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Slowly, she released her breath. After dumping the bags, J.R. went over to the man and started talking. A moment later, the man lit up a cigarette and handed it to J.R.
She’d no idea that J.R. smoked anything. He was such a health nut with his protein shakes and constant lectures on cooking whole foods, whatever those were. And it was best not to get him started on his thoughts of yoga and meditation. Still, as he smoked and chatted up the other man, he appeared confident and totally at ease, as if he was also a biker. Which, come to think of it, was possible since she knew little about his background.
It didn’t take long for J.R. to finish his smoke, flick away the cigarette, and return to the bar. Meanwhile, the smoking man mounted his bike and rode away. Unfortunately, it was still too dark to see his colors and determine who he belonged to.
A few minutes later, J.R. came into the office, closing the door behind him. But he didn’t turn on the light. “The guy is gone.”
She frowned. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I quit smoking a few years ago.” J.R. found her mugs and placed them on the tray on the desk. “The guy wore a jacket without patches and seemed straightforward. Called himself Neon. Said he was a hangaround with the Devil’s Renegades, but had gone outside for a smoke to get away from the chaos in the bar. Said he needed a break from cheap pussy and sour beer.”
“If that’s true, I don’t blame him.” Although she didn’t use such crude language herself, she’d gotten used to it since leaving home over a month ago. Shealso didn’t know a lot about how motorcycle clubs worked, but she did know that becoming a hangaround was the first step in eventually becoming a patched member. After a few years of literally hanging around the club, the club voted on whether or not to make them prospects. After another long stint of doing shitty jobs like cleaning up after parties and running errands for the club members, the club voted onwhetheror not to patch the prospects into the club. Once they became fully patched members, like Cheery had become a few hours ago, they were in for life. “Do you believe Neon was a hangaround?”
“Not until I talk to Hawk. Or Eagle. They both handle the hangarounds and prospects.” J.R. picked up the tray and smiled at her. “I’ll check in with them tonight and let you know. In the meantime, you should probably get up to your apartment while no one else is around.”
“Thanks.” She opened the door so he could pass her with the tray. “I’ll be here tomorrow, bright and early, to help Tish.” Although the bar was closed to patrons on Sundays, she and Tish used the day to stock the bar, accept deliveries, and do some housekeeping while J.R. polished his spotless kitchen. Even if she had to keep her hand dry, she could at least manage the inventory list.
“You know...” He cleared his throat andpausedin the hallwaywhileshe closed the office door. “If you need to talk or anything, I’m here. You’re not alone.”
Except she was always alone.
She touched his arm andkissedhis cheek. She appreciated hisconcern, but the fewer people she involved in her life the fewer lives she was responsible for. “Thank you, J.R. I’ll let you know.” Then she headed in the opposite direction,downthe hall, and out the back door. She hurried around a line of bikes and headedforthe metal stairs that had been bolted to theoutsideof thecolonial-era brick building. Once she entered her small studio apartment which, technically, was on the fourth floor, she bolted all three door locks into place. She deliberately kept the lamps off so the only light came in through the windows from the moon and the intermittent street lamp.
A rumble of thunder rattled the old window panes, announcing anothermidnightsummer storm theShenandoahmountains were known for offering.
She held her wounded hand against her chest, pressed her foreheadagainstthe door,and blinked away the burning in her eyes.Tomorrow.Tomorrow she needed to figure out the car situation and get the hell out of town.Evenif that smoking biker had just been a hangaround, hispresence reminded her that she’d never intended on settling in Ravensburg. Or anywhere else in Virginia, for that matter.
And she’d certainly never expected to fall into Hawk’s bed. It’d been hard leaving him, and the powerful way he made love to her, but it had been the right decision. She never wanted him or anyone else to get hurt because of her choices.
A loud thud came from the deeperrecessesof the dark room, and she spun around. Her heartbanged aroundin her chest again. “Who’s there?”
Unfortunately her handgun was in her duffel bag in the bedroom.
A floor lamp in the corner of the room switched on, and she stepped back until her shoulders hit the door. Hawk sat in the worn leather club chair next to the lamp. He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, and he held something in his hands. His brown eyes, so filled with anger, fixed on her.As he squeezed her black Chanel wallet, the silver rings on his fingers glinted in the light.
“Why are you holding my wallet?” Her voice sounded shallow and weak. “And how did you get in here?”
“The club owns the bar, remember? As the club’s VicePresident, I have a key to everydoorineverybuilding we own. “ He stood and moved toward her slowly, with a predatory graceonly made possible by his physical strength and tremendous height. He paused a foot away and held up her wallet. “I had an interesting talk with J.R.”
She swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice casual. “Did J.R. tell you about the hangaround who was smoking near the dumpster?”
“He did.” Hawk crossed his arms, one hand still holding her wallet. “Unfortunately for you and for the club, we don’t have a hangaround named Neon. And from J.R.’s description, I suspect he’s part of a rival MC.”
“Oh.” She wanted to slip past Hawk, but the glare in his eyes warned her that wouldn’t be a good idea. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, Izzy.” His low laughter sounded more ominous than happy. “Or should I say Isolde O’Cleary? It didn’t long for me to figure out you’re the only daughter of Ian O’Cleary, president of OCL Enterprises.” He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “You lied to me.”
“Not disclosing is not lying. Besides, I’m his stepdaughter.” She held out her hand. “My wallet. Please.”
“It’s all a form of obfuscation.” He handed her the wallet, although the damage had been done. Thunder rocked the skies outside and the power flickered on and off. “You’re the only child of one of the wealthiest men in Boston. Yet you’re working in a biker bar, in a shithole town in the middle of the Virginia mountains, and you’re terrified of strangers. That tells me you’re on the run and afraid of being caught.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Maybe that’s why you left my bed. You didn’t want anyone to know you’re fucking an outlaw biker.”
“Sounds like you have all the answers.” She crossed her arms, but the gleam in his brown gaze told her he wasn’t buying her false bravado.
“I have so many questions.” He moved closer until his breath bathed her forehead, and her lower stomach clenched. “First, does Tish know who you are?”
“Yes.” She shoved her wallet into her back pocket and refused to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t care.”
