Hope (The Virtues #1)

by Davida Lynn

  After locking my friend’s car, I headed for the front door. Under different circumstances, I might have laughed, but I knew there was a life on the line. I did my best to look like I belonged among the Harley’s tilted to one side outside Los Bandoleros.

  Live music was blaring through the doors and windows as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the building. The gravel below my feet was littered with cigarette butts, and I was pretty sure I saw a condom half-buried in the rocks. I didn’t stop to examine it.

  I gave myself the best pep talk I could think of: “Let’s do this.” With destiny on the other side, I pulled the door open.

  The smell was not unlike Nick’s bedroom. Dirty. Not just dirty, an old dirty, stale beer and cigarettes from decades past.

  The music tripled in volume when I opened the door, and it sounded like it was coming from every corner of the room. It might as well have been. There was a band on stage with amps that started at the floor and ended above the rafters.

  Looking around at the tables, no one really seemed to notice me walk in. If they weren’t paying attention to the band, the bikers were focused on their own conversations. There were stereotypical biker mammas at some tables and a few on the dance floor. They were the epitome of biker culture: leathers, beards, and bandanas for the men; bleach blonde hair, tight tank tops, and tramp stamps for the ladies. I had walked into a bizarro Norman Rockwell painting of the American Underground.

  At the long bar, I saw leather vest after leather vest in a neat little row. They all had their backs turned to me, but I knew I was in the right place. Each vest had a large insignia on the back, a skull with rays of light coming from the eye sockets, RISING SONS on a banner over the top, and MOTORCYCLE CLUB on a banner beneath the skull.

  From the back, I couldn’t tell if Trask was among the nine Sons, but I could rule out a few as being older men by their graying ponytails.

  I stepped into the bar, letting the door close behind me. As the band blasted through some classic rock tune, I moved across the building, closer to the club members. Other bikers were seated at tables, but they all wore Harley shirts, nothing with the Rising Sons name on it.

  The men were giving me looks as soon as they noticed a new piece of ass had walked in. I tried to ignore them, but I felt their eyes taking me in. The California heat meant that I was in a summer dress. It was yellow with plenty of room up top for the breeze to keep my skin cool, I suddenly realized that I was very out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb with cleavage. I looked like I had gotten lost on the way to a beauty pageant.

  An older man with a greasy and wiry beard grinned at me as I passed. What few teeth he had left were yellowed and stained, and I felt like I’d left what little confidence I had back in the parking lot.

  Another biker was saying something that I couldn't hear, thank God. His leer let me know what his words couldn't. I thanked the band this time, for turning it up to eleven.

  I was almost up to the row of Sons when someone bumped into me as they passed. My heart was at full speed, and instinct and fear shot adrenaline through my veins.

  “Sorry, honey,” she shouted, her words as unsteady as her spray-tanned legs. She was a woman in her forties who probably had a nasty story behind every wrinkle on her face. I let out a sigh of relief as she passed me, wobbling her way back to the dance floor.

  There was a free space at the end of the bar, so I headed for it. It was hard to see the faces of the biker club in the dim lighting. Searching as much of their faces as I could, I still didn’t see Trask among the men lined up before me, so I decided I’d have to bite the bullet and ask one of his fellow Sons if he was around.

  I leaned against the polished wood, feeling my forearm get sticky the second it made contact. As I tried not to shudder, I turned to my right. Looking past the older Rising Son closest to me, I tried to see if Trask was one of the bikers on a stool. The older man turned to me before I could check out all the faces. His eyes sunk to my chest in a heartbeat.

  Ignoring that little fact, I leaned toward him and his whiskey aura and yelled, “I’m looking for—”

  The band wrapped up their song at the worst, most inopportune time. They went completely silent just as I yelled, “Trask Rivers.”

  Everyone in the place turned to me. The old man recoiled and almost fell off of his stool. Blood rushed to my face as the place exploded with laughter. It felt like the chorus of people was louder than the band. I closed my eyes as the entire place focused in on me. I could hear cat calls and insults over the laughter.

  The old man in the Rising Sons vest turned back to me. He twisted his finger in the ear closest to me, an exaggerated look of pain on his face. “Goddamn, little lady, that was my good ear.” He laughed and turned to his biker brother next to him.

  I moved away from him down the bar, trying in vain to vanish. I prayed for a swift death. I couldn't have been more embarrassed. The row of Rising Sons all leaned forward or back to get a good look at the fool. I put my hands up over my face and tried to disappear.

  When I felt another body press against mine from behind, the crippling fear kicked right back in.

  I tried to move, but he had me pinned against the bar. His breath was hot on my neck and reeked of cigars.

  “If you want to scream, I can get your cheeks redder, baby,” he said, his words spilling clumsily from his drunken mouth.

  My lips pulled back into a sneer. “Get the fuck off me.”

  He laughed, his breath even closer to my crawling skin. “Oh, this one’s a fighter. I like a little bit of a struggle.”

  Everything seemed to slow down. I couldn’t hear the laughter, and I couldn’t see anything but the reflection in the mirror across the bar. I saw the greasy asshole behind me, his hand across my chest, just above my breasts. I bent my right leg forward and put it flat against the bar. Pushing against it with every bit of strength, we tipped backwards, and landed on his back.

  I tried to roll out of his arm, but he held me tight. “You fuckin’ cunt! You fuck with me in my own bar? I’m gonna knock your pretty little teeth out, bitch!”

  No one seemed to be helping; it was like the creep and I were the only ones in the bar. I could feel despair creeping over me, as his hands did the same, reaching lower down my chest. With my eyes shut tightly, I fought against him, but then all of a sudden, his hand was gone. I heard a cry of pain, the opposite of his greedy, sexual growl into my ear.

  When I opened my eyes, a man was leaning over me, the lights above obscuring his face. Even before he pulled me to my feet, I knew it was Trask. My heart screamed it from my chest, beating harder than it had in almost ten years.

  Trask got me back onto my feet. A myriad of emotions passed over his face. I saw anger, confusion, and maybe even excitement in his eyes before he turned to the man still on the floor clutching his wrist.

  Trask got down on his haunches, the leather of his engineer boots crinkling as he sunk down. The man on the floor tried to get up, but Trask put a thick arm across his chest.

  “Terry, you lowlife piece of shit, you lost this bar three years ago when you got put away for domestic abuse, remember? You must not, if you’re playing hound dog with innocent women who wander in. I know this particular woman, and she’s too good for you. You know how I know that, Terry?”

  Trask waited to answer his own question until the pervert shook his head side to side, his eyes wide and staring.

  “I know that because she’s too good for me, and I’m a fucking king compared to you. I’d ask you to apologize to her, but I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of your mouth. I think you ought to get the fuck out of my sight—now.”

  Trask’s words were so calm and measured as he spoke. I could hear the restraint in his voice. I knew what his temper could be like, and I marveled that he remained so cool. His eyes looked completely focused and dark.

  The creep who couldn’t keep his hands off of me scrambled to his feet, very careful not to touch Tr
ask, who was still leaning over him with that intimidating look on his face. I realized I was smiling. My heart was still pounding, but not from fear. It was for a completely different reason. Even after ten years of not speaking to each other, Trask had stepped in to me my knight in shining armor. I brought my hands up to cover my mouth, somehow embarrassed again.

  The bar began to return to normal around me, or maybe my tunnel vision just faded away. The band started up another song, something slower and quieter, and I saw people turning away from the scene. Trask stood up only after the man had exited the bar, and even then, he watched the door for a few seconds before spinning around and grabbing me by the arm.

  His grip was hard as he rushed me away from the scene of the crime. I looked up at him to ask why, but Trask was stone-faced and looking straight ahead. Was he angry with me?

  His other hand circled my hip, and we moved back toward the long bar where his brothers drank. I wanted to protest, but his commanding presence was overwhelming. I found myself willing to go wherever he led. We pushed through a swinging door into the kitchen, but didn’t stop.

  Past the small food prep area, Trask opened another door, papers and calendar pages swinging with it as it moved. He pushed me into the room by my hips. I tried to understand why he was upset, but instead I was consumed with the memories of his body, reveries that intensified with every strong touch he inflicted upon me.

  We stood opposite each other in the tiny office. Trask leaned against a desk and looked me over. I was against a wall, and I did the same to him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. He was still so familiar, but he’d changed too. We took each other in for a few minutes, and I wondered if he thought I’d changed at all.

  It was hard to reconcile my memories of Trask with the man standing before me. His muscles were still there, but the tattoos winding up and around his biceps were new. The gruff demeanor was hard to comprehend, as well. He’d never been so harsh with me. It was all at odds with the image of a varsity baseball pitcher that I had dated in high school. No one would have guessed that he was such a straight-laced team player if they saw him in his leather club vest.

  His eyes traveled back up to my face, and for the first time since high school, I saw him smile.

  “Hope Cantwell, as I live and breathe. Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?” His words were soothing, cooling, and smooth. I noticed an accent and twang where there’d been none before. Maybe he had molded the affectation into the whole biker persona he was pulling off.

  Wherever the accent came from, it worked wonders. I had to giggle and take a moment to compose myself.

  I feigned his accent, letting him know I saw through the bullshit, “Trask Rivers,” I made sure the A in his name was hard like the dry riverbed outside, “you sure do know how to make an entrance.”

  The man I’d learned love from laughed, “All right, all right.” The tone I recognized was back. “I don’t know what to ask you first, Hope. You’re back in Bakersfield? You’re in The Bandolero?”

  I was about to answer, but before I could, he moved right in front of me and pinned me to the wall. Adrenaline sizzled through my body again as my eyes widened. His hands were at my shoulders, just over the straps of my dress, but his fingers were on my skin, and I felt so much at once. Fear, confusion, and passion consumed me. Being pinned to the wall by my old lover was the complete opposite of the creep in the bar. I knew what Trask was capable of, and his power was like pure desire.

  I wanted to speak, but his body moved closer and closer to mine and I was having enough trouble breathing, let alone speaking. He wrapped his hands wrapped around me, and I felt him lift me into the air like I was nothing. He squeezed me close to his hard body and took a deep breath. I could smell the cigarette smoke on him, but there was more behind it. It was something... manly. Gasoline, maybe.

  When he set me down, I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face. His hands were back at my shoulders, touching my bare skin. He looked me over again, but closer this time. It was the way he’d look at me when I was lying beside him on the beach. I remembered those hungry eyes that I once loved to feed. I hated to admit it, but the feeling of those eyes on me again was electrifying. It was also different.

  Trask seemed so much more sure of himself as he stood before me. His disarming smile and hard body were always an asset to him, but now there was a confidence in his eyes that could only have come from life experience. Seeing it on him made me wonder if I had that same confidence. Spending endless years of med school wasn’t exactly living life to the fullest.

  “How are you? That's my first question.” I loved the eagerness I could hear in his voice. His heart was racing; I had felt it when he pressed me to his broad chest.

  I was still a little stunned, “I’m doing all right. You?” Nick was still in the back of my mind, but in the three minutes since finding Trask, he had already saved me and swept me off my feet. I had to be grateful for what he had already done before bringing up the bigger problem.

  “Can’t complain, but I do it anyway. Are you Dr. Cantwell yet?” His eyes seemed to soften as we spoke.

  I shook my head, “Two more years, but I’m almost there.” I got the impression that he’d kept up on me in the same way I’d asked mutual friends from school about him. My fears about any animosity faded.

  “What about you? Are you gunning for ‘Most Changed’ at the reunion next year? A Marine, a biker, Sergeant at Arms—whatever that means.” I read the patch on his vest over his heart, laying my index finger on it. I knew it had to do with his rank in the club, but beyond that, it was just words to me.

  Trask smiled and looked down at the patch. “It’s been a crazy couple of years.” His gaze fell on me again, and I felt a heat rise inside me. Trask had those eyes that just set your soul aflame. “You look amazing.”

  I turned away as I smiled. I could feel my cheeks getting red again. His voice, his body, his stance; everything was making me remember every night of passion and pleasure we’d shared years ago.

  “Not exactly appropriate for The Bandolero, but amazing none the less.” He stepped forward, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Why’d you come back, Hope? Why’d you come looking for me?” I felt his finger on my chin. I struggled to ignore my weakening knees as Trask turned me to face him.

  I couldn’t hide my feelings. “God, Trask, you know you can’t do that to me.” I closed my eyes as that musky, masculine smell got stronger.

  He got even quieter, “Can’t do what?” He pressed his body against mine again, and I felt a changed man. In high school, he was passionate but modest with me. I showed him where to put his hands, and I urged him on. The biker that was in front of me wasn't looking for permission.

  “Can’t do this?” Trask crushed me against him, and I felt that beautiful weight pinning me to the wall. I didn't even notice that he’d taken my hands. He lifted them above my head, keeping me squarely under his control.

  A whine escaped me like a prisoner in the dark. It was almost unheard, but even if Trask hadn't heard it, I was sure my face gave away everything. I felt his manhood between his legs. It was throbbing, and I almost gave in to the heavenly temptation.

  I felt like I was drowning in a sea of pleasure, but I kicked for the surface, remembering why I had come back to Trask. “I… mmm…”

  Focus, Hope. Focus.

  “I need your help.” I hated to kill the mood, but Nick’s troubles were still in the back of my mind.

  Trask moved his head down, and I could feel his breath on my neck. He kept the relentless torture up, even as he spoke, “What do you need?”

  That confidence was going to be the death of me. He was teasing me like he’d never done before; like a man who knew he could have me at any moment. I had to explain despite it, even as his hand squeezed both my wrists, probably just to remind me that I was trapped.

  “Nick’s in trouble.” His lips found my neck and I moaned again, my body pushing against his out of instinct.

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