War Hope: War Series Book Two

by Nicole Lynne

  Fifteen minutes later and we pull up in front of the bingo hall. Finn cuts the engine and climbs off, standing next to the bike. "Close your eyes,” I say as I pull my helmet off. “You'll see my vag." He shakes his head and I huff. He steps close to me and places his big hands on my waist. "What are you doing?" I say, holding my hand out as if to shield me from him. He lifts me and I press my thighs together as he pulls me from the bike. My hands instinctively land on his shoulders before he lowers me to the ground. The second my feet touch the pavement, I step back, trying fruitlessly to yank my skirt down skirt before I straighten and point at him.

  "Smooth, Finnley. Smooth."

  He sighs, his expression completely blank. I know his game. I glare at him before hooking my handbag over my shoulder and walking straight through the front doors of the bingo hall.

  It’s crowded tonight and I search the room for a place to sit. The door opens behind me.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Finn groans.

  “Oh, I see a spot.” I point to an open place at a table and hurry across the room. “Come on, Finnley,” I shout.

  Another groan comes from behind me and I snicker. This should be entertaining to say the least. Finn’s surly arse and bingo, I imagine it’s about as contradictory as the Pope at a strip club. Chapter Twelve

  Finn

  "I-77..."

  Fuck this.

  I roll my eyes as I sink down in the metal chair. There's all these old-fucking-people sitting around us. The man next to me is slouched in his chair, head thrown back, mouth open. I stare at him for a minute thinking he's dead and then he snorts, waking himself. He sits up and wipes the drool from his chin before smiling at me. I nod and look away.

  This entire place smells like moth balls and potpourri and cheap wine. Hope's hovering over her fifteen bingo boards she has spread out on the table.

  "N-64. N-64." The announcer calls out.

  "Bullshit," Hope huffs. "Fucking bullshit, Finnley."

  God, I wish she'd stop calling me that. She drops her little stamper thing and bends over to pick it up. I can't help but stare at her arse. That fucking skirt is short and damn—she bends a little lower—fuck my life I can see arse cheek. My cock jumps a little and I adjust in the seat as I drag my eyes away from her. She may be annoying as all fuck, but she has an arse on her. That's for damn sure.

  "B-16. B-16."

  Hope stamps one of her squares, hissing Yes under her breath. I lean over my card, place my elbows on the table, and drag my hands through my hair. Before I know it, Hope's swatting my arm away. "Did you even check your bingo card?" she asks, staring at the crinkled laminate.

  "No."

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Fuck's sake," she says with a groan before she stamps three squares. "B-16. N-44. And G-69." She glares at me. "How the fuck are you going to miss G-69?"

  I glare at her. How and why in the hell does she even like this shit? Listening to some old croon hacking out some numbers, stamping a little red dot on numbers and for what—

  "Bingo!" A woman shouts and Hope throws her head back on a groan.

  "Fucking hell." Hope shakes her head as she eyes the old woman shuffling to the front of the room with her walker. Her little bingo card raised in the air like a trophy. "I swear, Opal sold her soul to the devil. She always wins."

  I watch as the announcer hands the woman one of those plaques with the animatronic fish tacked to it—the one that sings that god awful song.

  "Of course, Billy the fucking fish. Of course fucking Opal would win that prize."

  I cut my eyes over at Hope. "What would you want with that shit?"

  Her eyes widen and she clutches her hand to her chest like I've just broken her heart. "That is art. Why wouldn't you want it?"

  "You can't be serious."

  She lifts an eyebrow and grins. "I was going to give it to you."

  "Yeah, no thanks." I swipe my hand over my face and push back from the table. "Can we go now, have I paid my dues for the lasagne?"

  "You're boring, you know it?"

  I scowl at her. "You're annoying."

  "You know, you're a bit of a dick." I stare down at her and she grins. "All quiet and mysterious and a raging dick."

  I can't deal with her. She's loud and fucking brash. I stand up and she scowls at me. "Finnley, where do you think you are going?"

  "I told you to stop calling me that."

  "I know, but I like it." She grins. "It suits your charming disposition."

  "And I like sitting at home. That suits my charming disposition."

  "Look, you're going to become some social recluse. You're old before your time, Finn," she says without looking up from her cards. She’s concentrating on her cards so hard her forehead wrinkles.

  "Really," I chortle. "I'm old before my time and yet..." I glance around at the geriatric patients. "You are all butthurt over not winning Billy the Fish. Don't think I didn't see the way you eyed that poor old lady."

  She looks up and glares at the woman again. "You don't understand. She's the antichrist, I'm telling you. Doris thinks she's a devil worshipper. Margaret said so." Hope leans in close to me. "Apparently,” she whispers, “she had away with Margaret's first husband back in the day.” Smiling, she bounces her eyebrows.

  ''Oh my god..." I just stare at her, because is this really happening? "Queenie, you do realize you are getting all hot and bothered over the love affairs of people four times your age? Wait, don't tell me! On Wednesdays you and Doris have a round of curtain twitching, don't you?" I laugh at the thought of Hope and some old lady with their noses pressed to a window, staring out at the neighbours and gossiping. Fuck my life. Hope is something else...

  She holds up her finger as she dabs her pen over the three thousand fucking bingo boards in front of her. When she's done she looks up at me and lowers her finger. "No, Doris and I do happy hour on Wednesdays, actually." She folds her arms over chest, bobbing her head from side to side like some shit out of the Kardashians or something.

  A man in a motorized scooter whirs up to the table, his wheel nudging my chair. "Where's Doris at?" He asks Hope.

  "Aw, she's on a date."

  The old man's eyes narrow. "With who?" There's an edge to his tone.

  "Bobby."

  "What a wankstain." The man coughs. "She can go to hell too. Running around with Bobby..." he mumbles, jerking at the handles of his little scooter.

  "Aw, come on now Eddie," Hope says. "Don't be all hurt over it."

  He huffs and his motor hums as he yanks the wheel to the left, pushing my chair out of the way as he goes. "What the..." My eyes trail over his motor and I see the bag of piss hung on the side. "Oh my god, what is this, a fucking nursing home soap opera?"

  "Viagra does wonders for an old peen, evidently. Doris says it's better now than ever." Hope smirks and a touch of acid hits the back of my throat at the thought of old wrinkly asses and saggy tits.

  "This is exactly how I envisioned spending my Thursday night, talking about old men and their erectile dysfunction."

  Another number comes crackling through the speakers and she dabs her pen over her boards again. She glances at my card, dabbing a square.

  "Oh, bingo! Bingo! Say bingo, Finn!"

  I lift a brow. "No."

  She leans over the table, placing her palms flat on the table, her little stamper clasped underneath one hand. "Fucking say it," she says with a growl.

  "I'm not encouraging this shit. It's not healthy."

  She glares at me before stabbing me on the forehead with her pen. "I swear to god, Finnley. Say. Fucking. Bingo."

  I swat at her arm, grabbing her wrist. "You did not just bingo stamp my face."

  She lifts one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Say it," she says on a snarl. She has issues. "I am going to go so ginger on your arse."

  My nostrils flare. "Bingo," I whisper and her eyes flare.

  She points at me, standing up. "Bingo! He said bingo!" Hell, she looks like she's
about to jump up on the seat and flash her damn tits. And I'd half expect her to have BINGO sharpied across them. Fuck my life.

  "Bingo!" Someone else shouts.

  Hope turns around and she looks like she's about to stab someone. "Fuck you!" she shouts, pointing in that general direction. Dear god, she is swearing at someone in a bingo hall. The same old woman from earlier stands up. "Oh no, Opal, not this time,” Hope snarls. “I will cut you."

  "Okaaay." I stand and grab Hope's shoulder, turning her towards me. "Is bingo getting a little much for you?" I ask, trying not to laugh. She's fucking crazy.

  "I swear to god, Finn." She snatches my card off the table and all but sprints to the front, passing Opal in her walker with tennis balls on the bottom. I half expect Hope to trip the old woman, but thankfully she doesn't. I wait, swiping my hand down my face and a few minutes later, she comes back holding a plastic green bird feeder above her head like a trophy.

  "Wow..." I say on a laugh when she stops next to me all smiles. "You won a birdfeeder."

  "Damn right I did, fucking Opal." She cuts her eyes back in Opal's direction. Hope's eyes are all wild with excitement, her cheeks flushed, her chest rising in ragged swells.

  "I think..." I push back from the table and place my arm around her shoulder. "I think we should go before you get banned from the bingo hall, queenie."

  "They'd never ban me."

  "Of course not," I say as we walk toward the exit. Opal's standing at the end of the aisle, glaring at Hope. The second we walk past the old woman slowly lifts her hand and shoves her gnarled middle finger in the air with a grimace as she mouths fuck you. "Well, people sure do take bingo seriously, don't they?"

  "It's a way of life, Finn. You just don't understand."

  “No, you’re right. I don’t.” I push the door open and we walk out onto the sidewalk, Hope still mumbling under her breath about Opal. The one thing I can definitely say: Hope McGrath is full of surprises. A sexy redheaded heiress to a whisky fortune who just so happens to be a bingo addict extraordinaire.

  Not one ounce of predictability. Total tornado of chaos. Everything I don’t need, but fuck, I think I may just be starting to want it.

  12

  Hope

  I stand across from Kyan throwing punches at the pads he's holding up.

  "It's my one hundredth fight tomorrow night," he says.

  I lift both eyebrows as I stare at him. "I'm not sure whether to say well done, or offer commiserations on having been in that shithole for a hundred fights."

  He laughs. "Well done, ginge. Say well done."

  "Okay then,” I throw another punch and feel a drop of sweat roll down my back, “well done. Are we celebrating?" Pausing, I swipe at a piece of hair sticking to my neck.

  He grins. "Of course. We're going to the titty bar. I already told everyone you're coming."

  I shrug one shoulder. "You know I like a pair of average looking tits as much as the next girl."

  "That's the spirit. And…” a smirk dances over his lips. “I managed to get Finn to come."

  I fight a laugh. "Fuck me, you managed to get the troll to leave his cave?"

  "Yeah, well, he's a moody fucker but he's alright really." Is he though? I think that's half the problem with Larry and Kyan—even Finn. They all know they each have problems, but they brush it off, overlook it, and pretend it's okay. They did it with Brandon and look where it got them. Finn hides in his apartment and comes across super calm, but no one can want to remain that isolated and really be happy. Hell, anyone who wants to get the shit kicked out of them in a dirty basement has clearly got some shit to deal with. And it's the look in Finn’s eye sometimes, like he's got a nasty storm raging just below the surface, but he keeps it locked down so damn tight it can never get out. That calm, quiet, mysterious thing he's got going on, I know it's a front. I have to wonder, what's beneath that well practiced veneer? Who is Finn really?

  I shouldn't care, but I want to know. I can't help myself.

  "Abs next?" Kyan asks, his eyes flicking to my bare stomach.

  "Ugh! I hate it," I groan.

  "No pain no gain, treacle. You lose that hot body of yours and you're done for," he says, grinning. I punch him in the gut. "Mean,” he grunts.

  "You're a cunt."

  Shrugging, he moves behind me. His hands span my waist as he lifts me. I hear the door open and shut just as I clamp my thighs around the heavy bag. Kyan releases me and I lean back until I'm upside down and Finn's scowling face comes into view. I wave before pulling myself up with a sit-up, my abs screaming.

  "I hate you," I tell Kyan. Down. Up. "You're a cunt." Down. Up. "An arsehole."

  He laughs. "If you threw less insults at me, you might get more done."

  "I don't want more done." Down. Up. "I just want to eat all the cake and stay hot."

  I drop down and pause for a second. Finn is now standing next to Kyan watching me with his arms folded over his chest. My gaze shifts to Kyan’s shirtless chest. I'll give it to the boy, he's got a body on him.

  "Less perving and more working, treacle," Kyan says, smiling.

  I roll my eyes. Down. Up. "Put a shirt on, you slut."

  "This is the only reason you train here.” He snorts. “Don't lie."

  "Finn, can you punch him please?"

  "What are you doing here?" Finn asks.

  I roll my eyes and sit up, grabbing the strap at the top of the bag and dropping to the floor. My chest heaves as I drag in air. "Well, Finnley, I'm working out.”

  "In my gym?"

  "In Larry's gym, with Kyan." I check my watch. "And you're a whole two hours early,” I say. “Did you shit the bed or something? I know how you love your routine."

  Kyan snorts. Finn glares as he yanks his shirt over his head, leaving his dark hair in disarray. "I have a fight later,” Finn says, dropping his bag on the floor and bending over to pull out some wraps. Finn hands them to Kyan and holds out his hands for Kyan to wrap them. As soon as his hands are wrapped, he’s shadow boxing. Kyan picks up the pads and holds them out. Finn hits them, decidedly harder than I did. I bite my lip as I watch the two of them. I watch the way every single muscle rolls and tenses, delivering raw power with each punch that Finn lands on the pads. That pub is a shithole but there's a reason I go and watch the fights. All that man is like a drug to my hormones.

  "Told you that's the only reason you come here," Kyan says. My gaze snaps from Finn's rippling abs to Kyan's face. "Careful, you'll chew your bottom lip off." A grin plays over his lips and I glare at him before giving him my middle finger. He shakes his head and turns his attention back to Finn who hasn't broken stride, or paid us the slightest bit of attention.

  "Yeah, well,” I sigh, “this does look like the start of a really fucking good gay porno."

  Now Finn looks at me with a scowl pulling his brows together. I laugh and pat his shoulder. His skin is sweaty and hot and I allow my fingers to linger longer than they should. Hey, can't blame a girl for getting her kicks where she can. "It's okay, Finnley, you'd be the top." I smile.

  "The fuck?" Kyan says, dropping his arms to his sides and yanking off the pads. "That's just not nice, ginge. What did I ever do to you?"

  I cup Kyan’s face and smoosh his cheeks together until he's pouting. "But you're just so pretty, princess." I flick his hair. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel..." He glares at me. He's too easy.

  "Are we training or not?" Finn snaps.

  "Calm yourself, Finn.” I say. “Now, I know you so love my delightful company, but I'm going. You can punch shit and grunt away." Nothing. "I swear to god, Finn, you are going to need Botox by the time you're thirty-five." I lean in, studying his face closer. His scowl deepens. I glance over my shoulder at Kyan. "Seriously, is he scowling at me, or his face just set like that? I can't tell." Kyan throws his head back on a laugh and grabs my hips. Finn’s gaze drops to Kyan’s hands on my hips and his lips press in a tight line.

  "Go, treacle." Kyan moves me to the side. "We have man shit to d
o."

  I pick up my hoody from the bench and tug it on, fastening the zip over my bare stomach. "At least she's fucking dressed now," Finn mumbles under his breath.

  "Aw, Finnley, you didn't appreciate an eyeful of the girls? Maybe you should be concerned about that bottom situation, Kyan," I tease.

  Kyan’s blonde eyebrows shoot up. "No shit." He looks at Finn and puts his hands on his hips. "The fuck is wrong with you? You never tell a girl she should put more clothes on." Shaking his head, he gives Finn a disappointed look. He points at me. "That shit is a good reason to come to the gym."

  I snort and scoop up my car keys and phone. "Have fun, boys,” I wave as I head out the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow for those average tits.”

  13

  Finn

  The cold air stings my cheeks as I walk to the front of the little black club. I don't fucking like going places, but special occasions call for me sucking it the fuck up. And tonight, Kyan won his 100th fight.

  Kyan pats me on the back as we step to the back of the line. "We're gonna take one of the lovelies home tonight."

  "A stripper?"

  "Yeah..." A sleazy smile curves across his lips. "They ride your knob like no one else."

  "I'm not fucking a stripper."

  "You ain't lived till you've poked one of 'em in the bum." I shake my head. That's about all you can do with Kyan. He's an immature fucking twat.

  "Fuck my life..." I wince when I hear Hope's shrill voice. "You couldn't go to the high-end strip club. Had to come to this shitty fuckhole."

  I turn around and look at her. She's wearing this tight black dress and silver heels. Her red hair falls in messy waves around her shoulders and she has this fuck-me smoky eye thing going on. She's vulgar as shit, but something about her is endearing. It could be that the way she looks tonight is like she's begging to get fucked, shit. Since when did I want to fuck Hope? Just don't talk to her. Don’t get drunk and don’t talk to her. Do not think about fucking her.