Park (Archer's Creek Book 4)

by Gemma Weir

  “Fuck you, Smoke. You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “So tell me. If you’re so fucking obsessed with this girl ten fucking years later, then go get her. What the fuck’s stopping you?”

  “None of your fucking business.” I shout. “Don’t you think if I could claim her, I would have done it by now? She’s it for me. There will never be anyone else except her, and she can never be mine.”

  “What the fuck happened?”

  “Doesn’t matter. It is what it is,” I say airily.

  “What the hell, Park? What’s with this bla-fucking-se attitude?”

  “Fuck you. Why the fuck are you here anyway?”

  “Lane said you didn’t turn up for your appointment. We figured you were up here, so I brought you food, in case this ended up being an all-day session again. Go put some fucking clothes on. Your dick is putting me off my lunch.”

  A laugh bursts from me and I thrust my hips, shaking my cock toward him. “You fucking love it.”

  He shakes his head, shoving at my shoulder with his huge fucking paw like hand. “Come on, Lucky Charms, the subs are going cold.”

  Turning, I take one last look at the painting, then cross the room to my bedroom, the image twisting my gut and making my heart boom at the same time. I quickly shower then pull on sweat pants, trying hard not to think about Taylor or the redhead or anything really. If I try hard enough, I can quiet my thoughts and push everything beyond the here and now out of my mind. I don’t really understand why, but today it feels like I need to do it more than ever.

  When I return to the living room, Smoke’s on my sofa, a huge meatball sub held up to his mouth, his teeth just about to sink into it. He groans as he bites down and begins to chew, then motions with his head to the other sub in a bag on the table. Suddenly starving, I reach for it, quickly unwrapping and taking a bite. The taste of the rich tomato sauce, tender beef, and soft bread explodes in my mouth and I sigh contentedly.

  We both remain silent as we eat, too engrossed in the food to acknowledge anything else. Popping the final bite of the sub into my mouth, I screw up the wrapper and throw it onto the table, rubbing at my stomach contentedly. “Best fucking subs I’ve ever tasted. I’d stay in this town for no other reason than just those sandwiches.”

  Smoke nods his agreement, chewing and swallowing his last bite before dropping his wrapper to the table as well. “You coming to the club later? I’m working the bar, but it looks like it’s gonna be a good night. The Alabama chapter are riding through and partying with us.”

  “Hell yes, I need some pussy tonight.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Smoke says pumping his fist in the air. “I’m gonna assume that you want the redheads tonight,” he says with an exaggerated nod to the painting on the other side of the room.

  I laugh dryly. “If that redhead turns up then hell yes, but if not then I think a brunette might be just what I need tonight.”

  With a chuckle he rises from the sofa and slaps me on the shoulder. “See you later, brother. Oh and Prez mentioned something about wanting to know about this crops volume and levels.”

  I nod, but I don’t think he sees as he’s already halfway across my apartment and heading for the door.

  Several hours later, I push through the main doors and into the clubhouse. The place is heaving again. The Alabama boys are mixed with my brothers, and between us a sea of leather and tattoos fill the bar from wall to wall. When other chapters visit, we like to put on a good show for them, so a stage has been set up and one of the girls from Beavers is enthusiastically spinning around a pole.

  The regular club girls have all brought their friends and an array of ass is on display, some dancing, some already grinding on a guy. Or in one girl’s case, face down against the bar being slammed into from behind.

  I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I take in the room. If my parents could see me now. My world is so far removed from the life I left behind. After we moved to America, my mom and I joined the ranks of the seriously fucking wealthy. It was all country club dinners, charity galas, and expensive cars. Appearance was everything, see and be seen.

  My father always hated that I preferred my modest Irish roots; he only tolerated my summers with my grandparents in Dublin every year because it meant getting rid of me. A memory of my Granny and Gramps fills my mind and warmth effuses through my chest. My mom’s parents are salt of the earth working class Irish folk and proud of it. I spend every summer with them and have done since my mom moved us to the states when I was small. Now I’m grown, the visits are shorter, but I always go home for at least three weeks in the summer months to see them. My parents might not be a part of my life anymore, but I’m just as close to my grandparents now as I’ve ever been. They’re the only people who really know what happened to drive me away from LA ten years ago and the only ones who know how much it’s affected me all these years.

  Pushing my way through the crowd, I’m stopped every few yards to speak to the Alabama guys and catch up on what’s been happening since they last passed through. Unlike us, the Alabama chapter still dabbles in the transport game and regularly ride in convey to ensure the prompt delivery of whatever they have on board. Their road captain is a skinny guy called Stamp. Despite his weedy appearance, the guy is an absolute psychopath and not someone I’d ever like to encounter in a fight. When he sees me, his face lights up and he moves toward me, his hand held out.

  “Park, you crazy, pink-haired motherfucker. How the fuck have you been?”

  “Not too bad, you wee nut job. How the fuck are you?”

  “Be better if I had a mouth around my dick, but other than that I can’t complain,” Stamp says, raising his beer into the air like a toast.

  “Well, let’s find you a mouth, shall we?” I offer, leading the way through the crowd until I spot Jessie, one of the regular girls. “Jessie, sweetness, have you met Stamp?”

  Jessie turns to face us and grins at me. “Hey, baby,” she coos.

  When her hands hit my chest, I turn her until her back is to my front and she’s facing Stamp. Leaning down, I talk against her ear. “Stamp here is the road captain for our Alabama guests. The poor fucker’s been riding all day long and his dick is as dry as a nun’s cunt. He needs someone to kiss it all better for him. You have the sweetest mouth of all our girls, and I just knew you’d want to play nurse for him.”

  I glance up at Stamp and find him looking down at Jessie, a sad pout at his lips. “I need to be nursed back to health, Jessie. Are you the woman for the job?”

  Jessie giggles mischievously. “Well, I don’t know. I should probably take a look and see what the problem is.”

  Stamp nods solemnly, his eyes drifting to his crotch and then back to Jessie. She laughs again, then looks at me over her shoulder and winks. A moment later she drops to her knees right where she is and is wrapping her lips around Stamp’s hard dick seconds later.

  Stamp buries one hand in her hair and salutes me with the other. With a chuckle, I turn my back on them and head toward the bar.

  A flash of orange in the crowd to my right makes me freeze mid-step. Spinning toward where she was, I search the heads of the people but there’s nothing, she’s gone. Another glimpse a few feet in front of me has me barging through the crowd, pushing people aside as I chase her. She’s tiny, five feet five or maybe even smaller. No wonder she keeps disappearing; she’s so small she could be easily hidden in a room full of this many men. I spot her again only a pace ahead of me and without thinking, I reach out and take hold of her arm.

  I’m going to kill my best friend.

  The hotel we’re staying in is beautiful; ridiculously expensive and lavish. If Taylor hadn’t booked this without me knowing anything about it, I would never have agreed to stay somewhere this exclusive, because this stay is probably costing more than I earn in a month.

  I’d expected to spend the day continuing the search for Taylor’s long-lost b
est friend, but instead she’d insisted that we needed to spend the day in the spa being pampered. What I hadn’t expected, but really should have guessed, was that Taylor had planned this day of massages and manicures so she could meet up with one of the bikers she’d met at the club last night.

  Taylor and Derek are in a committed relationship, apart from the increasingly regular times that they cheat on each other. I don’t know if they’ve always been this way, but Taylor has been indulging in any man that takes a fancy for as long as I’ve known her. On the many occasions I’ve expressed my concern for her inability to stay faithful to Derek, she’s always laughed it off and told me that it was perfectly normal to cheat on your significant other, as long as you didn’t get caught.

  Since I met Taylor, I’ve found myself agreeing with her, simply to avoid one of her overly dramatic and guilt-filled arguments, but when it comes to this issue I refuse to back down. Deep down, I’m a one man kind of a woman, and if I were to find a partner I loved, I’d never cheat on them.

  My brother’s words from my office spring to mind and as I lie face down on the table being massaged, I can’t help but think he might be right and that at times maybe Taylor does take advantage of my forgiving nature. She knows it bothers me when she cheats and that I hate it when she actively tries to find a guy when I’m with her. Yet she’s lied to me, dragged me to Texas, then to a biker club, and now she’s disappeared for God knows how long with some random guy she met last night.

  When my spa session is finished, I make my way back up to our suite. I should be boneless and relaxed, but I’m not. Instead, I’m angry at my friend for dragging me into this situation. When I enter our room, I’m bombarded by shrill screams of pleasure coming from Taylor’s bedroom. Slapping my hands over my ears, I dash to my own room, quickly dressing then rushing back out, slamming the door to the suite behind me.

  Before I can consider my actions, I pull out my cell-phone and dial my brother. He answers on the third ring. “Hey, honey nuggets, how’s New York?”

  “I have no idea, we’re in Texas.” I say dryly.

  “What? I thought this whole bachelorette party thing was in New York? Wasn’t this trip all about seeing that girl from college? Amy? Alice?”

  “Amber,” I say correcting him.

  “Yes, Amber, that’s right. So what gives? Did you miss your flight?”

  “Oh no, we were never going to New York. When Taylor picked me up, she admitted it was all a lie and that she never planned to have a girl’s trip. We were coming to Texas all along.”

  “Typical fucking Taylor! I swear that girl is a compulsive liar; there isn’t an honest word that comes out of her mouth.”

  “I’m so angry with her, Eric. She’s dragged me here to search for some childhood friend. Turns out he’s a biker, as in leather cut, clubhouse, the whole nine yards. If that wasn’t bad enough, today she ditched me to hook up with some random guy she met at the biker club last night. I can’t even go to our room because she’s in there getting her brains fucked out while screaming like a goddamn porn star.”

  My voice has risen to a shout and as I glance around the decadent lobby, all eyes are on me. I quickly lower my head and scurry outside, embarrassment heating my cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” Eric asks, concern lacing his voice.

  “I’m fine. Pissed, but fine. I mean, I can get over the Texas plot twist, but taking some random biker to our room is just a step too far.”

  “I’m on my laptop right now, sweetie. I can get you a flight home at seven tonight. It’s only in Coach, but at least you’ll be able to sleep in your own bed and not have to listen to Taylor being railed by some dirty biker.”

  “I’d love to,” I sigh. “But I can’t leave her here alone. She’s adamant she’s going to find this guy, the childhood friend, and if I’m not here to keep an eye on her, God only knows what kind of trouble she’ll get herself into.”

  Eric’s silent for a long pause. “I think you’re making a mistake. Taylor uses you. She lies to you. She disrespects your feelings, and she takes advantage of how good a friend you are. I mean, is this biker club even safe? Could you be in danger around these people?”

  Holding my cell to my ear with one hand, I rub at my temple with the other. “I don’t think I’m in any danger. We took a town car to the biker club last night and Taylor had the driver wait outside for us. Nothing obviously bad happened. I mean, I saw a girl giving a group of guys a not-so-private strip show, but beyond that I didn’t see any guns or drugs. It was just a lot of guys with tattoos wearing leather, and a lot of girls wearing practically nothing.”

  “I’m worried about you, Rosie. Maybe you should ditch the bitch and go check out the offices of that magazine again. Weren’t they based in Texas?”

  “I’m not moving to Texas, Eric.” I say, suddenly exhausted.

  “Why not? I don’t understand what’s keeping you in LA.”

  “Look, I don’t want to talk to you about this again. I told you I’m settled. I’m happy where I am. So just drop it.”

  “All right,” Eric says quietly. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Hopefully when we go back to the biker club tonight, this Park guy will be there. She wants him to come to the wedding, but honestly from what she’s told me about how he just upped and left ten years ago, I can’t see him being that interested.”

  “Wow, someone not interested in the one and only Taylor Marie Carrington.”

  “Don’t be mean,” I say with a laugh.

  “Yeah, yeah. Stay safe, Sis, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too,” he says and ends the call.

  Unwilling to return to our room, I head for the hotel bar and indulge in two very large glasses of wine. I charge them to the room without a hint of the guilt I would normally feel, and an hour later my cell phone buzzes to life in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see a text from Taylor.

  Taylor: Where are you?!!!!

  Shaking my head, I scoff loudly and place my cell on the bar, ignoring it. I continue to sip my wine and people watch. It buzzes again a few minutes later.

  Taylor: Ro-Ro, are you there?

  I ignore it again, watching as an older couple sit side by side, his hand on her thigh, her body turned into his as they talk. I try to decide if they’re a long-term couple who are still madly in love, or a new relationship still basking in the honeymoon period. My cell buzzes again.

  Taylor: Seriously, Rosie, where are you? This is my bachelorette week, you know?

  My mouth falls open and I have to close my eyes to keep in the frustrated scream that’s building in my throat. Downing the rest of my wine, I grab my cell from the bar and march toward the elevator. I stab at the call button, tapping my hand against my leg as I wait for it to arrive. When the doors part, I’m the only person to board and I quickly hit the button for my floor, arriving only moments later. My stride is fast and angry as I make my way to our suite, sliding the keycard in and turning the handle. Angry words are on the tip of my tongue. How dare she question where I am, when I had to flee our room to avoid the sex noises she was making with a complete stranger.

  Pushing open the door, I stomp into the room. “Taylor,” I call.

  I don’t realize she’s emerged from her bedroom until her body hits mine and the sound of her sobs register in my ear. “Oh, Ro-Ro,” she cries.

  My anger dissolves in an instant and I wrap my arms around her. “What? What happened?”

  She speaks, but her sobs distort her voice and I can’t understand her.

  I push her away from me slightly and hold her at arm’s length, taking in her tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?”

  “I think the wedding might be off,” she says, her voice full of tears.

  “What? Why?”

  She dissolves into loud sobs again. Her full body weight making me take a step back when she collapses against me. “Derek cheated on me.”

  A
ll the fear and sympathy that had built in my chest evaporates like mist. Gripping her arms, I push her away from me a little until I can look her in the eye. “Sweetie, you were fucking a biker in that room right there less than an hour ago. You still smell like sex.”

  At my words, her expression hardens, and she straightens; the sobs, tears, and histrionics forgotten. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about him. He cheated on me with Marcy Gilbert. Her husband walked in on them and now the entire country club knows what happened. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is that he got caught?”

  Baffled, I just stare at her. Who is this person in front of me? I’m used to Taylor being flighty, overly emotional, and incredibly high maintenance, but where did this cool, controlled, angry person come from? In the decade we’ve known each other, I’ve seen her angry on hundreds of occasions, but I’ve never seen the hard, calculating expression she’s sporting now.

  She must sense my shock, because a moment later she’s in tears again, sinking to her knees on the plush carpet, her head in her hands. The switch from hysterical, to controlled, to blubbering mess took less than two minutes; but I’d seen it and a suspicious sense of uncertainty washes over me.

  “Oh, Ro-Ro, what am I going to do?” She wails from the floor.

  Unable to move, I watch as she lifts her head from her hands, flashing me her beautiful face, fresh tears coating her cheeks. A hundred different questions swirl around my mind, but I don’t ask any of them, because Taylor holds out her hand to me, a fat tear rolling down her face and says. “Ro-Ro, I need you,”

  I try to resist. My subconscious is screaming at me to question the sincerity of her actions, but then she croaks out a single broke word.

  “Please?”

  I’m helpless to resist. Taylor’s my friend, my best friend, and I never want her to be hurt or in pain. So I go to her, sinking down to the carpet beside her and wrap my arms around her, telling her in a soft, soothing voice that everything is going to be okay.