The Italian: A Mountain Man Romance

by Hazel Parker

  He could probably feel how tense I was holding on to my most private thoughts.

  “It’s just that… I need a man who’s always there for me. I know we just met, but I don’t want you going into to this unclear. I don’t mean to be clingy and I know you have a life outside of me, but I can’t be with someone who doesn’t put me first.”

  His eyes were so different in that moment, softer than I knew eyes could be. The hard man I’d met in the club who fought until he made a man bleed was gone and instead I stared into the eyes of someone who cared deeply.

  “I can do that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “But I had this feeling that you didn’t have time for me. After our first night together, you said you couldn’t do this.”

  “I did say that. I had something else to do and, truthfully, you’d been a complete distraction.”

  I couldn’t help frowning at those words and he softly kissed the line between my brows before continuing.

  “But I couldn’t stay away.” He took my face in his hands, giving me no option but to look into his eyes. “You’re something else, Jenny. You get to me. Somehow you do. You… take my breath away. You’re too good for me, but I want you and I’m too selfish to let somebody else have you.”

  I grinned from ear to ear. To hear him claim me, like I was something to possess, turned me on in ways I couldn’t hide. I licked my lips and his eyes followed the tip of my tongue.

  “Good,” I said. “Because I don’t want anybody else.”

  Solomon was probably it for me and the thought made desire bloom in me once again. His eyes reflected the hunger I felt. Round two was coming and I couldn’t wait.

  “I have to say something else.”

  This sounded serious. “Okay.”

  “I’m in a motorcycle club.”

  “Is that what that vest is about?” I asked, tipping my head to the outlaw insignia on the back of his jacket.

  “Yup.”

  “So? What does that mean for us?”

  “That means I won’t always be around and I might have to do things I can’t let you know about.”

  “I can be okay with that. As long as you’ll remember that I don’t want to be second place.”

  I figured he was as tough as he looked. I was not naïve. I knew all about the motorcycle clubs in the area. Amongst gun, drug, and human trafficking, they were loud and violent. Some were thugs, but I knew some actually looked out for the community. I was hoping Solomon was a part of the latter. I couldn’t imagine I was wrong, considering I heard about Blue Nights burning down the same night he sent Sarah and I home. I wasn’t so naive as to believe it was a coincidence

  I chanced the confidence to look into his eyes.

  “Sweetheart, I promise I’ll do my best.”

  That was all I was asking for.

  **

  A Week Later

  I tried to stand confidently as Mrs. Bryan walked towards me. My canvas laid under a sheet, waiting to be unveiled, and a part of me feared it still wouldn’t be enough.

  “Well?” she said. “Let’s see it.”

  I yanked off the sheet and watched her eyes take it in.

  The last-minute sketch of Solomon had paid off and I was able to draw his entire face in great detail with bold color worthy of his face. His black eyes popped from the canvas. His face was painted in shades of red and his blond hair looked like heaven-spun gold.

  “It’s…” Her words hung in the air. “Amazing.”

  I took a shaky inhale. Thank God.

  “Every color is bold and painted with such precise lines. There’s no abstraction. It almost looks like a mosaic. They are curved, yet sharply defined. They seem to be stable, but they tumble at the same time. It’s… so beyond my wildest imagination.”

  Jo smiled at me from across the room.

  “It’s beautiful. You earned this A. You pass.”

  Chapter 15

  Solomon

  “Yo! Ghost!”

  Luke nodded to me from the office.

  “Meeting.”

  This was the first time I was allowed in the hallowed meeting room. Sure, I’d been near the room and been privy to some pretty crazy shit—that was the only way to prove my loyalty—but I’d never been allowed in. Now I was.

  “Coming.”

  Luke shut the door behind me and seated himself at the table. Our table was African Blackwood and our emblem was carved in the middle and painted white. Gus, our faithful leader, sat at the head. To the right of him was Warren, our vice president, Luke, our secretary, and Evan, our treasurer. Beside Evan was his twin brother and our unofficial enforcer, Ethan. Then sat Jason, Ace, Dead Shot, and me.

  “Go ahead, E,” Gus said, causing all eyes to turn to Ethan.

  “I don’t want to alarm anybody or anything, but I got some news.”

  A few of the members collectively groaned.

  “Hey! Shut your mouth. You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

  “Don’t get mad at them. You don’t exactly have a track record with good announcements,” Luke said, ever the meditator.

  “Yeah. Okay, whatever. Anyways. I thought you guys should know, I finally got an old lady.”

  “Wow. Didn’t see that one coming,” Warren said as Ace reached across the table to bump fists.

  “Congrats, man,” Ace said, smiling.

  “Wait for it,” Evan said, watching his brother’s neutral face as if he was waiting to be sure before he congratulated him.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked naively.

  “Because I know my brother and he wouldn’t announce that unless…well.”

  The look on Ethan’s face said his brother knew him well.

  “So you got a little more to say?” Gus asked, amused.

  “A little,” Ethan said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just thought I should warn you guys, just in case she wore her hair up around us.”

  I’m sure my face looked as confused as the rest of us felt. I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

  “She used to be a Skull,” Ethan said with a shrug.

  “What?”

  “The hell?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  So many things happened at once. So many people were talking. Some were standing in shock and others were trying to convince Ethan that he was out of his mind. Gus watched in silence as Ethan tried to talk over them and explain his position.

  Ethan was something else. It seemed he had an affinity for trouble. In the last year I’d been pledging, I’d seen him get into a lot of shit. I’d also seen him kick ass. So at the very least, I knew he wasn’t a traitor.

  Gus, finally tired with the yelling, spoke, and, as usual, everyone stopped to hear him. “Let’s all shut up for a minute and hear what our little troublemaker has to say for himself.”

  “Thanks, Gus,” Ethan said, completely ignoring the fact that Gus had insulted him. “Now, as I was trying to say, this is all just a big misunderstanding. I’m not a traitor and neither is she. She’s good, guys. For real. I vetted her myself. She used to be down with the crew, but her father’s a rat bastard, so she got out. She went to college, got a few degrees, and now she’s a social worker up in Flagstaff.”

  “Is that the nobody I saw in here last week?” Luke asked.

  “Yeah,” he said as if relieved.

  “Well the last time she was here, it seemed a lot like you were arguing.”

  “We were, but that’s all settled now. I want to make her my old lady, and before you say anything,” he paused, holding his hand up in case someone tried to interrupt him, “it’s a small tattoo. She’s getting it covered.”

  “So you just expect us to be okay with this?” Jason asked.

  “Honestly? Yes. I didn’t have to tell you and it’s a small thing that’s almost always covered up. I didn’t see the damn thing myself until after weeks of us dating.”

  “And you’re sure t
his isn’t some kind of set up?”

  “Positive,” he said, nodding.

  “All right then,” Gus said. “It’s settled. We’ll try to be accommodating to your new lady.”

  “Thanks, man,” Ethan said, exhaling in relief.

  “Anybody got any more questions before we bring this meeting to a close?” Gus asked, looking around the room.

  “Yeah. Who’s the rat bastard father?” Dead Shot asked.

  “What?” Ethan said with his blond eyebrows bunched together.

  “You said her dad’s a rat bastard and she used to be a Skull. I’m surmising the two are probably connected.”

  He laughed out loud. “Well. You certainly earned your name. Nothing gets past you, I see.”

  He didn’t bother responding. Instead, he waited as Ethan took a deep breath.

  “Her father’s Casper.”

  Again, everyone talked simultaneously.

  I laughed internally. The club was always full of surprises. My life was about to be perpetually exciting.

  “I have one more announcement,” Gus said, quieting the room. “We finally have a date. Axle is coming home.”

  Axle was a name I’d heard a few times. He seemed like this revered guy that everyone talked about, but he’d been in jail for the last six years. All for the club. Some shit had gone down and instead of letting one the brothers fall for it, he’d taken the bid. He’d never snitched and he’d made the protection the club got him in the cell work for him.

  A lot of the brothers were excited for him to be coming home. Apparently, he was appropriately named—the central cog for the club that everyone rotated around. He had been missed and even though he wasn’t the current VP, he seemed to be everyone’s choice for second in line as president—Gus was getting up there in age and wouldn’t be president forever. I couldn’t wait to meet the guy.

  Epilogue

  Warren

  She didn’t belong.

  That much was clear from the scowl on her face and the crying, mess of a woman in a hideous pink dress beside her. Though her friend was a bit distracting, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  The blazing-red hair on her head was a beacon and I followed her with my eyes from the entrance to the bar. She hovered protectively over her friend and only sat once she’d surveyed the surrounding area and deemed it secure.

  I liked that. Clearly she wasn’t here to ride a biker like the rest of the women.

  I knew most of the other women by face. I didn’t need to know their names. They were here for one thing.

  Pinky looked a lot like a good girl. Innocence and untouched by life, but Red looked tough. Which shouldn’t have piqued my interest.

  Tough girls and slutty girls were a dime a dozen in this bar, but to be together, well, that was the beginning of a good story to tell. Especially considering this bar wasn’t known for its prices on whiskey.

  This bar clearly stated what it was: a Bandit hangout.

  The MC owned and operated the bar, as well as a shit ton other properties in town, which the townies knew of and tried to steer clear of. This place didn’t look like a goddamn Applebee’s. Everything about it shouted biker bar from the line of bikes outside to the men in vests drinking with women on their laps to the pin-up posters on the wall.

  If anything, Pinky should have been shaking in her frills and Red should have taken her somewhere else. Yet there they sat at the bar, sipping a beer like they weren’t getting curious glances from the rest of the club and like this was your normal Friday night. Maybe they wanted to have a little fun.

  I wasn’t into damsels in distress, but I would have loved to take Red for a ride. I could find someone for her friend. It wouldn’t be the first time someone walked into our bar looking to try something new for the night and forget their real life. And they wouldn’t be the last. Whatever Red was looking for, I could give it to her.

  I slid onto the bar stool next to Red, making my presence known by sliding my leg against her thigh. Not enough to be perverted, but enough for her to know she had company.

  “Go away,” she said before I could open my mouth.

  Damn. I liked them feisty.

  “Now, Red, you don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “Unless you’re offering free booze for the night, I don’t want to hear it.”

  She took a napkin and dabbed at the raccoon spots of makeup on her friend’s face.

  “I can arrange that.”

  “Then do it.”

  Pinky threw back her shot of clear liquid before slamming it down.

  “And if I do, do I get the opportunity to spend a little more time with you?” I asked, smiling at Jerry who was tending to the bar tonight.

  She scowled but turned to me and I could make out just how pretty she was.

  Her friend behind her had her makeup ruined and her lipstick smudged. Red blotches covered her tear-streaked cheeks.

  But Red had smooth, pale skin and deep-brown eyes that were trying to figure me all out.

  “What’s eating you?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “And your friend?”

  “She’s fine too.”

  “Right, because being fine means sitting at a biker bar, drinking and crying,” I said as Jerry poured me a drink.

  She sighed heavily, obviously still annoyed but not as hostile as before. “Okay. You’re right. Everything is not fine.”

  That was my in and I wasn’t planning to let her out of here without, at the very least, her number.

  *****

  THE END

  Breaking Red

  Chapter One – Red

  Good God. Freedom. To say I was relieved would be an understatement. I was so glad I could cry tears of fucking joy. What I’d just endured was three hours of torture. First of all, the wedding was incredibly tacky, and I can say that: I used to be a wedding planner. I know tacky when I see it. From the lime-green and bubblegum-pink color scheme to the too-nice friend who actually was adhering to the dress code of said colors and attending this shit wedding. Who requests their guests wear lime green and bright pink? Sorry if this applies to you, but seriously. I can’t.

  Secondly, we shouldn’t have been there. Period. I don’t know why I allowed Daniella to go. I don’t give a damn that she received an invite and was too polite to ignore it. She should have RSVP’d no, but she didn’t. Then she didn’t want to be alone, so she brought me as her plus one. I gave zero fucks about dress codes or formal wear and showed up as I was. The fact is that under no circumstances should you attend the wedding of your ex-husband. Especially when he’s marrying the secretary he swore you shouldn’t be worried about. That sucked, but Daniella went anyway and dragged me along with her to the shit show. Citing something about being the bigger person. Bless her sweet little heart.

  Lastly, if you’re still keeping count, the wedding was dry. I don’t care if you’re religious or not, to have no alcohol, like literally nothing, not even champagne, at your wedding is sacrilegious. In my book, it just should not be done. Ever.

  So when we broke loose, we were damn near running to the first bar we laid eyes on. It just so happened to be a biker bar. We climbed out of the cab like excited children ambling forward with no real sense of danger, intentionally ignoring the criticizing glare from the cab driver. The only thing on Daniella’s mind was a drink. The only thing on my mind was watching her back, and hopefully getting a drink too.

  The door was scarred. Whether from knives, fists, or battering rams, it had character and years. I didn’t expect it to slide open on well-oiled hinges. The loud music mixed with the talking bikers was enough to cloak our entrance. As far as I could see, no one noticed as we slunk to the bar, which was saying something, given Daniella’s ensemble. She really did look like a Barbie.

  “Bartender, a double shot, please,” Daniella said, sliding onto the first bar stool she saw.

  “Of?” The young woman was in the equivalent of a string bikini top over h
uge tits and white short shorts. Her blonde hair was parted down the middle into two high ponytails that hung in two curled ringlets. Her face conveyed youth and her body screamed prostitute. Some men were into things like that. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to believe she was the kind of girl to let a guy fuck her while calling him Daddy. Which whatever. Who am I to judge?

  “The strongest thing you got,” Daniella demanded, plunking over the bar until her cheek lay on the worn wood.

  I tried not to think of all the things that could have been where her head currently rested. The scantily clad posters of women on the wall, the half-naked women on the laps of bulky bikers on the couch, and the suspicious material that I bet was a collection of thongs in a glass bowl in the corner by the pool table helped my suspicions. I imagined anything from blood to pussy could have been on the counters.

  I kept my face neutral, not wanting to offend someone by scowling at the bar. My eyes looked around past the obvious adornments that screamed bachelor pad. The paint was peeling in some places, the outdated wood tables could use some shine, and I knew the couches had seen better days. Between the enormous weight they carried from bikers plopping down on them and invisible layers of cum shots, okay I know that’s gross but the club could probably afford to invest in some redecoration. Still, it had charm. I knew the walls would scream with stories if they could talk.

  Between the loud hard-rock music, scantily clad women, men playing pool, and drinking, it was exactly what I imagined a biker bar would be. I almost felt uncomfortable considering how we were dressed, but it appeared no one cared what we were doing as long as we weren’t disturbing the peace. So I relaxed beside Daniella.

  The bartender slid forward a tall cup with much more than a double shot of a dark liquid.

  “What is that?” I asked, more out of protectiveness than curiosity.

  “You don’t want to know,” she said, barely glancing over us before walking down the bar to serve another man.

  She leaned across the bar, flashing her cleavage at him, both offering and inquiring what she could get him. I imagined if he asked, he could have things that weren’t on the menu.