He’s standing in front of a beast of a motorcycle. I don’t know much about them, but even I’m aware that an Indian motorcycle is a beauty. My husband abandoned his expensive suit for jeans and a leather jacket and he looks unfairly hot.
“Helmet first,” he says, plopping it on my head and fastening the strap under my chin. “Keep a tight hold on me and when I lean into a turn, do the same, aye? Have you been on a motorcycle before?”
“Not unless you count the Vespa I rode on holiday in Italy.”
“No,” he says decisively, “that does not count.” He swings one long leg over the motorcycle and steadies it for me. “Climb on, lass.”
Everything about this is so uncomfortably sexual, from seeing his powerful thighs straddling that beast to climbing on and having to snuggle my pelvis against his arse.
Then, he turns the bike on.
“Oh, god,” I mumble into the back of his leather jacket. The vibrations are pulsing against the seat and it feels like I’m on some kind of expensive, elaborate vibrator.
“Hold tight,” he calls over his shoulder, and we’re off.
My husband is unhinged. He rips through the city streets, weaving between cars and trucks and letting out an exuberant burst of speed when we hit the M8 Motorway.
My arms are cramping from gripping his waist so tightly, my legs are vibrating and I love every second of this. My helmet is so well-padded that I don’t hear the noise of the cars around us as the Indian roars down the motorway.
About thirty minutes later, Dougal pulls into the parking lot of a disreputable-looking bar. I get to admire his tight arse as he dismounts and turns to me, taking my helmet off.
“Fancy a drink?” he says, sweeping his hand toward the bar.
The neon sign is buzzing fitfully, the ‘a’ in ‘Mac’s” is missing. There are several other motorcycles in the parking lot and a listless grouping of old cars.
“Don’t let the outside fool ya’,” he says, “they have the best fish and chips in Scotland.”
“It looks like the set of a snuff film,” I say doubtfully.
Throwing his arm over my shoulders, he pulls me toward the bar. “Do ya’ trust me, wife?”
After what he told me today? Yes, I do.
The inside of the bar is just as spooky as the exterior. There’s a bartender with more tattoos than a prison yard, and a waitress saunters over to the table wearing a skirt so tight that I suspect her circulation is being compromised.
“An’ how are you, Lord MacTavish?” she bats her lashes madly, like moths against a porch light.
“Grand, Maisie. This is my beautiful bride, Isla,” he grins up at her and she melts. I can’t hold it against her. With his leather jacket and windblown hair, my husband almost looks edible.
Maisie beams at me, holding out a sticky hand. “Well, good work landing this one! Nice tae make yer acquaintance.”
“Good to make yours, Maise.” We shake hands, she takes our drink orders and I look around the bar some more. “How many people do you think have died here?”
He shrugs, smiling devilishly. “Eh, most left this mortal coil in the parking lot.”
“You are nae reassuring me, husband.”
“Sorry, love,” he chuckles. “They’re good folk, I promise. My brothers and I, we used to come in here, get drunk, and raise hell. Then we’d come back the next day and fix everything we broke. Those days are behind us, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” I nod solemnly.
Dougal’s correct, the fish and chips are spectacular, the batter crisp, and the fish inside is wonderfully juicy. I eat all of my chips and reach over to finish off his. He tells me stories of growing up with his brothers and all the terrible things they’d do to each other.
We’re relaxing with another glass of ale when his smile fades. “Lachlan says he went to the Academy with your brother Gavin, he said Gavin was a decent sort. Your older brother, can I ask what happened?”
“Ewan was… he was such a good man,” I said, rolling my frosted glass against my sweaty forehead. “He was ready to take over for Papa, our men admired him, he was smart and dedicated. Of all things to happen, he was killed by a drunk driver. A mid-level assistant manager celebrating her promotion. She took my brother from us and she was barely injured.”
He reached across, taking my hand.
