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CHAPTER THREE

HAP

In the end, we managed to give Bambi a funeral. We all sat around the fire pit talking about our memories of him and raising toasts to him. It was now three days later, and things around the club still didn’t feel right. We were trying to act normal, but with the searches for Eugene coming up empty, it kept that dark cloud over us. I don’t think any of us will be able to move on until we find him.

Needing to get out of the club for some space, I decide to go for a ride. After riding for around an hour, I eventually turn and park up outside a bar. It looks shitty from the outside, but it’s quiet and exactly what I’m looking for.

I walk in and pull out a stool at the bar and take a seat. Raising my hand, I signal to the barman, who immediately comes across. “Whiskey, whatever you got, and keep them coming,” I tell him as I slide a wad of notes across the bar. He snatches them up and nods before he places down a tumbler and pours. There’s no small talk and no friendly welcomes. Just silence. Exactly what I want.

I sit there taking my time, enjoying the burn of the whiskey when I hear the stool beside me being pulled out. No clue who it is, as I don’t bother looking up.

“Vodka on ice and keep them coming,” a soft velvet voice demands. That catches my attention. I chance a side glance, and my eyes quickly sweep her up and down. She doesn’t look like the normal clientele for this place. She’s dressed in a tight black knee-length skirt and an off-white blouse that I notice is just slightly see-through enough to see the outline of her lace bra underneath. Her warm honey-coloured hair is pinned up, sharpening her cheekbones, and then there are her designer stiletto heels that turn the outfit from a hot librarian to a sexy and powerful woman.

“You know if you continue to stare at me like that, I will do you for sexual misconduct,” she snipes, not even bothering to look my way.

A smirk plays on my lips. “I can’t help where my eyes land. I haven’t said anything inappropriate. Yet.”

That gets her attention. She turns towards mine, taking a sip of her drink, causing the ice to clink in her glass. Her face flickers with surprise before she quickly hides it, her eyes lazily sweeping over me. A spark lights in them, telling me that she likes what she sees.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” she states.

“Is that your best chat-up line?” I tease, arching my brow in question.

“I wasn’t chatting you up, merely enquiring,” she says, pursing her lips in annoyance, but I don’t miss how her cheeks heat a little from embarrassment.

I hold my hands up defensively. “You started talking to me. I was just sat here quietly enjoying my drink.”

Her eye twitches. “You were eye-fucking me,” she argues.

“I may have been, or not. That could have just been the way I look at everyone,” I say with a shrug.

Her eyes assess me for a moment. “You’re right.” She looks across the bar. “Look at the gentleman that is sitting at the third table from the toilet door.” She gestures to the obese guy with a dirty shirt, and I notice his jeans are hanging low with his ass crack hanging out the back. “If you look at him the way you were looking at me, then I will apologise,” she challenges, taking a sip of her drink.

“Okay,” I accept before downing the last of my drink and lean slightly to my left to get a better view of the man. I sweep my eyes over the guy all the way down to his ass crack, but as my eyes reach that area, he reaches round with his hand and scratches deep in between his cheeks and then proceeds to remove his hand and sniff his fingers. I scrunch my nose up in disgust.

“Ha-ha!” she cheers. “See?” She laughs.

“The dude scratched his ass crack and sniffed his fingers,” I argue in defence, my grin widening. She takes another sip of her drink, and her hazel eyes are alight with amusement. I hold my hands up in surrender. “Fine, you got me. I was checking you out, but you can’t blame me. This isn’t exactly the type of place a woman like you comes to at...” I pause, looking at the time on my phone. “One in the afternoon,” I finish.

She knocks back her vodka before holding out the glass, shaking the ice in it to get the bartender’s attention for a refill. As she turns on the stool, she twists her body towards me, and with her long legs crossed, it causes her skirt to ride up her thigh a little.

“What do you mean, women like me?” she presses, arching her brow.

I reach for my glass of whiskey the barman had refilled and take a slow sip as my eyes slowly sweep over her. As I place the glass back down on the bar, not breaking my gaze from hers, I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. Her eyes instantly flicker to my mouth.

“A beautiful woman, a classy woman, and clearly a woman that is extremely successful going by the designer heels you are wearing. I would imagine someone like you would be seen more in a wine or cocktail bar. Rather than this place,” I point out. “And I’m guessing this ain’t the place your husband would usually take you to, either,” I add, nodding to the ring on her finger.

She flinches, and the smile falls from her face. The barman refills her drink and she nods her thanks before knocking her drink back in one again. She exhales a long breath and taps the glass for another.

“Yeah, well, you are right. This is definitely not a place my husband would bring me to,” she says with a biting tone.

The lust-filled haze I had for her clears a little, and I take a moment to study her, more than just taking in what’s on the surface. She looks tired and deflated, but what I notice the most, what I see when I really look at her is the same fucking thing I’m feeling. Pain. She’s here for the same reason I am, to try and block that emptiness, that constant feeling of hurt and silence from her mindless thoughts. Her eyes bore into mine, and I know she sees it too.

I hold out my glass. “To finding peace at a shitty bar with a beautiful woman,” I toast.

Her lips twitch as she picks up her glass. “To finding temporary peace at the bottom of the bottle in a shitty bar, with a hot biker that I am pretty sure is far too young for me,” she adds, clinking her glass with mine.

She knocks her drink back while I take a small sip, just watching her. “Before we bare our souls, why the fuck would you think I am too young for you?” I ask.

She scoffs. “Look at me, and then look at you. You are what, 23?” she asks.

I smirk. “25.”

She nods. “Jesus Christ, okay. You not going to guess my age?” she counters.

I shake my head. “Not a fucking chance. One, because I don’t give a shit, and two, I ain’t fucking stupid. You never comment or guess a woman’s age,” I point out.

“I’m 39,” she answers.

“Baby, that ain’t no age gap. That’s every damn boy’s wet fucking dream,” I state. Her pale pink lips part and her cheeks heat. “You would have been the hot babysitter that parents would hire, and every young boy would be wanking under their covers at night thinking about you while you sat downstairs. Hell, even the daddies were probably thinking about you as they fucked their wives,” I tell her truthfully.

She closes her mouth and swallows. “I walked in on my husband fucking my sister in our hot tub last week,” she blurts out.

“Your husband is a fucking moron, and your sister is a cunt,” I respond. Her lips curve into a small smile. “My friend died in my arms two weeks ago, and I can’t fucking move past it,” I confess. Her smile falls, and she reaches out, placing her hand on mine.

“I’m so sorry,” she states softly, her warm gaze full of sympathy. Her thumb strokes back and forth over the back of my hand. “What happened?” she asks. When I don’t instantly answer, she goes to withdraw her hand. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive. It’s none of my business,” she apologises.

I quickly grab her hand, stopping her from withdrawing it, enjoying the feeling of her soft, delicate hand in mine too much to lose her touch yet.

“You don’t need to apologise,” I state. “It’s, er, private. Club business. He was young, too fucking young,” I add.

Her eyes flicker to my patch, and her eyes widen a little. Her mouth forms an O shape as she reads it. “Oh, so you are like a real biker, biker,” she says, a little stunned, still holding her hand in mine. I smile and nod. She blinks a few times before she tugs her hand from mine. “I er, I’m sorry about your friend, but I, shit, this isn’t a good idea,” she mumbles before knocking back her vodka.

I stand and step into her space, moving closer to her so that I can smell her perfume. Fuck, she smells good. “What isn’t a good idea? We are just two people in a bar talking while having a drink. There ain’t nothing else to it,” I state, keeping my voice low.

She pauses for a second, and her eyes flicker between my eyes and mouth a couple of times before she relaxes and nods. “I’m a lawyer. I deal mainly in divorces,” she explains.

I nod and reluctantly return to my stool. “And that doesn’t look good if you are seen with an outlaw,” I clarify.

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

“But you deal with divorces, not criminal law. So there ain’t no problem,” I add.

“I trained in criminal law, and I still take the odd case, but I mainly focus on divorce. As that is where the money is.” She shrugs.

“Well, then if I ever need a lawyer, I know who to look for Miss…?” I ask, holding my hand out to hers in greeting, prompting her for her name, holding out my hand to hers in greeting.

She places her hand in mine and smiles. “Alina Rice.” She pauses. “Soon to be Alina Bennet,” she states.

“Alina Bennet sounds better,” I compliment. “My name’s Hap,” I add.

“Hap?” she asks. “Is it short for something?”

“Yeah, Happy,” I confirm.

Her smile widens. “A biker named Happy,” she says, biting back her laughter.

“It’s my road name. I’m not exactly known to be the smiling type, so my brothers gave me the name Hap,” I explain.

“You’ve been smiling plenty this afternoon,” she points out.

“Well, that is all down to you, because I sure as shit wasn’t smiling like this before you walked in,” I counter.

She blushes, and as she looks down at our still-joined hands, she swiftly removes hers. I immediately miss her touch. She pauses, clearing her throat. “So Hap,” she says with a smile on her face. “What’s it like being a biker?”

I grin. “It’s home, and it’s freedom,” I sigh.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting such a deep answer,” she retorts.

“It ain’t a deep answer, just an honest one,” I say with a shrug.

She takes a sip of her drink. “So, are you not going to ask me what it’s like being a lawyer?” she asks.

I shake my head no.

She blanches a little and frowns. “Well then, what are you going to ask me?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.

“I’m going to ask you if you want to go for a ride on my bike to your house, where instead of talking and asking mindless fucking questions, we can fuck,” I state sharply.

She chokes on her drink, coughing. Her eyes are wide as she gazes at me. “Are you serious?” she asks in disbelief. “You said this was just a drink.”

Nodding, I get up off my stool and step closer to her. I push my face down to hers, and she tilts her head back to look up at me. Leaning in, I lightly brush my fingertips along her jaw, trailing them down to her chest. She shudders at my touch as my lips graze over hers.

“I lied, and I’m deadly serious, baby,” I rasp. “What do you say?” I press.

She swallows, and I can see lust and nervousness swirling in her eyes. “But you’ve been drinking,” she counters.

“I’ve been nursing that same drink for the last hour. That’s only my second,” I confirm, pointing to the barely touched glass of whiskey. I eased up on my drinking as soon as she started talking to me.

“I, I,” she stutters, and I can’t help but smile. I’m sure this woman is never short of words when she has to argue a client’s case, and yet my being close to her is making her stumble over her words. “Okay,” she finally breathes.

“Good.” I smile and stand back, taking her hand in mine and giving her a gentle tug.

“Wait!” she protests. Pausing, she knocks back the last of her drink and grabs her purse, chucking some money down on the bar before I drag her out. Her heels are clicking behind me as she tries to keep up. I stop at my bike and grab the helmet, holding it out to her.

“Put this on,” I order.

“Really?” she asks.

I nod. She sighs and puts it on as I swing my leg over my bike and start her up. She’s still standing there as the loud rumbling of my bike drowns out any sound.

“You’ll have to guide me,” I tell her. She nods, and as she looks down at her figure-hugging skirt, she sighs before yanking it up to the top of her thighs, and then she climbs on the back of my bike. Once she’s seated, she wraps her arms around my waist.

“Out of here and make a right at the end of the road, then follow that road until you see the church, then take a left. Follow that road around the corner, then my house is number 1102. It’s on the left with a blue bench on the porch,” she instructs.

I nod and peel out of the parking spot, her grip tightening on me as I ride off. Unable to resist, I remove my left hand from the handlebars and place it on her bare thigh. I feel her body shudder against mine and my smile widens. I was hoping the bottom of a bottle would distract me from what I’m feeling, but now I think I may have found something a lot more enjoyable.