Hope (The Virtues #1) (13 page)

It was pure confusion when I woke up. I was yanked backwards, my chair falling down off of the stage. I had no idea what was going on. People were yelling and screaming all around me, and I was flailing my arms against the unknown assailant.

Whoever it was pulled me past Trask. He was still unconscious on the table. I looked down to see guns drawn and pointed in my direction. My pulse had gone from the quiet and easy level in a deep sleep to a mile a minute, racing and making me sharp, all of my senses at full tilt.

I tried to turn and see who was holding the gun, but his arm was across my neck, and he had me square and held tight. I tried to scream, but there was nothing coming from my mouth. I was in complete shock, and all the bikers screaming and pointing guns in my direction only made things worse.

I could feel my heart in my throat, but a voice reassured me. Even though it was screaming, it cut through all the noise to give me a little hope.

“Everyone, calm the fuck down!” It was Bear. He was on the floor looking up at me and whoever was behind me.

I smelled liquor on his breath, and he was breathing hard. I thought that Beezer’s men had taken the bar before the Rising Sons could get back. I tried to spot Thunder, Vegas, and Rhodes in the crowd, but I couldn't think or see clearly enough. Bear was the only one I could clearly recognize, staring at me from behind his pistol.

“We’re all cool down here, man. Tell us what you want. What the fuck’s this all about?” Bear’s eyes darted around the room, as if other people could burst in at any time. His voice was hard, his adrenaline no doubt tearing through his veins.

“You went after the wrong people, Bear. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. We could have existed in peace. You do your thing, we do ours, but no. You let this bitch walk in and act like she owns the place.”

It was Vegas. I recognized the voice, but it sounded far shakier. He was scared. His body shook when he spoke. I was torn when I heard his voice behind me. Vegas had seemed like such a decent man, and he had helped me save Trask. Why would he bother if he was still working for Beezer?

“They shot a brother.” Bear took a step forward. “Does that mean anything to you, or have you been lying the entire time?”

Vegas pressed the gun to my head harder, and I winced. “You and your fucking
brothers
.” He practically vomited the word. “It don't mean shit, and you know it. You let Trask walk into a trap knowing he would do it for her.”

“You could have prevented that trap, Vegas, if you had told us. You knew. Didn’t you?” Bear took another step forward, his gun trained on the man behind me the whole time.

Vegas didn’t respond. His chest was heaving as his body raced to keep up with his mind. Whatever he had chosen to do, he wasn't invested in it fully. I could almost feel him regretting his decision, and that scared me.

Bear went on. “That’s what I thought.
You
put him in danger, not me. Not Hope, either. You need to point that gun somewhere else, before one of my boys gets a bit too angry, you understand?”

Vegas stepped back again. We were inching near the edge of the stage. “You’re gonna let me walk out of here. That’s what’s going to happen.”

Bear nodded. “That’s fine. You can walk out of here unharmed, but the doc stays with us. You let her go, and you are free as a bird, Vegas.”

Vegas let out the laugh of a madman, “You think I’m fuckin’ stupid, Bear? Sure, I’ll just move away from the meat shield and trust that you’ll all just let me walk out like it’s nothing. Get fuckin’ real. She’s coming with me.”

“Can’t let that happen. Vegas. You’ve got sixteen guns pointed at you, and you’ve got one pointed at a pretty young woman. Now, if that ain’t shit, I don't know what is.” Bear turned and looked around the room. All the Rising Sons had their guns drawn, waiting for their leader’s command. I feared that one of them would have an itchy trigger finger. One shot would set everyone else firing, Vegas included.

Both sides stood, one a rock, the other an immovable force, and I was trapped in between. I thought I would pass out. I was stuck between a madman and a group of bikers that were willing to kill rather than let someone go.

I closed my eyes, trying to prepare myself for death. I could hear the desperation in Vegas’ voice. There was no getting out of this. The bikers weren’t going to let Vegas walk out; with or without me.

When I heard the scream, it made me do the same, either out of instinct or commiseration. Either way, I thought it was the end.

***

The scream was cold enough to freeze liquor. It was terror and pain rolled into one. I fell to the ground, released from the grasp of the madman behind me. I began to run my hands over my body, feeling for any holes or bleeding. The Rising Sons t-shirt appeared to be whole. I opened my eyes and saw Trask standing over me.

It was more of a shock than waking up to being taken hostage. He smiled, standing over me like Atlas. I took the hand that he extended, and he pulled me to my feet. I looked behind me and saw Vegas face down on the floor, the X-ACTO knife I’d used during the surgery deep in his back.
 

I turned away, not wanting to look at him another second. The bikers were coming up the stage, holstering their guns. Some slapped Trask on the back while others dealt with Vegas.

Two Rising Sons grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him to the door. He was groaning, the knife still embedded in his back. I stepped to the edge of the stage. “What are you doing?”

One of the bikers that had him by the shoulder turned to me. “He’s going out on his ass.”

“He needs medical attention. That’s a deep cut.” Maybe that Hippocratic Oath was inside me somewhere.

The other biker that was helping drag Vegas out of the bar added his two cents. “Trask was shot in the shoulder, got on his Harley, rode all the way to Los Bandoleros safely with you on the back, and went through surgery without any pain meds. This fucker can make his own way.”

I stopped. I couldn't argue with that logic. I shrugged, and they continued on taking him out the door. I couldn't believe that it was morning, but the sun was shining outside. I turned back to Trask, utterly confused. He knew it, too.

“I think Bear and the club have some explaining to do. Believe me, I need it, too. I woke up and saw Vegas with a gun to your head, and I just acted.”

I tore some rags long ways and fashioned a quick shoulder splint for Trask. I needed to take some weight off of his shoulder, and at the same time immobilize it so he wasn’t moving it and causing internal damage. He really shouldn't have even been up and walking around, but since he saved my life, I figured I’d let it slide. He wouldn’t have listened to me, anyway.

He put his good arm around my shoulder and I helped him down the steps. He took his time down the three steps, and I could see his exhaustion when he fell into a chair across from Bear. They looked at each other for a long time before the president of the club spoke.

“Surviving?”

Trask’s confident smile was back. “I’ve felt better, but I’ll live. What about you? Mind filling me in on the night?”

Bear gave Trask the look of a proud father. “Oh, nothin’ much. Hung around kicked back a few brews, took down a corrupt bounty hunter slash drug dealer. Saved your woman’s brother, too.”

I looked back over toward the door and realized that someone had come into the bar. At first I assumed it was a Son. Then I realized it wasn’t just another biker that had come into the bar, but Nick.

I ran over to him and threw my arms around his neck. He fell backwards before catching himself.

“Jesus, Hope, you’re gonna kill me.” He laughed and squeezed me tight.

I had a tear streaming down my cheek and a warble in my voice that I couldn’t disguise. “You ever do anything so stupid again, and I will kill you.”

I looked around at the bikers in the bar. Some were sleeping, their heads down on the tables. Others were talking in groups. It had been a long night for them, and I owed them all a huge debt.

I pulled Nick toward the main table where Bear and Trask were sitting with a few other bikers. I felt awkward, but I felt like I needed to reintroduce the two.

“Nick, you remember Trask from high school.”

Trask stood up and stuck his good hand out. Nick was not a confident man, and it took him a second to meet the grasp. Trask smiled. “Hey, man. It’s good to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances, you know?”

Nick looked away. “Yeah. I, uh, I can't thank you guys enough. I really fucked up, and without your help, man, I don't know what I’d do.”

Bear stood up, and Nick turned to him. “And you, man. You’re the one who got me from Beezer’s place. Fucked up, right?”

I butted in. Curiosity got the better of me.

“Um, excuse me, but what in the fuck happened here?”

Vegas had stopped working for Beezer three months before everything went down, but apparently there was some residual feelings still lingering. When the boys came back from the fight, it hit a sore spot for him. He didn’t see it as a criminal element getting wiped off the map. He saw it as a fatherly figure and someone who had believed in him getting killed over a druggie.

I almost couldn't fault him, until I thought about him putting a gun to my head. When I thought about that and Trask swooping in to save me once again, I didn’t feel any pity for Vegas. They took his cut before they threw him out, and they made promises of painful torture if any of them ever saw him again. A fair deal, if you ask me.

The four of us sat down, my brother and I, Trask and Bear. Everyone was exhausted and still reeling from the long weekend that was only half through.

“Thank you, Bear,” I said, trying to express my true respect. “You saved Nick, and I owe you everything.”

“Darlin’, you don't owe me shit. You saved this one right here.” He slapped a hand on Trask’s good shoulder. “Irreplaceable.” Bear looked over at Nick, who was still a little strung out and awkward. “You, on the other hand…”

Nick’s eyes went huge. He had seen firsthand what the Rising Sons were capable of, and he didn’t like a finger pointed at him from the president. “You owe us big time.”

I really thought that Nick was going to pass out. He had that
meeting the girlfriend’s father for the first time
look. He stared, his mouth open, his palms surely getting sweaty. My heart skipped a beat out of empathy. Everyone turned to stare at the steel-faced Bear.

“Can you cook? Our prospect had to abruptly leave us.” Bear’s cracked and aged face broke into a dry smile. Everyone at the table breathed a sigh of relief.

Nick could only nod. Bear smiled wider. “You’re gonna kick the habit, too. Aren’t you?”

Again, Nick could only nod. His eyes were still wide. He was terrified, and I loved it. Maybe Bear was the father figure that Nick needed. Our dad had been nothing but a drunk and a worthless man. Bear was terrifying and hard, but I think it was just the ticket to get Nick clean.

“Well, this whole thing has been fun, but it’s eight in the morning, and apparently I spent the night on a sheet of plywood?” Trask sounded exhausted, and I had to change his bandages again. “I need a real bed.”

“Brother, you stay safe.” Bear gave him another strong look.

Trask smiled. “No worries.”

Bear stood up. “But more importantly, you keep this one safe.”

I froze when he threw his big arms around me. I stood there, looking at Trask, as if he would help me. I had no idea what to do. I brought my arms up and eventually put them around Bear’s broad shoulders. It was awkward, to say the least.

He whispered, “Thank you,” before breaking the hug. No one said anything, probably because even though he was old enough to be Trask’s father, he was still ripped.

Trask took my hand and we headed for the door. I leaned in and asked, “What was that all about?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea, but I’m not about to ask him.”

We walked out to the parking lot. The chilly air of the California morning hit me hard, and I realized just how tired I was. Trask started to head toward the Harley that had brought us to the club.

He stopped right in front of it. It was the first time I got a good look at it. It was black with a dark purple skull across the gas tank. Dark flames traveled down the side of the bike all the way to the back. I was prepared to get onto the bike, even with Trask in the condition he was in. I trusted him, and I knew I had no choice.

When he grabbed my hand and walked past it, I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Hope,” Trask gave me a clear look, and the over-confident smile I’d come to love, “I’m in no shape to be driving a motorcycle. I’ve been shot, lost a lot of blood, and stabbed a man this morning. I think we both know it’s best if you drive.”

Layne’s car was sitting there at the far end of the parking lot, right where I’d left it Thursday night. I laughed and fished the keys out of my pocket and went to unlock Trask’s passenger side door, just to rub it in his face a little more.

***

Back at Trask’s post-modern shipping container home, I changed the bandages in his bathroom. I stripped him naked and washed him carefully, keeping his shoulder dry. It was slow, quiet, and sensual, the complete opposite of the previous day’s shower.