Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Warren, Rie

  I remembered the way he’d watched me when I’d come down to the bar earlier in the new outfit. I remembered peering at myself in the mirror wearing the silky tank top and the flowing skirt and the boots.

  I felt feminine.

  And new.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” Drawing my fingers through his, I stepped closer to him. “I know I said I’d go out with you, but is it safe?”

  He reared back, barking out a laugh. “I promise you, where we’re going is no place your”—he rubbed the back of his neck—“well, it’s no place your folk would ever dare show their faces.”

  Torn between the enemy and my family, I knew in that instant what I’d choose.

  Angel hooked an arm around my waist and ushered me outside.

  “We got da pulled pork! Da slaw! Cornbread!” Sol bellowed beside his smoking grill.

  He smiled toothily at me. “Ya hungry, m’petite?”

  “I’m feeding her tonight.” Angel nearly snarled.

  “Hey. I’m not a cow that needs fattening up.”

  “Bien. ’Cause hay’s not on the menu.” Ushering me along to a motorcycle in matte black and boasting ape hangers, Angel held a helmet out to me.

  I placed the gear on my head, watching him slip sunglasses on to combat the evening sun’s rays setting just off the horizon.

  A grin dug dimples into his cheeks, and he asked, “What’d you do with Demi’s body anyway?”

  “Check the dumpster tomorrow.”

  “That bad?” He adjusted the straps on my helmet.

  “I’m just kidding. She’s a pussycat. With really long nails.”

  He straddled the huge Harley, gunning the machine to life. “I hear that.”

  Patting the seat behind him, he prompted me onto the bike.

  I folded my legs alongside his muscled thighs, the skirt hiked to my upper legs.

  “Hang tight and hold on.” Angel revved the engine, a roaring growl combusting from the machine beneath us.

  He navigated onto the street with ease . . . and we shot forward like a rocket into outer space.

  I clenched my arms around his stomach, the thrill of the ride nothing like an ATV or a dirt bike. Nothing like a pickup or a muscle car.

  The heavy metal roar—the wild vibrations—set my skin alight. Made me feel alive.

  My hair fanned back. Wind lashed my eyes.

  I smiled so widely I thought I’d crack my cheeks.

  Angel took turns and curves on a knife’s edge, nearly brushing against tar before righting the Harley and throttling faster.

  Flowering trees. Narrow streets. Pink sunset. Salty air.

  We zoomed around standstill cars, the motorcycle thunderous, and everything outside our capsule whizzing like flashes of lightning.

  He handled the chrome stallion just like he’d handled me in the bath when I’d been sleek and wet.

  From streets to a road to a dirt track and brinier air, he laughed when I clenched him tighter as we bumped along. The gurgle of water hit my ears, and the dozens of wood shanties blazing with bright lights blended all together.

  Angel hopped off, hit the kickstand, and rolled the bike back with me on it.

  He placed his brain bucket on one handle, undid my helmet and tucked it away.

  “We’re on the bayou.” Helping me up, he rested his hand at the base of my spine.

  A man with more gums than teeth strummed a banjo outside a propped open screen door.

  He hooked a smile at us. “Ange. Cous. Nash be sayin’ you’d show up sooner than a hurricane.”

  “Deacon.” Angel clapped palms with the man who could’ve been Sol’s twin.

  “Who da mamzelle?”

  “This is Mercy.”

  “Don’ I know it?”

  “Do you know everyone in this town? And who’s Nash?” I whispered to Angel.

  Bearing a secret grin, he ushered me through the door. The place was nothing much special until I stepped into a wood-sided shack so much more different than the place I laid my head when I had nowhere else to go.

  Hot lights.

  Delicious scents of food.

  Rowdy laughter.

  Bluegrass music melding with Cajun tunes melting with blues rhythms as I fell back on my heels.

  A tiny stage held a woman on a fiddle, a man playing spoons, and a colored feller belting out notes on his sax. All in harmony.

  All together.

  Hauling me around to him, Angel brushed a kiss across my lips. “This is Jack’s Place.”

  The summery heat from outside had nothing on the humidity inside the small joint where everyone mingled.

  A stunning coffee skinned woman wearing a dirty apron worked at a fast pace behind a long tin counter. She served up plates piled high with food, shouting orders to the fry cook behind her.

  “Is that Jack?”

  Angel’s eyes lit on the woman, and he grinned. “Jack was a Jacqueline. That’s her granddaughter, Simone.”

  Just then, the proprietress spotted Angel, and her voice vaulted across the low-ceilinged room when she bawled out, “Lawd a’mercy. Look what the cathouse coughed back up!”

  “I take it you know her well,” I murmured.

  Angel didn’t get a chance to answer because Simone strolled up—curvy as the Tennessee hills—and dragged him straight to her bosom.

  “Little boug. ’Bout damn time you came up for air from wherever you been hiding.”

  It seemed ironic she said those words just as she snuggled him in tight.

  Then she pushed him from her smothering embrace.

  His cheeks tinged pink, and I wondered if he’d suffocated just a little bit between her breasts. “Aw now, Simone. Don’t be spreadin’ lies about me in front of my lady.”

  Her dark brown eyes became large ovals as she turned her attention on me. “Little boug fixin’ to grow up?”

  “Just because I’m Nash’s younger brother doesn’t mean you can keep callin’ me little boy.” He ran an arm around my waist to pull me to his side. “And this here’s Mercy.”

  Her lips twitched into a smile. “Mm hmm. Like I said, lawd a’Mercy.” She held her hand out to me. “Mighty fine to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Got you the finest table in the joint.” She pushed customers aside to take us to the finest table, which was just like all the rest of the square-tops covered in layers of newspaper instead of tablecloths.

  “Set you down, and I’ll feed this pretty missy right up to the eyeballs. Two beers do you to start?”

  “That’ll do.” Angel pulled out a chair for me, and I sank down into the seat.

  He sat across from me, chair angled outward so he could stretch his long legs. “What do you think?”

  I took in the entire scene—the mish-mash of live music, the blend of different people, the bright lights, and Simone’s bawdy shouts.

  “It’s unlike anyplace I’ve ever been. How did you find it?”

  “Old family secret.” He scooted closer, and even through all the noise it felt like we were in our own little bubble. “My brother brought me here once or twice.”

  Our beers arrived, and Angel clinked his bottle with mine.

  “Is he like you?”

  “Nash?” He shook his head. “Or Storm, he’s known as too. Nah. I don’t know.” Angel scratched the heavy stubble on his jaw. “Didn’t even know I had a brother—half brother anyway—’til about two years ago.”

  I savored a cold sip of beer while heat made my hair damp at my temples. “Sounds complicated.”

  “Guess so. Same mom. Didn’t know her at all. She . . . she overdosed long after I was born. Wasn’t fit to take care of me anyway so my dad raised me. And Storm, well he showed up after my dad was murdered by a bastard who was only after the helm of the MC.” He chewed the corner of his lip, a deep frown burrowing between his brows. “Knew Storm for a long time before he even let on that we were related.”

  I’d never have thought so much t
ragedy fell upon Angel’s shoulders. He wasn’t any different than me. He just hid the damage better.

  The thought of his mom overdosing spun chills across me like someone walking over my grave.

  “I’m sorry, Angel.”

  “Life, huh? School of hard knocks and all that.” He took a long pull of beer. “Didn’t mean to get maudlin on you.”

  I decided to distract him a little, covering his hand with mine. “My memaw would’ve liked it here, I think.”

  “Oh yeah?” An easy smile brightened his face. “What’s she like?”

  “Was like. She’s passed now.” So much for lightening the mood. I hurried on. “But she was the best part of my life. She brought me up from the time I was about knee-high to a grasshopper—”

  “Don’t think you’re much bigger than that now.”

  I smacked his hand and pushed his arm off the table. “Hey now.”

  “Go on. Tell me more about Memaw.” He hit me with a lazy grin that made me feel lightheaded in the very best way.

  “She gave me my schooling. Not just the reading and writing, but she taught me about poetry and how to play the piano.” I drifted into a memory of Memaw sitting next to me at the old upright, pushing the foot pedals because I was too short to reach.

  “Nimble fingers and little wrists, my Mercy. You’ll be a crack at the keys soon’s those legs get longer.”

  I glanced at Angel, and he took my hand in his. “She also made me can vegetables and store herbs.”

  “Hardship.” He winked. “So you’re a real pioneer woman.”

  With my thumb, I traced the rough pads of his palm.

  He closed his eyes, blowing out a slow breath as goose bumps popped up on his brawny forearm from my scant touch alone.

  “She always thought I’d have a better life than that big old cabin in the hills. But my menfolk took all those dreams away from me.” I pulled my hand away from Angel’s.

  “Mercy, I—”

  Simone slapped three heaping platters of food on the table between us along with a giant stack of napkins. She squeezed Angel’s shoulder then plunked down two more beers she carried in the deep pockets of her apron before working her way back to the tin counter.

  “Saved by the food,” I uttered weakly.

  I wasn’t fit for company, let alone a date with Angel L’Esperance.

  I should’ve gone back to the White Lair last night.

  “Nothing a bucket load of crawdads won’t fix.” Angel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  He pinched one of the bright red crayfish swimming in juice between two fingers. “Need a lesson in popping the meat out of one of these suckers?”

  I took his cue, and cut my own smile at him. “I know how to eat crawfish. Did you forget I’m a country girl?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever forget anything about you.”

  Ohhh.

  I’d never forget anything about Angel either.

  Ducking his head as if embarrassed by his confession, he concentrated on the crawdads.

  I popped the head off my first and sucked the meat from the tail, licking my lips of the savory juice.

  Then I threw the empty shell at Angel.

  He glanced up with a new grin. “You askin’ for trouble?”

  “Maybe.”

  His laugh lit me from the inside out, and he hefted a square of cornbread in his palm. “I’ll warn you. Mo’lasses cornbread doesn’t come out of hair easily.”

  I threw up my hands. “I give!”

  “Cryin’ mercy, huh?”

  Instead of retaliating, Angel plated up a scoop of the freshest field peas I’d ever tasted—one serving for me, one for him. He hummed as he ate, efficiently shelling the crawdads and slurping up the rest of the juice with the cornbread. I dug in just as hungrily, getting my fill of the food made with soul and tradition.

  He patted his flat belly. “You know, I’ve got one of those too.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry. Was thinking about your memaw. I’ve got my mamere.”

  “You mentioned her this morning. What’s she like?”

  “Ornery.” His dimples made an appearance, so I didn’t believe him one single bit. “She’s my mom’s mother. So I only met her when I found out about Storm.”

  “I bet she would’ve wanted to know you since you were a baby.”

  “Maybe. But she always calls me and Storm grand beedé.”

  “Oh yes.” I pursed my lips together. “I remember. That means clumsy clot, right?”

  “Close enough.” Angel’s eyes narrowed. “Now. About Mamere. There’ll be hell to pay if anyone show’s up at her place without sending a message by crow first—”

  “Crow?”

  “Or pigeon or whatever. She doesn’t hold with that whole phone thing even though we hooked her up with a cell phone plan. But anyway, if she doesn’t have time to put on her Mary Kay lipstick before visitors show, there’ll be le misère.”

  “I know about the misery.”

  Seven

  Angel

  “I KNOW ABOUT MISERY.”

  “I sure wish you didn’t.” Moving the platters of food aside, I tucked Mercy’s hand back inside mine.

  Hell, I wanted to draw her into my lap and keep her with me forever.

  I had the horrible feeling there were worse things she hadn’t mentioned yet, and that she’d disappear as soon as she could fly away from me.

  I wished every day of her life had been as magical as the moment she’d stepped inside Jack’s Place. Her mouth had popped open in surprise, and she’d taken in the genuine Nawleans atmosphere with fresh untainted joy.

  Now she shrank back inside her shell. “I’m sorry. I should learn to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Not when you’re talking to me.”

  Irises dark and somber, she whispered so low I could hardly hear her, “I’ve done bad things.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Not like me, Angel.” Her lips trembled, her fingers inside my palm quivering too. “Did you hear what my uncle said . . . about men paying to . . . to fuck me?”

  Part of my heart broke into shattered pieces right then and there.

  I leaned into her and hooked a strand of hair back over her ear. “I heard. You don’t have to explain.”

  “I didn’t want to do it.” Big and haunted, her brown eyes looked bleaker than ever. “They run prostitutes. Well, unwilling women, really. Like me. But I haven’t . . . not in a long time. I promise.”

  I was going to choke on my own damn heart.

  I pushed a fist against my mouth, waiting for my gorge to settle. “How?”

  “They got me hooked on smack. Shot me up.” Mercy’s shoulders rose to her ears as if she could disappear altogether. “They kept me in control that way because I needed my next fix and I’d do anything for it.” Her eyes drifted closed. “I’d do anyone for it.”

  A tear plopped onto her cheek.

  “My sweet gamine.” I took the teardrop on the tip of my thumb.

  I huddled over her, scooping her into my arms.

  I didn’t even want to think about how old she was when they’d started drugging her up and whoring her out.

  “I’m okay.”

  I doubted that very much, and I sure as fuck wasn’t.

  “You can let me go, Angel.”

  I knew now I’d never be able to let her go. I strengthened my arms around her and sat with her in my lap.

  Her face snuck against my neck as my palm coasted up and down her back.

  Tiny tremors shuddered beneath her skin, and I barely glanced at Simone when she cleared the table—the sad smile of a soothsayer underpinning her lips.

  “You can’t go back there again, Mercy.”

  Another tear dampened the skin of my throat.

  “You can’t.” I clamped my jaw and closed my eyes to everything but her.

  “I’ll try not to.” She raised her face, and I dabbed the tears tenderly with a napkin.

&
nbsp; My fingertips trailed over her lips, puffier from crying. “Tell me about the tats.”

  “Fallen stars.” Glancing at the incredible ink, she murmured, “Like me. They cover my track marks.”

  Mon Dieu.

  I placed a kiss against the largest star on one shoulder. “When I first saw these, when I first saw you . . . I thought they were shooting stars, just like you. Fast and bright and once in a lifetime.”

  “Shooting stars.” She blinked. “You really think so?”

  “I know so.” I angled her face, barely able to breathe through all I felt. “I know so.”

  I placed my mouth against hers, just nudging the sweet seam of her lips with the tip of my tongue. Seeing if she’d grant me entry, if she’d meet me.

  Her lips parted, and her tongue darted against mine shyly at first.

  Then more boldly.

  I swiveled Mercy closer, keeping my arms loose. She weaved against me like the undulations of a wave breaking ashore.

  When our lips broke free, I kissed her un-bruised cheek then her temple.

  “Should we go?” she asked.

  I probably shouldn’t even stand up with the hard-on of the century springing to life beneath her bottom.

  “How about we dance instead?”

  A new troupe of players had taken to the stage, a singer crooning and the man with the banjo plucking up a good rhythm.

  “You sure you know how to two-step, city boy?” Mercy settled her ass more deeply on my lap. “Especially with what you’re boasting in your jeans?”

  I growled at her. “I can cut a rug with the best of them.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She lifted off me, but I quickly caught her. Drawing her to me, I hid my erection against her belly, and we weaved into the smallest of spaces reserved for dancing in Jack’s Place.

  I think I impressed Mercy with my fast moves, but she was way more graceful.

  The dance seemed to lift her soul, lift her to freedom.

  She laughed, her head thrown back and her hair whipping about.

  I tucked her against me, chuckling when she whirled away, the skirt twirling when she kicked up her heel.

  Coming back to me, she wound her arms around my neck.

  I spun her quickly then reeled her back in again.