by Jill Shannon
"Oh, I want to do this and so much more, but you know the best part about it?" He waited for Willow to shake her head negatively, the evil smile in place. "No one will ever believe that I did this to you." Waving his hand at her face that was starting to swell, he added, "Just like every other slut who didn't do what I told her to do."
Willow's adrenalin started to flow through her veins the minute Raymond finished speaking. Preparing for his next move, she watched his body intently. When Ray propelled himself at her, Willow sidestepped and shoved him in the back. His forward momentum took him over the railing of the boat. Hearing him hit the water, Willow rushed to the edge of the boat.
"I swear to God, I'm going to kill you!" Ray shouted at her from the water.
Willow stood by the railing laughing at how mad he really was. "If you ever lay another fucking hand on me, I will cut it off. You're a piece of shit. Hope you enjoy your swim back to shore." She found a life jacket and threw it over the side of the boat to him.
What Willow had said registered in Raymond's quickly sobering head. A mixture of fear and anger could be heard in his voice when he shouted at her, "You can't leave me here. We're at least a mile from shore." Willow quickly grabbed her phone, taking, first, a picture of the boat, then her face, and, finally, of Ray in the water. "What was that for, to show everyone what a good time we had today?" The sarcasm oozed from his mouth.
"No, it's to prove you only had a scratch and that you were alive when I left you. The one I took of the boat is to prove I did no damage to it. I also took one of myself, so I can show it to the local police as soon as I dock. Then I'm filing for a restraining order, and if you ever fucking come near me again. I will file charges." With that said, she walked to the helm and started the boat. Putting it in gear, she pulled away from Raymond. When she turned the boat around toward the shore, she passed him in the water. Throwing the blue fender at him, she shouted, "I'll even leave another floating device for you, you son of a bitch." Then she hit the throttle of the boat and left him there.
After that happened, Willow had sworn off men and concentrated on her work. She had also decided it was time to move on. She didn't want to live on the island any more, in fear of running into Ray. Luca had wanted to kill him when she had told him what had happened. Yet, he had given his word that he wouldn't touch the worm. And when she had wanted to leave, he had volunteered to go with her. They had been together ever since. Sometimes Luca knew her better then she knew herself. Like now, he saw her reaction to the man at the gym. It was both fear and excitement. Luca had noticed the expression on the man's face as Willow had pushed her way onto the machine. It was one of pure fascination, then frustration. Until Luca had shown up. Then the man's face had distorted into what Luca could only describe as sadness.
They had reached the hotel and Luca teased her, "You never know, you might just run into gym guy at the fundraiser tomorrow. Wouldn't that be fun?"
Willow smacked him in the arm. "Would you please just let it go? I'm going to my room. Go find a strip club or something. Work on your own love life and leave mine alone. I'm doing just fine." Then she turned away from him and headed toward the elevators, hearing him yell after her, "I'll see you in the morning, Chica, sweet dreams."
Willow flipped him off as the elevator doors closed. Then what he had said registered in her brain. If the gym guy was a Celtic Demon, he would surely be there tomorrow. Thinking about bumping into him started the butterflies in her stomach again.
Hunter sat on the side of his bed, holding his head in his hands. He'd had the same nightmare, only this time, it had played out to the end where Rodney was shot. He had thought if he had drunk enough at Dancer's bachelor party, the dream would not assail his sleep. Now, not only had the dream woken him up in a cold sweat, he had a wicked hangover as well. Getting up from the bed and basically tiptoeing across the floor to the mini fridge, he reached in and grabbed the last bottle of Yoo Hoo. Making a mental note to pick up more, he popped the cap and drank some. When most people had more alcohol the next day for their hangovers, Hunter had found that Yoo Hoo did the same thing. The difference, he had a clear head for the rest of the day after drinking it, and today, he needed a clear head. Helping to organize the fundraiser was one thing, then when you add in a wedding and baptism before it, there was a lot more to do. The day of the event was always so much more stressful; this day was no different. Yet, as hard as he tried, something always went wrong, and when it did, it was usually his job to fix it. Hunter thought to himself, just once, it would be nice if everything went as planned so I could enjoy what I have worked so hard to put together. Finishing his Yoo Hoo and looking at the clock, he headed for the shower. He needed to be at the field when everyone started arriving, so he could direct them to their appropriate booths. Viking had volunteered to ride over with Hunter and do what he could to help. Having him there not only added an extra set of hands, but people didn't question Viking much. Hunter got a smile on his face, thinking of how drunk Viking had gotten last night, then said out loud to himself, "There's a good chance you're riding to the field alone this morning, Saint." Shaking his head, he got in the shower.
When Hunter was ready to head over, he grabbed his cut from the hanger and what he needed then headed for his bike. When he got downstairs, Viking was sitting at the bar drinking a cup of coffee. "I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to come looking for you."
Hunter was shocked that Viking was so clear-headed. "And I was wondering if you were going to show. How are you here? You were so drunk last night."
Viking looked around before he answered, "If you tell anyone, I'll kick your ass." Viking waited till Hunter confirmed he wouldn't say anything then said, "I tried that Yoo Hoo stuff you're always pushing, and you weren't kidding. The hangover is gone, and I'm ready to start all over again today with a whole new outlook on tomorrow." Viking grinned at Hunter.
Hunter just shook his head. "Scar, can I have a cup of coffee to travel with?" Scar went about getting the travel mug and coffee. "All I can say is thank you." He looked at Viking. "I really thought you were going to bail out on me."
"I almost did." Viking bowed his head. "But then I realized how important today was, and it shouldn't rest all on your shoulders. You asked for help; I gave my word, so here I am."
Hunter grabbed the coffee and said thank you to Scar, then placing his hand on Viking's shoulder, he said, "Thanks Brother, I really do need the help today." Anything to help distract him from his nightmare was a blessing. Plus, he was kind of hoping he might just get a chance to run into the woman from the gym. Yankee said he needed to find a woman, and he was probably right. Shaking the thought from his head, he told Viking, "Let's hit the road. People will probably be there waiting for us."
They said goodbye to Scar, and getting on their bikes, they left for the fundraiser.
The wedding had been delayed because the bride needed to feed the groom's child, but in the end, it had been a blessing. Robert had slept through his parents' wedding and his baptism. Preacher presided over both. Although, no one knew how old Preacher was, they all considered him the oldest member of the club. Standing five-foot-ten, he usually wore a blue bandana over his bald head but had the physique of a thirty-year-old. Years earlier, he had taken care of the drunk driver who had put Killian's father in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Preacher had gone to jail and had found God. When he was released, he had requested the position of club preacher. The president at the time thought it couldn't hurt, plus, it kept Preacher involved with the club. Since then, he prayed over the club runs and had performed all the marriages and baptisms. Judge had even allowed him to start a Sunday sermon in the clubhouse for anyone who wanted to attend.
As the reception was coming to an end, Judge presented Diesel with his patch. Every person stood, showing Diesel the respect he had earned. Each member approached him and gave their own congratulations. By this time, people were starting to arrive for the fundraiser since it began immedia
tely after. The caterers had been methodically clearing the tables throughout the reception and quietly setting up for the fundraiser. The tent under which the reception was held was to be a sitting and resting area during the fundraiser. Knowing how hot the South Carolina sun was, the club learned that if there was a place for people to sit and relax, they stayed longer. The Demons would sell water, soda, and beer with all the proceeds going to the children's scarring unit.
The fundraiser was in full swing, and Hunter looked around at all the people smiling, laughing, and having a good time. He figured now would be the perfect time for him to relax a bit and walk around to some of the booths. He especially wanted to visit John Lawson's booth. Hunter found Judge and let him know what he was doing just in case some disaster occurred. Hunter started walking toward the right side of the area. The children's space had been set up near the comfort tent to help the parents. There were bouncy houses, face painting, and a petting zoo. Next to the petting zoo area began the adult booths, to his left were the specialty tents. Five total, the first was a casino tent, with poker, Texas hold em', blackjack, and roulette tables. The next was the food tent, with five different kinds of cuisine to choose from. Another booth that held Hunter's fascination was the electronics tent. They had a virtual reality space set up that he was determined to try. The next tent was mostly for the women, with pocketbooks, accessories, and clothing, Hunter knew there was no reason to visit that one. The last tent in the row was sponsored by Myrtle Beach Harley Davidson. When Hunter thought of the layout for the booths and tents, he made sure the dealership was positioned close to the car show area. The row of booths to his right consisted of jams and jellies, jewelry, leather gear, quilts, and home-made items, pottery, and plants, with the tattoo booth right next to the mud wrestling tent.
On the other side of the specialty tents was where the Demons had their booth, with shirts, pins, and other items displaying their patch emblem on them. There were also a few carnival booths with dart throwing, balloon popping, throwing a ball at tin cans, and a ring toss game. At the end of the row was John Lawson's booth, right next to the entrance to the car show area. Hunter had walked the whole area looking and making sure things were going okay, until he got to John's booth. He ducked his head as he entered and started looking at the spectacular art on display. Each one was better than the next. When he stopped in front of the painting called 'Stirling', Hunter stood looking at the Ferrari 250 GT SWB centered in the middle to draw focus, an image of Stirling Moss, the former British Formula One race car driver to the right of the car, and the Ferrari horse was featured to the rear of the vehicle. The painting was done in shades of blues, black, and white. The likeness of Stirling Moss was striking, and the detail in the Ferrari looked identical to the one sitting at the car show.
As he was standing there, a petite, dark-haired woman came up and greeted him, saying, "Is there anything that catches your eye?"
Hunter turned to her with a grin on his face and replied, "Yes, everything. I'm Hunter," holding his hand out, "I've been following Mr. Lawson's career for a few years. I love his work."
"Pleasure to meet you, Hunter. I'm Pauline, and I'm sure my husband is going to love hearing such high praise about his work. Is there one, in particular, you were interested in?"
As Hunter was about to answer her, a tall man with short greying hair entered from the rear of the tent. He wore a short-sleeved button down blue and white plaid shirt, a pair of moleskin trousers, and a flat cap. "Pauline, I don't think I will ever get used to wearing a short-sleeved shirt, but I'm very grateful for it in this heat." He took his cap off, waving it in front of his face.
"I'm sorry, John, but if you'd worn your waistcoat and jacket, I'd be driving you to the hospital for heatstroke," Pauline countered. Hunter laughed at the couple's exchange. "Oh, this is Hunter, dear." The two men shook hands. "He's interested in buying the 'Stirling'."
Having talked with Hunter only on the phone, John had been looking forward to meeting him. "Pleasure to meet you, Hunter. This is a wonderful thing the Demons are doing. I have the Harley picture in the back. It always gives me a good feeling to donate one of my paintings to be auctioned off for a good cause." Then addressing Hunter's question about the 'Stirling', he announced proudly, "I'm sorry, but I just sold it."
"It's an honor to meet you, sir. I've been a fan for a while." And then it dawned on Hunter what Mr. Lawson had said. Forgetting about what he was there to pick-up, he asked, "What do you mean, it's sold?"
"Yes, what do you mean, John? You didn't tell me you sold it. I would have taken it down," Pauline scolded him.
"A woman approached me as I was coming back from the food tent. I just finished getting her information. There wasn't time for me to tell you," he countered back at Pauline.
"Oh. Okay. Well, thank you for telling me and congratulations on the sale, darling." Pauline walked over, giving him a hug and kiss. "I'll just take it down now, so we can wrap it and have it ready for her when she returns later." It was then she remembered Hunter. "I'm sorry, Hunter; you'll have to pick another one. Oh, and, John," she made sure she had his attention, "if it's okay, could we donate both motorcycle paintings for the auction?" When John gave a head nod, Pauline got a beautiful smile on her face. "I'll put that in something so Hunter can take it with him as well." Then Pauline left the men alone.
Hunter needed to know who had purchased the painting. "Mr. Lawson, could you tell me who purchased the painting? Maybe I could persuade her to sell it to me?"
Mr. Lawson was about to tell Hunter that he couldn't disclose the identity of the purchaser when the woman from the gym entered the booth saying, "Mr. Lawson, I think I might have left my cell…" the woman's voice trailed away when she saw Hunter. Composing herself, she continued turning her attention to John. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt, but I think I left my cellphone here."
"Are you the one who bought 'Stirling'?" Hunter asked. He couldn't believe his fortune; it was the same woman from the gym yesterday. Stunning blue eyes met his.
"Why, yes, I did. Isn't it a stunning painting? I just love the colors," she commented offhandedly.
Pauline entered the booth again, carrying a cellphone. "Is this what you are looking for?"
With a sigh of relief, the woman cried, "Oh, my God, yes. Thank you so much. My whole life is on that phone." Pauline handed her the phone.
"I understand what you mean." Pauline smiled.
"Well, thank you again. I'll be back later to get the painting."
The woman started to leave, and Hunter stood in her way. "I let you have the treadmill last night, but I'm getting the painting today."
The woman followed her line of sight up the very tall, very handsome man standing in front of her. She looked into his unique grey eyes and told him, "I don't care if you are a Celtic Demon. I saw it first. It's mine. Now, if you don't mind, I have someone waiting for me." The woman started to walk past him.
"Wait!" he shouted. "I really love that painting; won't you even consider an offer?"
"If our roles were reversed, would you sell it to me?" Hunter's face told her everything she needed to know. "I didn't think so." She moved around him and made her way out of the booth. "Besides," she added over her shoulder, "I would think you'd prefer something you might be able to drive." Noting his height, she added, "Perhaps, you'll take some advice. You'd probably fit better in the 308GTS. You should be looking at that painting." Then she walked out.
He watched as she met up with the same man she was with last night. Hunter couldn't understand the fascination with this woman, but he also knew she was right; had their roles been reversed, he wouldn't have considered selling it, either. "Mr. Lawson, could I commission you to do a painting for me?"
"If you're willing to pay for it, I'm willing to paint it," John teased.
"I would very much like you to do another 'Stirling' for me. I'd also like you to paint my motorcycle. Could you do that for me?" Hunter paused then added, "I have numerous photo
s I can give you to create it." Hunter stood with John, giving him all the information and transferring over the photos John would use to create the painting. Leaving a hefty deposit, Hunter left the booth feeling better that he was getting what he wanted but discouraged about the little woman who kept popping up in his path.
Hunter was walking back to the food tent, the paintings for the auction in his hand. Seeing a group of his brothers, he headed that way. Right before he reached them, two men from the VA Motorcycle Club approached him. Recognizing the twins right away, Hunter got a smile on his face. "Daniel," he said, shaking his hand, "Elias," grabbing his hand next. The pair stood at five-foot-seven inches, and with dark brown hair and mocha brown eyes, it was hard to tell the two apart. "Damn, it's been a while."
The twins had been piloting the Blackhawk helicopter the night of Hunter's failed mission. Not long after that night, they had retired their commissions and moved back home to Long Island. "How've you been, Saint?" Daniel asked.
Ironic that he should run into these two men today, "Getting by, Goose." Hunter used his call name. "What's new with you guys? Where are you stationed?"
"We retired and headed home to Long Island. Prospected for the V.A.'s Motorcycle Club for a year, before earning our patches," Elias told him. The rocker on top of their cuts read U.S. Veterans, the bottom rocker read New York. The patch in between was the head of an eagle, with five stars spaced out above it. "We heard what you were doing here and wanted to get involved. We sponsored a ride and collected about twenty grand. We volunteered to deliver it, although fifty other members made the trip with us."
Hunter was humbled by their gesture. "My president is just over there." Hunter pointed over his shoulder. "Walk with me, and I will introduce you guys."
"That works for me," Daniel said. "I can give him the donation. That takes the temptation away from me to buy a new bike."