CHAPTER SIXTEEN
T sat at the bar in The Hangar, the comfortable, bustling brewpub owned and run by his best bro Pete and fiance Lesa.
The pretty brunette stood behind the bar, her long hair bound loosely in one of those loose, sexy updos women did. She wore a snug Hangar tee that did nice things for her rack, and tight jeans.
She was slicing limes with skill of long practice, and listening to him.
"I fucked up," T said miserably. He took another drink of Pete's new amber, and and set his glass down. "An’ now I don't know how to climb outta this fuckin' hole I'm in. First, I let her get hurt, and then... fuck me, I called her a whore. Swear to God I thought she was one. New in the life, yeah, but still a whore."
Lesa gave him a look of sympathy as she covered the sliced fruit with clear wrap, and set the plate under the lip of the bar where the bartenders could reach it.
"Pete told me about how she was attacked. That was not your fault. And as far as the other... well, I'm sure you did think that, big guy. It's just... to a woman who's not actually a prostitute, calling her one is the ultimate insult. Which may not be fair, but there it is."
He groaned again, and drained his beer. "So now what do I do? Gotta get her not mad at me."
"Oh. Well, then." She set a full beer down before him and whisked away his empty glass. "Here's how I see it. I'm betting she's not so much mad at you, as she's hurt. And probably humiliated."
He gave her a look of horror. "'Cause we f—uh, did the nasty? I was nice to her, I swear."
She leaned on the bar, her gaze warm. "Of course you were. That's who you are. And, from what you're telling me, T, that first night, she was into you. And she thought—and I'm making this leap because we're both women and it's what I would've thought if a nice, attractive guy asked me out and plied me with food, liquor and laughs—that you were into her, too."
Pete came around the bar to stand close at her side. "Oh, he got into her all right." He waggled his brows at T, then flinched when his fiance elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow! Just a joke."
"Poorly timed, handsome," she told him. "I meant, 'into her' as in you like her, T. You want to be with her whether or not you're getting sex right away."
T stared at her. "Oh," he said, his brain shorting like a bad wire in a transmission. "Huh."
She rolled her eyes. "God, I see why you two guys get along so well. You're both dense as this bar." She rapped her knuckles on the polished wood, the big diamond on her hand glittering in the bar lights.
Pete grabbed her and pulled her close, leaning in to nip at her earlobe. "Yeah, but I clued in and graduated romance school with high honors. T's still in romance kindygarten."
She snickered. "Biggest kindergartner I've ever seen."
"I was when I was in it for real too," T said wryly. He was cheering up by the second. "So, if my honey girl's into me, all I gotta do is... what?" He looked to Lesa, wincing. "Help me out here, darlin'."
"Hearts and flowers and jewelry," Pete said instantly. He grinned at his woman. "What? It worked on you."
"It was Valentine's Day," she said, but she did it making goo-goo eyes at him. Which Pete deserved, 'cause he had created quite a display here in the brewpub, which T could not afford to replicate.
"Okay, so hearts are out," T said. "What else?"
"Flowers are always good," Lesa said. "Chocolate. I don't know, T. Find out what she likes and give her that. But not jewelry, it's way too soon for that."
"Already know what she likes," T said. He and Pete snickered together while Lesa glared. "No, serious though. I can do flowers. Those are good in a hospital. An' maybe one o' them big stuffed animals. Seen them in the hospital gift shop."
Lesa smiled at him. "Aw, that's sweet."
"Really?" Pete looked skeptical. "You sure? I mean, Kick and Dash like stuffed animals, but they're only five."
"Women like stuffed animals too," his fiance assured him. "They're cute, they're cuddly, and they never argue or hog the covers. Or make a girl sleep in the wet spot."
"Hey, I sleep in the wet spot," Pete said, trying to look innocent.
T laughed again. "She's got some good points there, Brews. So, darlin', do I get her a stuffed dog or a teddy bear?"
Both she and Pete gave him a look. "A bear, duh," Lesa said.
"Yeah, unless you want us to start callin' you T-Dog," Pete added, smirking like a fool.
T mimed biting him, and Pete backed away. "All right, I gotta get to work. And so do you, milaya moye."
"You're right." Lesa looked to T. "You want some lunch?"
"Yeah, better bring me a cheeseburger and the fixings." Now that he had a plan for dealing with Manda, he was starving. "Make that cheeseburger a double."
"You got it." She hurried away.
The front doors opened, letting in a whoosh of chilly evening air along with a group of people who looked around and headed for the restaurant side. Moke trailed in behind them, a beany pulled down over his black hair, a fleece sweatshirt on under his cut, and a scowl on his face.
He slid onto the stool next to T. Without being asked, Pete pulled him an amber and set it on the bar before him.
The big Hawaiian nodded his thanks and took a long drink, but said nothing.
"Hey," Pete said. "What's up? You look like someone pissed in your beer."
"No, 'cause anyone tried that, I'd pound 'em into the pavement," Moke answered. "Then I'd be smiling."
Pete smirked. "Yeah, my beer is definitely worth that level of respect."
"Moke's jacked that Faro got away," T explained. "And so am I, but it wasn't your fault, bro. I mean, a pile-up on the highway right in front of ya? Wasn't like you could ride on past, when people are bleedin' and shit."
"I know," Moke said. "But I was that close to the buggah. Now he's in the wind, and we got nothin'."
"Yeah, but he don't got Manda," T said. "So that's a win. Now all we gotta do is keep him from getting his claws into any other gals around here."
"But how we gonna do that, we can't find him?"
"Fuck if I know. But we'll figure out somethin', cause we're awesome like that."
Pete chuckled. "Can't keep you down for long, T."
"Fuckin' right, bro." Specially not when he had a mission—getting a certain honey blonde to like him again.
* * *
Monday
Manda woke from a light doze when someone walked into her room.
She blinked, and looked again. No, she wasn't seeing things. The person was bearing one of the largest bouquets of flowers she'd seen. Roses, carnations and other blooms she didn't know the names of, filled a tall cut-glass vase. And every one of them was orange, yellow or a shade in between.
A hot guy with brown hair bundled back in a man-bun grinned at her over the top of the flowers. "Hey, Manda. I'm Streak. Got a delivery for you here."
She put a hand to the blanket, making sure it was up over her chest. Nothing like lying around in a hospital gown to make a girl self-conscious. Bits and pieces could hang out at the slightest movement.
"Hi," she said. "Um, I think you're in the wrong room." She sure didn't know anyone who would buy her an extravagant bouquet like that. She gazed at it longingly, wishing it didn't have to disappear.
"Yeah, these are for you." He set the vase down carefully on the small table opposite the end of her bed. Without his screen of blooms, she could see that he wore a familiar black leather vest over his long-sleeved tee.
He plucked a small envelope from the greenery, and brought it to her. "Here you go."
The small card in the envelope was marked simply with a large 'T'. "Oh!" She flushed under Streak's interested regard. "They're from T-Bear?"
He nodded, still grinning. "Yep."
"Thank you," she said. "For bringing them in. So, you're a member of his, um, motorcycle club?"
"I'm a prospect, yeah."
Manda used the control to push the head of her bed farther upright, and regarded him with curiosity. He was about her age, she was certain, and he looked friendly. Not that she was a good judge. "Can I ask what the name of your riding club is?"
He gave her an odd look. "Ain't a riding club. It's a motorcycle club. We're the Devil's Flyers, Airway Heights Chapter."
She frowned. "The Devil's Flyers? That sounds kind of grim. Why did you choose that name?"
He shifted his stance, standing with his legs apart and his thumbs hooked in his belt. "Club's been around since the Vietnam War. Started by some ex-Air Force guys in California. They were done followin' orders, and living by someone else's rules. Said they'd spent the last few years with the devil on their tails, so they named themselves the Devil's Flyers."
No, they definitely weren't a weekend riding club. "There's a motorcycle club, or gang, in the Tri-Cities," she said. "The Prairie Rattlers."
Streak did not spit on the floor, but he looked as if he wanted to. His lip curled, and suddenly he no longer looked so young or friendly. "Not any more, there ain't. They're gone, scattered. And I hope you don't think we're anything like them, 'cause we're not."
She shook her head, clutching the blanket more tightly. "Uh, no. No, I didn't mean that." Well, she sort of had, but so far this guy had been nothing but nice, so she didn't want to insult him, or his and T-Bear's club.
"Okay, that's fine then." He relaxed. "I can see where you'd get a real bad opinion of bikers, if the Rattlers are the only ones you've been around. Bunch of low-life pimps, thieves and drug-pushers. They'd f-screw over their own mamas for money."
Manda wrinkled her nose. "Right. That's pretty much what I heard. Until their headquarters blew up this last summer."
He grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Yep. Their old club house went sky high."
She would have loved to ask him what he knew about that. Because something in that gleeful look said he knew a lot.
She would have bet money—if she had any—that explosion had been some kind of vigilante justice. Maybe meted out by the Devil's Flyers, maybe by another group who didn't like the Prairie Rattlers spreading their evil around central and eastern Washington.
"Well, I'm sure you have things to do," she said. "Don't feel you have to stay here on my account. I'm feeling much better." And she was. Her head didn't feel as if it would fall off with every movement, and the abrasions on her wrists and ankles were healing quickly. They looked gross right now, as her fair skin had not only bruised, but scabbed over. But she could walk just fine. Although she had to do so while holding the stupid hospital gown together in the back.
Her face, she wasn't so thrilled with. She'd been able to shower this morning, so her hair was clean and shiny, and she felt fresh. But looking in the mirror had made her want to cry all over again.
The right side of her face was one big bruise, including a black eye, and her cut lip had a scab that cracked when she tried to eat. Smiling with both sides of her mouth was not happening either, not that she felt like it anyway.
Streak took a step back, and pulled his thumbs from his belt. "I'll get out of your hair, then. Not goin' anywhere, though. I'll be right outside till T gets back. You need anything, holler."
With a lift of his chin, he disappeared beyond the curtain, leaving Manda with her mouth open in shock. He was here to to watch over her. To guard her, essentially. That was... sweet, and scary at the same time. What did they think, that Rezan Faro would try to sneak in here and drag her out to hurt her again?
She shivered, suddenly cold despite her layers of blankets. She remembered all too well the swing of his hand, the pain of being slapped across the face like that. And the way he'd repeated the action, as if he liked doing it. As if she was a piece of meat to him, a possession to be beaten into obedience.
And he'd seemed so nice at first.
Boy, never again was she going to despise girls and young women who fell for the lines fed to them by pimps, and ended up doing whatever degrading thing they were told to do.
Herself, she would've found some way to get away from Rezan, even if it had meant traipsing through the winter woods at night. But a lot of prostitutes were trapped by dependence on drugs, as well as by guards like Jere.
She shivered again. What if her first 'customer' had been someone other than T? She might have been hurt, and more. If she felt ashamed of what had happened between them, because she'd thought it was attraction, but he'd considered it a business transaction, how much worse would her shame be if he'd forced her to do degrading things?
Oh, she wished she could face Rezan and his creepy guard again. This time with T-Bear and Streak and that other man, Rock or whatever his name was, by her side. She'd like to slap Rezan's face a few times, see how he liked that. And as for muscle man, she'd kick him right in the balls, wearing her pointy-toed booties.
However, even these thoughts of violence made her head hurt. She sighed shakily, and then yawned.
Well, at least she wouldn't have to talk anymore for a while. She was worn out, mentally and emotionally. She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep.
At this moment—of course—a knock sounded on her room door, beyond the curtain.
"Manda?" Streak called. "Cops are here again."