Beth was putting the groceries into the trunk of her car when the sound of loud motors filled the late afternoon air. Tensing, she looked over her shoulder and saw the large group of motorcycles pulling into the parking lot. The tiny town of Treepoint had a motorcycle club that had taken over the peaceful town three years ago. Slamming her trunk lid down, Beth quickly opened her car door and got in, closing and locking the door. As she put her keys in the ignition, she watched as the bikers parked closely together.
The Last Riders were a motorcycle club whose actual home location was unknown to the majority of the townspeople. Many believed it to be nestled in the mountains on the border between Kentucky and Virginia. When they got in trouble, as they often did, the two bordering police departments often foisted the crimes onto the others precinct; therefore none of the crimes they were believed to have committed were ever prosecuted. They were growing larger and stronger in force with both bordering communities becoming frightened of the intimidating strangers that lived and played hard. Fortunately, they stayed to themselves and what trouble they got into stayed within their own cloistered group as well as the unlucky bars they picked for the night. The aftereffects would often leave the bar closed days for repairs. Usually one of the members would show up the next day with a wad of cash for the owner plus extra to silence them. It had become a regular source of income for the small business owners.
Beth watched from her car as the large group walked into the store. The men were all dressed in jeans and leather jackets with their emblem on the back. Everyone in the small lot gave them a wide berth, not wanting trouble. Seeing others panic as she had made Beth feel guilty, they had not acted any different than any other shopper going into the small store.
Several women were interspersed throughout the men. As one of the young women laughed, it drew Beth’s attention. Mrs. Langley's granddaughter, Samantha, was walking with her hand through one of the larger men’s belt. His arm was casually draped around her shoulders as he walked beside Samantha while talking to another biker, totally ignoring the scattering patrons. Sam was dressed as Beth had never seen her clothed before, and she had already developed a reputation before the bikers had made their presence known in town. She wore tight jeans that left her hips and stomach bare with a glinting belly ring that drew attention to her flat stomach along with a skimpy top, which left the globes of her breasts bare. Motorcycle boots completed the picture of a biker babe that Beth was sure would give her grandmother heart palpitations.
Sam was several years younger than her and, at nineteen, her body was lithe and firm, unlike Beth’s own short, chunky frame. Beth was not overweight, but because of her small, five-foot stature, the weight seemed to pack on no matter what she ate. Thankfully, her job and exercise kept her from being a pudgy mess. When they entered the store, Beth carefully pulled out of the lot. She was worried for the young girl, though being well acquainted with Sam, she knew she would not appreciate any concern. Beth knew Mrs. Langley would be worried sick if she knew whom her granddaughter was hanging out with while Sam’s father would be furious.
Vincent Bedford was president of the local bank. He was aloof and arrogant, saving his charming demeanor for the upper class of Treepoint society. Beth had talked to him when his mother-in-law had hired her when Mrs. Langley had surprised Beth by asking her to keep up with her finances; her son-in-law had agreed without a second thought. Vincent Bedford was not interested in what little his mother-in-law had, instead he kept busy kissing the ass of every rich and widowed woman in Treepoint. Beth turned onto the small lane that led to Mrs. Langley’s house to drop off the few groceries she had requested. She was already planning ahead to the next assignment awaiting her attention; hopefully she would make it home before dark.
*
“Did you see that?” Razer asked the girl hanging on to his side.
“How could I miss it? She practically jumped into her car she was so scared. I bet she pissed herself.”
Razer laughed and the others close by joined in, having also seen the luscious little blond scurry to her car.
Inside, they split up, gathering supplies for the coming week. Massive amounts of meat, chips and beer filled the three carts to overflowing.
“How are we going to get all this back to the house?” Sam questioned Razer as he pulled out the large denomination bills to pay the exorbitant checkout ticket.
“Maybe we should hire your granny’s scared little mouse to deliver them,” he joked.
“Don’t joke. I bet she ran right to my grandmother’s to tattle on me. Nosy bitch.”
Train walked up behind her, running his hand over her ass and pulling her close to his jutting crotch. They ignored the gawking customers and sales clerk who were not used to such blatant sexual behavior in public.