2. Andrie #2
I hadn’t seen him in years, not even looking at pictures any longer—it hurt too much.
To see him age, his eyes turning harder and harder, seeing more and more scars on his body, and know he was sacrificing himself for me while I was dying by inches each and every day.
When I was told he’d been killed a few months ago, the last bit of hope I’d clung to had withered away as well.
I felt like a shell of a person, just going through the motions.
“What do you think I should do?” I shot back, angry at the world for putting me in the position I was in. “Have a one-night stand with the next man to walk through that door?”
Before Lessia could comment, a rumble of what sounded like thunder echoed from outside, multiplying until I couldn’t count how many motorcycles had pulled up.
Vik froze, turning to the door in an anticipation I didn’t understand.
The women stopped dancing, and someone cut off the music as the noise got even louder before the engines cut off, one by one.
The silence afterward hung in the air, and the entire room seemed frozen as they waited. Some of the men appeared apprehensive, but I noticed Vik wasn’t reaching for a weapon.
The door flew open with a bang, and the shadow of a large man stood in the doorway for several long seconds, the darkness making it hard to see anything but the profile of a hulking figure made by countless hours of hard labor and a strong worth ethic.
My breath caught; something about the way he stood caught my attention in a way that only one other man ever had.
“Sounds like a great idea,” Lessia said with mock innocence.
He took one step inside, his leather vest, paired with the tattoos that ran down both arms to his wrists, pegged him as an MC member. And if the solid muscles and shaved head didn’t scream danger, his dark blue eyes, impassive and cold, would have.
Hope I’d known better than to have, so quick to rise, was extinguished in a heartbeat.
Wrong color, my mind whispered. His eyes—and tattoos for that matter—weren’t Demi’s.
But even as my breath caught in inevitable disappointment, my body stirred, taking notice of a man for the first time in more years than I wanted to count.
Vik, who’d been still as a statue, threw the bar towel he’d been using over his shoulder and, as if the pass-through to the bar was too far away, put a hand on the bar top and hoisted himself over it. He landed beside an empty barstool and just stood there, taking in the stranger.
The moment stretched on as the two men assessed one another.
In an instant, Vik’s face stretched into a full-out grin—his happiness so apparent, I could only stare.
Vik was a lot of things, but most of them centered around being grumpy, decidedly close-mouthed, and emotionally closed-off.
A smile was a rare thing, but I couldn’t remember ever seeing Vik this unguarded, even if it was short-lived.
The two men reached for each other, pulling in for a long bro-hug, complete with multiple back-thumps and murmured words no one could make out.
“Who?” I breathed, not wanting to break up the scene in front of me.
“Vik’s brother.” Lessia’s words hit me hard. In all the years I’d known him, Vik had never told me he’d left a brother behind. Happiness for him surged through me before envy roared to life. How was it this man had made it out when my Demi hadn’t?
Ruthlessly, I shoved back my own feelings.
Vik was family to me … the only family I had left.
And this return of a sibling after all these years was surely something he’d have strong feelings he’d have to work out.
And this brother, if he’d been in the same life as Vik and Demi, likely had a lifetime of trauma to work through once he had time to process everything.
I needed to make sure I could be there for both.
Lessia rose, sidling up to the two men. I barely registered the rest of the Iron Wraiths as they filtered into the bar.
“Xander,” Lessia greeted. “I heard you got out of prison early for good behavior. Please tell me you at least have a better control over your temper—I don’t want to hear about you going back for good this time. ”
I gulped before realizing that must have been the cover story the MC had produced to explain his absence until now.
I knew more than most that the Iron Wraiths were deadly, stone-cold killers, but the one’s I knew would cut off their hand before doing harm to an innocent.
The group might look like they could gut someone like a fish, but I’d always felt safe with Vik’s friends.
Even now, as they settled in various places around the room, I felt more protected than I had with Lessia sitting next to me—and I knew what that woman was capable of.
The newcomer, Xander, pulled back from Vik to look down at her—something that didn’t happen to the tall brunette often.
“Just call me Revenant,” he growled, the joke completely at odds with his stone-faced expression.
“I should’ve had ten more years to go, but you have to love it when someone’s fuckup is uncovered.
Hell, I was doing humanity a favor, offing that asshole.
It just so happens the government finally decided to agree. ”
Lessia, never one to miss a beat, slapped his shoulder in greeting. “Come on, then, Rev. I’ll buy you a beer.”
The men made their way to the counter, where Lessia, acting as if she’d bartended her entire life, stepped behind the bar and began pulling beers. In an effort to stop staring at Xander, I forced my eyes to roam the bar, wondering if I could make my escape with everyone distracted.
Charge, one of the Iron Wraiths MC members, caught my attention. He mumbled something to Grimm, the leader of the group, who nodded, then Charge caught the eye of some of the other men who’d been drinking for as long as we’d been in the bar and tilted his head to the door.
At the unspoken signal, most of the men not in the MC rose, tossed some money on their tables, and left without a word. A few of the others looked around uncomfortably, reading the room, and decided to call it an early night as well.
The door barely had time to shut behind the last of them when a new group of men came in, practically rushing into the room. In direct contrast to gang members and bikers that just left, these men looked as out of place as the women they’d come for.
“Keene!” Paige squealed, hiccupping as she stumbled her way to her fiancé.
Keene who’d come to a stop as soon as he’d gotten through the door, his brothers Boone and Royce flanking him, slowly smiled, paying attention to no one but her. “Having fun?” he asked, gathering her to him.
“So much fun,” she sighed, burrowing into him.
The sight of her, cradled in his arms, twisted my gut. I wanted others to find love; I truly did. But seeing couples so certain of one another and blissfully happy only reminded me of those stolen weeks when I’d had—and lost—the same. Never again would I be that carefree and confident.
“Turn the music back on and lock the door,” Lessia called out, hard at work at the tap. “We’ve got a double celebration and the place all to ourselves.”
The MC men—and Lessia’s girl crew—all cheered. Brody, who’d been closest to the door, slid the lock into place before coming around to help Lessia.
Someone traded the pop songs for country, and soon, the women had their men on the dance floor with them. The MC members settled around the room, happy to steer clear of the engagement celebration.
Deciding I’d stayed long enough, and pretty uncomfortable with the idea of hanging in the booth by myself like a lurker, I rose, pleased that my feet stayed steady under me. Maybe I wasn’t as out of practice as I’d thought.
Lessia, who was setting down Vik and Xander’s drinks in front of them, must’ve seen me stand because she said something to Vik, who rose.
“Andrie,” he said, motioning me over to him. “You’ve got to meet Xander.”
His elation at his brother’s return was still easy to see. Giving him a tight smile, I let him pull me under his arm in a sideways hug. “Xander, meet Alexandria Demming. Andrie, this is my brother, Xander.”
Taking a nervous breath, I extended my hand to the hulking stranger.
He looked down at my hand as if the movement was foreign to him, and I wondered if maybe he’d truly been incarcerated and was unused to social niceties.
Slowly, he grasped my hand in his, the calluses on his fingers rough against my skin, but he kept his touch light, as if afraid of his own strength.
Nerve endings I’d thought long dead flared to life, sending tingling warmth through me so fast I gasped at him in wonder.
His eyes flared, and I wondered if he’d felt it, too.
I wanted to pull back—I’d only had these feelings for one other man in my life, and he wasn’t there—but Xander’s hand firmed around mine as if he’d read my intentions.
“Andrie was my best friend’s sister, and when he died, she became my little sister.” Vik was explaining the cover story we’d fabricated before our new identities had even been finalized.
“Well,” Xander’s deep, raspy Texas drawl had my body shuddering. “I’d say any little sister of my brother’s is kin to me, but I’d be lying. Come sit with us for a while, sweetheart. I’d love to get to know the only family my brother has had to count on while I was gone.”
Feeling as if I were in a dream, I found myself sitting between the two men. Lessia slid yet another beer in front of me with a sly wink, reminding me of my flippant comment just moments before Xander walked into the bar, and I flushed.
I was Dr. Andrie Demming, professional wallflower. And conservative, boring wallflowers did not have wild flings with dangerous bikers.