Pulling up to Cedar Lodge on the back of Van’s motorcycle felt like coming home. It had become a place of comfort for her, and April loved spending weekday nights in the bar with Van. The place usually wasn’t crowded it if wasn’t a Friday or Saturday night, and all the tip-hungry staff who seldom paid attention to her on the weekends weren’t scheduled. Instead, she had an older group of staff to chat with while Van worked, many in their late twenties and early thirties, who weren’t all about the getting-blackout-drunk lifestyle that some of the younger servers enjoyed.
After their talk at the bridal boutique, a lot of April’s worries had fallen to the wayside. Sure, there was still a lot to consider, and as the wedding date crept closer and closer, she couldn’t help but wonder if her concerns would resurface at some point. For now, all she knew was that Van supported their relationship, that he cared deeply for her, and that he was willing to fight to keep them together. What more could she ask for, really?
Dressed in a pair of dark denim shorts and a hoodie, April had ventured out of her mom’s apartment that evening excited to spend time with Van on Cedar Lodge’s patio. He’d vowed to make her some more of his magical concoctions of fruit and alcohol, the ones that went down so smoothly, but he also promised not to let her get too drunk. She’d had a busy couple of days helping with wedding arrangements, and April needed a relaxing night to blow off some steam with her man.
The motorcycle engine gave one finally roar, as Van turned from the road to the parking lot, both of them bouncing as the wheels hopped the curb. April held tighter around his midsection, their helmets clunking together, until they settled in a spot near the main entrance. Up the road, the fancier resort was full of people that night, but she preferred the almost empty lot she faced here at Cedar Lodge instead. Sure, they weren’t going to cook her French cuisine, but April hoped they might put out a plate of spinach dip and some crispy dipping bread for them to enjoy with their drinks.
Well, she didn’t have to hope. Van was the owner, and whatever he wanted, he got—meaning whatever April wanted, she also got, though she tried not to take advantage of that newfound power.
Much. She tried not to take advantage much.
Climbing off the back of the bike somewhat gracelessly, April tugged down her shorts, which had ridden up her thighs on the ride, and then pulled off her helmet. Once she’d straightened herself out, she caught Van admiring her legs, and she swatted at him.
“What?” he asked, laughing innocently as he locked the bike up. “I’m allowed to look.”
“Not like you’re a starving dog,” she fired back, a hand settling on her hip. Van straightened up and pulled her close, an arm wrapped snuggly around her waist, and she let out an embarrassing shriek-giggle, as he pressed kisses up and down her neck.
“Oh, but baby, I am hungry.”
They carried on a little longer, April’s cheeks flaming red, only to stop when they heard, “Ugh. Get a room you two.”
April hastily untangled herself from Van’s grip, doing so with some difficulty, and then waved sheepishly at Darla. She was one of the weekday day-shift bartenders. Two of her kids were off to college, while the third was just finishing high school. A no-nonsense kind of woman, she didn’t take crap from drunk idiots, and April really wanted the woman to develop a soft spot for her. Thus far, she interacted with April as a good acquaintance might, despite knowing her mom.
Maybe that was why she kept her distance. It must have been strange to see a friend’s daughter sucking face with her boss.
“And a very pleasant evening to you too, Mrs. Davidson,” Van replied, his lips spread wide in a cheeky grin. She waved them off, keys in hand, as she made her way to her beat-up truck at the far end of the lot. When she raced out, a trail of exhaust smoke dragging behind her, the parking lot looked even more depressing. Van, thankfully, seemed not to mind. While his dad ran his empire with an iron fist, Van took a more laidback approach to his business—and somehow, they seemed equally successful in her eyes.
Taking her hand, Van walked her toward the bar. On weekdays, there was no need to have a whole crew of bouncers loitering around the front door. Instead, the security guys usually sat inside, cups of water or tonic in hand as they watched whatever was on the TV screens that night. Sometimes, if Van was feeling generous, he let each guy grab a beer from the back, but only on really slow night. Otherwise, he refused to let any of his staff touch a lick of alcohol while they were there, even the shooter girls.
For some reason, April appreciated that about him.
After depositing their helmets in his tiny office upstairs, she made the rounds with him to each station, asking how the day was going, how profits were, what they could expect for the evening. As expected, nothing was over-the-top on a Wednesday, and there weren’t any crazy expectations for the rest of the night either. Sometimes the old bingo ladies who played at the club house a few doors down stopped by for watered down drinks to celebrate any wins, but otherwise, Wednesday was for regulars, guys who didn’t want to go home to their wives, or college kids looking—and failing—to find a party.
April hung back as Van took care of the business side of things, but when he was finished, he grabbed her hand again and strolled with her toward the patio exit. The bar out there was closed for the night, and none of the handful of guests had opted to sit by the lake. For now, they had the whole place to themselves.
“M’lady,” Van teased, as he pulled out the barstool by the railing for her, the lake’s dark waters just a few feet away. Water sloshed at the patio’s underbelly, providing a calming soundtrack to the night. Having spent a lot of her time in the bar these days, she had a new, deep appreciation for nights that had no obnoxious music blaring out of the various speakers.
“Why thank you.” She grinned, as she hopped onto the seat, and before Van could get too far from her, she grabbed his shirt and dragged him in for a kiss. He fell willingly, smiling until the moment their lips touched, and she slowly closed her eyes, relaxing into the heat of the moment. Out there, alone, it was easy to feel romantic with him—and something about seeing him in charge, running things, really did it for her.
Maybe after a few drinks she’d ask for a long, thorough tour of his private office—with the door locked, of course.
“Now who’s being wildly inappropriate?” Van posed the question with a chuckle, their lips no more than a breath apart from each other. She raised an eyebrow, her hands wandering the muscular length of his torso.
“I thought you liked wildly inappropriate?”
“I think it’s my life’s motto,” he fired back, his voice taking on that deeply sensuous quality it always did right before he pressed her up against a wall and fucked her brains out. She shivered at the thought, recalling their passion behind the bridal boutique. If there was absolutely no one else in Cedar Lodge, she might have gone for his zipper right now—she’d probably find him at least a little aroused.
But for all her naughty thoughts, April was still much shyer than Van when it came to public displays of affection. Sure, they’d fooled around in a few public places, but always in a shady corner where no one would ever see. Van would have bent her over a table with an audience watching; he liked to show her off.
For now, they could settle with a little light kissing. She tilted her head up and stole his lips once more, mouths opening as soon as they touched. Her fingers threaded through his thick dark hair, and she felt a flutter of desire curl between her thighs.
Van was the one who got a hold on himself first. He pulled back, though it looked like it pained him to do so, and let out a long sigh, as he brushed her hair behind her ears.
“If we keep going, I won’t be able to stop.”
She arched up as he stood, taking his hand and placing it just below her breast. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, you say that now…” Van laughed, trailing his finger down her neck. Shaking his head, he leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “What do you want to drink?”
“Surprise me,” came her standard response, and he disappeared inside after snagging one last peck. Alone on the patio, April leaned on the polished wood railing and stared out over the lake, enjoying the array of stunning colors dancing across the water’s surface as the sun continued its slow, meandering stroll beneath the valley’s peaks.
Van returned almost ten minutes later with a round server’s tray in hand, on which sat a mysterious red cocktail for her, a cold beer for him, and a bowl of spinach dip with a plate of crunchy pita bread beside it. April grinned; she hadn’t even asked him to get the food, and yet somehow he’d just known that she was craving it.
“Thanks,” she said softly, touching his arm with all the affection she had before taking a small sip of her drink. As always, the flavor lit up her mouth, and she leaned back in her chair with a moan. He was so skilled at spoiling her.
They sat out there together for some time, slowly sipping their drinks, enjoying one another’s company, and munching on crispy pita bread. However, after the sun had set, a chilly breeze swept across the lake, bringing with it an array of pesky summertime insects that seemed to think April and Van were only there for their consumption. After slapping her leg for the umpteenth time, April made a request that they move inside, and Van was only too happy to comply.
Once they were in, it was another round of dip and a new drink for her. The pair sat at the booth farthest from the speakers, which gave off a hum of music softly. Feet nestled together beneath the table, they continued to enjoy their night—until there was an unexpected arrival.
April saw them first. Thick men—who looked a little grimy—entered the bar, strolling by the bouncer without a care in the world. Two men who didn’t belong, even in a bar like Cedar Lodge. If anything, they ought to be at rough-and-tumble country bar out in the middle of nowhere, where the beer flowed constantly and bar fights were a form of entertainment, not a reason to get banned. She shifted on the spot, as they made their way over to her and Van’s booth, her eyes falling to the tabletop when she realized she’d been staring.
Only at the last possible second did Van seemed to notice them, trailing off mid-sentence once the two burly fellows were only a few feet away. April watched his smile fade and his eyes turn cold.
“Evening, boys,” Van said finally, leaning back and spreading his arms across the top of the booth. He gave off an air of confidence that put her at ease, but April was sure not to look too relaxed. These guys smelled of bad news.
“Van,” the one closest to her said, faintly stinking of cigarette smoke. “Never see you at meetings anymore.”
“Didn’t like the direction they were headed,” he told them with a shrug. “Is that what this is all about?”
“Maybe we just came by to check out the bar,” the other remarked, his eyes wandering the wall decorations. Her cheeks flushed when the man closest to her glanced her way, and she pretended to be very, very interested in one particular piece of pita bread.
Van leaned forward and nodded, his leg brushing hers beneath the table. “Maybe that’s the case, but I don’t believe it for a second. What do you want?”
“We wanna talk about a job—“
“I’m not hiring,” Van interjected, smiling that dashing smile of his. While it worked like a charm on April, neither of the men were stirred by it. Instead, it only seemed to make their expressions more stoic.
“A job for you,” one grunted. “From your dad.”
“He can tell me himself.” And with that, Van grabbed a piece of pita bread and dipped it in the bowl, scraping the outsides to get whatever was left. The pair stayed, even after his obvious dismissal, and when Van’s stare met hers, he offered her a smile. April returned it as best she could, but she couldn’t shake the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. These guys brought bad news with them, she was sure of it—especially if they were dealing with James.
“Let’s talk somewhere more private,” came a suggestion, but Van shook his head.
“I’m good here.”
“Van,” the man beside him muttered, and finally an air of seriousness blanketed the conversation. Sighing, Van drummed his fingers on the table before finally shooting her a quick look. It was hard to decipher, but April figured she’d just let him do whatever he needed to in that moment.
He sidled out of the booth, gesturing to the staircase across the bar. “We can talk in my office.”
Without a word, the men followed him away, not once bothering to address April. She sat there in silence once he’d left, still unable to shake the queasy feeling in her stomach. It wasn’t the alcohol. No, while the drinks had tasted as delicious as they always did, April had asked Van some time ago not to make any of them super strong. She might want to let loose after all this wedding stress, but she wasn’t interested in getting embarrassingly drunk at Van’s work again either.
However, the longer she waited at the table alone, the more she wished there was just a smidgen more booze in her drink. If there was, maybe then she wouldn’t have felt so worried about Van. A few of his staff watched the trio disappear, and once they were gone, they flocked together and started whispering. April took a deep breath. No one bothered to look her way, so she knew this had to be a big deal.
Thankfully, Van wasn’t gone for long. She was practically licking the spinach dip bowl clean in an effort to distract herself by the time he returned—alone. Behind him, his sketchy visitors headed for the door, not bothering to grab a drink for wasting Van’s time.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, as he made himself comfort on the opposite side of the booth. His eyebrows furrowed down, as did the corners of his mouth, and he carried with him this uncomfortable persona that set her on edge. She’d seen Van angry, annoyed, aroused, thrilled, cheeky… but never had she seen this side of him before. To her, he was her protector, her big warm body to snuggle up to at night. It was unnerving to see him, well, unnerved.
“My dad has a job for me,” he told her, and she bit back a comment about deducing as much from the previous conversation. He took a long swig of his beer, then he shook his head and cleared his throat. “He divides his motorcycle club into two factions. There are the good guys with expensive bikes who like to hang around our lodge for the social aspect of it. They’re the ones who ride in parades, pose with puppies, help rebuild people’s homes after disasters… You know, upstanding guys who just like bikes.”
She nodded, a little guilty still that she initially lumped all motorcycle enthusiasts into the “gang” lifestyle. “Sure. Of course.”
“But then there are the guys like Will and Teddy there,” Van continued, his expression darkening. “I distanced myself from that side of the club for a long time. I mean, the guys who pose with puppies do a lot of good PR for Dad, but these guys… These are the guys who get the gritty shit done. They’re the reason my dad made a fortune when I was a kid. Drug deals, smuggling… Whatever he needed done, these guys did it.”
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered under her breath, leaning forward and taking his hand. How could she let someone as pure and sweet as her mom marry an awful guy like James.
“He’s pulled back on the… under the table shit these days,” Van told her, as if sensing her concern. “Your mom really knocked him right, I guess. But sometimes… there’s a deal too good to refuse.”
She pursed her lips, desperate to argue against that statement, but then thought better of it. “Right.”
“He needs me and a few guys to make a delivery,” Van said, as he grabbed his beer then set it down without taking a sip. “Really simple. Just paperwork for an old buddy of his.”
“Can’t he just mail it then?” Her voice was laced with skepticism, but she tried her best to at least look supportive. “I mean…”
“The documents probably don’t have totally legal stuff on them, I don’t know.” He rolled his eyes. “At least it isn’t drugs. I won’t touch drugs. Teddy says Dad explained it all to the transport group at the meeting they had tonight, but he won’t go forward unless I tag along. You know, make sure things get where they’re supposed to be. I guess he doesn’t trust everyone involved.”
And how could he trust James?! April took a few deep breaths, calming herself, otherwise she’d lunge across the table and shake him. None of this felt right—not one bit.
“He says the pay will be enough for me to keep fixing up the bar,” Van muttered. “No loans, no dipping into savings. I don’t want to, but… Teddy made him sound really insistent that I be in on this.”
“Well, maybe you should talk to your dad directly,” she suggested, sounding a little forced. Van gave her a once over, then smiled, reaching across the table and taking both of her hands in his.
“Don’t look so stressed, sweetheart.” He laughed in that carefree way that always made her feel better—though it wasn’t quite working this time. “Everything’s going to be fine. I used to do these kinds of things all the time. Make deliveries, I mean. It sounds like a day trip. Nothing crazy. Deliver some papers, get the pay, drive home. Don’t sweat it.”
He brushed the hair away from her face, head cocked to the side, then asked if she wanted another drink.
“Yeah,” she replied, pulling her hands away and setting them on her lap. Something still didn’t sit right with her, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. So, rather than air her concerns, she kept silent, figuring it would be easier to wait until he’d talked with James to talk him out of this. “Make it a double this time, please.”
Van winked, as he slid out of the booth. “Anything for my best gal.”
She offered a small laugh, knowing that’s what he wanted from her, but as soon as his back turned, her smile fell flat and her face tinged with sadness.