Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for.
Hope’s lost her younger sister, but she hasn’t lost her namesake. It’s been almost two years since Faith vanished, but Hope hasn’t given up the search. She’ll either find her sister or some answers.
Cutter had given up on finding a woman when Hope sauntered right into his bar. With her straight talk, toned figure and military training, she can disarm a man in more ways than one. But the mission she’s on will shake up Cutter’s world. Can Cutter keep his club out of trouble and help the siren in his bar on her mission?
One can only hope…
“Atlas!” I shouted a few minutes after Hope sashayed that sweet, perfectly toned, ass out of my bar. My club’s secretary jogged into the room a half second later.
“Yeah Captain?” he asked.
“Find out everything you can about that girl that was just in here. Said her name was Hope and she’s stayin’ down at the Nautilus,” I said to him but my eyes were fixed on where she’d been.
She was a girl on fire, and I damn sure wanted to know what she wanted with the girl from the picture. I’d recognized her alright. Wasn’t no way I was going to tell that cool drink of water though, not with how that run went straight to hell in so many ways.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Send Tiny back here,” I told him when he turned to tend to the task I’d set him. Atlas gave me a half assed grin and an even sloppier salute. He could tell when I was in a mood and this particular shit show put my mood square in the middle of the black. Tiny didn’t exactly have any fans around these parts and I think the club knew I was reaching the end of the line when it came to my patience with our SAA
He lounged in an electric chair, either a replica, or a real relic from some mothballed penitentiary, I couldn’t tell… I didn’t really care either. The man on the ‘throne’ which sat on a slightly raised dais screamed ‘danger’ in every sense of the word. He worked out, clearly, but it was more than just chiseled abs and corded arms. It was the way he held himself. He appeared nonchalant, leaning to one side, leg hitched up over one arm of the chair. He wore a pair of frayed cargo shorts and no shirt, just one of the leather vests that seemed to be the uniform code around here.
“You Anders – “
He held up his hand abruptly and my voice stilled in my throat. I swept him one more time. Tattooed, sure, but one of them was damn sure a war memorial. A tattered American flag decorating the swell of one shoulder. He was more attractive than not and he knew it which should have been a total turn off, but hey, it’d been a while, okay?
“We don’t use last names around here, Sweetheart. Truth be told, we don’t use first ones either.”
“What do you want to be called then, Sunshine?” I asked warily.
I snorted, “Right.”
Text Copyright © 2016 A.J. Downey
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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