Beauty Found (Hades Hangmen 6.5)

Dread swarmed in my stomach when I heard my mamma’s voice getting closer. Then the deafening roar of a motorcycle cut through the air. I frantically waved my hand for the guy to stop. I didn’t think he would. Hope drained from me as I saw my mamma storming down the alley, her face like thunder and flushed with rage. It didn’t matter that I was a grown-ass woman—she was my kryptonite. One I’d wasted too many years trying please, trying to make love me.

She was the only person who struck fear in me.

In my panic, my feet fumbled, my damn high heels causing my ankle to give way. I stumbled on the curb of the road and lurched forward. My hands reached out for something to break my fall, when my hip suddenly hit something hard, the flash of pain making me cry out. It only took me a few seconds to realize it was a motorcycle—a motorcycle that was slowly rolling to a stop beside me. Two hands took hold of my arms, and my head snapped up, only for my eyes to crash into a pair so blue they almost didn’t look real. “Jesus! You almost ran me the fuck down!” I blurted, but my voice was barely above a whisper.

A huff of a laugh came from the lips of the blue-eyed biker. But his laugh faded when he looked over my shoulder and my mamma’s voice sounded again. “You getting on or what, beauty queen? Looked like you were trying to hitch a ride.”

I didn’t need to look back at my mamma to help make my decision. I didn’t even care that the guy was a unit with a shaved head, a massive red scar slicing down the side. I just saw my chance at freedom and damn well took it.

Climbing on the back of the Harley, I wrapped my arms around his waist and begged, “Please. Go!” We sped off. My heart slammed in my chest as the engine roared and the seat vibrated with power underneath me.

I glanced back, the venue fading from view. I tightened my arms around the guy’s waist, and the smell of oil and leather surrounded me.

It smelled of freedom.

We drove. We rode and rode until the sun started to drop in the sky. I knew I should be worried. Especially when I saw the tattoos this guy was covered in. They were white power. I’d seen plenty of them in my life. He could be taking me anywhere. Could be a murderer or some shit. A trafficker. Yet I kept on holding on. That’s how badly I needed away from my mamma.

I wasn’t sure how many hours we’d been on the road, but we were no longer in Austin, that was for sure. At that realization I could suddenly breathe, the weight in my chest lifting for the first time in my life.

The guy took a left and pulled into a motel. The red neon sign buzzed, telling us they had rooms free. My legs felt numb as he parked up. My fingers were rigid, as if they’d been soldered to his waist. As the engine died, he sat there for a few minutes. I didn’t move. Eventually, he looked at me. I had to swallow when those eyes met mine again. “You gonna move anytime today, beauty queen?”

I blinked, his slow drawl snapping me from my trance. I swung my leg from the saddle. As I stepped back, I really saw the guy for the first time. I swallowed on seeing the size of him, every inch of him covered in tattoos.

He was gorgeous.

His lip twitched as he looked at me. Then his gaze went to my head. It took me a minute to realize what he was laughing at. I ripped the crown from my head and threw it to the ground.

“Not a fan of crowns?”

“Fuck no,” I spat back. His face lit up with humor. I held out my hand. “Susan-Lee.”

He pushed his hand out and put it in mine. “Tank.”

“I can see why you’ve got that name, sugar.” I pulled my hand back. “Thanks for the rescue. It was much needed.”

Tank nodded, then got off his bike. He looked even more intimidating standing up. Fuck. He looked good. The guy’s face was beautiful. His eyes ran down my dress. “You ran from a pageant or some shit?”

I held out my arms. “Darlin’, you’re looking at the new Miss Central Texas.” His eyes widened. “Or not. I imagine my runaway stunt might mean I’ve officially abdicated from that title.”

“You got money?” My face blanched. Tank didn’t even let me reply that I hadn’t. I hadn’t thought of anything but fleeing that stage. A split-second decision. He reached into his leather jacket and handed me a wad of cash.

“I can’t take that!”

“You’re running. So the fuck am I. You’ll need cash. I have it.”

“Why are you running?” I blurted.

His face frosted over. He thrust the cash at me and forced it into my hand. “Take care, beauty queen.” He turned and walked into the office. I followed. When I got inside, he was getting a key. He passed me with a nod and disappeared into one of the rooms outside.

“You want a room, sweetie?”

I looked at the woman behind the desk. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Ten minutes later, I was looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. My hair was in such a state that if my mamma were here she would lose her ever-loving shit. I closed my eyes, feeling her phantom fist slam into my ribs at my lack of perfection.

When I opened my eyes again, I thrust my hands through my hair until every strand stuck up on end . . .

. . . and I laughed.

*****

I couldn’t deny I liked the way the leather pants clung to my legs. Hell, I couldn’t deny that they looked fucking good on me, period. The black tank clung to me like a second skin. Red lips and my hair down and straight finished the look off well. My new heels clicked on the sidewalk as I made my way to the bar at the side of the road. Country music spilled from the wooden walls, and neon signs for different brands of beer took up most of the windows.

I swung the door open and walked inside. It was half full, dark corners hiding most of the occupants. It wasn’t my usual scene, but this mamma needed a damn drink, and here in the middle of nowhere, this was as good as I was gonna get.

I ignored the stares and the few wolf whistles that came my way. Tapping the bar, I said to the bartender, “Wine cooler if you have one, sugar.”

“We got beer and whiskey, blondie.”

I frowned. “Then a whiskey on the rocks.” I hated whiskey. But right now I’d drink gasoline if I thought it would help me get wasted.

I slipped onto the stool as I waited for my drink. When it came I sipped at it, trying not to wince when it hit my tongue. I was one for a sweeter kind of liquor.

I felt someone sit beside me. Then a hand landed on my ass. I slowly placed my drink down then turned to face him. The guy was big and overweight and had a mustache. One sure-as-hell way to make a guy look like a creepy-ass fool—a fucking mustache.

Give me full stubble or a full beard any day. I couldn’t deny how good that shit felt between my thighs.

His skin was covered in sweat. It nearly made me retch.

“You might wanna remove that hand from my ass, darlin’,” I warned.

He smiled, and I wanted to spit in his face. “Kinda like where it’s at.”

I pushed his wrist, and his arm fell away. “Get. The. Fuck. Off.”

I was turning back to my drink when his hand slapped my ass again. Harder this time. The impact made me spill my whiskey. The asshole wanted to hurt me, and I was about to lose my shit.

I swung, ready to rip this prick a new asshole, when an arm rested on the bar between me and him. “Get the fuck off her ass or I’ll break your motherfucking jaw.”

My eyes widened when I saw the familiar shaved head and scar.

“Fuck off, Nazi,” the creep spat and tried to come at me again.

Tank didn’t hesitate. He didn’t speak again, just sent his fist into the creep’s face, and the asshole hit the floor. But my stomach fell when a few other guys got to their feet. The creep clearly had friends. They charged at Tank. He just grinned and let fly with his huge fists. He made it look almost easy. Laughable. Until one of them grabbed a nearby bottle. Before I could do or say a damn thing, he smashed it over Tank’s head. My heart thumped as I saw the blood sprout. My stomach fell and fear spread over my skin. Fear for Tank and what I’d gotten him into

.

I shouldn’t have started this shit.

Tank’s punches were relentless. And even with blood trickling into his eyes, Tank fought the guys off until they were on the floor, groaning and covered in blood. When none of them made to get up again, he grabbed my hand and pulled me from the bar. I didn’t look back; I was too busy fighting the funny sensation in my chest at the feel of Tank’s roughened hand in mine. He took me to his bike. “Get on, beauty queen.”

We pulled out from the bar and down the road to the motel. When we parked up, Tank looked back at me and sighed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trouble?”

I smiled and winked. Because I fucking was.

I slid from the motorcycle and tapped Tank’s shoulder. “Come on, big boy. Gotta get you cleaned up.”