TRACKING TRISHA - A Black Hounds Motorcycle Club Romance (The Fox and the Hounds Book #1)

by Garland, Fiona

  “Winchester Model 1887,” Dante said proudly, walking up and carefully picking up the antique shotgun from its mantle. “It’s an original model. Been in my family for generations. It even has the hammer marks made from John M. Browning himself.”

  “Wow,” Trisha exhaled, leaning over to inspect the weapon. It was in good condition inspite of the various dents and scrapes it had suffered over the years. “My grandfather was a gun collector. He would’ve liked to have this in his collection.”

  “My grandfather smuggled it in to use for Vietnam,” Dante continued, placing the gun back in its display. “His father used it for World War II in the Pacific Front. You can even go back to the frontiers times and find an Alastair holding this gun.”

  “Does it still work?” Trisha probed as Dante sat with her back on the couch. He felt her knee touch his. The friction between them was electric. “Wait, your apartment let you keep it?”

  “The gun is purely ceremonial since its unloaded and doesn’t even have its firing ring,” Dante answered, hiding the desire swelling inside of him. She looked so lovely in that form-fitting nightgown. “Apartment doesn’t allow functioning firearms. They let me keep it so long as its only good for bludgeoning people.”

  A strange thought appeared to Dante. He wondered what it would be like to have a long term relationship with Trisha. In the past, his relationships with women were usually brief, fleeting encounter. They were driven by sex and physical attraction rather than any substantive emotion.

  As artificial at their relationship was, this was the first time in years Dante felt he had a connection to a woman. The mundane aspects of talking to her and drinking beer felt magical. Yet, he knew so little of this woman who could save or sink his motorcycle club and business.

  Placing her cheek dangerously close to his, Trisha shot a glance at the gun. “Ever think of firing it?”

  “No, I’m not,” he said, a bit more firmly than he had wanted. “This thing is a family heirloom. I don’t ever plan on using it.”

  “Really?”

  “When dad gave it to me… he told me to never fire it. He wanted me to the first of the Alastair men who didn’t live a life of violence. It was supposed to be a symbol of a bygone era for the Alastairs…”

  Her body seemed to go limp. He wasn’t sure if he had frightened her or if she was falling asleep. “I see…”

  “Want me to teach you how to fire a gun?” he offered, not wanting the tone of the night to get too serious. “There’s a firing range not far from our clubhouse. Lucia goes down there from time to time to blow off some steam.”

  Grabbing another chilled bottle of beer, Trisha face broke out into a proud grin. “I’m already a decent marksman if I do say so myself.”

  Dante raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?”

  “Daddy taught me how to use his Varmint Gun,” she answered, sipping her beer. “We get pests every now and then at Foxtail Farms. We used some shotguns as well but I’m more comfortable with a light rifle.”

  Intrigued, Dante locked eyes with her. “Ever have to shoot a pack of wolves before they ate all of your grapefruit?”

  “First of all, wolves don’t eat grapefruit,” she said, rolling her eyes at his lack of agricultural know-how. “Second of all, there aren’t too many wolves around these parts.”

  “What do you have to deal with? Bears? Coyotes? Those giant locusts from the Ten Commandments?”

  Trisha giggled and playfully elbowed his in the shoulder. “Mostly raccoons and some small rodents. But, we do have some foxes.”

  “Explains your farm’s name.”

  “Daddy always told me that every pest bites the food out of our mouths,” her eyes, glistening as if hiding a sea of memories. “Those crops were our lifeline. Each crop we could sell would help keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.”

  “I can tell your father took pest control seriously.”

  “When I was ten, Daddy started to give me more responsibility,” she continued, locking eyes with Dante. There was a primal connection between them as they spoke about the past. “It wasn’t just simple farm chores. He wanted me to help him deal with a pest in one of our greenhouses.”

  “What did he need help with?” Dante asked. “I can’t imagine a ten year chasing off a bear.”

  “Try a fox,” she laughed, their knees touching again. Dante nearly jolted straight up but his guest didn’t notice. “A fox was sneaking into a greenhouse and damaging some of the plants and equipment inside of it. Daddy was too busy with managing the business to deal with it.”

  “What did you do? Stake out with a rifle and wait for the unwelcome guest?”

  “Nope, I set a trap for it,” Trisha answered, finishing her beer. She fetched another one from the bucket. “I made a box and put some bait in it. A mechanism would seal the fox in after it took the bait. It only took one night for it trap that fox.”

  Dante whistled in admiration. “That’s simple and effective. Those eggheads at our R&D department could use someone like you.”

  “So, I caught the fox in my trap,” she said, bittersweet smile on her face. “Then, it was time to deal with it once and for all.”

  “Yikes, the Old Yeller treatment.”

  “No, I rode my bicycle for five miles with the fox still in it’s box,” she continued. “When we were far enough, I let it go. The fox looked at me for a few second and then scurried into the forest.”

  Dante blinked in disbelief. “You let it go?”

  “A fox is the farm’s namesake,” she shrugged. Dante understood the sentiment. The Black Hounds’ charter had a rule against cruelty against dogs. “It just felt wrong to kill it, especially if there was another option. Daddy gave me hell for it since I disobeyed him. He told me the fox could come back and damage our crops again. We didn’t end up speaking for a whole month until mom locked us in a room and got us to work through our issues.”

  Dante’s third beer sat untouched as he listened to her story. “For what’s worth, I think you made the right choice.”

  “It was,” she replied. “A month later, a huge dust storm swept into town.”

  “I heard about that. It happened because of the drought that year.”

  “A lot of farms were hit hard but we got through it without a scratch,” she said, her eyes glinting with wetness. Her hand seemed to instinctively hold onto Dante’s hand. “I told Daddy that the fox had protected us. I thought there would always be some fox spirit out there to protect us…”

  He stroked her hand as he spoke. “I don’t have a bushy tail but I’m here to help you.”

  “Thank you, Dante,” she said, gripping his hand. “Being with you is like having a second wind.”

  “Trisha, I have to tell you something,” Dante said, taking a deep breath. “If we’re going to work together, I have to tell you the truth.”

  The farm girl’s eyes widened in concern. “What’s this about?”

  The biker wetted his lips before speaking. “Do you remember that red skull patch you picked up earlier?”

  She nodded. “That skull with the feathers behind its head?”

  “That was the sign of the Red Aztecs,” he explained, “No member of Black Hounds would ever dare use that for a prank. It came from someone who hates us.”

  “Dante… are you in danger?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper. Her eyes looked alarmed with panic. “Am I in danger?”

  “No, the Red Aztecs are dead,” he said, rubbing his temples. “They disbanded years ago. Their leader went to jail, got out early on good behavior, and became a priest. The lieutenants ended up dead or arrested without parole. Those on the lower rungs joined other outlaw motorcycle clubs or left the business entirely. They’re as good as dead.”

  Trisha cupped her mouth with a hand. “Then who would do such a thing?”

  “I’ve hurt people in the past, Trisha,” Dante said. It was more of a mantra to himself than a statement. “Remember how I told you I went to juv
ie? I got into a fight with an older man. I still managed to beat him into an inch of his life. He went to the hospital. I went to juvie.”

  Trisha brought her hand down and fidgeted with her nightgown. “He was a Red Aztec?”

  “Yes, he was one of the Red Aztecs,” he replied. The biker’s head was spinning. It was the same sensation he got when doing donuts with his bike in an empty parking lot. “The Aztecs don’t have any rules about attacking kids, especially the son of the rival club’s president. More to the point, I was looking for a fight.”

  “Why?” Trisha implored. “Why pick a fight with them?”

  “I was young and angry,” Dante answered, regret tinged in his words. “That’s not a good combination. Then you add a father who might end up in jailed with his brother… and a doctor telling the kid his mom had weeks left to live.”

  No amount of words could assuage his guilt. Yet, Trisha tried. “I’m sorry, Dante-”

  “It’s easier to feel sorry the other guy’s on a stretcher,” he breathed. “I’ve hurt people… and I’ve made enemies because of it. I thought rebuilding the club into an honest business would be fresh start for me as well. But the ghosts of the past won’t stay silent. That Red Aztec patch… it must have come from somebody I hurt.”

  “You were young… it was just a mistake-“

  “When I make mistakes… other people suffer because of it,” he spat back. He didn’t meant to yell at the woman as the words were meant for himself. “I’m just some vortex destroying everything it touches. First, it was mom… how long before it’s Uncle Cass or Lucia? How long before I hurt you?”

  “You’re a good person, Dante,” Trisha said, her eyes clear and focused. She placed a hand on his exposed chest. A fingertip traced the line of his sternum. “I haven’t known you for very long but I know it.”

  “I’m scared, Trisha,” Dante whispered. He felt his heart thunder under her agonizing touch. “I’m scared of screwing up everything. I’m scared of becoming that angry, violent kid again.”

  Trisha took his hand brought it to her face. “Dante, let me in.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him.

  He was so soft.

  Trisha had expected tough skin and hard lips. But he felt as soft and inviting as silk. Even the rasp of his stubble against her face felt as pleasant as using a fine-toothed comb.

  His taste was strangely spicy. She had expected a mixture of liquor and gasoline but found him to be more exotic. His aroma was intoxicating like a drug she was constantly in withdrawal from.

  Trisha embraced Dante and locked her hands behind his back. Her lover picked her up and placed her on his lap. Neither of them were sure of how to position themselves as the two twisted and turned on the couch. Her foot knocked an empty beer bottle off the table in their erotic clash.

  The reasonable part of her was taken to the back of her mind. It was the part of her that argued that this encounter wouldn’t end in a happy ending. This was dangerous and he would bury her with him.

  Then, it was promptly executed by her mind’s firing squad.

  Dante Alastair was a kindred spirit. He had lost his parents and inherited their legacy. They had both struggled to find their place in this unforgiving world. He had wealth and power but there was a hole in his heart which she wanted to fill.

  There was desperation in the man as he passionately kissed her. His tongue trailed the dull edge of her teeth. His hands stroked the sides of her body. They felt her soft flesh swell in-between its fingers.

  The man led her onto her back without breaking their kiss. His mouth suckled her lower lip. Draping his body over hers, he trailed his kisses down onto the valley in-between her clothed breasts. Her flesh pulsed with pleasure wherever he made his mark. She ground her hips against him with wanton desire. Their clothing felt as confining as the Berlin Wall.

  Trisha pulled at the lip of his pants. Momentarily pausing, Dante helped her take off his jeans. Soon, she saw the bulge of his erection against his briefs.

  The man looked so primal like desire itself given flesh and blood. His body was muscular and beautiful as the motorcycle he rode. There was a hunger and deep sense of longing on his chiseled face. He had shed all pretenses of being a temperate CEO.

  For once in her life, Trisha wanted to be selfish and enjoy the moment for what it was. The consequences could wait until tomorrow. She wanted this sexy biker to make love to her.

  Breaking away him for a moment, she lifted the nightgown over her head and exposed her nude body. Her hair momentarily blinded her as Dante took cupped the swell of her breasts. His fingers gently pinched her unbearably stiff nipples.

  The biker kissed her again. His tongue knifed through her like a blade wielded by an expert assassin. This time, it was as savage as their first kiss had been serene. Trisha’s muffled cries turned into moans of passion. His weather-beaten palms rasped against the soft flesh of her breasts.

  The man was like a wanderer discovering an oasis. His lips drank in the bounty that was her body. Trisha felt like the sweetest nectar as she whispered to her lover. “Dante…”

  It sounded like the end of a prayer. There was so much hope and yearning in that one word. It was enough to stop him and make him marvel at her.

  “Trisha,” he said, his eyes utterly spellbound by her. “Do you want me to stop-“

  She pressed her body against his. His clothed erection rasped against her thigh. The man groaned as Trisha rubbed her body against his. The biker’s body grew stiff with tension as she spoke. “No… I want you inside of me. I want you to fuck me.”

  Trisha found her words to be so alien. She was a soft-spoken woman who rarely used such dirty language. Dante had awoken something deep and primal in her.

  She tugged at Dante’s briefs and took them down his toned legs. His freed shaft pressed against the muscular panes of his abs. It looked thick and in desperate need of an outlet. With his signature boyish grin, Dante reached out to stroke her face and said. “You want this cock inside of you?”

  “I want your cock,” she whispered back, lust clouding her better judgment. The woman was so hot and wet from this exchange of words. “I want you!”

  His fingers trailed through her hair like a combine through a field. There was hot-blooded determination in his eyes. His hand stopped to caress the soft nape of her head.

  Dante pulled her towards with his hand. The top of his erection rasped against her thigh. He brought a pair of fingers to her sex. They stopped just short of making contact as if to bask in the heat radiating off her slit. Then, he entered her.

  Trisha stifled a moan and tossed her head back. The biker was slow and tender. He teased her with an agonizing slowness. As his thumb flicked her nub, his fingers steadily pumped into her.

  The farm girl was utterly shocked. She had expected Dante to be rough and impatient. Instead, there was a sensitivity in him that seemed at odds with his rugged appearance.

  The blunted tip of his cock hovered over her entrance. Dante softened the impending blow with a soft kiss and softer words. “Are you ready, Trisha?”

  She gritted her teeth. “I am.”

  The biker thrust into her within a split second. Trisha surprise immediately gave way to pleasure. She gripped his shoulders as if hanging onto dear life. It was an erotic echo of how she had ridden a motorcycle with him.

  “Trisha,” he groaned, brushing his lips over hers. His eyes were shut as he basked in the warmth of both their bodies. “So soft…”