CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The moment Manda appeared in the clubhouse' main room, Rocker stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. "All right, everyone," he hollered. "Listen up. T-Bear and Manda, need you to come on over here."
Blushing like crazy as everyone turned to look at her, Manda gave T a look of consternation. He shrugged, and led her to the open area by the bar, to where Rocker and Stick stood waiting.
When they were front and center, all eyes on them, Stick nodded. "All right. You all know this party is to kick off the warm season and another year of Flyers living high style."
A general cheer rose. Stick looked to his woman, and she came to him. He slid his powerful arm around her, and they shared a private look.
"We have another important reason to celebrate," he said. "But first, I want to tell you all that Sara has agreed to become Mrs. Vanko. We'll be married in May. None of you are invited." He smirked at them all. "To the wedding. But you are all invited to the party afterward!"
"Bout time you made an honest woman of her!" someone hollered.
A wave of laughter followed, along with raucous cheering. This went on for a while, until Stick turned to T-Bear and held up a hand, until everyone quieted.
"So, there's that. But what T-Bear, and Manda don't know is…" their president paused, and Sara handed him a long envelope. "That we're also here to celebrate that our brother T-Bear is still with us. And that if it wasn't for his woman, he might not be."
"Oh, my God," Manda breathed, leaning into T and giving him wide eyes. He just grinned at her and gave her a squeeze.
"So," Stick went on, holding up the envelope and giving T-Bear a nod. "To say thanks, we all took up a collection. T, you're a hard worker, although a dumbass when it comes to holding onto your money."
A wave of laughter rose at this, and Manda giggled nervously.
"But we're damn glad you're well, T, and that Manda has played a big part in that. And to show our appreciation, here you go." He brought the envelope to T, who opened it as everyone watched.
"Holy shit," T rumbled. He showed the paper to Manda. "Honey girl, does this say what I think it does?"
She took the paper and read it, then put one hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God. T… they—they paid my hospital bill. It says right here, 'Paid in full."
T looked around at his brothers, their women and their friends. He shook his head dumbly, and then pulled Manda to him and bent to give her a long kiss. She was crying and beaming through her tears.
Around them, the Flyers erupted in cheers again. T beamed at his woman, then held up the paper and nodded to his brothers, his eyes bright. They smiled back, knowing exactly what he meant—that his cup overflowed with goodness.
T- held up a hand, and everyone quieted again. "Just wanta say that I never expected nothin' like this," he said, his deep voice rough with emotion. "An' just… thanks. Best bunch of brothers and friends a man ever had."
He looked down at Manda, held in the circle of his powerful arm. "And the best woman. Best thing I ever did was take my honey and run."
* * *
EPILOGUE
Stick Vanko married his old lady on a warm, sunny May afternoon, in a private ceremony in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho.
Stick's brother Pete and his veep Rocker stood up with him. Sara's girls Kit and Lindi stood up with her.
Pete's woman Lesa, Rocker's woman Billie, Lindi's man Jack, Keys and Remi, and Bouncer attended. Jack Moran held his and Lindi's baby boy, and the tough, nomad Devil's Flyer had never looked happier. Lindi was glowing as well, and had trouble taking her eyes off her man and their son.
The wedding party showed up at Stingers supper club at about five o'clock in the afternoon. The place was closed to the public for the wedding reception and party to follow.
Vans ferried the guests—Flyers, family and friends—out from the resort and a smaller downtown motel. They'd be driven back later to spend the night. An armed guard would also spend the night in Stingers' parking lot to watch over any vehicles left there.
It was an awesome party. Stingers was just the kind of place T-Bear liked. Real nice, but casual and comfortable, so a man like him could relax.
Manda had dressed him up in new jeans, a new western-cut shirt. He wore his cut, of course, 'cause it was a Flyers' shindig. His hair was tied back, and his beard trimmed up neat, 'cause she said he looked handsome that way. Since he liked the look in her brown eyes when she said it, he took care of that.
She looked good enough to eat herself, in a new dress and shoes, both a hue she'd informed him was blush. Looked like pussy pink to him, but that was his little secret. He planned to compare later, when he was takin' it off of her.
Her hair was longer, hanging down her back in a shiny swathe, and she wore the necklace he'd given her. It was gold, with a big, brown tear-drop pearl set off by a little diamond. T had his eye on the matching earrings.
She'd gained a little weight since they'd been together, which she pouted about, but which he was all in favor of. More sweet curves for him to cuddle. And, the other Flyer old ladies were not skinny, so she fit right in.
Right now, the bunch of them were clustered around Sara, who wore a long cream lace gown. They looked like a big old bunch of flowers—sexy flowers. They were oohing and ahhing over gifts as she opened them.
T grabbed another beer and wandered out onto the supper club's porch, which was wide enough for table and looked out over Coeur d'Alene Lake. The big lake, rimmed by tall trees, was still as a mirror, darkening to navy blue as the sun set behind the low mountains to the west.
Moke was alone over in one corner, gazing at the lake. He was dressed similar to T, only his shirt was black like his cut.
T joined him, enjoying the evening. But Moke was quiet, even for him. "Hey, you ain't worryin' about us findin' the money to buy JJ's, are ya?" T asked. "'Cause we'll do it, one way or another."
Moke shrugged. "Yeah, I know."
"'kay, then what's botherin' you, bro?"
"I gotta take some time off." The big Hawaiian stared out at the dark water, his face bleak. "Couple weeks, maybe more. Fly home to the Big Island. Take care of some family stuff."
T was shocked, but immediately nodded. "Sure. Take as long as you need, brother. When you gonna go?
"Next week, if JJ can come in and help you out part time. I'll let you know soon as I set up a flight."
"All right. We'll make it work. Long as you remember to come back."
…….
And so begins the next sexy, fast-paced adventure for the Devil's Flyers.
HAWAIIAN HONEY is David 'Moke' Akena and Sage O'Donnell's story.
Keep reading for an excerpt…
HAWAIIAN HONEY
Book 7 coming in 2018
(the following excerpt is from the unedited ARC)
Sage O'Donnell had been scared plenty of times in her life, but never this badly.
Being kidnapped by rough, stinking, foul-mouthed bikers in broad daylight, forced into a vehicle and driven deep into the wilds of the Western Washington forests did that to a girl.
She knew with bone-deep certainty that she wasn’t getting out of this place unharmed. Possibly not even alive.
They’d grabbed her from the back of her apartment building. She’d just dumped a bag of trash in the cans when a deep, hoarse voice shouted, “That’s her!”
A motorcycle engine had roared from one direction, a pickup truck from the other side. Before she so much as had time to turn back toward the back stoop, pitifully lit with one cracked bulb, the motorcycle had skidded to a halt so close she braced herself to be hit.
“Got ‘er!” that hoarse voice whooped behind her. Sage was yanked backward by her hair, a painful grip that brought a shriek of pain from her throat. Before she knew it, she’d been shoved into the back seat of an old, crew-cab pickup truck. The door slammed behind her, and the truck roared into reverse.
Sage leapt for the door, but the truck skidded to a stop, throwing her back across the seat, then leapt forward so fast all she could do was hang onto the seat in front of her to avoid being thrown against the other door.
Two men occupied the front seat, the driver—a burly, long-haired, in a black leather vest over his bare torso, and a wiry young guy in a matching vest over a dirty tee-shirt. Her heart pounding, body shaking, her mind churning with fear and disbelief, Shelley gaped at them.
“No! What—what are you doing?” she choked. “Let me go—I’m not going anywhere with you!”
As the truck slowed for traffic on the street, she lunged for the door again.
“Fuck, grab her! Give ‘er the shot!” the driver roared, stomping on the gas pedal. Horns blared and tires screeched, but they made it out into the stream of traffic.
As Sage lost her balance, the younger man clamped his hand around her wrist. He was very strong, and she couldn’t wrench her arm free. “Let go of me, you son-of-a-bitch,” she gritted, clawing at his grip with her free hand. When she couldn’t break free, she lunged forward and bit him as hard as she could on the wrist.
He let out a hoarse scream of pain. But then a brawny elbow connected with Sage’s head, stunning her. She fell back, landing on the seat behind her.
“Now get on back there and give her the fuckin’ shot,” the driver ordered. “Fuck this up, an’ Ill dump you on the side o’ the road and take her all for myself.”
“I got ‘er,” the young guy whined. Their voices were faint through the blood pounding in her ears.
Then he loomed over her, grabbed her arm again, and something stung her bicep. She sank into darkness.
Now, she was crouched on a mattress in the corner of a tiny room. It was damp, chilly and it stank of mildew, body odor and the tiny bathroom in one corner, the door long gone.
She knew exactly how filthy the bathroom was, as she’d had to use it to relieve her bladder a short time ago. Nothing more, thank Jesus, since it would’ve been impossible to use the cheap toilet paper with her hands zip-tied in front of her. She’d barely managed to get her yoga pants and panties down and then back up again.
But at least she’d done her business before her captor had come to check on her, as he did at irregular intervals. And she knew with a sick certainty that the next time, or the time after that, he’d do more than make sure she was still here.
He and his two cohorts had been drinking steadily since he dragged her in her and shoved her so hard she sprawled across the mattress, her face buried in the dirty blankets. He’d laughed, a low, hoarse sound full of menace, but then he’d left her here—at least for a few hours.
But their voices were louder now, and she could smell something burning, as if they’d started a camp-fire outside.
The big man laughed again, and the door flew open. He stood in it, grinning down at her. He crooked a finger. “C’mere, bitch. We’re ready to welcome you to the club.”
When she shook her head, he strode into the room, loomed over her, and hauled her up by one arm, yanking her with him out of the bedroom and into a larger room. The young guy and another, older man, also wearing a black leather vest, waited there.
“She’s a good ‘un,” the older man said. His voice was slurred, as if his jaw didn’t work right. His graying hair hung in greasy strands around his weathered face. “Bring ‘er here, and we’ll get to it.”
Sage went with them because she had no choice.
But she didn’t scream until she saw what they’d been heating on the fire.
* * *
Two weeks later…
Sage bolted upright, a cry of terror choking her throat. She was sweating, her hair sticking to her skin with heat and humidity, and yet she was shivering so hard her teeth chattered, audible even over the surf rushing in and out a few feet away.
She looked around wildly, searching the dawn for menacing figures of her dream.
She saw no one.
It had only been another nightmare.
God. She’d hoped that after she’d flown across thousands of miles of ocean, to this safe haven, the nightmares would fade.
Drawing in a deep shaky breath, she let it out. She drew her knees up, curled her arms around them, and sat huddled on her blanket.
Watching the day begin on the Big Island of Hawaii, thousands of miles from the mainland, and Washington state.
The surf washed gently in on the narrow, curving beach, then receded, leaving a skein of tiny rocks and shells strewn on the wet sand.
The water was silvery in the gentle light. A white bird flew along above the shore, ghostly in the soft light.
In the distance, rain clouds hung over another island—maybe Maui.
Close at hand, fig trees hung their branches down over her and her nest, their leaves rustling in the warm, humid air.
The smell of the ocean was underlaid with that of damp earth, lush vegetation and flowers.
It was as close to paradise as she could imagine. And her refuge from terror… at least for now.
Until a deep voice spoke behind and above her. “Wahine, whatchu doin’ here? This private land, and you trespassing.”
* * *
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