by Davida Lynn
I was too choked up to speak. Trask’s voice was soothing, even in the middle of a crowded bar full of society’s rejects.
“Where are you staying tonight?”
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know.”
His hand slid down to the inside of my thigh. It wasn’t sexual. It was just intimate; a touch I hadn’t felt in years. “Well, I do. You’re coming to my place. I’m guessing you could use a good night’s sleep. We’ll throw on something terrible and pass out.”
I laid my head against Trask’s shoulder. My love of reality TV had not faded, nor had his memory. We’d spent many summer nights laughing over Big Brother and Fear Factor.
It was like the ten-year absence never existed. Trask said the things I needed to hear, and his fingers touched me exactly how I needed them to.
I closed my eyes, drinking in his calming presence. For the first time since I heard Nick’s message, my heart eased its workload. Things felt like they could turn around. In retrospect, I should have been thinking the complete opposite.
The band was breaking down their equipment, but the ringing in my ears would last for a day. Besides the Rising Sons, most of the bar had emptied out. The place was still lit with low light, the only color pouring in from the neon sign outside. Sometime during the evening, Nick had texted me that he was somewhere safe.
Trask had stayed beside me most of the night, but he hadn’t said much. I was still itching to hear all about our lost decade. All I knew about it had been told to me by friends, and I was eager for the story direct from the source.
He still had that faraway look, and I didn’t want to push it. The sweet touches he would give during the night were enough to keep me calm and satisfied. I watched him interact with the other bikers as I still tried to wrap my head around his new life.
Finally, he leaned over to me and said, “All right, let’s hit the road.” I nodded and stood up. Apparently I’d had more to drink than I thought.
My legs were weak. I laughed and grabbed onto Trask’s shoulder for support. He smiled and pulled me close as we headed to the door.
Even before we were outside, I could hear the sounds of motorcycles firing up. The sound filled the desert night as they roared to life and sped into the darkness. Trask was leading me towards the row of bikes, and it hit me that he wanted me to go with him, not follow.
I stopped, “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle...” I tried to sound serious, but the alcohol was fighting against me.
“Well,” Trask said with that over-confident smile, “I guess that’ll be one more thing you can cross off your bucket list.”
I put my hands on my hips, “Maybe it’s not on my bucket list, mister.”
“Sometimes your bucket list isn’t under your control.” He swung his leg over his bike and turned back to me. “It’s three miles, I’m stone sober, and I have all the power in this relationship.” I could hear the humor in his words, but there was a bit of ice behind them, as well.
We both knew he was right. Trask had agreed to help me, but that really didn’t mean anything. I’d shown up on his turf after ten years and asked him to save my brother’s life. I had nothing to offer except my body, and I had already given that to him gladly. He could dump me at any time, and I really couldn’t fault him.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” It was the second time I had asked him. He was still Trask Rivers, but the man who sat on a motorcycle before me was harder, darker, and irresistible.
When Trask fired up his bike, the sheer volume made me jump. I giggled, trying far too late to hide it. He pulled back on the throttle, making the engine howl in protest, longing to be set free into the night. He shook his head to let me know that I didn't really didn’t have any choice at all.
I stood there, the situation sinking in as I stared at him. As my heart pounded, I looked over at Layne’s car. It was safe, it was friendly, but it wasn’t going to keep Nick alive. He was right; I had no choice.
Stepping up to the Harley, I put my hand on Trask’s sturdy shoulder. As I swung my leg over the bike, I tried to forget absolutely everything I learned about trauma injuries from med school.
I leaned forward to speak into his ear. “Please tell me you at least have a helmet for me.” My guess was that if he did, he would have offered it already. I was right.
“Nope. I guess I’ll be taking your life in my hands.”
Before he took off, Trask turned back to me. “A lot has changed since you split for a better life, Hope.”
The ride was something I could barely describe. It was pure adrenaline, pure sex, pure fun. Our bodies shifted and bent into the turns, my hair blew back from the wind, and I knew the true meaning of freedom with my arms wrapped tightly around the man giving it to me.
The headlight barely illuminated the road in front of us, and all my instincts told me to beg for him to slow down, but the only sound that came out was a primal scream. Besides the sex that night, the motorcycle ride was more fun than I’d had in years. I’d thrown myself into school so hard, thinking that it would transform me. It was my way of cleansing the white trash upbringing I despised.
That was all gone from the second Trask let the motorcycle loose. I held on like it was a bucking bronco, only I had to last way more than eight seconds before I defeated my fears.
Just when I was getting into the rhythm of the road, he slowed down and made a sharp right. I squealed with delight, squeezing his broad chest tighter. The lights of a subdivision began to greet us. Trask slowed down to a crawl and I laid my head against his back, taking in the strong leather smell from his vest. He told me earlier that it was actually called a cut, which didn’t make sense to me, but most of what was happening didn’t.
For a second, I pictured us pulling into one of the cookie cutter houses along the street. The front doors were all painted the same color, and I could only count three different home designs. It wasn’t his style, and I breathed a sigh of relief when we left the subdivision. We were back on the highway, the bike allowed its freedom.
He was right, it was only three miles to his house, but I could have ridden behind my Sergeant at Arms until the sun chased our backs from the east. We pulled down a narrow dirt road, and the headlight shone onto something completely alien.
***
The shipping containers looked like they had been arranged by a gigantic toddler. They seemed randomly placed, yet they still flowed beautifully. To my amazement, there were windows and a door. Trask lived in this huge sculpture in the California desert.
The house was two long containers on the ground connected on top by another diagonal container. From above it must have looked like an H leaning to one side. Trask pulled up, driving slow over the dry earth. He stopped on concrete beneath the shelter of the second floor connecting piece.
He shut the engine down, and the silence matched the darkness surrounding us. The bike leaned to one side, and the sexy biker that I had rekindled a romance with stepped off.
“End of the road,” he said.
I laughed and slid off the back of the bike. I didn’t realize it, but the ride had done something to me. The danger, the adventure, and even the vibration had me hot for Trask again. I had the choice this time, and I wanted him.
I wrapped my arms around him and pulled his chiseled jaw down to my lips. He grunted and picked me up like I was nothing at all. I saw his bike shrinking behind us as he carried me toward the front door. I wanted to marvel over his magnificent house, but I was too busy with the sexy biker to care about anything but getting him naked as soon as possible.
Somehow, Trask was able to get the door open. He carried me through his dark house, still kissing and squeezing my ass hard. I let out a lover’s laugh when he laid me down on a large bed. We made love again, now in almost total darkness. He was rough, adding more tender spots to my slender body. His strength was amazing.
After he collapsed on top of me, we laughed at our exhaustion, our passion, and our history. I
slept the sleep of the dead, knowing that the next day would be dangerous. I trusted Trask with my life, and I’d soon understand just what it felt like to actually hold a life in your hands.
When I woke up the next morning, Trask was out cold. I checked my phone; it was just past eight. The curse of being an early riser. On a normal Friday, I would have lecture first thing in the morning, but I was away for a “family emergency”—at least, that was what the email to my professor said.
I slid off of Trask’s bed and dug through the pile of clothes beside it. I finally found my panties. I pulled them up my legs. As I was reaching down for the summer dress, I decided against it and grabbed his black t-shirt instead.
As I walked out of his room, I spotted the washroom to my left. I pulled his shirt over my head and looked at myself in the mirror. I swam in his shirt; it came down past my underwear and stopped halfway down my thighs. It was just another reminder of how petite I was, and how ripped he had become.
I left the bathroom and checked on him. He was still breathing slow and deep. I watched his naked body for a minute, trying to wrap my head around what had transpired between us last night. It was like two rabid dogs had been let loose on each other. Our bodies fought, but we weren’t out for blood—we were out for pure, unconditional pleasure.
Turning, I began my hunt for the kitchen, I was in dire need for some coffee.
The house was a bachelor pad from top to bottom. There were framed pictures of motorcycles on the walls, and various parts were lying on the end tables. Strips of chrome reflected the morning sun all over the the living room. From the inside, it was impossible to tell that the house was made of shipping containers. It may have been filled with car and motorcycle parts, but it was clean and beautifully decorated, just another thing I’d never have expected from Trask.
In high school, he could barely keep his shirt tucked in. I often brought his homework to school with me so that he wouldn't lose it before he had to turn it in. I loved leaving him notes in his locker that said things like, “Don’t lose this in the fifteen feet from here to trig.”
I could only think that the military had straightened him out. I smiled as I walked through his place. The kitchen was just as neat and tidy. It was wall-to-wall stainless steel. The fridge handles were part of a motorcycle. The brake handles, maybe?
I shook my head and began to open cabinets, looking for coffee. I found it below the counter and started the coffee maker. Leaning back against the countertop, I closed my eyes, listening to the water boil. The aroma filled the kitchen, and I took the invigorating scent in.
Even before the water had completely made it into the carafe, I switched the pot out for a Harley Davidson mug. Once it was full, I swapped them back. The black liquid steamed, and it warmed my hands as I held the mug. There was no milk in the fridge. There was almost nothing in there at all, so I only put sugar into my coffee.
I was taking a shallow sip when I heard Trask clearing his throat. I looked down the hallway and saw him almost dragging his body toward me. In high school, I would have felt embarrassment to see someone, even my boyfriend walking naked through a house. Ten years later, I took in the sight of his hard body. His tattoos covered his arms and chest, and I smiled.
His head hung down as he came closer. He was like a zombie searching for brains, except he was looking for coffee. I thought that was what he wanted, anyway. I was wrong.
Trask reached for the coffee mug in my hand. He finally looked up, and I saw a devilish smile on his face. He slammed the mug down on the counter, and I was in his grasp. He lifted me and spun around. I laughed when he growled at me and kissed my neck. Trask was pulling me back to the bedroom.
He carried me like a caveman with his prize, and at the end of the hallway, he pulled me into the bathroom. He kicked the door closed from behind before he set me down. I felt so absolutely taken.
I watched him fire up the shower, and it wasn’t long before steam was filling up the small room. Trask was already naked, but he pulled the t-shirt up and over my head. I watched the muscles in his back twist and knot as he slid my panties down. His tattoos seemed to come alive as he lowered himself to his knees before me.
My heart raced. The Trask I had known in high school was a wonderful sexual partner, but he didn’t have that confidence and force I wanted from a lover. Now I was in awe of him. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he took it. He knew exactly what I needed, and he gave it.
He stood up, lifting me around the waist as he did. Trask carried me into the shower, and let me slide down his wet body until my toes touched the tiles. As the hot water began to soak my hair, I broke the silence.
“What are you going to do?”
“Hmm?” Trask ran his hands down my body, following the curve of my waist down to my hips.
I smiled, trying to hold my body steady as his fingers touched my sensitive skin. “About the drug dealer. What’s your plan?”
Trask turned and grabbed a bar of soap behind him. It was beside a bottle of shampoo, the only other thing in the shower. Bachelor pad to the extreme. He worked the bar in his hands, lathering them up.
“I’m going to ask them very nicely to forgive Nick’s debts.” I stared at him through the layers of steam rising and swirling around us. “What?” He gave me hurt look, like a child when he doesn’t get his way.
“You’re going to ask them?” I knew he was toying with me, but I had to play his game to actually hear his plan.
He smiled and nodded, “I’m not just going to ask; I’m going to ask nicely. If they don’t accept,” Trask worked the soap over my chest, “which I doubt they will, then things will devolve into a heated argument where we both hear each other out and come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”
I playfully pushed back at his chest. “Are you the Sergeant at Arms, or a hostage negotiator?”
He laughed, allowing me to push him back. He could have stood like a stone wall against my force, but he didn't. Trask was incredibly powerful and built, but he still let me move him backwards. It reminded me of two animals play fighting. The bigger one would still let the smaller one win from time to time.
“That’s pretty accurate. My job isn’t to come out firing. My job is to try and make sure there isn't a single shot fired at all. I meet with other MCs when they have disputes. I really do try to come up with an agreement that both clubs benefit from.”
I took the soap from him, and Trask let me turn his back to me. As I ran my hands over his corded muscles, I asked, “Does it work?”
Trask put his hands up on the shower wall, leaning against it as I washed him. “Sometimes. Sometimes it doesn't.”
“What happens then?”
“That’s when I get to live up to my name. You know I was in the Navy, right?”
As he asked, I looked to his left arm and saw the eagle perched on an anchor in the background. I ran my fingers over the inked skin. “Mmhm.”
“I went to SEAL school, too. Not sure if you knew that. Didn’t make it through, but I got plenty of training that still comes in handy. When negotiations fail, I usually clear things up quietly. The club likes to stay out of the news, you understand.” He talked like it was no big deal, and he disguised a lot of the details, but I understood.
I had assumed the motorcycle club operated like a shoot ‘em up movie, loaded to the teeth and ready to blow up anyone or anything in their way. Trask made it sound like he did the dirty work in the shadows.
My voice dropped, not that anyone was listening in. “You’ve done it before?”
Trask knew exactly what I meant. “I have. I’ve been with the Rising Sons for nearly five years, and I moved up to the rank of Sergeant at Arms two years ago. In my five years with the club, I’ve pulled the trigger seven times.”