by Nicole James
“What do you see?” he asks.
“It’s still there, isn’t it?” I slide my palm up his chest. He covers my hand with his, tightening his hold.
“You know it is. But you’ve got this aversion to Devil Kings, and I’ve got an aversion to going where I’m not supposed to go.”
“A real rule-follower, are you?” I ask sarcastically.
The corner of his mouth pulls up. “Let’s just say I value my hide.”
“My father’s in prison. He can hardly do anything to you, can he?”
“Club rule is a club rule.”
“Who else would care?”
“Maybe everyone, maybe no one.”
“What are you worried about?”
“I’m worried my current president is going to wonder where my loyalty lies if I’m messing with my ex president’s hot young daughter. Especially if he finds out I’m hauling her ass down to Rutledge on a regular basis. He’s gonna have all kinds of fucking questions.” He lifts his chin. “Besides, I’m still a DK. That hasn’t changed, Princess.”
I pull back. “I told you. Don’t call me that.”
Faster than I can react, he cups his hand at my nape and drags me close, his mouth coming down on mine. The kiss is full of unspoken, pent-up desire, with the sparks that have been zinging back and forth between us all day. When he finally lifts his mouth, he asks, “Who’s gonna stop me?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Tess—
“And then what’d you do?” Hayley leans toward me, elbows on her kitchen island, a curl of her short blonde hair flopping onto her forehead as she hangs on my every word.
“I told him I needed to get home.”
“Seriously?” The you-dumbass tone in her voice is clear.
“I told you, he’s not my type.”
“He says something so totally badass hot to you, and you didn’t melt inside?”
I can’t hold her gaze, because I did melt inside. “Not at all.”
“Bullshit. You are such a liar, girlfriend.”
“I am not.”
Her hand lands on her hip, pulling back the side of her flannel shirt, one she probably swiped from her sexy-as-hell drummer boyfriend to reveal the vintage Van Halen tank beneath. One I’m sure I’ll steal from her first chance I get. She glares at me. “We’ve been friends too long for you to pull that shit with me. I can read you like a book, Tess.”
“There’s nothing to read. He did me a favor. End of story.”
She strolls into her living room to her collection of vintage LPs and flips through them. “Maybe he’s not like those other guys, ever think of that?”
“He’s one of them,” I stare into the glass of wine she poured for me the minute I walked in her door tonight. I down the remainder. “They’re all the same.”
“Not necessarily. I mean, yeah, there were some scary bad dudes in your dad’s old club. I remember the few times I was at your house, and they came in. But your mom said it’s all so different now. And didn’t this guy say your dad was a piece of shit for the way he’s treating your mom? Would he say that if he was just like him?”
I can’t argue with her, so I uncork the wine bottle and refill my glass. It’s been a long, stressful day driving to see my dad and then the conversation with Gypsy. I’m so confused by the conflicting feelings I have about him. Bouncing those feelings off my BFF has always helped me cope, but she’s making me question everything. I take a sip of the chardonnay, thinking about her reasoning.
Hayley pulls an LP out and puts it on the turntable. The mellow sounds of Boz Scaggs’ Silk Degrees album fill the air. She lights a joint, walks back, and passes it to me, resting her elbows on the granite. “Maybe this is like a second chance for the two of you. Maybe you’re like soul mates, and the universe keeps throwing you together.”
I take a hit, inhaling and letting the drug and the music relax me. “Get real. He’s a Devil King. He’s in my father’s club. You know how I feel about that. How I’ve always felt about that. I’m not throwing my life away like my mother did.”
She pulls the joint from my fingers. “Yadda, yadda, yadda. You forget who you’re talking to. You forget I was the one who picked you up the morning after you went home with this guy. I saw it all over your face, chickee.”
“You saw nothing.”
At my lame denial, she chokes on a lungful of smoke. “Bullshit. He rocked your world. Hell, you didn’t get over it for months.”
“Lies, all lies.”
“Right. Live in denial, then. So, what’s your plan?”
“I have to see if I can get the information my father wants. Although, Gypsy wants me to ask Growler to put him on his visitors list, so I’m hoping my dad can just ask him.”
“That could take weeks, though, right? I mean, you told me they do a background check and all that before a visitor is approved. What are you going to do in the meantime?”
“I have to keep trying to get the information. God, I wish I wasn’t in this situation.”
“Isn’t there another way? I mean, can’t your mom just get a job?”
“Be serious. She can’t hold onto one, not with her issues with anxiety. Not to mention passing the drug test.”
“Maybe we could find her something simple with no stress. One that won’t run a drug test.”
“I’ve tried. She’s set on getting this money.”
“And if your dad is right? What if she just blows it all on booze and drugs?”
“I’ve tried talking to her about her drinking. She won’t listen. Doesn’t want to hear it. I thought maybe with Growler in prison, the anxiety would lessen. I always thought he caused more stress in her life, but I’m beginning to see that maybe he had a way to calm her. Oh, and guess what else?”
“What?”
“He said he mailed her a letter.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“I don’t know. If I tell her and he’s lying, she’ll drive herself crazy waiting for it to come.”
“You think he’s lying? Why would he lie about that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t think she can take any more disappointment right now.”
“Maybe you need to get your hands on that letter and read it first.”
“Probably.”
“You know what you need?”
I grin. “The key to the safe deposit box.”
She rolls her eyes. “Besides that. You need a night to just cut loose and stop worrying about your damn mother. Come see Josh’s band with me tonight. They’re playing at the Voodoo Lounge.”
She’s right. I do need to forget about everything for one night. I lift a brow. “Only if I get to wear your Janis Joplin tank top.”
“Damn, girl, you drive a hard bargain.”
“And your brown boots.”
“Christ, you’re pushy.”
I throw an arm around her shoulders. “But you love me just the same.”
She shoves me off. “I’m finding you a man tonight. You need to get laid.”
“You always say that.”
“And it’s always true.”
CHAPTER SIX
Gypsy—
Late Saturday night…
It’s near midnight when Jammer and I roll our Harleys down the long rutted dirt drive that leads into the woods. The lights of the singlewide trailer glimmer through the pines. I can smell the meth cooking before we’re within twenty yards of the place. We coast to a stop and drop our kickstands, shutting off our bikes.
I release the buckle under my chin and pull my helmet off, hanging it on the handlebar as I climb off my bike.
Jammer does the same, and I follow him up the two steps onto the wooden porch add-on with its corrugated metal roof.
“Let’s make this quick,” I murmur as Jammer lifts his knuckle to the door, even though we’re both sure they know we’ve arrived. If the motorcycle engines didn’t give us away, the two cameras mounted up in the trees let the occupants in on our arri
val.
There’s a diamond shaped window in the door, and a face appears.
He’s got long stringy hair and sunken eyes. He gives Jammer a stupid grin as we hear several locks unbolt.
The door swings open, and we walk in. The place is set up with folding tables and equipment. There’s another guy over by one of them. He’s got a three-inch Mohawk and a mask covering his mouth and nose.
“Well, if it isn’t Bevis and Butthead,” Jammer says.
“Fuck off, asshole,” greasy hair dude says. He’s twitching so bad I wonder if his heart’s gonna give out before we get the fuck out of here.
Jammer glares at him. “Pete, you’re momma should have swallowed you, but here you are, the little sperm that survived.”
“Ha ha, you’re a laugh a minute, Jammer,” Pete says, scratching his arm so vigorously I’m waiting for him to draw blood. I wonder how many communicable diseases he has.
Mohawk man stays quiet and turns back to his work.
“N-nice bikes,” Pete stutters. “What are they?”
“Not yours,” I grunt.
“Always w-wanted me a bike.” He lifts his chin to my Devil Kings cut. “Think they’d let me be one of you?” His head starts to jerk to the side in some sort of drug related twitch.
I give Jammer a look he knows too well. “And you wonder why I hate makin’ these fucking runs out here.”
He grins.
“Hey, you guys want some Kool-Aid? I just made some. The red kind, not that shitty purple flavor.”
I whirl back on him. “No, I don’t want any fucking Kool-Aid, moron.”
“Got our stuff?” Jammer asks, shoving his hands in his pockets, for all appearances, relaxed. I know better. Jammer’s got a really good poker face, and most men don’t see the explosion coming until they’re lying on the ground, covered in proverbial shrapnel.
Me, I’m not so good at hiding my irritation, and right now, I’m itching to get the fuck out of here. The smell inside has already got my eyes burning, and in another minute I’m going to take a shovel to Pete’s head.
“Got our money, old man?” Mohawk dude says, glancing over his shoulder and sounding like Darth Vadar through his respirator.
I chuckle. Dude has balls disrespecting Jammer like that. It’s his first mistake. I fold my arms. This should be good.
Jammer doesn’t hesitate to correct his damn manners. He hauls him around, grabs him by a fistful of his shirt, and slams him up against the grimy wood-paneled wall. The trailer shakes with the boom. “Two things, you little snot-nosed, son-of-a-bitch. First of all, having a Mohawk doesn’t make you a badass, Louis; it just makes you look like a fucking rooster. Second, call me an old man again and you’ll be drinking through a straw you fucking punk ass, piss ant. Understand?”
“Get the fuck off me,” Louis snaps. His second mistake; I shake my head and laugh. Some assholes never learn.
Jammer yanks him forward, bends him over and drives him head first into the wall. Louis slumps to the floor.
I step closer and peer down, whistling. “Nice. If you didn’t break his neck, I’m pretty sure you cracked a vertebrae.”
“Y-you shouldn’t a done that,” Pete stutters, shaking his head until I grab him by the shirt as well.
“Pull your shit together, Peter Pumpkin Eater,” I snarl.
“H-he cooks all our stuff. I can’t do it alone, man.”
I pull the envelope of cash from my vest and slam it against his chest, releasing him. “Just get our damn product.”
He stumbles over, grabs a paper bag, and holds it out to me. I take it and look over at Jammer. “We done here or you want to beat on Rooster Head some more?”
He glances down at the still unconscious Louis and flexes his fist. “Waste of time if he’s not awake to feel it.”
“He’d feel it tomorrow,” I correct him with a teasing grin.
“True.” He pulls back his booted foot and kicks him hard in the ribs.
Five minutes later we’re pulling out onto the highway, roaring toward Atlanta.
We take an exit off I85 and make a right, heading deep into the Jack City neighborhoods. We take a dead-end street that backs up to the rail yards behind the metals plant.
We coast to a stop and shut off our bikes. The leather seat creaks as I stand beside my cooling engine with its ticking sound. I can smell honeysuckle growing somewhere nearby, probably climbing the sagging, rusted chain-link fence dividing the rail yard from us.
It’s quiet, but I can still hear the faint sound of a semi tractor rolling down the interstate.
Jammer makes the call to our customer, informing him we’ve got his product. Tonight’s exchange is worth about five grand. He disconnects and shoves his phone in his pocket. I stare up at the starry night and once again think of Tess. She’s been on my mind pretty much nonstop since I dropped her at her place this afternoon. I can’t get the taste and feel of her kisses out of my mind.
Jammer lights up a smoke and begins pacing. I know this is his least favorite part of this deal, so I try to take his mind off it.
“So, what was with the Kool-Aid Kid back there? I mean, there’s dysfunctional, and then there’s whatever the fuck that was.”
“He’s harmless, just a dimwit.”
My mind returns to Tess and something she said this afternoon, and I frown. “Hey, Jammer?”
“Yeah?” He takes a drag of his smoke.
“You think there’s any chance of Growler getting his conviction overturned?”
Jammer stops pacing and squints at me through the smoke trail from the cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Fuck no. Where the fuck’s that comin’ from?”
I shrug. “Just wondered.”
He lifts a brow. “Yeah? Well, quit wonderin’ about shit that ain’t gonna happen.”
“You ever hear from Reload?” I ask.
“Nope. Not since we took care of that lying rat of a VP of ours and ran him off. You?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Just thought he might turn up somewhere.”
“Him and Quick used to be tight. But the way I hear, Quick hasn’t had anything to do with him. Not since he found out our old VP double-crossed Growler and set him up to take the fall on those drug charges.”
“You really believe Quick didn’t know what Rat did?”
“He swore an oath on it. He stayed when he could have run. Yeah, knowing Quick, I do. He may have been thrown together with Reload a lot, but he was not on his level of asshole.”
“Suppose you’re right.”
“You worried about something?”
“I just always wonder if what we did the night we got rid of Rat and let Reload go…”
“Yeah?”
“Just wonder if it’s gonna come back around to bite us in the ass.”
“Quit worryin’.”
A pair of headlights crests the rise, and an old burgundy Cadillac rolls up.
Jammer pulls the rolled up bag from his saddlebag, goes over to the driver’s window, and makes the exchange. Straightening from the car, he thumbs through the bills in a white envelope, then nods and slides it inside his cut. The window rolls up and the car pulls off quickly. A moment later, it’s like he was never even here.
My cell vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and glance down at the readout.
Tess.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tess—
I lean against the wall in the line outside the bathroom, my phone pressed tight to my ear, so I can hear over the music. The band just started their second set. The line moves, and I sway as I push off the wall and stagger forward. Fuck, I shouldn’t have had that last shot.
“Babe, you okay?”
Gypsy’s voice is deep, and something inside me does a little flip in response. I smile, dipping my head to reply. “I’m g-good. How’re you?” I wince at the untimely hiccup.
“You drinking, Tess?”
“I’ve had a few.” I manage to answer between hiccups.
“
What’d you need?”
“Were you serious about getting on my dad’s visitor list?”
“Said I was, didn’t I?”
“You still takin’ me back next weekend?”
“Yeah, why?”
“’Kay, just checking.”
“Where you at, Tess?”
“Some bar watching Hay—hic—Hayley’s boyfriend’s band play.”
“Who’s Hayley?”
“Hayley’s my girl. My B—hic—FF of course.”
“You driving tonight?”
The line moves again, and I step forward, using the wall to steady myself. “Whoa.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. The hallway is spinning, that’s all.”
“Tess, did you drive up there?”
I hiccup loudly into the phone. “Sorry. No, she did.”
“She gonna drive you home soon?”
“She’s probably gonna—hic—want to stay until the band finishes.”
“Babe, what’s the name of the bar?”
“Um, let me ask.” I tuck the cell under my chin and poke the girl in front of me. “Hey, what’s the name of this place?” She gives me a once over for bothering her.
“Voodoo Lounge.”
“Thanks.” I pull the phone up and repeat it.
“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
My brows arch. “No way, José. I’m having—hic—fun. Besides, I can find my own—hic—ride.”
“No you won’t, Tess. I’ll be there in ten minutes, and you better be there.”
“You’re so bossy.”
“Get used to it.”
“Maybe I don’t want to get—hic—used to it.”
“Tess, do not piss me off more than I already am.”
“Why are you pissed off? Maybe I’m pissed off.”
“Tess...”
“Gy—hic—ypsy.” Damn these hiccups. How can I sound tough like this?
“Babe, you listen to me. I’m coming to take you home, and by God, you’d better be there.”
“Don’t you go all badass on me, mister. I’m not one of your sweetbutts.”
“Like you even know what one is.”