Cocky

by J.C. Valentine

  As she sat against the pillows eating her hangover breakfast, Angel couldn’t decide if she should be happy he took the time to do everything he had for her, or if she should be worried he’d run out of there as if he wanted to be anywhere else but with her. Her thoughts kept returning to that kiss. Twice in less than twelve hours he’d kissed her forehead. Sure, the night before she wasn’t exactly sexy or clean enough to warrant even wanting to get that close to her mouth, but this morning? Had she grossed him out so much that he was rethinking their relationship?

  It was depressing to consider that he’d said he wanted her to be his girlfriend only for her to ruin it in the proceeding moments.

  Picking at the eggs, Angel ate as much as her shaky stomach would allow before forcing herself to get out of bed. She couldn’t just sit around thinking all day. She’d drive herself crazy and, from her experience, she’d reach all the wrong conclusions. Drama wasn’t her style, at least not in action. Her thoughts were a different story. They tended to get a touch carried away.

  Distraction. She needed a distraction.

  Ambling from her room, Angel crossed the hall and knocked on Rena’s door before shoving it open and peeking inside. She hadn’t heard her come in last night. Looking peaceful, Rena was sprawled out on her stomach, one leg curled up to her side and the other hanging off the side of the bed, arms extended above her head, and a light snore filling the air.

  Reminded her of the way she used to sleep as a small child. So sweet and perfect. Until she woke up.

  “Hey,” Angel said, her voice sharp enough to hurt her sensitive head and loud enough to wake her sister. “Wanna come do laundry with me today?”

  The suckiest part of renting an apartment? The lack of a personal washer and dryer. While most used the complex’s communal laundry room, she preferred going to the laundromat where things were cleaner and more up-to-date. It was inconvenient but more comfortable than sticking closer to home, and she’d just run errands while the machines did their thing, like she always did.

  A bunch of grumbles and muttered words came back as Rena rolled around and kicked at the blankets, waking up slowly and with a lot of attitude.

  “It’s the freakin’ weekend. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping in?”

  “Laundry waits for no man,” Angel joked, wondering where she got the energy to manage it with as crappy as she felt. “Come on, sis,” she said, not above whining and begging to get what she wanted, “I hate going alone.”

  Pulling a pillow over her face, Rena mumbled “Go away,” but Angel wasn’t ready to give up just yet. She had one more, surefire trick up her sleeve.

  “I’ll buy you ice cream…”

  There was a pause, and breath held, and then the pillow was tossed aside. Rena stared at the ceiling for a moment then said hopefully, “Robin Baskins?” like she used to as a child. It had become a kind of joke they shared over the years.

  Smiling, Angel said, “Yep. And last week I saw they had chocolate dipped waffle cones too.”

  There was a flurry of activity as Rena untangled herself from the bedding and her feet hit the floor. She scrambled for clothes saying, “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  Angel nodded and hurried back to her room to get ready too, because even though her sister was a girl when she said five minutes, she meant five minutes. That was the nice thing about having a tomboy for a sister.

  Now all she had to do was survive the day with the little hellion.

  seventeen

  Things were unusually quiet at the clubhouse today. Everyone had been dispersed to the wind. The prospects were around, but each had their own assignment designed to keep the place running smoothly and efficiently. Basically, things were getting handled.

  The women were in short supply too. Most were at work or taking classes at the community college since the men liked their ladies empowered and with more than a few brains in their head. Call them weird or feminists or whatever, but as far as Moose was concerned, the mark of a good man was directly tied to the quality of the woman by his side.

  Most of his brothers felt the same. It just made sense. Like begot like. If a man carried himself like trash, he was going to attract trash, and vice versa. A person had to consider the kind of company they kept.

  Moose had hung back today because…well, what did an enforcer do when they had nothing to enforce? Things had been so quiet lately that his knuckles hadn’t had a good bruising in forever. He was starting to feel like Rocky by the last movie—old and washed up, no longer useful. It wasn’t as if he was a violent man by nature, and he sure didn’t relish getting his clothes bloody, but what did a guy have to do to get a little action around here?

  As if the skies had opened up and the angels began to sing, the front door swung open, and a contrite Country came walking in, his gait wide and awkward as if he’d suddenly gone bowlegged and got his ass kicked and still had the guy’s boot shoved way up where the sun didn’t shine. He had his hand shoved down the front of his pants and was cussing up a storm.

  “What’s wrong, little buddy?” Moose asked with a smirk. “Someone spur your ass or what?”

  “Don’t you start with me,” Country warned him as he stormed past him on the way toward the wing that held the bedrooms. “Fuckin’ pants are chaffing my balls.” His hand got to working overtime.

  “Are you wrestling a squirrel or somethin’?” Moose taunted, unable to help himself.

  “Or somethin’,” Country barked, clearly not in a mood to play. “I swear to Christ. Can a person suddenly grow an allergy to jeans?”

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Moose replied smoothly. “Maybe polyester in your panties?”

  Country swung a death glare over his shoulder. “They don’t even make polyester anymore. I think…”

  Moose drummed his fingers on the table. “But they do make this nifty powder substance that can sure make it seem like it.”

  Country took two more steps before stopping dead in his tracks. “You didn’t,” he said slowly, his voice low and filled with dark intent.

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  Moose saw the exact moment that he remembered the night that inspired it all and burst out laughing.

  “You dirty motherfucker!” Country bellowed. “You’ve gone too far! After I take a shower, I’m kicking your fuckin’ ass. You’d better use that time as a head start because I’m going to mess that pretty face up.”

  Moose blew him a kiss. “Assuming you can catch me.” He stepped down from the stool and casually tucked in his shirttails. “Enjoy that shower. And make sure to use some petroleum jelly after. Helps with the residual burn. Oh, and you might want to check the rest of your drawers to make sure nothing else has been tampered with.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Man, never know who you can trust these days.”

  Country glared. Moose laughed. Man, it wasn’t even noon yet, and it was already turning out to be a damned fine day.

  As Country stormed off to get that shower, Moose sidled up to the bar and took the seat beside Cricket, who was looking a touch worse for wear this afternoon. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  “Thanks, bro. Just the look I was aiming for.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “What’d you do to him?”

  Moose lifted a shoulder. “Just a little itching powder in the boxers trick I learned back in college.”

  “You went to college?”

  Moose should be offended by the surprise in his voice. “Not officially, but that didn’t stop me from being on the campus every night of the week.” He winked, letting the man fill in the blanks.

  There was no shortage of trouble for a growing man to get up to when there was an endless river of booze and girls on tap. He didn’t need studying getting in the way of all the fun. Now that Moose was an adult and looked back on it, he had to agree with his original assessment that higher education wasn’t for everyone. Who needed a lifetime of debt for a degree they were never going to use? He’d always known
where he was going to end up. Didn’t need a piece of paper for the kind of work he did.

  Cricket snorted. “I’m glad I’m not on the end of whatever game you two are playing. You know he’s gonna pay you back, right?”

  “Counting on it,” Moose drawled. Let Country try. He would be ready and waiting. Maybe with a shotgun, ha! Send that country bumpkin back to the prairie he came from. He cast his friend a curious look. “So what’s up with that little chippy at the bar last night? You dating now?”

  “She’s not a chippy, for one,” Cricket said, getting all defensive. Moose held up his hands, letting him know he meant no offense. “Two, yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Cool. How’d it go? Since you’re sitting here, I assume you didn’t get lucky.”

  “I didn’t get laid if that’s what you’re getting at, but I did get lucky. She’s a catch, that one. I couldn’t have found a better woman if I’d handpicked her myself.”

  “Wait, is this the toothpaste chick?”

  Cricket chuckled. “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “Nice. If I’d known women like that were just hanging out in the general merch section, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time combing through the want ads.”

  “Dude, tell me you didn’t look for women there,” Cricket said with heavy disapproval.

  “Do I look like an idiot? Don’t answer that,” Moose said quickly. “No, they’ve always just sort of fallen into my lap, literally in some cases. Curse of having such a gorgeous mug.” He shrugged, all whatcha gonna do?

  Cricket rolled his eyes. “I swear, every one of the brothers in this place has an ego the size of Texas. It’s a wonder we haven’t had to expand to accommodate your fat heads.”

  Moose shot him a look.

  “I’m not talking about the little one in your pants, numb nuts,” Cricket amended with an exasperated sigh that said he was surrounded by children. He wouldn’t be far off. Put a bunch of men together in one room and IQs tended to drop a few points.

  “I’ll have you know, there’s nothing little about anything going on in my pants,” Moose assured him.

  “Don’t know, don’t care.” Cricket shook his head, staring off over the bar, and the two men shared a light chuckle between friends.

  ***

  Blake hadn’t been on a run like this is ages. It was, in a lot of ways, kinda cleansing in a risk-your-life sorta way. So he hadn’t told everyone the whole truth—they rode out to do a little investigating and, if it came down to it, a little—or a lot—of face pounding.

  He was up to his eyeballs in frustration, hearing about the ongoing trades and sales of illegal arms in his county. Sure, it wasn’t his county, per se, but he’d lived here his whole life, so he felt he had more than a little say in how its successes or failures—especially since he had a whole lot more than a little power to affect change.

  For now, though, he wanted to keep everything under wraps, until they had all the facts. Assuming they still had that kind of time. A lot of it had passed already, so there was no telling just how far Contreras’s infection had spread. If the increase in criminal activity and drug addiction was any indication, though, it was far and wide, and Blake and his men were too little too late.

  He was going to fuck Contreras up when he finally got close enough to wrap his fingers around his throat. He’d imagined many times looking into those smug, hate-filled eyes while he choked the life right out of him.

  A small voice inside his head whispered that if he wasn’t careful, this was the path that would lead him to turning into his bastard father.

  It was likely the only thing that would keep him from going that far.

  “Cars coming up the road, three o’clock,” Taco grunted, gaining everyone’s attention.

  They were stationed outside the Contreras compound, formerly the Cruiz compound, tucked out of sight behind thick trees and brush with a vantage point that oversaw the entire estate. Country had given him a map of the place, citing this as the most opportune area to scope it out. It was the exact spot that Country himself had staged his one-man militia, raining hot lead down on Cruiz’s men and tearing up the fancy little house. Blake could still spot the discoloration in the stucco where they’d tried to patch the bullet holes, but the paint didn’t quite match up.

  The heavy iron gates at the head of the long and winding driveway swung open, and a fleet of black cars and SUVs rolled through, their windows blacked out so no one could see in. Armed guards took position at the front of the house, circling the wide steps and drive that circled a massive ornate fountain. When the cars pulled to a stop, a few of those men stepped forward to open the rear doors of the first two, allowing more men in suits with weapons at the ready to exit. The last to make his appearance was clearly the head of whatever operations he was running—probably guns—with his tailored navy suit, expensive loafers, and slicked back black hair. He was short with a belly big enough to make itself known beneath that suit jacket, and when his chubby fingers went up to smooth his flawless hair, gold and diamond rings on three of his five fingers winked in the sunlight.

  Money. He screamed money. And power. And crime.

  “Jesus, if that’s not a boss, I don’t know what is,” Repo commented.

  Blake agreed. All of this land they were sitting on had been tainted by Cruiz’s criminal activity, scarred by blood and warfare. It made Blake sick to think about his son, Ash, and any of the Spartan men’s families enduring a future like the one Contreras presented.

  And he wasn’t going to stand for it.

  As Blake watched the scene below unfold, witnessing Contreras finally emerge from the house to shake hands with his guest and welcome him inside, cold fury began to grow inside of him. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for his pistol and put a hole between both their eyes, putting an immediate end to all of this. But he knew he couldn’t act out of emotion, because they’d already seen how that scenario would play out. He needed to calm down and think rationally and logically, find a peaceful solution to all of this.

  But that was Gabby’s words in his head, not his own. Because he knew just by what he’d witnessed that there wasn’t going to be anything peaceful about reclaiming this county. For any kind of peace to be established and order to be reclaimed, it would have to be taken by force.

  Nothing had ever been clearer.

  Pushing out of his crouch, Blake hiked up his pants. “Mount up, boys.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Repo asked, curious and concerned at once.

  “We’re going to go crash the party and join in the negotiations.”

  None of the men appeared happy about the change in plans, but they didn’t argue. It was a sign of trust and loyalty that they followed Blake the way they did.

  He just prayed he wasn’t walking them into a slaughter.

  eighteen

  Victorjia was in the study, brushing up on her classics, when she heard raised voices coming from somewhere down the hall. Frowning, she closed the old tomb and set it aside to investigate.

  As soon as she opened the door, the voices grew louder and clearer, though she couldn’t discern actual words. But there was definitely an argument going on. And if her ears were hearing right, there were a lot of men involved. In fact, though muted, suggesting the source of the argument was going on behind closed doors, it reminded her of the commotion at the bar she’d met Heath at.

  That alone drew her fully from the study and down the hall, toward its source. Her feet carried her to her father’s office. The door was indeed closed, but the voices had grown considerably clearer. And it was heated.

  Eaten by curiosity, she had to force herself to back away. The last thing Victorjia was interested in was getting deeper involved in her father’s business beyond being his daughter. Even that was something she was starting to wonder if it was worth the potential hazard to her life.

  Was he really dangerous enough to visit that kind of fallout on her? She had no way of truly knowing.

 
Overall, he seemed like such a good guy, with redeeming qualities. After all, her mother wouldn’t have fallen in love with a criminal and bore his child. Everything her abuela had told her about her said so. But she couldn’t deny the things she’d heard were lining up with what she was seeing and hearing since she’d arrived on his doorstep.

  It had only been a couple days, and already there was something going down that caused her stomach to turn nervously and her heart to hammer in her chest. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t a simple disagreement between business partners—of that she was sure.

  Before she could make it a few steps back to the study where she planned on locking herself inside until the coast was clear, the door to the study opened and a flood of men poured out. They came out in batches, the first half in suits, and the second in black leather and jeans. All wore the same grievous expressions, as if someone had died…or was about to. Most were armed, their weapons worn out in the open without apology. But that wasn’t what shocked the breath right out of her lungs.

  The men in leather were Spartans. The same men Heath aligned himself with, wearing the same patches he had on his riding jacket.

  What were they doing here, in her father’s home? Were they into whatever kind of stuff he was? It didn’t seem to fit, but then again, what did she know about criminal enterprises?

  The only saving grace and reason she could draw breath again was that she didn’t see Heath mixed into the bunch, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He could be just as embroiled as the rest of them…or he could be completely ignorant.

  Jumping back as the men passed her, Victorjia held her ground and her chin firm under the lecherous eyes of her father’s suited friends and the scrutiny of his leather-clad ones. None of them appeared the least bit friendly, which made her shudder.