Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances

by Marissa Dobson

  Hunter strode across the lot toward her car. From his leather vest to the chain hanging from his belt loop, he was the kind of guy her mother warned her about. He slid into the passenger seat. “Do you want me to drive?” he offered.

  “No. I can drive. I’m not drinking tonight.”

  He laughed and stroked his beard. “Not yet.” He seemed more at ease than the night before.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Planning on getting me drunk?”

  The scent of worn leather and a light woodsy cologne filled the car. Letters were tattooed on his knuckles but were partly obscured by the rings he wore.

  He touched his chest. “Me? Never.”

  The clubhouse was only a five-minute drive from the bar. A black wrought iron gate secured the parking lot. Hunter got out and punched a code into a keypad and the gate slid open.

  “Is this part of the club? This welding business?” She pointed at the shop.

  “Yeah. We’re all welders. We do pipelines.”

  That was unexpected. She hadn’t given much thought to what they did in their lives outside of the club. Hunter likely made more money than she did.

  Holly parked in front of the clubhouse and followed him through the covered patio area. A punching bag hung from a steel beam in the center. A few picnic benches sat in a row near the door.

  He pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the deadbolt. A keypad similar to the one outside the gate was on the wall just inside. Hunter punched in another code and flipped a switch. The room lit up with fluorescent lights. A long wooden bar was to the right. Various bottles of liquor lined the mirrored shelves behind it.

  “We can sit at the bar and talk.” Hunter pulled a black leather stool out for her.

  A pinball machine sat in the back corner next to a pool table. The floor shined like it had been recently polished. She had expected a ratty joint with dirt on the floor.

  Holly climbed onto the stool. “Nice place. Better than I expected.”

  Behind the bar, he reached up for two glasses. The back of his vest bore the name of the club in white embroidery on black patches. The cracked skull in the center was offset by dark blue pistols. The attention to detail was done really nice.

  He smirked and put the glasses on the counter. “What did you expect? A tree house?”

  She laughed. “No. I just thought…maybe it would be dirty.”

  “Common misconception. We’re not pigs. That’s not to say that all clubhouses are like this. I’ve been in some that make a college dorm room look like Caesar’s palace.”

  “What’s in there?” She motioned toward the double wooden doors on the other side of the room.

  “That’s the chapel. Where we do God’s work.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you all do a lot of that.”

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  “I don’t think I’ll drink. But thanks.”

  “I can make you a virgin margarita.”

  She put her hand on her purse. “That would be fine.”

  He poured the green liquid into one glass and dropped a lime and a cherry into it. He slid it toward her. “You can put your pepper spray on the counter between us if it makes you more comfortable. After last night, I’m probably more afraid of you than you are of me though.” A sly smirk crept across his face. The other glass was filled with Maker’s Mark.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be. You’re smart. You take care of yourself. I’m totally cool with that.” He lit a cigarette and tossed the pack on the counter. “Help yourself.”

  She took one out and put it to her lips. He flipped the silver Zippo open and put the flame underneath. His eyes were the color of coffee and his skin was smooth save for the beard. Tattoos climbed up both of his arms and disappeared under the sleeves of his white T-shirt.

  “So, what do you want to know about the club?” Hunter blew smoke up toward the ceiling.

  “You want to make a favorable impression, correct?” A blue glass ashtray was just out of her reach and Hunter slid it toward her. She flicked the ash off the cigarette.

  “Yeah. I mean I’d rather you not write this article at all, but if you’re going to I don’t want the headline to be about last night.”

  “We don’t always get what we want, but give me a summary of what a motorcycle club is.”

  “We’re a group of guys who like bikes. Most of us are vets. We do charity work. We run businesses.”

  “What kind of businesses do you run?”

  “We have the welding shop and the bar.”

  “The club owns the bar?”

  “Yes.”

  “What made you think I was writing an article about the club?”

  “Why else would a reporter drive an hour into a shitty neighborhood to come to the Devil’s Lair?”

  “How did you know I was a reporter?”

  “Next question.” He smiled. His front teeth overlapped slightly and gave his smile character.

  “What kind of charity work do you do?”

  “We’ll be at the music and arts fundraiser in Austin next weekend.” He swigged his whiskey. “You must have a stellar memory.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “You’re not taking any notes.” He leaned over the counter. “I hate to ask this question again, but why are you here?”

  He wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t writing a news article. She hit the cigarette. “For the experience.” The cherry floated in her drink and she rubbed her thumb over the condensation on the glass. “Can you make this not virgin?”

  “Sure.” He added a finger of Patron. “Good?”

  “Yes.” She swirled the glass to mix it and took a big drink. “Does that pinball machine work?”

  “If you have quarters it does.”

  “Let me see.” She reached for her wallet.

  “I’m kidding. You just press the button underneath for credits. Do you want to play?”

  “I do.”

  Without the bar separating them, Holly wasn’t sure she trusted herself. His cell phone rang.

  “Yeah?” he answered it and reached under the pinball machine. “Go for it.”

  The machine dinged and the lights spelled out KISS above the painted faces of the band members. She smiled and pulled the plunger to send the silver ball into the game. Then it rolled straight down the middle. The flippers missed it entirely.

  “Fuck.” Another ball dropped into the chute and she sent it out. It bounced off the bumpers. The machine dinged more and the lights blinked on and off. This time she was able to smack the ball with the flipper. “Yes!”

  “I’ll catch you later,” Hunter said before tucking the phone back into his pocket. He stood beside the machine and looked at her. “Have you ever played pinball before?”

  “No. Everything’s digital now.” Her concentration was interrupted when he moved in behind her. The ball went straight down again. “Damn it.”

  “Here.” Hunter inched up closer and put his hands over hers. “Let me show you something.” He pulled the plunger and used her fingers to press the buttons for the flippers. When the ball rolled down the center again, he jerked the machine a little to the left and hit the right flipper. The ball careened back up into the game and bounced off the bumpers.

  “If you do that too hard, you’ll tilt the machine. Not hard enough and it won’t do anything.”

  The ball slid into one of the outer alleys and the game ended.

  Holly turned around to face him.

  He stared down at her. “Wanna play again?”

  “No.”

  “If you’re not writing an article, what kind of experience were you looking for tonight?” His tongue swiped over his bottom lip.

  Before she could answer, the sound of an engine revving outside caused him to turn toward the bank of windows at the front of the club. The wood shutters splintered and exploded and it sounded like someone lit a package of firecrackers.

  Hunte
r grabbed her by the arm and threw her on the ground. She screamed and he covered her mouth. The ring on his pinkie cut into her chin. “Shhh,” he hissed. He covered her body with his as bullets whistled above them. The glass on the pinball machine shattered and small shards bounced off the wood floor.

  Holly’s mouth went dry. She flinched with every pop sound. The metallic-sulfur scent of burnt gunpowder made her nose itch and tingle.

  Hunter wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her like a rag doll toward the double doors of the chapel. He opened one and pushed her inside. She stumbled and landed hard on her ass. A shock of pain shot up her spine and she sneezed.

  “Lock this door and get under the table. Don’t come out until I tell you to. Understand?”

  The lump in her throat blocked her voice and she nodded in agreement. When he slammed the door, she threw the bolt and lay flat on her belly to slide under the table. She squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t quite the experience she had in mind when she agreed to meet him.

  There was more gunfire, more glass breaking. She trembled and scratched her nails against the floor and inhaled the lemony scent of the polish. What would she do if he didn’t come back? What if whoever was shooting at them found her? Suddenly, there was silence.

  “Motherfucker!”

  She thought it was Hunter’s voice but she didn’t trust her senses at the moment. Her ears were ringing and her heart beat so hard she could hear it in her head.

  Someone pounded on the door. “Open up.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “No. Go away.”

  “Holly. It’s Hunter. Unlock the door.”

  Her body wasn’t cooperating with her brain and she was afraid she might pee herself. “Take a deep breath. Slide yourself out. Open the door.” She talked herself through it until she stood in front of the door.

  “Holly?”

  Her hand shook as she turned the bolt.

  Hunter grabbed her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Chapter Five

  The cops came and went like they always did. It was common knowledge that the club settled its own debts. Their standard response to investigators was, “I didn’t see anything.”

  But Hunter did see something. After he pushed Holly into the Chapel, he had unloaded a fifteen round mag into an inky black Cadillac with tinted windows. The dude in the ski mask hanging out of the passenger side window had failed to pull his sleeve down. Tattoos were great identifiers.

  Not only had the prick shot up the clubhouse, but he had just elevated Holly’s liability level. She was a reporter with one hell of a firsthand account. Even worse, if they had taken down her license plate, they could likely find her just as easily as Hem had.

  Hunter didn’t have to ask her to lie to the police, she had nothing to tell. She hadn’t seen the car. Most of the Knights of War crew arrived within minutes but had been made to wait outside the gates while the Dallas PD worked their magic on the scene. Bullets and shell casings from a gun that had never been registered in the states would net them little to go on. The rain didn’t help their cause either.

  An emergency meeting was called and the men filed into the chapel for the second time that day. One of the prospects was tasked with keeping an eye on Holly while the patch holders went behind closed doors. The two other prospects were on security detail, watching the front gate in case the douche bags decided to come back.

  Paul sat at the head of the table and rubbed a hand over his bald head. “What do we know?”

  Hem tapped away on his laptop. “I’m checking our gate security to see how they accessed it.”

  “You didn’t hear them drive in?” Paul looked to Hunter.

  “No. I didn’t see or hear anything until they started shooting.”

  “What about Vicki Vale out there? She see anything we need to be worried about?”

  “Nah. As soon as the blasting started, I covered her.”

  “And what exactly is she doing here?” Paul asked. He was somewhere in his fifties but worked out like a beast. The sleeves of his T-shirt strained around his biceps.

  “Damage control,” Hunter replied.

  “Well, now you have more damage control to do.”

  “I talked to her before the cops got here. She didn’t see anything.”

  Paul leaned forward. “You know, she could be an asset to this club.”

  Hem looked up over the screen of his computer and raised an eyebrow.

  Hunter tapped his fingers on the table. “How so?”

  “A favorable mention in her column occasionally. Might do some good for our rep.”

  “You think a couple of lines on the third page of the entertainment section is going to clean up thirty years of dirty?” Hunter laughed.

  “No. But couldn’t hurt.”

  “I’ll handle Holly. What are we going to do about this attack?”

  Hem put his hand up. “They bypassed our security by tricking the vehicle detection exit loop.”

  “Come again?” Paul said and squinted his eyes.

  “You know you have to enter a passcode to open the gate from the outside. Well, there’s a sensor under the concrete just inside the gate that detects when a car is leaving. That’s why we don’t have to enter a code to leave. They likely slid a piece of metal under the gate until they triggered the edge of that sensor and the gate opened.”

  “It’s that fucking easy to bypass our security?” Sin asked.

  “Yep.” Hem tucked a strand of black hair behind his ear and winked. “If you’re smart enough to know how.”

  “Can you work on tightening that security up?” Paul asked Hem.

  “Sure thing and we’ll have a contractor out here tomorrow morning to fix the damage in the clubhouse.”

  “Good,” Paul said. He turned toward Hunter. “You’re sure about the tattoo you saw?”

  “Yeah. Green dragon with the ruby.” That specific tattoo was unique to a group of Russians who trafficked and dealt heroin and smack in the Houston area. “My question is, what the hell are they doing in Dallas?”

  Sin scooted his chair back. “Heroin. Money.”

  The Knights of War didn’t deal but they sure as fuck trafficked narcotics. It was a complicated web and Hem filtered the cash through the welding business. Tricky shit.

  Paul twisted the gold ring on his middle finger. “Hem, find out whatever you can about the Russians setting up shop in Dallas. The rest of you guys, be back here early tomorrow morning. We need to iron this out before work.”

  A much calmer Holly stood at the bar with a bottle of water in her hand. “I need to get home, but you have my keys.”

  Hunter moved in close and brushed her hair away from her ear. “Let me drive you home.” The adrenaline still lingered in his body along with frustration and anger for the events of the night. Had the Russians not crashed his party, he was sure he would have fucked her on top of that pinball machine.

  To his surprise, Holly didn’t protest but just nodded. She laced her fingers with his and they walked out.

  The Honda smelled like there was one of those little canned air fresheners under the seat. Orange. Or some kind of citrus. The radio was on low, tuned to a local country station. Holly looked like an upper class country girl who had probably competed in horseback riding or was a cheerleader in high school.

  She was stiff in the passenger seat, her shoulders kind of bunched up.

  Rain splattered on the windshield and he flipped the lever to turn on the wipers. “Is your chin okay?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  “Yeah.” There was an almost indiscernible tremor in her hand as she touched her chin. “It’s fine.”

  “I didn’t mean to drop you that hard.”

  “I know that. A tuck to the chin is better than a bullet in the head though.” Holly looked out the window. “You probably saved my life.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Red lights flashed bright in front
of the car and he checked the mirror before moving into the left lane.

  “How do you live like that?” she asked.

  “You think drive-by shootings are an everyday occurrence?” He laughed. “I can’t tell you when something like that has happened at the clubhouse before. Maybe you’re bad luck, Holly.”

  “I probably am.”

  Hunter patted her leg. “Hey, I’m kidding.”

  “It’s okay.” She put her hand on top of his and squeezed. “I’ve never been in a drive-by before.”

  “Hopefully this was the first and last time.”

  “Not the first time for you?”

  “I’ve been through worse.”

  She trailed her thumb over his rings, pausing on the Operation Iraqi Freedom one.

  All the guys in his unit had the same ring. Thick silver with an eagle in the center. He’d spent more time in Iraq and Afghanistan than he cared to recall. Both were shitholes full of sand, sweat and blood.

  Holly looked up at him. “You were in the war?”

  “Yeah. One tour in Afghanistan and two in Iraq.”

  “Did you see combat?” she asked.

  He nodded. “You could say that.”

  With her being a reporter, he braced himself for a barrage of questions. The most common one was how many people did you kill? He never answered that question. Not even to his family. Part of why he ended up with the Knights of War was because they all had dead bodies under their belts. They all knew what it felt like to pull a tour of duty. They’d all been in combat in one form or another. They were a family.

  “I’m sorry. No one should have to see that,” Holly whispered. “I’m sure it was awful.”

  To her credit, she didn’t pry.

  After the hour long drive, Hunter pulled her car into the driveway. She reached across him to open the garage.

  The door opened into a brightly lit kitchen with shiny stainless steel appliances. The house was probably a graduation present from her parents. He followed her into the living room. A brown suede couch sat in the center of the room facing a flat screen television mounted above a brick fireplace. An intricate area rug covered the polished hardwood floor.