A Little Bit Wicked (The Wickeds

by Melissa Foster

  Cuffs was clean cut, broad chested, and athletic, with short brown hair and a granitelike jawline. He was a police officer in or out of uniform, but to Justin he’d always be the first guy Blaine had ever stood up to on his behalf. Cuffs had been Blaine’s best friend since they were kids. He’d fallen from grace after picking a fight with Justin in middle school. But he’d quickly redeemed himself a few months later when he’d stood by Blaine’s and Justin’s sides, helping them stop a group of bullies from picking on a hearing-impaired boy.

  “As you know, we’ve been closing in on the dogfighting ring that Baz alerted us to a couple of weeks ago.” Cuffs nodded in Baz’s direction. “My team was ready to take them down this week, but then we received intel from other sources that they’ve got another shipment of dogs coming. We want to close down this operation and their counterparts, so we’re in a holding pattern until next week. We expect to find anywhere from ten to thirty dogs. Gunner’s going to be there to collect and transport the dogs to the rescue, and Baz will be handling any medical care they need.” Cuffs looked over to their table and said, “Gunner, do you need more hands on deck?”

  Gunner was peering into his vest. Granger, one of his dogs, stood between his legs with his chin resting on Gunner’s arm, which was belted across the bottom of his vest holding it against his stomach. He pushed one hand into his vest.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Tank said under his breath. Tank was the eldest of Justin’s local cousins. He was a mountain of a man, covered with tattoos and a few piercings. He owned Wicked Ink, a tattoo shop, and he was a volunteer firefighter. Tank was also the cousin with the most demons, as he’d been the one to find his late sister, Ashley, when she’d committed suicide several years ago.

  “Ow, shit,” Gunner ground out as he stood up. His vest opened, revealing a fluffy white kitten hanging on to his chest by its claws. “Sorry,” Gunner said as he carefully extracted the kitten’s nails. Granger wagged his tail, watching Gunner’s every move. “I rescued her last night and she needs to be bottle fed. I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

  “You brought your pussy to a meeting?” Zander chuckled.

  Blaine elbowed Zander and said, “Gives a whole new meaning to pussy whipped,” earning a rumble of laughter from around the room.

  Gunner nuzzled the kitten against his nose and said, “They don’t mean anything, Snowflake. They’re just assholes.”

  “Snowflake?” one of the other guys said.

  “He’s got to sweet-talk her. She’s the only pussy he’s gonna get tonight,” Zeke added.

  Zeke was the rare combination of smart-ass and genius, though he typically kept his smart-assery under wraps. Women called Baz prime husband material, but Justin thought Zeke would be the first of them to settle down. He’d always seemed more settled than the rest of them. He had a quiet, watchful way about him. Zeke had been a special ed teacher until a guy had made rude comments about “fucking retarded kids” at an event, and Zeke had gone after him. Zeke had lost his job because of the fight, and now he worked with Zander and their father in their family business, Cape Renovations. Zeke also tutored and volunteered at the community center.

  “All right, enough.” Preacher glared at Zander and Zeke, and they held their hands up in surrender. “Gunner, how about you answer Cuff’s question? Do you need more help to transport the dogs?”

  Gunner stroked the tiny kitten’s back and said, “I think we’re good. But a few extra hands wouldn’t hurt, especially when we get back to the shelter.”

  A number of members called out, volunteering to help. Conroy held up his hands and said, “I’ll put together a sign-up sheet and Gunner can answer questions after the meeting.”

  Justin’s uncle looked more like an aging movie star than a biker. He had a long, straight nose, wavy silver hair that hung to his collar, and an ever-present smile that set off his dimples. His children had inherited many of his traits, including those dimples. Tank not only shared his father’s burly stature, but also the jet-black hair of Conroy’s youth. Gunner was every bit as cocky as Conroy, and Baz shared his father’s ability to remain calm in any situation. Before the tragic loss of their younger sister, Ashley, she had shared their father’s zest for life, which had made her death even more devastating. Ashley had been the second person Justin had lost to suicide, the first being his birth mother when he was only seven years old.

  As Cuffs returned to his seat, Preacher said, “We’re gearing up for the annual Suicide-Awareness Ride and Rally in honor of Ashley Wicked, Conroy and Ginger’s beloved daughter. Ginger is looking for volunteers to help with the event.”

  Sadness moved through Justin and through the room, settling heavily around them. The closeness of the brotherhood included sharing celebrations and heartache. Even those who hadn’t known Ashley rallied around their family every year without fail, keeping her spirit alive and helping the family cope with the never-ending sadness of their loss. Preacher had once asked Justin if he’d like them to publicly honor his birth mother at the event, but since he didn’t like talking about his mother’s death, or the circumstances surrounding it, of which even Preacher wasn’t fully aware, he’d passed on the thoughtful offer.

  As Preacher went over details for the September event, Justin put a hand on Tank’s shoulder and lifted his beer bottle, mouthing, To Ashley.

  Tank tapped his bottle to Justin’s, and they both took a drink.

  After the meeting, Gunner and Baz dealt with gathering volunteers for the night of the dogfighting-ring bust, and Zander went across the room to play darts with some of his buddies by the pool tables. Preacher and Conroy made their way over to the table where Justin and the others were sitting.

  Preacher gave off an air of authority, exuding the confidence of a man who demanded obedience. He had serious eyes and pitch-black brows and mustache. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back and kept his silver beard trimmed. Justin hadn’t been sure what to make of the tattooed renovations expert when he’d first met him. But as Justin had gotten to know him, he’d found that Preacher was warm and patient. Preacher could joke with the best of them, but when it came to the safety of his family or his community, he didn’t mess around. Justin had no idea how Preacher and Reba had put up with his shit and his constant running away when he had first come to live with them, but he was thankful they had. Preacher had been more of a father to him in the first month he’d lived there than his biological father had been in the eleven years they’d lived under the same roof. And Reba? She was a godsend. From what he remembered of his birth mother, he had a feeling the two would have gotten along like sisters. Reba, being the stronger, older sister who would have looked out for his timid biological mother.

  If only…

  Preacher set his beer bottle on the table beside Justin and put a hand on his shoulder, his eyes moving around the table. “How are our boys doing?”

  Tank smirked and looked at Blaine as he said, “This one’s thinking about getting a sex change and becoming a chick.”

  “Did you say getting into a chick?” Blaine cocked a grin. “How’d you know I have a date later?”

  Tank held his gaze and said, “I didn’t. Is Gunner lending you his pussy?”

  “A’right, boys,” Conroy said as he sat down between Tank and Blaine.

  Preacher sat beside Justin and said, “Hey, son. Are you still okay to check on Grandpa tomorrow?”

  A few months ago, Preacher’s father, Mike, had suffered a fall and had moved in with Preacher and Reba. He’d fallen again a few weeks ago. Since Reba ran the offices of Cape Renovations and wasn’t always able to get away, Justin and his siblings took turns checking on their grandfather during the day. Mike was a jokester, like Zander, although he definitely had the grumpy-old-man thing down pat. Mike had grown up with a father who believed in fists as a form of punishment and he had run away at sixteen. He’d met his late wife, Hilda, at seventeen. They’d married at eighteen, had kids a few years later, and together t
hey’d built a life free from abuse. Their new family hadn’t had much, but they’d had a safe, loving world in which to thrive. Although Mike wasn’t a biker, he respected the hell out of the club and supported their endeavors. After all, he’d raised his sons to be worthy of the Dark Knights’ patches.

  “Of course. Whatever you need,” Justin said. Mike had opened his heart to Justin early on, becoming the grandfather he’d never had. Like Preacher and Conroy, Mike had taken every opportunity to teach Justin right from wrong. He’d once told Justin that the best thing he could do for himself was to be a good man. Because once you do that, everything else will fall into place. Justin had taken that advice seriously, and it had yet to fail him.

  “Do me a favor,” Preacher said. “Lay off bringing him cookies and candy bars, okay? He doesn’t need all that sugar.”

  Justin feigned innocence, pointing at himself and mouthing, Who me?

  Preacher took a swig of his drink and said, “Seriously, Maverick. He gets all hyped up.”

  “Is he still giving you and Mom trouble?” Blaine asked.

  “If you mean sneaking out and going to Common Grounds, where he flirts shamelessly with Gabe and any other woman who crosses his path, then yes.” Preacher chuckled and took another drink.

  Gabe Appleton was a voluptuous redhead who owned the coffeehouse where they held the suicide-awareness rally each year. Her brother Rod, a guitarist, and Elliott, who had Down syndrome, also worked there. Gabe employed several people with disabilities and fostered an environment where everyone was welcome, which was why, when it had become too emotionally draining for the family to host the rally at the Salty Hog while running the business, they’d chosen to hold it at Common Grounds.

  “Your grandfather is worse than you four were,” Preacher said.

  “I was a prince among thieves.” Blaine sat back in his chair, eyeing his brothers as he said, “Always catching shit for what my brothers did.”

  Justin knew Blaine was only teasing, but he still felt a pang of guilt at that comment. Blaine was only one year older than him, and when Justin had first moved in with the Wickeds, Blaine had rightfully wanted to establish himself as the alpha among the pack. After having a father who rarely remembered to feed him and who used fear as a means for obedience, Justin didn’t trust anyone. He and Blaine had gone head-to-head often, and Justin had run off dozens of times. But no matter how many times he ran away, Blaine and the rest of his family, along with the Dark Knights, had come after him and brought him home. Justin wasn’t ever punished for taking flight. He was told how much he was loved and that the family was there for him even when he didn’t want them to be. Eventually Justin had learned to trust the strangers who had not only taken him in but had also made him part of a much bigger family.

  Though Justin and Blaine had started out on rough ground, often battling at home, Blaine had always had his back in public. Justin would never forget the day in middle school when Blaine had taken down Cuffs, who had been Cameron at the time, for giving Justin shit. Afterward, Justin had asked Blaine why he’d taken his side instead of his best friend’s, and Blaine had said, The minute you had a bed in our house, you became family. I’ll always have your back, but that doesn’t mean I’ll take your shit.

  Blaine had become Justin’s first real friend, and Justin had never raised a hand to him again.

  “Prince among thieves?” Justin laughed. “Our devious deeds were usually your idea, like sneaking out to meet Marcy Hurley and her friend by the dunes.”

  Blaine tipped his face up and smiled. “Ah. Marcy Hurley. She was—”

  “Too damn hot for the likes of you,” Zeke said.

  They all laughed.

  “I was going to say she was a nice girl,” Blaine said.

  “Nice and easy,” Tank said under his breath.

  Blaine said, “I plead the Fifth.”

  Preacher shook his head, eyeing Conroy and chuckling as he lifted his bottle to his lips.

  “Your Marcy Hurley was our Sally McGee,” Conroy said. “Remember her, Preach?”

  Preacher lifted his brows, and then his eyes turned serious and he pointed around the table. “You boys cannot say that woman’s name around your mamas, got it?”

  “Women don’t like to hear about the first woman their men slept with.” Conroy looked across the table and said, “Seriously, Preach, let’s get back to Dad. Are things okay with him? Do you want me and Ging to take him for a couple of months?”

  “Nah, we’ve got him. You have the bar to deal with, and moving is a hassle. Besides, he’d probably take your four-wheeler out for a joyride and get arrested.” Preacher and Conroy shared a laugh. “I know the old man misses his freedom, but the years are catching up to him.”

  “He’s stubborn as a mule, like his sons. By the way, I talked to Sonja and Jake the other day. They offered to help, but I told them we’ve got him covered.” Their younger brother and sister had moved away from the Cape right after college. Conroy took a swig of his beer. He looked at Justin and said, “Before I forget, Maverick, Ginger wanted to know if you’re still on board to make a sculpture to auction off at the rally.”

  “Definitely. I’ve already started designing it.” It was true, he had begun. Several times. He had been sculpting since he was a teenager, and he had a studio on his property, where he spent many long evenings. Last summer he’d had his first gallery opening, and he’d had a steady flow of clients ever since. But for the first time in his life, he was creatively stuck. Every time he started to conceptualize a piece for the rally, he hit a wall.

  “Awesome. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.” Conroy pushed to his feet and said, “Come on, Preach. I’ll beat your ass in a game of pool.”

  “It’s your funeral,” Preacher said as he walked away.

  “Hey, Mav, you still want to get that tat you mentioned last week?” Tank asked.

  “Definitely. As soon as you’re free.”

  “I had a cancellation for next Friday night,” Tank said as Gunner and Baz returned with the dogs on their heels.

  “Great. I’ll take it.”

  Gunner held the kitten up and kissed her nose. “What are you taking?”

  “Booking a tat.” Justin reached up and took the kitten from him. He rubbed her soft fur against his cheek and said, “She’s pretty damn cute.”

  “Give me my baby back.” Gunner took the kitten from his hands.

  “We’re heading over to the Hog. Y’all want to come?” Baz looked at Blaine and said, “Marly might be there.” Marly Bowers, a gorgeous brunette with olive skin and exotic eyes, was a close friend of their families. She’d lost her brother to a motorcycle accident years ago and had since founded the Head Safe motorcycle helmet safety program.

  Buster ambled over to Blaine and licked his hand. Blaine petted him as he rose to his feet and said, “I could definitely use a drink of that hot little cocktail.”

  “I’m in, too.” Zander looked at Zeke and said, “You’re not blowing us off again, teach. I need my wingman.”

  Zander dragged Zeke to his feet by the back of his leather vest. Zeke knocked his hand away and said, “You haven’t needed a wingman since you were fourteen and you picked up that sixteen-year-old girl on the beach.”

  Zander grinned. “Yeah, I really don’t need one, but I like having you with me, bro.” He looked at Justin and Tank and said, “You guys coming?”

  “Hell yes.” Tank stood up. “Maverick? You coming or are you playing bouncer for Chloe again?”

  Justin stood up and said, “How the hell do you know about that?”

  Zander chuckled.

  “Jackass,” Justin said, pushing past loose-lipped Zander.

  “Did you bring your cape, Captain America?” Zander teased as they made their way to the door. “You never know when Uptown Girl might saunter into the Hog.”

  Justin glared at him. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Chloe would be hanging out at the Salty Hog. She never went there, and he prefe
rred it that way. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of dudes drooling over her—at least until she was on his arm, respected and appreciated as more than a piece of ass. And that day would come soon. He could feel it in his bones.

  Chapter Four

  CHLOE STORMED INTO Undercover Saturday night, hoping her closest friends were still there. She wove through the crowd, spotting her besties at a table by the dance floor. Thank frigging God. She made a beeline for them, feeling better already.

  “Chloe made it!” Harper shouted so loud Chloe heard her before she even reached the table. Harper’s husband, Gavin, waved from his seat beside her.

  Tegan, Daphne, and Steph squealed and jumped off their seats, sweeping Chloe into a group hug.

  “The welcoming committee,” Jett said.

  Tegan exclaimed, “I’m so glad you made it.”

  Steph, a curvy brunette with red streaks in her hair, touched the frills on the strapless white Bardot top Chloe had paired with wide-legged black slacks and said, “Wow, Chloe, you look amazing. I wish I could wear something like that.” Steph was a poet, and she owned an herbal shop in Brewster, a neighboring town.

  “What happened with your date?” Daphne asked.

  As the girls settled into their seats, Gavin said, “Considering it’s only nine o’clock, I’d say it didn’t go well.”

  Chloe set her purse on the table and huffed out a breath. “I’m done. Done looking for a man to spend time with, done wasting my time on losers, and definitely done with dating apps. And I have to pee so bad I might wet my pants. Can you watch my purse?”

  “Of course. Go.” Harper shooed her away.

  Chloe hurried through the crowd toward the hall that led to the ladies’ room. She turned the corner and smacked right into a rock-solid chest. “I’m sorr—” She lifted her face, meeting a familiar set of ice-blue eyes. Justin flashed his devastating smile, making her pulse quicken. Damn him. Why couldn’t her body react like that to any other guys? Even one? One other guy!