Destroying Beauty (Hell Hounds Motorcycle Club): Vegas Titans Series (5 page)

"Thanks for that," Jo murmurs to me, tucking a
stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I've, ah, just been really stressed
out or something lately."

"No problem. And I promise not to tell Chris
Lewandowski what you thought of him and his sub-par kissing technique."
She smiles softly at me. "You seem like you could use a beer."

"I'm not allowed to drink here."

I grin. "I meant we could go grab one after your
shift."

"Oh, right," she says, shaking her head as though
dusting off some cobwebs. "Um…why not?"

Chapter Five

Jo

My stomach flutters as I walk with this relative stranger to
a bar he knows down the street. I've never been before even though it's really
close to work. Usually I'm eager to go home after a closing shift, but going
back to my apartment and sitting there alone with my thoughts sounds awful
right now.

Besides, I kept thinking I wanted something different, and
Holt certainly seems different. I had to keep myself from staring at the man
when he sat down at the bar. He's tall, his torso is thick as a tree trunk, and
his hands dwarfed mine. His shoulder length, dark brown hair is pulled back in
a low ponytail, and forms a widow's peak over his grey-green eyes. I tried to
stay away from him at first, thinking a distraction like him was probably the
last thing I need right now, but then he held my hand, and I found myself
thinking that maybe a distraction sounded perfect. 

We walk in silence, and I find that I don't feel pressured
to make conversation. Music from the bar breaks through the quiet and when we
get to the door, he opens it for me and places his hand on the small of my back
to usher me inside. A thrill runs through me even at that slight touch. There's
something so easily sensual about him, even though he's built like a linebacker.

The bar is packed and dark. I'm surprised to feel Holt take
my hand again as he steps in front of me and leads me to an empty two-seater
booth in the corner. The crowd parts in front of him like the Red Sea, and I
wonder how long it would have taken me to cover the same distance alone. As
soon as I slide into the booth he turns around and walks over to the bar. I
study the back of his shoulders as the bartender beelines over to serve him.
Every one of his back muscles are visible through his pale blue t-shirt as he
shifts to pick up the two pint glasses, and I look down quickly at my hands
clenched on the table in front of me so that he won't know that I was staring.

"'Nother IPA alright? Well, I suppose it's your
first," he asks, setting the beers down and sliding into the seat across
from me. 

"That's great, thank you," I murmur, raising it to
my lips and taking a long sip as I glance around the bar over the rim. I can
feel his eyes on me and it's making me nervous.

"You been working at that place long?"

"Mmm, almost a year," I reply. I take another sip
of my beer, willing myself to come up with interesting things to say.

"Is it…I mean, don't take this the wrong way…but that
place seems terrible."

"It is!" I say, breaking into a wide smile.
"It's pretty terrible. Well, I like Frankie, that's the other bartender,
and the servers are mostly nice, but my boss is a pig, and, oh, I don't know.
It pays the bills…ugh, that sounds so depressing to say."

"What do you want to be doing?"

I shrug. "I have no idea. If anyone ever asked me, you
know, when I was a kid, 'what do you want to be when you grow up?' I don't
think I ever had an answer. I was too busy keeping everything straight in my
head."

"Keeping everything straight?"

"About my mom—she's in jail." I gasp, covering my
mouth with my hand, wishing I could take the words and shove them back inside.
I
never
tell anyone about my mom. And I have no idea why I just told
him. I glance up at him worriedly, prepared to hear him make an excuse and get
out of here.

"Fuck, that's tough," is all he says, shaking his
head sympathetically. "My dad went to jail for a bit when I was a
teenager, but that's different I think. And my mom was still around. How old
were you?"

"Um, well the first time, I was eight. That was in
Florida. She sent me out here to live with her mom." It feels good talk
about. Even Elise only knows the barest outline of the story. I drain the rest
of my beer and keep going. "She was a con artist. She got caught on some
insurance fraud stuff. When I moved out here, I told my classmates she was a
spy and lived in Europe. I'd buy these little trinkets at the dollar store and
bring them into Show and Tell and say that she'd sent them to me. What'd your
dad do?"

"International spy," he says straight faced, and I
almost spit out my beer with laughter. "No, he was a small time pot
dealer. Did a few months. So you're an only child too, then."

"Yep. So don't ask me to share my Legos. Your parents
still around here?"

"No, they moved to Oregon. They're living on some
medical marijuana farm. They're either hippies or anarchists. Seems to vary
week to week."

I lean back against the booth and consider him. He's
surprised me more than once tonight. I can't get a lock on this guy. I feel the
beer start to hum pleasantly in my head.

"You've never come to this place before?" he asks,
leaning forward. "What do you normally do around here at night?"

"Um, if I'm not working, maybe just hang out with my
friend Elise, or some of my other friends from high school."
Or just go
to the gas station and witness a murder. You know, whatever.
"How
'bout some shots?"

"You want to do shots?" he asks, raising his
eyebrows at me.

"You don't?" I start to stand up to go to the bar,
but he stops me.

"I got it."

I bite my lip nervously as he stands and walks away. The
slight buzz from the beer and the hum of the voices and the music around me are
building and carrying my mind away. I want to keep the feeling going. I smile
up at Holt as he walks back over with a tray.

"Wow," I say, my eyes widening at the four shots
and two additional beers as he sets the tray on the table.

"Don't worry, you just have what you want. I'll take
care of the rest."

"Cheers," I say, picking up one of the shot
glasses. He clinks his glass against mine and we throw them back together. I
wince as the tequila burns my throat and pick up the new beer eagerly to chase
it down. "So what do you do?"

"I own a landscaping company," he says, placing
his empty shot glass upside down on the tray.

"No way. You're a coal miner, or, I don't know, an ice
fisherman, or something. You being a landscaper is like you eating at
Billy's," I reply, pursing my lips.

"It's true," he says with a smile. "Evergreen
Landscaping. Have the decal on the side of my truck and everything." He
leans forward and takes my hand. "You are very suspicious, you know
that?"

"Sorry," I say, blushing. "Maybe I'm a little
out of practice at this whole thing." He looks at me questioningly. The
feeling of the pads of his fingers lightly brushing my palm is exponentially
increasing my intoxicated state. "I, um, got divorced last year."

"High school boyfriend?"

"How'd you know?"

He lifts my hand up toward his lips and I stop breathing.
"You don't look more than twenty-five. It was just a good guess. That
what's got you so stressed out lately?" He laces his fingers through mine.

"Hm?" Oh my, it is getting hard to concentrate.

"At Billy's, you mentioned something had you stressed
out?"

"Oh." I pull my hand away, the spell breaking
unpleasantly. "Just work stuff. I'll get the next round, OK?" I ask,
reaching for another shot. The tequila is hitting my lips before he has a
chance to pick up his glass. I feel jittery again. Where'd that pleasant state
from a minute ago disappear to?

Chapter Six

Holt

I probably should have suggested she stop at that last
round. But she was really opening up, and I thought a little more alcohol might
do it. But I think we've officially overshot the mark. I can't help but grin as
she wobbles a bit in her seat. She's a hilarious drunk.

"If I were an international spy," she slurs,
"I'd do only, like, one job every few months, and then I'd just travel,
you know? Otherwise, what's the point? You gotta travel." She raises her
arms to emphasize this point with a random gesture.

"I think that it's probably time for you to get
home."

"No, Holt! Let's stay out," she replies, spreading
her arms across the booth as though she's claiming it.

"No, you're done for tonight. Trust me." The irony
of that request doesn't hit me until after it's crossed my lips. She smiles up
at me innocently.

"OK, Holt. I trust you," she replies, and obediently
stands up and starts walking to the front of the bar.

"Hey, slow down there," I say, picking her purse
up and running after her. I place one arm around her to steady her as she
sways, and push the door open in front of her. We walk out into the night and
she immediately trips over an uneven piece of sidewalk. I step in front of her
to stop her from falling over.

"Whoa, be careful," she says.

"Right, I know," I reply drily. "Come on, up
you go," I say, scooping her up into my arms.

"You're very strong," she remarks, nestling her
head into my neck.

"Thanks." I catch a whiff of her hair as we walk.
Or rather, as I walk. Citrus. She rubs her nose against my skin just above the
edge of my shirt. I almost trip myself as an electric buzz spreads through me. She
feels so warm against me, and her breath is hitting my neck…

I make it back to the parking lot without falling over and
stop at my truck. She probably drove here, but I doubt if she'd even be able to
turn her car on in this condition. I tip her feet down onto the pavement and then
lean her against the hood. I unlock the car and she gets the idea, climbing in
herself. I shut the door behind her and walk around to the other side. This
night hasn't gone exactly like I thought it would. But then, Jo isn't exactly
like I thought she'd be.

I slide behind the wheel and pull toward the street.

"Where do you live? Jo?" Her eyes are closed and
she's leaning against the window.

"53 Eastern Drive," she mutters. "Left
here," she adds, opening her eyes as I turn out of the parking lot.

She tells me to make another turn in a couple miles and then
another after the next stoplight. I see the bright glow of a gas station
appearing on the corner and realize this must be the one. There's crime scene
tape on and a cop car out front. It'll probably take another day before they're
open for business. I watch her out of the corner of my eyes as she stares at it
across me.

"Everything OK?"

"No," she murmurs. "Not even close." She
begins to laugh, and then a dry sob escapes her mouth before she clamps her
hand over it and turns to her window. "I'm sorry," she gasps out.
"This is so embarrassing."

"It's alright. I'm a good listener," I offer.

"Thanks, but no." We pull up to her apartment
building.

"Can I walk you up?"

"Um…" I watch her glance around nervously. Maybe
she's worried the gunman is still lurking around. "Yeah, that would be
good, I guess, thanks."

I pull up to an empty space in front and hop out, meeting
her on the sidewalk. Seeing the gas station seems to have sobered her up and
she walks without problem to the main door and unlocks it. I follow her up the
stairs to the second floor and down the hallway. She fumbles in her purse for
her keys. She looks so…tired. Tired and scared.

I find myself reaching my hand up to her face. She stills as
my fingers brush against her cheek but doesn't look up at me. I slip my thumb
under her chin and gently tip her face up and she blinks, her wide-eyed gaze
settling on mine. I bend down and ease my mouth onto hers. I feel her lips open
tentatively to mine. I slide my tongue into her mouth and when she flicks hers
against it, it's like a switch goes off in me.