Seeking Sanctuary (Hometown Heroes Book 2)

by J. P. Oliver

  It was little, a series of small gestures.

  Being around him was as intoxicating as drinking and feeling comfortable with him was like a drug. I leaned into his side as we laughed at some ridiculous story Zach was telling, felt him lean back, and knew that whatever we had—proposal or not, adopted kids or not—was good. Our legs touched beneath the table, and our feet grazed. He massaged lightly into my thigh in a way that was both soothing and arousing. I bit down on that, thinking that if we were at home, things would have gotten seriously heavy.

  At one point, I brushed his hand off and took a breath.

  He shot me a questioning look as Curtis went to the bathroom and Zach checked his phone. I craned my neck and he got the picture, leaning in until my lips were brushing his ear.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “If you keep that up,” I whispered, hot and teasing and meaning it. “You’re gonna have to take me home. I’d rather not come in a booth at the Speakeasy if I can help it.”

  We drew back.

  The look on his face: half turned on and half scandalized.

  Zach glanced up from his phone and grinned at us.

  “Hey.” It was Curtis, sliding into the booth. His expression was uneasy, and the feeling spread through the booth like a virus, quick and contagious.

  “What’s wrong?” Zach asked.

  “Winston’s here.”

  “What the fuck?” I huffed, looking at Victor. “You good?”

  We all turned to the bar. Through the passing bodies and oblivious tables, we watched Winston slide out of his jacket—some expensive peacoat that probably cost more than my parents’ mortgage. He sat at the bar alone and ordered indistinctly from the bartender, who didn’t seem too hyped about serving him.

  Once he had a drink in his hand, he glanced over his shoulder at the sea of people, examining until—he paused, eyes glossing over our table. A look of recognition. His gaze was felt all over our booth, like someone shining a spotlight.

  And then it was over; he turned away to enjoy his drink alone.

  Victor breathed out a sigh.

  “What?” I asked, brushing a hand over his back. “He’s not coming over to tell us everything we’re doing wrong with our lives? That’s pretty out of line with his character.”

  “Just give it time,” Victor mumbled.

  Curtis and I looked at each other, and he just shrugged. If Winston was there, that wasn’t a crime. It was just kind of annoying. As long as he kept to himself, though, then we could coexist in the Speakeasy for the rest of the evening in—

  My eyes flew up to the door as it opened, a batch of men pouring in.

  “Oh, fuck me.”

  “Huh?” Zach looked at me; everyone looked at me as I pointed to the front door.

  Four men scanned the crowd, found Winston at the bar, and greeted him. They were men he had no business speaking to, from entirely different worlds. Winston Savage was all clean-cut and smooth, evil lines and manipulative smiles. These men were leather, buff and ragged. Tattooed, unshaven, and wrapped up in jackets ironed down with patches that identified them as members of the Raptors.

  “Who the hell are they?” Victor muttered.

  “Raptors,” I said, voice tight.

  Zach and Curtis looked confused. “Raptors?”

  “A rival motorcycle group,” Victor explained.

  “A bunch of pricks, more like.” I watched them exchange words carefully.

  “What the hell are they doing in North Creek talking to him?” Curtis asked.

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s no good,” I said.

  As if by some cinematic cue, Winston nodded over his shoulder, and the Raptors followed that gesture, turning and glaring—directly at our table. The older of the four exchanged a few more words with Winston, never taking his eyes off of me.

  Deja vu, I thought, stomach twisting. This time I had backup, but I knew how ruthless the Raptors could be. There were a lot of people around. If they decided to fight, it could get ugly—and the last thing I wanted was for Victor to get caught up in something like that.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Curtis asked, tone serious.

  Victor took a sip of beer and stood. “I’m going to find out.”

  Something flashed through me and I gripped his wrist. He looked at me with concern, with a question in his eyes, and I understood what that flash was: a desire to protect him.

  I stood at his side and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

  “Not alone you’re not.”

  21

  Victor

  “Hey,” I called. “Something we can help you boys with?”

  There was little space between me and the clowns who’d just strode in to see my brother—for whatever fucked-up reason. They turned at the sound of my voice, acting like they hadn’t been glaring at us a minute earlier. Four sets of pissy frowns—and then Winston, who was relaxed against the bar with an interested glint in his eye.

  I felt Adrian at my side, arms crossed, imposing.

  One of the men—a redhead with sharp eyes and a thick beard—huffed a laugh and looked me up and down, assessing. “Don’t think so, pal. Why don’t you go on back and mind your own business?”

  “I would,” I said, assessing right back. I was taller than him, which gave me a slight, looming edge. I didn’t like being mean or scary, but if I had to, I could hold my own. “But you’ve been staring awfully hard at me, my boyfriend, and my friends, which makes it my business.”

  The man chuckled and glanced at Adrian. “We don’t got a problem here unless you’re looking to make one. Friend.”

  Pointedly, on that condescending word, he nudged me hard in the chest with his fingers. It wasn’t enough to topple me or even move me, but the suggestion was there: we’ll fight if you want to. Just give us a good reason.

  That was the wrong answer.

  “I’m sure you boys know that North Creek’s a neutral zone for clubs,” I said, glancing at Winston. “Don’t know if you’re all from around here, but I know he is, just like I know he’s fully aware that any club coming into town with the intent to cause trouble can be fined and jailed. An old county law of ours, since our grandfather ran this town, when he didn’t put up with the likes of any group or gang throwing their weight around.”

  Winston’s interest turned to steel, sharp and cutting.

  His eyes said what his mouth wouldn’t: fuck you.

  “No, actually,” the redhead said, glancing at his boys with irritation. “We didn’t know that. I think that might have been of interest to us, don’t you, Mr. Savage?”

  “Maybe,” Winston said, sipping his drink. “Then again, who said you had the intent to cause trouble?”

  “No trouble here,” the redhead added, leaning back against the bar. “The boys and I are just passing through. Had to have a chat with our lawyer here, is all, and he said this place was as good as any.”

  Winston smiled his hundred-watt smile, the picture of fake innocence. Beneath that smile was scheming, a mind working overtime to fuck with me and everyone else in our family. Knowing Winston was consorting with outlaws, with criminals like the type that ran in the Raptors, was worrying. I wanted to grab him by his shirtfront and shake the truth out of him, but I couldn’t.

  I could only nod at them, knowing whatever he was planning was no good.

  “All right,” I said, a warning as Adrian and I turned back to our booth. “Just reminding you all.”

  “Right,” the redhead said, clearly not meaning it. “Thanks for the advice.”

  Winston and I locked eyes.

  With a thin smile, he turned towards his new friends. “Enjoy your drinks.”

  “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  Adrian grabbed the front of my unbuttoned coat and grinned up at me. We were standing close in the parking lot of the Speakeasy, braced against the nighttime chill. A few feet away, Curtis and Zach were climbing into their car, waiting for Adrian to catch up.

/>   “Yeah,” he hummed, our chests brushing, sharing the warmth. “My folks know how to take care of me. Besides, without the brace and all, I’m not that hard to take care of. My mom keeps bugging me to come over and watch every episode of Lost with them so I can explain what’s going on.”

  I laughed and he rolled his eyes.

  “I don’t mind driving you,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Babe, it’s out of the way. And it’s just for tonight.”

  I tipped my head down to meet his in a goodnight kiss, reveling in the flick of his tongue as it dipped past my lips, the piercing grazing my own tongue. With a soft groan, I palmed his ass and gave it a playful squeeze.

  “Mmkay, lover boy.” With a snort, he pushed me back. “And I promise there’ll be plenty of that when I see you tomorrow.”

  “Promise?” I asked, backing towards my car, hands in my pockets.

  Adrian flipped me off. “Only if you send me a really good sext tonight.”

  With a laugh, I turned and waved over my shoulder. “We’ll see.”

  “I mean it, Victor!” he shouted, not caring who heard. “Something filthy! Like, really raunchy! Like, super fucked up—!”

  “Okay!” I shouted back, watching as he tugged open the back door. “Got it!”

  With a wink, I watched Adrian slip into my brother’s car, disappearing as they peeled out of the parking lot, lights fading into the black of the woods. My car pulled in the other direction, headed up the hill. With only one beer spread throughout the night, I was feeling fine and in control, more drunk off of the idea of what tomorrow would bring with Adrian. I could still taste him on my lips.

  It was a distracting thought, enough that I didn’t realize I was being followed until it was too late.

  Their lights were the first things I saw in my side mirrors. At first, through the overgrown branches and curves in the road, I thought it was just one car. And then the headlights split apart, wove in and out of each other; not one car, but four motorcycles.

  The men from the bar.

  Anxiety pulsed through me, but I kept calm, kept my hands even on the wheel. They were probably just leaving the bar, too, and taking a ride out in the hills. It was fine; it was just a coincidence.

  I thought of Winston and his curling smile, the veneer of something pleasant plastered over what I knew he really was inside: something vulgar and ugly and twisted.

  Coincidences were never just coincidences when Winston was involved.

  The bikes advanced. I pressed the gas, edged my speed higher and higher until it felt unsafe and unnecessary; whatever pace I tried to set, the bikers matched and exceeded. The next best strategy was to do the opposite: drop back and let them pass, throw them off. As I let off the gas and pumped the brakes, they parted.

  I dropped back through them as they accelerated, too late to realize my mistake.

  They were hedging their bets on me slipping up, on me losing speed around a turn or something, but I’d just handed it to them. I pumped the gas harder, but they were swerving around me: two at the back, two at my left side. They pressed me up against the guardrail. I struggled to keep it on the road, to keep the car off the shoulder without running into one of them.

  The hill sloped down hard.

  The guardrail dropped into nothing, letting out into the bumped, uneven woods.

  The bikes swerved in, the lightning strike in this perfect storm, and it was enough to knock me off the shoulder—for the uneven turf to take hold of my wheels and launch me sideways. I was going too fast to stop.

  My body shook as the car dipped hard on a ditch, and bucked up again at its swell. The brakes were pressed to the floor, but it did no good—it was all a fraction too late, over the line of being able to stop what end I was hurtling towards.

  My body lurched, a shockwave of pain, and slammed hard against the seat. The airbag burst, a flash of off-white in the dashboard light, followed by the sound; for a split second, the Earth sounded like it was being split in two, all metal and hot collision, as the front of my car crunched against the hard trunk of a pine.

  As immediate as the explosion of sound came, it passed.

  In the aftermath of the crash, the world was astoundingly silent. I could hear the soft sounds of nature, undisturbed—the crickets in the grass, the hush of cool wind in the trees—the hiss of something in the car, and the drone of motorcycle engines, ripping and disappearing in the dark.

  Pain thumped through me with every rapid beat of my heart. As I moved my arm, every muscle felt sore and locked. I blinked against it all, glancing at my cracked windshield—and the splintered tree it was accordioned against. Glass dusted my jeans and jacket.

  “H… help,” I muttered, though there was no one around to hear the whisper. “Fuck…”

  Slowly, I brushed along the console, searching for my phone—nothing. Unbuckling was a slow and painful process—something in my hand felt all wrong, the joints sore and bruised—and as soon as I was free, I slumped forward against the airbag. It was like a pillow. I let my cheek rest against it, my consciousness fluttering.

  No, some part of me coached. No, no, where’s your phone? Find it.

  I stretched, my arm hanging at my leg. Fingers brushed through the glass on the floor until it found a small rectangular object: a phone. My phone. As I drew it up, I nudged one of the small glowing buttons. Speed dial.

  “Adrian,” I murmured as it rang.

  Everything felt so far away. Adrian, when the ringing stopped, sounded like he was speaking through several panes of glass.

  “Hey, babe,” he said. “What’s up? Couldn’t stay away—?”

  “Adrian…”

  Silence. “Victor?”

  “I’m… I need you to call someone.”

  “Victor, hold on, hold on.” I heard him swear under his breath. “Victor, where are you?”

  “My car…”

  “Victor. Hey, stay awake, babe. Stay awake, you hear me?”

  “Okay,” I breathed. “Okay…”

  It was the last thing I said before the phone slipped from my limp fingers.

  22

  Adrian

  “Fuck.”

  I ripped my phone from my ear, shaking it and repeating that word over and over again, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” as if it were a mantra—as if any of that would help in the moment. Panic was setting in, poison that curled through me mercilessly. The other end of the line was silent, no doubt not dead.

  But Victor might be.

  I shoved the thought away before it could make me sick.

  No, I argued, pressing the phone desperately to my ear, he’s not fucking dead. Shut up.

  I listened carefully, desperate for a sign of life. With any luck, Victor had just fallen asleep—not that that was lucky, but at least it meant he was still alive. Still breathing.

  But for how long?

  “Fuck,” I huffed, guilt creeping in as I clutched my cell phone. “Victor, I’m coming to find you, okay? I just have to hang up, but stay awake for me. Stay—”

  Alive. Stay alive, please.

  I swallowed and urged myself to hang up before I lost my nerve.

  “Adrian?”

  My mother’s voice came from the doorway of the darkened kitchen. I cast her a quick look over my shoulder as she flipped on the lights. Her expression changed in the light, once she caught a glimpse of mine. I must have looked fucking wild and afraid.

  “Adrian,” she said again. “What’s wrong—”

  I didn’t answer. I just dialed with shaky fingers and pressed the phone to my ear, feeling hopeful, feeling the cruel slipping of the seconds through my fingers.

  “Hello?” A groggy voice.

  “Wyatt,” I said, desperate. “It’s Adrian, your—”

  “Adrian?” He groaned on the other end of the line. “You got any idea how late it is? I was fucking sleeping, so this better be important—”

  “It’s your cousin,” I snapped. I didn’t have time for t
his; Victor didn’t have time for this. “Victor called. I think he got into some sort of accident on the way home from the Speakeasy. I’m headed out there now to see if I can find him, but—”

  “I’ll meet you there.” He sounded instantly awake. A shot of adrenaline injected straight. “Just—fuck, give me ten minutes.”

  The line went dead. I turned to my mother and Robert, who were collected in the doorway, watching; they’d heard everything. It showed, their faces a picture of terror and worry.

  “Son,” Robert started.

  I grabbed the keys to my truck off the kitchen table, pushing past them. “I have to go.”

  “Adrian—”

  “I need to go now,” I cut.

  Robert grabbed my shoulder, the old lines of his face set, serious.

  “We’ll follow,” he said.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m going. The sheriff’s coming, too, and I’ll call Dr. Walker. Can you guys just stay here? I’ll come back, I—”

  My words cut off as he pulled me into a tight, reassuring hug.

  “Good luck,” he said, meaning every word. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

  I started with his house.

  Some stupid part of me wanted him to just be there when I pulled up to the driveway; for him to come out onto the porch with a beer and a dumb, confused, sweet grin. For him to laugh and pull me close and tell me I was worrying too much and that he was fine.

  I swallowed around the lump in my throat as I pulled up to the house and found the driveway abandoned.

  “Fuck.”

  I pressed hard on the gas, whipped out onto the road, and headed back towards town. The thing with North Creek was that there were always a few different ways to get from one place to another, a series of backroads and unpaved shortcuts. But for Victor’s house, high up on the mountainous border of North Creek, there was only one road.