garbage of this town think they’re bad, then they must be the devil’s minions.
“You’ve got two choices: Nick: wait for Beezer to come back and kill you, or let me talk to Trask. Either way, I don’t think you have anything to lose.”
He sighed. As always, he knew I was right and hated the feeling. “You’re right. I don’t have anything to lose.”
I would have normally felt that warm glow of satisfaction, but in this case, being right meant I had to track down an ex, a biker, and a Marine all rolled into one. I wasn’t exactly afraid of him, but I was certainly afraid of what he would do to me. Trask had that magnetic personality that melted any ice I tried to put between us.
Keep it professional. That was going to be my mantra.
“I don’t have his number. I’ll have to take a trip. The last I heard, the Rising Sons were in that bar by the riverbed, the musical-sounding name.” It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t remember it. In high school, the bikers fell into several urban legends, but we stayed way clear of them. Our senior year, Trask was more and more interested in Harleys, but I never thought he’d join a motorcycle club. When one of my high school friends told me, shock hit me first, but then I tried to imagine him as a big, bad biker.
“Yeah, I know the place you’re talking about.”
“Thanks, Nick. So very helpful of you.” I gave him a sneer only a sibling could appreciate.
Nick shrugged. “You know how to get there?” After I nodded, he continued. “Then it doesn’t really matter what it’s called, does it? If there’s a row of dirty bikes parked outside and Molly Hatchet blasting inside, I think you’re in the right place.”
I had to smile. Nick did have his moments. “All right, all right. Get some shit together and find a motel or something. Keep your phone on, and I’ll let you know what Trask says.” As if the world was against us in every way, Nick’s phone chose that moment to vibrate and light up in his hand.
He looked down at it, reading the text. Any warmth we had built between us vanished, and when he held it up so I could see the message, I understood why. I made the mistake of reading it out loud.
“ 18 hours. Better have the cash. Don’t you go disappearing on me. Jesus, Nick. This guy’s serious.”
Nick knew things were bad. “If Trask says no, get out of here. Don’t come back to Bakersfield for another ten years, and don’t even waste a thought on me. You did everything you could, Hope.”
I wanted to say something, but what was there to say? Nick had a moment of clarity. If Trask couldn’t help me, I had no idea what else I could do. Nick would be on the run, and I’d be making sure Beezer didn’t set his sights on me. All I could do was push all the bad blood and family drama aside and wrap my arms around my younger brother.
He was swaying and unsteady as I hugged him, and all those motherly instincts kicked back in. From thirteen on, Nick was my responsibility, and I wanted to do anything and everything to keep him from harm, even if that meant putting myself in harm’s way.
I couldn’t get those memories out of my head. As I drove toward the biker bar, the airy happiness of high school romance came rushing back to me. Trask and I had met sophomore year when he made it a point to sit behind me in algebra. Each day, he’d lean forward and tap on my shoulder with a light touch. Sometimes he forgot his pencil, other times his notebook.
Every day for a semester, he’d lay his finger on me and ask for something he’d forgotten. On the last day of class, he told me that he’d forgotten my number, handing me a blank sheet of paper and a pen. It was a good line, and it worked.
Trask was a quick learner. After spending almost every day together after school, he’d drop me off at the entrance to Cherrywood Court. My father was overprotective in an “I don't like her, but she’s mine” sort of way.
“You’ve got two choices: Nick: wait for Beezer to come back and kill you, or let me talk to Trask. Either way, I don’t think you have anything to lose.”
He sighed. As always, he knew I was right and hated the feeling. “You’re right. I don’t have anything to lose.”
I would have normally felt that warm glow of satisfaction, but in this case, being right meant I had to track down an ex, a biker, and a Marine all rolled into one. I wasn’t exactly afraid of him, but I was certainly afraid of what he would do to me. Trask had that magnetic personality that melted any ice I tried to put between us.
Keep it professional. That was going to be my mantra.
“I don’t have his number. I’ll have to take a trip. The last I heard, the Rising Sons were in that bar by the riverbed, the musical-sounding name.” It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t remember it. In high school, the bikers fell into several urban legends, but we stayed way clear of them. Our senior year, Trask was more and more interested in Harleys, but I never thought he’d join a motorcycle club. When one of my high school friends told me, shock hit me first, but then I tried to imagine him as a big, bad biker.
“Yeah, I know the place you’re talking about.”
“Thanks, Nick. So very helpful of you.” I gave him a sneer only a sibling could appreciate.
Nick shrugged. “You know how to get there?” After I nodded, he continued. “Then it doesn’t really matter what it’s called, does it? If there’s a row of dirty bikes parked outside and Molly Hatchet blasting inside, I think you’re in the right place.”
I had to smile. Nick did have his moments. “All right, all right. Get some shit together and find a motel or something. Keep your phone on, and I’ll let you know what Trask says.” As if the world was against us in every way, Nick’s phone chose that moment to vibrate and light up in his hand.
He looked down at it, reading the text. Any warmth we had built between us vanished, and when he held it up so I could see the message, I understood why. I made the mistake of reading it out loud.
“ 18 hours. Better have the cash. Don’t you go disappearing on me. Jesus, Nick. This guy’s serious.”
Nick knew things were bad. “If Trask says no, get out of here. Don’t come back to Bakersfield for another ten years, and don’t even waste a thought on me. You did everything you could, Hope.”
I wanted to say something, but what was there to say? Nick had a moment of clarity. If Trask couldn’t help me, I had no idea what else I could do. Nick would be on the run, and I’d be making sure Beezer didn’t set his sights on me. All I could do was push all the bad blood and family drama aside and wrap my arms around my younger brother.
He was swaying and unsteady as I hugged him, and all those motherly instincts kicked back in. From thirteen on, Nick was my responsibility, and I wanted to do anything and everything to keep him from harm, even if that meant putting myself in harm’s way.
I couldn’t get those memories out of my head. As I drove toward the biker bar, the airy happiness of high school romance came rushing back to me. Trask and I had met sophomore year when he made it a point to sit behind me in algebra. Each day, he’d lean forward and tap on my shoulder with a light touch. Sometimes he forgot his pencil, other times his notebook.
Every day for a semester, he’d lay his finger on me and ask for something he’d forgotten. On the last day of class, he told me that he’d forgotten my number, handing me a blank sheet of paper and a pen. It was a good line, and it worked.
Trask was a quick learner. After spending almost every day together after school, he’d drop me off at the entrance to Cherrywood Court. My father was overprotective in an “I don't like her, but she’s mine” sort of way.
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