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Entwining our fingers, I squeezed gently.
"You're a good man, Pope." My lips quirked. "Even if you look like shit right now."
His blue eyes met mine, searching for something I couldn't define. Like a caress his gaze raked my face, meandering over every freckle, down my nose, and across my cheeks to settle on my lips. His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long as his thumb stroked across the knuckle of my hand.
His eyes lifted to mine once more, a spark passing between us. I couldn't say why but I felt as if I had just sold my soul to the devil in an unspoken agreement.
Behind us, the door to the bar flew open, bouncing against the side of the building as a garbage bag of trash was tossed into the alley.
I jumped, breaking our intense moment.
What was that?
Pope kept hold of my hand, halting my retreat. "Follow me."
And like a lamb to slaughter, I allowed him to lead me into the shadows.
Chapter Two
JULES
Jen's wake had been organised by her uncle, his biker bar home to her club family. While I didn't understand the club life, I knew these people had loved her dearly and wanted to celebrate her life.
The property sat off one of the main routes out of town. Surrounded by cattle and countryside, I figured it was perfect for the rough crowd that frequented it—no cops, neighbours or tourists to worry about.
Pope guided me around the rear of the building stopping at the tall chain wire fence that encased the lot. He dropped my hand and reached down to peel the chain wire back, holding it open for me.
"Go on," he directed, waiting for me to squeeze through the gap.
Carefully avoiding the sharp, clipped edges, I scrambled through to stand on the other side, wondering exactly what he had planned.
Pope—ever graceful—followed, his hand automatically reaching for mine.
"This way."
The dirt near the fence gave way to thigh-high grass and weeds, hiding all manner of trip hazards.
By the dim light of the moon, Pope led me through a crushed track and down to a scraggly clump of stubborn gum trees. Under their sheltering branches sat a wooden picnic table upon which lay a sleeping bag. Next to the table was his motorcycle, the metal gleaming in the moonlight.
"You're staying here?" I asked, eyeing the rumpled bag.
"Cheaper than a hotel."
My heart ached at his nonchalant tone, knowing it had to be killing him to be denied access to his family.
He let go of my hand to bend over, tugging a small cooler bag from under the table. "Beer?"
I accepted the offered bottle, popping the cap to take a long drag of the cool liquid.
This is a bad idea.
We stood face-to-face, eyeing each other as we sipped our beers.
"Been a long time," Pope said finally, breaking the awkward silence.
"Yeah."
He ran a hand through his hair. "I meant to come home, but…." He glanced away.
