town. But I've burned so many bridges, I've got no place left to go."

"You haven't burned any in Alamosa--yet."

"That's why I'm here. But what're you driving at?"

Pick leaned his pool cue in the corner and took a pull on his beer. "There's an abandoned bar just outside town that used to be quite a biker hangout. Better yet, let me show you." He pulled out a large wad of money, peeled off a twenty, and dropped it onto the table. "Let's go. I'll drive."

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to a rundown building just beyond the city limits. The gravel parking lot had clumps of grass sprouting up in random clusters. A scattering of smaller buildings surrounded the backside of the main building. One looked like a garage, another a small shop, and the last a small house. "Nice," I said.

"Give it a chance, Jake. Go have a look."

The inside of the dusty old bar reminded me of the ghost towns I'd used as campsites. Dust-covered tables and chairs were scattered around the barroom floor, and cobwebs decorated the walls, corners, and windows. It smelled of stale beer and sex. "What happened to this place?" I asked.

"Drugs and prostitution. It all caught up with the owner."

"Is that why I smell pussy?"

"Probably. The last few months this place became a whorehouse."

"How long has it been shut down?"

"Are you interested?"

"Hell, I don't have the money to buy this place."

Pick chuckled. "Don't worry about money, I'll take care of that."

"You want to back the bar?"

"Officially, no. But that's the plan."

"So, if I choose to do this, I'd be beholden to you and the law."

"You would anyway."

"Not necessarily, this place is outside the city limits, you can't touch me."

"All I've got to do is ask the council to annex the bar, and you're mine."

"When did you become the corrupt backwater Police Chief?"

"Easy, big fella. Them's fighting words," he smiled, and looked away.

"You know I don't like cops. To go into business with one, even you, makes me nervous." I walked away from the bar and stood near the raised platform that looked like it used to be a stage.

"That's what makes this perfect. No one would suspect a thing." He turned and headed around behind the bar into the back. I followed him into the kitchen and found that it was as run down as the front.

A rat ran across the grease-stained floor and disappeared behind a cabinet. "I've never run a bar before. Hell, I don't know the first thing about it. All I've ever done is work on bikes."

"You've been in bars enough that you can figure it out."

I looked around the kitchen and realized that the place needed a lot of work. The floor had several planks missing and the walls were covered in mold. "How does this plan work, if I agree to it?"

"It's easy. You clean up the place, make it presentable, and I give you the cash to pay for everything."

"Where does a Cop get that kind of cash?"

Pick looked at me with a hard glare. "Let's just say, I've invested well."

I'd heard that before, years earlier when we first met. He was riding a newly customized chopper with no source of income. When he told me that back then, I knew he meant that it was none of my business. I knew it was still true.

"So how do I repay you?"

"I'll keep track of what you owe me and I get fifty percent of the take."

"Sounds like a sweet deal, for you."

"I'm taking all the risk here. You could decide to move on and I'd be left with this bar and no income from it."

"I do all the work and you get half the money." I grumbled and walked across the kitchen floor and looked out the back window. At the back end of the lot was a small house. It didn't look any better than the inside of the bar looked.

"Half of the profits." Pick leaned against the stove and crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm not stupid, you need to pay the bills for the bar and staff first, then I get my cut."

"What's to keep me from cheating on the books?" I asked, not turning away from my view of the gravel lot behind the building.

"You'll use my accountant."

I shook my head and looked at Pick. "You've got this all worked out, don't you? A neat little package."

"I can't be Police Chief forever. I need something to fall back on."

"You can't expect me to believe that this little town can afford to pay you the kind of money we're talking about."

"Let's just say that I've got other irons in the fire. But this could be quite the cash cow; you've got to admit it's a win-win for all."

"It does sound like a sweet deal, but I'm still hung up on you having final say in what I do here."

"I'll tell you what. You run the bar within the boundaries of the law and I'll keep my nose out of the business. Does that sound better to you?"

As we walked back into the main barroom, I stepped onto the stage and looked out over the dusty bar. The place had potential, and it did seem to be right up my alley. "What about the garage? Would you let me take some of the profits and open up a repair shop?"

Pick brushed the dust off a stool with his hat and plopped down. Looking out the windows facing the garage, his head dropped and he let out a heavy sigh. He fingered the handle on his sidearm. "That would make my cut smaller. I don't know."

"I need something to fall back on too. What if the bar fails? What do I do then? I can fix any bike and if we can attract riders to drink beer, we could get more to have their bikes maintained and repaired."

His hand left the gun and he rubbed his chin. "That does make sense. I may not get as much in the beginning, but the potential is there. Okay, you got a deal."

We shook hands, and in that instant, I became a businessman. I never would have thought that when I rode into Alamosa, I'd make a deal that would take me off the road. Yet there I was, about to start a new adventure. In the back of my head, I knew I'd made the right choice.