Hope and Desire

By: Alicia Pierce

About This Story

This short story is intended as a prequel, chronicling the events leading up to Petals and Chrome: the first official book in Alicia Pierce’s brand new erotic romance series, Flowers of Hell MC .

You can buy Petals and Chrome from the Smashwords store (and from all other good ebook retailers) now!

One ~ D

Sam’s roadhouse was crowded, as usual for a Friday night. I elbowed my way through the churning dance floor, weaving in and out of guys and girls, all out to drink and dance away the memories of a shitty working week. As I made my way towards the bar, I felt a hand on the small of my back, eagerly trying to snake its way into the waistband of my pants. I turned in its direction. What a surprise. It was Donna — a girl I’d known since she was just a kid, when I’d learnt to fix motorbikes with her old man. Well, now she was all grown up. She’d had a crush on me ever since I could remember, and I’d always managed to wrestle back my urges, out of some kind of loyalty to her old man, Pete. Not that he’d come after me now. He’d drank himself to death the middle of last year.

“Hi baby,” she purred, trying to work her hand down towards my groin.

“Hi Donna,” I said, grabbed her wrist and wrenching her eager fingers back out of my pants, just before she discovered that she had, in fact, turned me on a little.

“Maybe next year,” I joked, turning and quickly moving on through the crush of dancers.

“I’ll be long gone from this fucking hole by then!” I heard her call behind me.

I took my usual place at the far end of the bar, and Sam nodded when he saw me, straightaway walking the length of the bar, ignoring a number of other angry patrons in order to take my order.

“Usual?” he asked.

I nodded. “Make that a shot of Wild Turkey, too,” I added.

As Sam popped the top off a condensation-flecked bottle, then poured out my whiskey into a grubby little shot glass, I closed my eyes for the briefest moment, rubbing my fingertips against my pounding temples.

“These are on me, D,” Sam said, gently, when he saw me drawing a fistful of bills from the pocket of my oil-stained Levi’s.

“Thanks,” I said.

“I heard about Roxanne,” he said, meeting my eye for a half second. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I shrugged. “Probably for the best. That bitch was nothing but a world of trouble, anyway.”

I picked up the shot and slammed it back, savoring the sharpness of it, scalding my throat as it went down, wondering if I even believed what I’d just said to Sam. Roxanne. She was gone, again, and I wondered if perhaps it was for good this time. I tried to push all thought of her — and the ruins she’d left our club in — from my spinning, throbbing mind.

As I turned and made my way over towards the far corner of the room, where a few of my guys were sitting, I heard someone calling my name.

“Hey, D!” the rasping, grizzled voice taunted. “How’s business these days?”

I knew who it was, even before I turned around: Hank, that filthy, double-crossing motherfucker. The trucker with ideas above his station, who’d been muscling in on our territory, using his fleet of lorries to run the drugs that, until recently, had been our bread and butter.

He leered up at me from his seat, his stained yellow teeth glinting in his mouth, his piggy little eyes round and bloodshot, his beer gut straining out from beneath his dirty plaid shirt.

“Made much money lately, D?” he continued with an evil grin, his cronies all chuckling to themselves, their mouths wet with cheap beer.

“Fuck you, Hank,” I said, coldly, meeting his gaze and holding it.

I wasn’t scared of him, even if he was in Carlo’s pocket.

I fought back the urge to smash my beer bottle right there and then over his ugly fucking head, and instead swallowed back my anger, turned, and made my way towards the small group of my men that remained, just eleven of us including me; now all that was left of our motorcycle club, The Flowers of Hell.

“Fellas,” I said, nodding at the small semi circle then taking my seat at the table.

There was an uneasy silence.

“How you holding up?” Spider asked me, clearly referring to Roxanne.

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