TRACKING TRISHA - A Black Hounds Motorcycle Club Romance (The Fox and the Hounds Book #1) by Fiona Garland Read Free Book Online Page A

than never. “A drink sounds nice, even if it’s in the morning.”
     
     
    Dante smiled back at her. “They also have some good food to wash down with all that alcohol.”
     
     
    Lucia looked as though she would object but bit her tongue. “You two go on ahead. I have some work to take care off.”
     
     
    Trisha wished her goodbye. “Thank your hospitality, Lucia.”
     
     
    The CFO left without a word. Dante shook his head and laughed. “Don’t worry, Trisha. I think she likes you. Come on, let’s get to the bar before it fills up. Just because I’m a CEO doesn’t mean these guys roll out the red carpet for me.”
     
     
    She didn’t know what she was in for at this bar or Dante Alastair’s plan. However, she felt a rare jolt of happiness that had only existed when her parents were alive. For the first time in months, Trisha Kaplan walked with a spring in her step.

 
    Dante smiled as. “Now this is a bar!”
     
     
    Trisha giggled at his enthusiasm. “I can see that quite clearly.”
     
     
    “I mean, I’ve been to some fancy bars to meet with clients and business partners,” he replied, taking pride in gritty, homely looking establishment. The Kennel had been a home away from home as far as he could remember. Thankfully, there weren’t too many people at this time of day. They would attract less attention in this visit. “But nothing beats this kind of atmosphere.”
     
     
    “Here I was, expecting the wealthy CEO of successful motorcycle company to win me over with the royal treatment,” Trisha replied with a teasing smile. “Where is the candlelit dinner and hundred dollar bottles of wine? No ten course meal with caviar? Not even a saucy waiter with a French accent?”
     
     
    Dante shifted uncomfortably in his boots. “Sorry, this is the closest bar that-
     
     
    “Relax, a five star restaurant is too rich for my blood,” she laughed. “I’m happy with a cheap beer and some spicy chicken wings. I’m sure I’ll have a good time if this bar is as good as you say it is.”
     
     
    “Well, I wouldn’t be completely honest if there wasn’t a bit of bias,” Dante replied sheepishly. “The bar used to be run by my uncle.”
     
     
    “The one who was went to prison for armed robbery?” Trisha began, realizing the bluntness of her words mid-sentence. “I mean who got released? Did he have someone else run it?”
     
     
    “Not Uncle Cass,” he corrected. “This was Uncle Samwise from my mom’s side of the family. He owned this place. That is until he died…”
     
     
    His death had not been a tragedy due to an untimely illness. It hadn’t even been an accident. He had been assassinated by a rival gang, the Red Aztecs.
     
     
    After his uncle’s death, Dante’s father had wanted the club to change for the better. He wanted the Black Hounds to be a pillar of business rather than a tool for violence. Dante intended to carry on his late father’s legacy.
     
     
    He broke out of his reverie when one of the employees walked by. The man instinctively reached out to hold the farm girl’s hand in his. Trisha raised an eyebrow at the gesture. “What’s this for?”
     
     
    “Assuming you agree to the terms of the arrangement,” he whispered, still holding her hand tightly. “We would be a couple at this point. We can’t have the people here thinking we’re just associates.”
     
     
    Trisha looked deflated as she remembered this was not an innocuous outing with a handsome date. “Okay.”
     
     
    Dante led her across the bar. However, a familiar face crossed his path. “Brendan, is that you?”
     
     
    This familiar face in particular was scarred from year of fighting. A burn left from a motorcycle crash didn’t help matters. Nevertheless, the young man was overjoyed to meet his old friend.
     
     
    “Dante! I haven’t seen you in months,” Brendan said, giving him a handshake that looked more like an impromptu arm wrestling contest. The man’s fingers were