Go to Hail (The Hail Raisers Book 2)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  The one good thing I could say about hot guy being in the back was that now the bar was free.

  And now I could get that glass of wine—wine that I’d been dreaming about since this afternoon when Reggie threw a fit because I wouldn’t take her to the zoo.

  Maybe I could drink it, and then convince Wednesday that I had to go.

  It was eight thirty. That was about an hour away from my usual bedtime, and it would be so nice to be at home and get a good night’s sleep, and then not have to take Reggie to school in the morning.

  On my day off.

  God, I could practically feel my bed calling for me, which made me hesitate halfway to the bar. Which in turn made the man that was following at my back, catch me.

  And he caught me—literally and figuratively.

  How did he do that, you ask?

  Due to my abrupt stop, and his hurried footsteps to keep up with me, it caused him to slam into my back.

  My arms shot out to catch my fall that I knew was inevitable, but before my face could make an introduction with the floor, large arms looped around my waist and caught me.

  Which then led to me bent over at the waist, his groin pressed against my ass, in the middle of the dance floor, during a song that had nearly everyone in the entire place slow dancing.

  I stood up, my non-existent abs burning, and turned, staring at the man that was still holding on to me with stunned silence.

  “You okay?” he questioned.

  His breath smelled like whiskey.

  It wasn’t a bad smell, per se, but it wasn’t my favorite.

  But, the rest of him? He smelled like leather, a hint of grease, and man.

  And his eyes were a stunning ice blue.

  “Yeah?”

  My yeah came out as a question, causing his hands to tighten slightly on my hips—hands that he still had firmly locked into place.

  “You’re not sure?”

  I shrugged and then tried to pull away.

  What did he do when I did? Put both of his arms around me...and then start to sway to the music.

  Sway. To. The. Music.

  He started dancing.

  With me.

  Me and my two left feet.

  “Uhhh,” I said, trying not to enjoy the way his hips were swaying back and forth across my pelvis. “What are you doing?”

  “I was going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me, but dancing works, too.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, and so, like a fool, I stood there for a few long seconds.

  And in those seconds, he took it as consent and continued to dance. This time, he smoothed one hand up my side and then down my arm, latching onto my hand.

  The other moved to curve around my hip, hauling me impossibly closer.

  By this point, I was on the verge of panic.

  What did I do?

  I stepped on his foot.

  Though, not on purpose.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, pushing slightly on his arm. “I don’t dance well.”

  “Well,” he started to let me go, and the feeling of panic started to subside. “I do. So that’s a win for you.”

  Then he spun me around like those men did to the ladies on Dancing With The Stars, and I gasped.

  When I found myself facing the right way again, he used his hand on my hip to turn me slightly, and then he did another really cool move that had me facing away from him for a few seconds before I was turned back the right way.

  I gasped, breathless, and stared at him in shock.

  “What are we…”

  He leaned forward, and I leaned back.

  That was about when I found myself leaning backward, staring at the world upside down.

  It went on like that for a few minutes longer as the song finished, and by the time he was finished, I was smiling.

  “That was fun.” I patted him on the shoulder and turned to walk away.

  He let me go, but only long enough for me to step away and start in the direction of the door.

  However, he steered me toward the bar and flagged down the bartender.

  “What do you want to drink?” he asked.

  A lot of wine, I mentally retorted. Audibly, I said, “Water.”

  The man at my side grunted something that sounded a lot like a rumbling laugh, but I didn’t turn to study his face to confirm.

  I kept my eyes forward and wondered if I could manage to sit on one of the bar stools without falling.

  Deciding that I could likely manage it, I sat, and then immediately cursed myself.

  I could feel the cool air on my exposed back and wondered again why I’d decided to wear the tank top.

  “Have you ever been to Gas Monkey before?”

  I blinked, turning to him as I began to tug on my shirt.

  “What?” I asked in confusion.

  He gestured with his head toward my breast, and my eyes followed his.

  The tank top I was wearing was one that my brother had gotten me. It’d fit PR—pre-Reggie. Last week had been the first time I’d tried it on since then, and I was happy to find out that it fit, though still a little tight. It’d been one of my favorites way back when.

  “Yes,” I told him. “Once. Before they were popular on the TV series, though.”

  His brows went up.

  “You watch Gas Monkey on TV?”

  I nodded, then immediately thanked the bartender for my glass of water. “Yeah.”

  “Christ, you might very well be every man’s dream girl.”

  When my startled eyes found his, I realized that he was staring at my ass.

  I cleared my throat of embarrassment.

  “W-why is that?”

  I didn’t know why I was every man’s dream girl—at least in his way of thinking. Joshua, my ex, would beg to differ.

  “You drink beer. You wear jeans so tight that I can admire your curves. You watch my favorite show…and you’re fucking hot.”

  I found myself grinning.

  “And, since I’ve been watching you all night, you haven’t said yes to a single man when he asked you to dance.”

  He’d been watching me all night? He thought I was hot? Holy shit!

  “Not to mention, when you felt yourself getting tipsy, you slowed down on the beer and didn’t make a fool of yourself like your friend did.”

  I took that moment to scan the area for Wednesday, and found her standing on the edge of the dance floor, head thrown back, drinking a drink that someone had to buy for her. Hopefully she at least took it straight from the bartender.

  The man that was standing next to her looked ready to pounce, and my eyes narrowed.

  Wednesday had been shrugging him off all night, and she’d even told him that she didn’t want to dance with him.

  Why all of a sudden would she talk—let alone laugh—with him?

  But, my eyes were pulled back toward him when he said, “What else do you like to do?”

  So, that was how, over the next half hour, we talked about anything and everything. In the middle of a bar.

  “What’s your favorite drink?” I queried.

  He snorted. “Dr. Pepper. Is there anything else to drink in Texas?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “Mine is Mountain Dew.”

  He gasped, sounding like he was highly offended by my admission.

  “Blasphemy.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ll have to rethink this ‘liking you’ business.”

  I giggled.

  Like a teenage girl.

  Jesus Christ.

  But before I could reply, Travis’ eyebrows snapped together, and his eyes narrowed on something that was over my left shoulder.

  In reaction, I turned and stared at where his gaze was pointing, and immediately got to my feet and headed in the direction of where I’d just seen Wednesday leave with the guy.

  Her head had been leaning on hi
s shoulder, and his arm was around her waist, guiding her out of the club.

  That was not Wednesday.

  Wednesday could handle her drinks. I’d once seen her down half a bottle of vodka, drink two beers, and then finish off the rest of the vodka all within a two-hour timeframe. Not once had I seen her act drunk.

  How she could handle all that and still act halfway sane—and I say half because she’s always partially insane—was beyond me. But the girl could do it.

  I’d seen it happen.

  My feet carried me outside, and before I knew it, I was scanning the parking lot for my friend.

  I didn’t see the familiar blonde hair, and I also didn’t see Wednesday’s flaming red dress.

  I did hear a man talking, though, and decided that maybe I should go over to where I could hear him and ask if he’d seen her.

  My first step around the side of the building had me coming face to face with the same man holding up a clearly under-the-influence Wednesday on the seat of a motorcycle—who had her skirt hiked up around her waist, with a man’s face buried between her cleavage.

  I snapped.

  “Hey!” I screamed. “What are you doing?”

  The man sneered and stood up fully, and Wednesday started to teeter off of the bike.

  Her eyes were almost all the way closed, and she didn’t say a word as the man caught her before she could face plant.

  Thank God.

  What I was not happy about, though, was the way the man was so clearly hanging onto her.

  “Did you slip something into her drink?” I accused as I rushed forward.

  “No,” the man lied. “She’s lit.”

  I highly doubted that.

  “All right, well you can put her into my car, then,” I gestured toward my car in the middle of the parking lot.

  The man didn’t even bother looking. Instead, he growled something.

  “She’s coming home with me.”

  I shook my head almost immediately. “No. She is not.”

  He fisted his hand. “And how, exactly, are you going to stop me?”

  That was when Travis sidled up, surprising not just the man, but me as well.

  I hadn’t realized that he’d followed me out here.

  Travis was not the type of man to stay silent and let a woman do the talking.

  At least, I didn’t think that he was.

  But then I saw the other man come up at my side and realized why he hadn’t immediately followed me out. He was getting backup.

  Smart man.

  “How about you leave before you make a scene.”

  And that was when, instead of helping her down nicely, the man practically shoved Wednesday off his bike.

  Her entire body hit the concrete before any of us could move, and her head bounced off with sickening force.

  Travis moved.

  One second, he was at my side. The next, he was across the short alley and slamming his fist into the man’s jaw.

  The man went down hard, knocked out so quick and fast that not even he saw it coming.

  Travis stood over the man with an angry expression on his face, and the man at my side whistled through his teeth.

  “Damn, bro,” the man at my side said. “Anger issues?”

  But the ‘bro’ was already moving toward Wednesday.

  “Careful with her head, Baylor. She may need a doctor.”

  I agreed but walked over to Wednesday who was rolling up to sit on her butt. When I got to her, I pulled out my phone and flipped on the flashlight, shining it into her eyes.

  “Both pupils are dilated,” I murmured. “She’s been drugged.”

  I felt the back of Wednesday’s head with both hands, happy when I didn’t find any lumps from her fall.

  Before I could help her anymore, though, Travis’ brother helped Wednesday sit up with her back against the wall of the club. He was crouched down in front of her, inspecting her face.

  “Baylor,” Travis snarled. “Get that piece of trash out of here.”

  Baylor, whom I assumed was Travis’ brother, seeing as they’d greeted each other as they had, followed his command. But only after he’d checked Wednesday over thoroughly, who was sitting down beside the building with her forehead resting on her upraised knees.

  “Sure, bro.”

  Then he walked over to the man that Travis had taken down, grabbed him by the leather jacket, and then drug him over to the bike he’d been trying to get Wednesday to straddle in her inebriated state.

  Once there, he threw him over the seat so his face was only inches away from the ground. Then he picked up a half-filled Dr. Pepper bottle—which might I add had dip spit in it—and poured it over the man’s face.

  I nearly vomited.

  The liquid poured over the man’s face, and started to go up his nose and into his partially open mouth.

  Bile rose in my belly, and I had to turn away.

  “Fuck.” I covered my mouth with my hand. “That’s the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen in my life.”

  I could handle a lot.

  I was a nurse.

  I’d seen babies being born. I’d worked a motorcycle wreck that had the man’s face nearly ripped off. I’d even had to pack an ulcer wound that was all the way down to the bone on some man’s ass.

  None of that compared to thinking about some random person’s spit cup full of tobacco juice going into another human being’s mouth.

  Not only was it unsanitary, but it was also disgusting and dangerous.

  But, after witnessing him groping Wednesday while she was clearly under the influence, and trying to get her to stay on his bike while he did it…well, I didn’t have much care or understanding for the man.

  Travis’ eyes caught mine, and he winked.

  I lifted my lip in a silent snarl, causing him to laugh.

  I then proceeded to flip him off, which only made him laugh harder.

  “Get your girl home, Hannah,” he ordered.

  I looked at my ‘girl,’ who happened to now be lying on the dirty alley floor.

  “Help me get her to my car?” I pleaded, holding my hands up in a praying motion.

  He did it without me asking twice. Once Wednesday was in his arms—and I wouldn’t be admitting that it caused me even the tiniest bit of jealousy—he took her to my car. A car I hadn’t even told him was mine, and waited for me to open it for him.

  Once he had her placed in my back seat, he closed the door, walked to me, placed a single kiss on my forehead, and was gone moments later.

  His destination? The man that Baylor was talking to.

  I chose to drive away instead of staying to watch what was about to happen to that man.

  I could deny any knowledge of the incident…and that man would get what he deserved.

  Chapter 4

  Sometimes when I watch Travis make coffee and he smiles, I wonder who he just thought about pissing off today.

  -Hannah’s secret thoughts

  Hannah

  Present day

  I juggled the car seat, as well as held Reggie’s hand, as we crossed the parking lot and entered the store.

  We were at the mall.

  Reggie wanted something pretty to wear, and stupidly enough, I’d agreed to get it for her.

  She was going to see her father this weekend, and she ‘wanted to look pretty for her daddy.’

  I knew that what she really wanted was to impress Joshua, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Joshua wouldn’t even notice. Joshua was too interested in his secretary, as well as his work, to care about his little girl.

  The only thing that would make Joshua notice her would be if Reggie suddenly knew the secret to the stock exchange.

  But even then, he’d only notice her long enough to get her secrets. Then he’d leave her on her own again, just like he did every time he deigned to see her.

  Sure, Jefferson was only two hours
from our hometown of Kilgore, Texas. But that didn’t make much of a difference to Joshua. Anything over a twenty-minute drive was an inconvenience to him.

  Which he let her know each and every time it was his turn to drive out here and get her for the weekend.

  So there I was, with a two-month-old, and my eight-year-old, taking them to the mall on a Friday at four in the afternoon.

  I’d forgotten TJ’s stroller, and I had to either carry him in his car seat, or carry him in the infant carrier that he absolutely despised being in. There was something about how he was restrained that he didn’t like, causing him to never quite settle down.

  Which meant I was carrying my twelve-pound two-month-old, in his eight-pound car seat, juggling a diaper bag, as well as trying to hang onto Reggie who refused to cross the street still without holding my hand.

  Not that that bothered me all that much. I loved holding Reggie’s hand.

  It’d been me and her for so very long, and she was growing up so godforsaken fast that I would take anything she was willing to give me.

  It felt like just yesterday when she decided that she was going to walk instead of crawl. Run instead of walk. Talk instead of gesture. Ask to be put down instead of being held.

  Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d helped give her a bath. It was like one day she decided that she no longer needed my assistance, and that was that.

  “Ohhh!” she cried out the moment we crossed into the mall. “Can we get a cookie?”

  I grinned.

  I’d created a monster.

  I loved Great American Cookie Factory. It was my guilty pleasure, and sure as shit, Reggie liked them, too.

  My phone rang before we could so much as pass through the front doors, and I growled.

  Before I could put down the infant carrier, though, it was taken out of my hands.

  I gasped, my gaze snapping up as fear started to slice through me, and then closed my eyes in relief.

  “You made it.”

  I’d called Travis about halfway to the mall and asked if he could come get TJ. It was the day before I would start working full-time, and not only did I need to run by the mall for Reggie, I also needed to run by the scrub store to get some different scrubs that would fit my more voluptuous hips.

  When I was pregnant, I’d been wearing a few pairs that I’d bought from the Goodwill. There was no way in hell I was paying the exorbitant amount of money for new scrubs that would only fit for just a few short months. However, now that I was down to my regular size—almost—I decided that maybe I’d spring for some scrubs that were a little prettier, and not so worn out.