by Candice Owen
The scent of hot food was making his stomach growl and when Felicity’s let out a rather angry roar, he chuckled and said, “I guess that sandwich that you had last night isn’t sticking to you anymore.”
“Someone promised me breakfast.”
“So I did. Let’s go over there. There’s a little restaurant-looking place. I’m not sure what they have, but it has to be better than the shit we had for dinner.”
They tucked themselves into a booth near the back, both of them still jumpy and nervous. Blaine had dropped the gun into a trashcan in front of the bus station, not sure if he would be searched or set off alarms if he took it with them. Besides he didn’t want guns. He never wanted to handle gun again in his life.
They were digging into huge plates of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon — all of it washed down with the hottest, strongest coffee either of them had ever tasted when they saw Bennie.
He was by himself, but that didn’t mean anything. Wherever he was, there was bound to be one more right behind him. Felicity picked up a menu, bowed her head, and stared at it in the hopes that he would overlook them.
Blaine knew better. What was more, he was tired of running already. They had ten minutes till their bus boarded, his food was going to get cold, and his girl was scared. Enough was enough already.
“I’m going to deal with this right now.”
Felicity looked up at him, startled and afraid. She opened her mouth to protest, but he laid a gentle finger across her lips and said, “If you see any of the others, duck below the table and stay there. I will be back, so help me God, I will be back. I won’t leave you. I promise.”
Blaine got a good angle, as he headed towards Bennie. Bennie was walking towards the bathrooms, and he didn’t notice Blaine behind him. Blaine liked it that way. Prison had taught him a lot of things and how to be invisible on a walk was one of them. He didn’t make a sound or call any attention to himself. Bennie had never been in prison, and that was obvious. Greg had picked him up before he ever got that far. He was working out on the streets, and he been happy to become the other man’s flunky.
Bennie entered the bathroom. At first blush, the bathroom did look empty. At second glance, he could see feet sticking out from under the stalls, he couldn’t help that. At least all the urinals were empty.
Blaine knew that Bennie was apt to spot him in one of the mirrors if he didn’t make his move soon, so he did. He pounced on the older, heavier man grabbing him in a hold that allowed him to wrap his strong arms around Benny’s thick neck.
Bennie couldn’t even react. All he could do was choke and try to get Blaine’s arms away from his neck, no dice. Blaine hissed into his ear, “You listen to me, and you listen to me good man. All I want is to live my life. Felicity, she can’t go back, and you know it. Her daddy doesn’t want her and there’s no sense in her being killed just because she didn’t have the stomach to kill me.
“You’ve known that girl since she was a child. Do you really want to kill her for something so simple as her being the sweet little kid that he taught her to be?”
Bennie gassed and let some kind of long guttural moan out of his lips just as one of the stall doors opened. A young man with prison tattoos on his arms came out. It didn’t take that dude long to figure out that this was not a scene he wanted to be part of, and he sauntered out. Blaine wasn’t worried about him going to the cops in the station, he was probably trying to get as far away from that city as Blaine was.
“I can’t let you chase us down, Bennie.”
“Don’t kill me man, please don’t kill me!”
That was exactly what Blaine had figured he would say. Bennie was a coward. All he wanted to do was stay right there at Greg’s right-hand side and be his mouthpiece. That was what was important to him — he proved that the day he had ratted out Felicity for kissing Blaine in the kitchen. He would do anything to curry favor, and Blaine was not at all stupid enough to believe that Bennie was not going to tell the other guys that he had seen them here in the station.
He had to up the ante. “What the fuck to you think Greg is going to say to you, about you, if he finds out that you had your chance at me right here in this bathroom and you fucked it up? You think he’s really going to excuse it?”
They both knew he wouldn’t. He would kill Bennie for the sheer satisfaction of it. “I need a little time here man. You make sure that whenever you do get up off the floor again and get back out there, you tell those bastards that you looked all over the station, but you couldn’t find us. Do you hear me?”
Of course, he heard him. If he went back and told anybody that he had seen Blaine in the station and that Blaine had gotten away from him, he was as good as dead. Even if Greg did not kill him, he would most certainly demote him. Bennie lived for the vicarious power that his position bestowed upon him, and they both knew it.
Just in case he was wrong about that, Blaine twisted the other man’s head viciously to one side and slammed it into the urinal. Bennie’s eyes rolled back in his head, as he slumped to the floor. Blaine checked his pulse, it was beating steadily. He opened the stall door and dragged Bennie into it, propping him up on the toilet. He closed the stall door tightly and paused, taking a long breath.
This was his last fight if he had anything at all to say about it. He was done with this. He wanted a life, the kind the life that he could have with a good woman. He meant to have that. He had deliberately given Bennie a cock on the head where it wouldn’t show under his bandanna. When the man woke up, he could go out wherever it was he was supposed to meet the other guys and tell them he hadn’t seen anything. He could also say that the reason he had been so long was because he had searched very thoroughly. Bennie was no fool, and he would do exactly that.
If he didn’t, it wouldn’t really matter. Blaine knew enough about being knocked unconscious to know that the few minutes before something like that happened were usually blank afterwards.
He left the bathroom and went back to the small restaurant. Felicity was still seated at the table, still ducking behind the menu. He sat, picked up his fork, and said to her, “Finish your meal. It’s going to be a long ride, sweetheart.”
“Did you…?” She couldn’t even finish it. He couldn’t blame her, why would she want to leave the presence of one murderous man for another?
“I told you before, I never killed anybody. I don’t tend to start now. I did put him in a sleeper hold though. By the time he wakes up, we will be on the bus and gone. It will be hard as hell to figure out which bus we got onto. Plus, once we get off that bus we’ll spend a couple days on other buses. They’ll never know where were going, and that’s okay.”
“That’s perfectly fine with me.” Felicity poured more syrup on her pancakes and added, “You better hurry up and eat, too. They are already lining up for the bus.”
They bolted down the rest of their food and made it to the line just as the end of it was moving through the doors. The only seats that were together were near the back, but it didn’t bother either of them. They didn’t have any luggage or books or anything else to keep them occupied, but Blaine had already figured out that there was a rest stop several hours ahead in a small city.
They would have a few hours before they had to report a bus. In those few hours, they could pick up clothes, a decent meal, and whatever else it was that they needed.
Despite the sleep they got the night before, they were both exhausted. It wasn’t long before they fell asleep, leaning against each other with their arms wrapped tightly around one another.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I think this is the place.”
Felicity stared around her, her eyes going wide at the beauty of it all. Having grown up in a town bordered mostly by desert and scrubland, she had never imagined anything like this in her life. The grass was green and flowing, and the salt air coming off the ocean was tangy in her nostrils.
The house behind them sat on a small road that led to a village of about six
hundred souls. Past that there was a large city, teeming with life. The two of them had spent the last three months in that city, enjoying it while they looked for a home.
The battered old truck that they had bought was parked in the driveway, and she looked at it with a grin. It wasn’t as sporty as her old Mustang; but, it was reliable. She liked it a lot better because it had not been bought with blood.
“Is it close enough to the city for you?” Blaine asked. She smiled at him, as she walked to the edge of the ocean and dipped her bare toes into it. The water was cold, and she shrieked and laughed, kicking her feet up and accidentally splashing water onto his lean, tanned frame. They giggled and laughed and ran in the surf for a few minutes. When they finally ran themselves out, they collapsed into the tall grass. She picked a dandelion, tucking it behind her ear.
“Yes, it is close enough. It’s only about half an hour, and that’s not a bad drive to work every morning. Besides, we both work the same hours, so it isn’t as if we would need two cars.”
Blaine had found a man who made fabulous IDs. They found him in a little town in Pennsylvania, all the way across the country from where they had started out. They had been sick of the never ending sway of the buses and the fast food. They had needed showers and time to rest, as well as a little privacy and space.
It was a lucky stop for them in a lot of ways because not only did they find a man there who could make them the IDs that they needed to get into Canada, but he also provided them with entire histories. Since Blaine had enough cash to show that they had enough money to live in Canada, they were readily accepted there as expatriates.
Felicity loved having a job, she loved being able to make decisions. Blaine was always willing to listen to her and to work out with her the best way to do things together. It was the first time in her life she had felt like a grown-up, and she was happier than she had ever been.
As for Blaine, it was the first time in his life he ever been able to escape the stigma of his childhood. It was the first time he ever been able to be someone other than the petty crook who somehow got tangled up in a murder.
He had never imagined that life could be like this. Seagulls dipped and spun overhead, their cries mingling with the cries of herons and an Osprey. The house was even perfect. It sat on four acres at the end of the road. Old apple trees, already blooming with fruit hung over the grass on the side of the house. It was small, with a steeply pitched roof and a wide front porch. Blaine could imagine spending the rest of his life right here in this place and with this incredible woman that he had found.
He wrapped his arms around Felicity, and she leaned against him. The two of them stood there for a long time, looking at the house and then finally he said, “Well, I guess it’s time for me to do the traditional thing and carry my bride over the threshold.”
“I think it is.” Felicity gave him a huge kiss and whispered, “But I think you better go ahead and pay that realtor darling so that he can leave. If you don’t I’m afraid we might completely scandalize the poor man.”
Blaine whirled her around, her golden hair flying all around her like a beautiful sunlit veil. He kissed her as hard as he could and then took her hand. “I just want you to know that if I died tomorrow, I would die as the happiest man on the planet.”
Felicity said, “And I can say that if I died tomorrow, I would die the happiest woman on the planet. But let’s do our best not to die, okay?”
“Whatever you say.” He placed a kiss on the tip of her cute little nose and said, “After you, sweetheart.”
They walked up to the car where the realtor stood watching them with an indulgent look upon his face. “Well Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, I’m guessing you’ll take the house?”
Blaine responded, “We’ll take it all.”
Read on for an excerpt from Candice Owen's Don't Look Back, a standalone novella:
Jason Larson is back in town.
After a decade of prison you would think that Jason would play it safe; he wastes no time reclaiming the keys to his prized Harley Davidson as well as his battered Sergeant-at-Arms Rowdy Riders MC jacket. A surprise inheritance means he can open his own gym, however, he has an old score to settle.
Sharon forgives but doesn’t forget.
After all of these years Sharon Steele still feels something for the biker that had left her in ruin. Gone are the dangerous days of drugs and violence. Sharon has learnt from her past and now earns a living as a successful personal trainer and remedial massage therapist.
Will the past repeat itself?
Jason cruises the streets of Melbourne on a courier job for the MC when he sees his old flame, Sharon, running a personal training session in the park. Excited and without thinking, Jason nearly runs Sharon and her clients over. As Jason goes to confess his undying love for Sharon she reveals that she is engaged to a rival MC President .
Jason and Sharon together could mean war
How far will Jason go to prove to Sharon that he is a changed man? Will he move on from the past or will his lust get in the way of business and threaten to spark a war between two MC clubs?
CHAPTER ONE
Ink’s was a no frills gym on Ellis Road amid the short, salt-air-worn rectangular buildings of the less glamorous section of Melbourne, Florida. A motorcycle club haven, Ink’s was one of the few places of neutrality, besides Lou's Blues, for the many clubs that made the beach their home. It was a place where the common value of fitness was more important than any rivalry motorcycle clubs may have had. The second rule for bikers, especially in a beach town, was to have their beach bodies.
Sharon Steele was a personal trainer and an achievement coach with a studio at Ink's. She also subscribed to the rule of being as perfectly fit as possible. With firm, full, natural breasts, sculpted arms and legs, and flat abs, she was in her mid-thirties and in perhaps the best shape of her life. At the moment, she was summing up her last session with a client suffering from gross self-esteem issues. Her genius was interrupted by the frantic buzzer of the gym receptionist.
Before Sharon could answer the intercom she had an unexpected intruder. She froze, shocked to see now standing before her Jason Larson, a man who had been the love of her life before he was hauled off to prison ten years prior. He stood on her Flotaki rug—a rug that she and he had had sex on many a morn, noon, and night—with wild pushed-back hair and his swagger: dark shades and the leather coat he wore as the sergeant at arms of Rowdy Riders Motorcycle Club. The black boot cut jeans did not disguise his extraordinary quadriceps. His muscles bulged despite the tight restriction of the dark denim.
Ten years. It felt like it had been that long since Sharon had had sex, though she was now an engaged woman. But damn if Jason Larson didn’t make her think of sex. Want sex. Need it. She was wet in the instant she saw him. He had been away for such an incredible period of time and yet now her mind was picking up where they left off. She didn’t know what seeing him made her feel more of: bitterness or arousal.
"Why did you come here?" she demanded.
"I'm out. I've come for what belongs to me."
"That wouldn’t be me," Sharon growled.
"Temper." Jason peeked above the rims of his sun glasses. "My goodness, you let your hair grow long.”
Sharon’s hair touched the beginning curve of her firm, round buttocks. Naturally streaked by the Florida sun, it fell perfectly straight in multicolor silky strands. She loved it. She got lots of compliments on it. It was a slight nuisance because it got in the way, but still she enjoyed it.
"What are you doing here? You know the manager will have you out of here when I tell him I want you out," she threatened, weak from the sight of him. She was so secretly enjoying the erotic surge he gave her. He had her all wound up. The phone rang and rattled her. She grabbed the receiver like she was wringing its neck.
"Hello!" she said, taking her annoyance out on the unwitting caller with a threatening tone. No response. She plugged her free ear and shouted, "Ink’s Gym!"
Jason Larson coolly closed in on her and took the phone from her.
"We'll call you back," he said and hung up the phone. He lifted her hand gently to his nose. "Still wearing that honey scented lotion I introduced you to."
Jason Larson's eyes practically glittered. His dark, thick rim of lashes lined the greenest eyes Sharon had ever seen. If she looked up into them for much longer, she would cave and admit her utter weakness to him. All the years while he had been in prison and she had been convincing herself she couldn’t stand him just about evaporated now that he was standing right in front of her. "You have to go. The manager—"
"Is my employee," Jason finished, cutting her off. "Like I said, I am here to collect what is mine. Obviously you work here," he said.
"I have clients here," she replied, stunned at the turn of events. Jason arched an eyebrow at her. "Not those kind of clients. I don’t have any reason to have those. I am straight as an arrow. I am into health, not drugs. I’ve been clean since you left. I’ve gone to school. I am now a personal trainer and an achievement coach. Marty lets me work here."
