by Joanna Wylde
“Sure,” I said, reaching for mine and polishing it off.
“We really need to change the subject now,” Tinker announced. “Dad, you aren’t allowed to talk unless it’s about something safe and neutral.”
Tom laughed, then nodded his head. “Sure thing, Stinker.”
She groaned, and Carrie burst out laughing. “Remember how we used to call you Stinker Bell?”
Tinker flipped her off, then turned to me with a big, fake smile. “So tell me, Cooper, how do you feel about friends who don’t know when to keep their mouths shut? I was considering hitting her over the head with a shovel, but I hear drowning works, too.”
Grinning at her, I shook my head. “Slippery slope, Tinker. In the end, those are the kind of friends you can really count on. If you kill them off, you got nobody to help you bury the bodies.”
Carrie burst out laughing. “See? I’m right and you’re wrong. Again.”
“I hate both of you,” Tinker declared, but she was giggling. “Now I’m not going to share any of my caramels.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Carrie replied. “You know damned well you can’t say no to me.”
“She’s a force of nature,” Darren agreed, dropping down into the seat next to her. He handed me another bottle. “You put the two of them together and things can get scary.”
“Be nice or I’ll tell about that time you got stuck up in the tree house.”
“I was six years old, Stink.”
“Yeah, but you cried like you were two,” Tinker said, waggling her eyebrows. “I’ll never forget it. He kept whining about wanting his mommy, and Dad had to climb up and get him.”
“Do you really want to play this game, Stink?” Darren asked, arching a brow. “Because if you want to play chicken, I’m game. So Cooper, when Tinker and Carrie—”
“Shut your mouth!” Tinker hissed as Carrie smacked him on the shoulder.
“Don’t you dare, you horrible man!”
“Hey, I wasn’t going there,” Darren insisted, holding up his hands. “I planned to tell him about when you went swimming at the quarry and your suit came off.”
An image of her naked and slippery in the water sprung to life in my mind. I coughed, shifting uncomfortably. That brought our legs into contact, which wasn’t exactly helpful.
“Shut your mouth, Darren,” Tinker repeated, but she looked relieved. Interesting—there must be a hell of a story behind that little exchange. I wanted to hear it.
“Truce?” Darren asked.
“Truce,” Tinker agreed.
“Jesus, Darren. You suck,” Carrie said, poking his side.
“She started it.”
Tom nudged my shoulder. “I understand that they’re adults, but sometimes all I can see are little kids.”
“You love us and you know it,” Carrie reminded him. Tom grunted, but he came around and gave Tinker a kiss on the top of the head when he stood to go. We watched him walk inside, then Carrie turned to Tinker.
“Do you really think they did all that crazy shit? I can’t picture your dad on acid.” She shuddered.
“Not sure I want to know,” Tinker replied. “And I definitely don’t want to picture it.”
Darren snorted. “The old man’s been around. Up at elk camp he told some great stories.”
“You’re supposed to share things like that,” Carrie said.
“It’s just guys blowing smoke,” he replied mildly. “Never gave it much thought. You about done, babe? We should probably get going.”
“Yeah, I’m done,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “What else aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m a man of many secrets,” Darren said, poking her nose. “You’ll have to torture them out of me.”
Carrie laughed. “That can be arranged.”
“Take your disgusting married love and get out of here,” Tinker said, flapping a hand at them. “I meant what I said about the hose earlier—I’ll turn it on you if you start making out.”
“Don’t you want some help cleaning up first?” Carrie asked.
“I’ll take care of it,” Tinker replied. “Just throw your plates in the garbage and put the silverware in the sink.”
“You sure?”
“I can help,” I volunteered, because apparently my balls weren’t blue enough already. Tinker gave me a beautiful smile.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice low and mellow.
Did I say blue balls? Make that purple.
Fuck.
TINKER
Five minutes later, Carrie and Darren had said their good-byes, leaving me and Cooper alone. Well, sort of alone. I mean, we were in a gazebo in a courtyard surrounded by apartments. I had no doubt that Mrs. Webbly was watching at this very minute. She’d lived in the ground floor apartment facing the street—across the lawn from my own house—since before I was born, and considered herself something of a guardian for the community.
“So you obviously grew up here,” Cooper commented. God, he was pretty. I’d spent the whole meal refusing to look at him so I wouldn’t make an ass of myself. He has a girlfriend, remember? “But your husband didn’t?”
“Brandon started out as a junior deputy prosecutor in Seattle, but now he’s worked his way up to director of the King County criminal division. I worked as a private chef when he first started, and then I expanded into the chocolate business a few years later. We split up about eighteen months ago. We’re still dealing with paperwork, and I’m trying to decide if I should buy him out of the house.”
Cooper eyed me, as if waiting for me to say more but I wasn’t going there. What’d happened between me and Brandon wasn’t public, and that’s the way I wanted it. Cooper seemed to figure this out, because he changed the subject.
“So how long have you been back in Hallies Falls?”
“About six months,” I replied. “I came home when my mom passed. Dad wasn’t doing too well, and the more I saw, the more I realized he couldn’t manage on his own. It’s getting to a point where I’ll have to make some tough decisions. My real life is in Seattle, and everyone there thinks I should just move him. Put him in a home, and either sell the apartment building or find a property manager. Can’t quite wrap my head around that, though. This place has been a part of me my entire life.”
Cooper nodded, his face thoughtful.
“Loyalty is a good thing,” he pointed out. “Gotta respect that.”
I found myself smiling at him in surprise.
“Thanks. Not everyone sees it that way.”
“Yeah, well opinions are like assholes, remember?” he said. “Sometimes you just need to tune out the static for a while.”
“Exactly—and that’s what I’m doing. Sooner or later I’ll have to make the decision, because I can’t keep up running the business forever without a real commercial kitchen. I could build one in the basement of the house, but it’d be a big commitment, because it’ll take at least five years before I recoup all the costs. Thankfully, Mom and Dad transferred title on the place to me years ago, so I don’t need to worry about liquidating, even if Dad needs long-term care.”
“That’s good news,” he said, and I fell into his eyes a little. They were dark and rich, and then he licked his lips and heat rushed through me. I wanted to kiss him so bad, then drag him back to my room and—
“Tinker?”
“Yes?” I asked breathlessly.
“Where should I put the food?”
So much for dragging him back to my room. Ugh.
“Just take it into the kitchen and set it on the counter,” I said, looking around to see if there was anything I could discreetly stab myself with—maybe that would pull my head out of the gutter. At least there wasn’t much leftover food to deal with, so I loaded the dishwasher while he carried everything inside. Then he leaned against the counter next to me, watching as I washed the silverware by hand.
“Why don’t you put it in the machine?” he asked.
“It’s my grandma’s sterling,”
I said. “I don’t want the dishwasher to damage it.”
Cooper raised a brow.
“You always use sterling silver for a picnic with paper plates?”
I laughed.
“Grandma always did,” I said. “And she let me use her good china for tea parties, too. Using the silverware makes me happy—brings back memories. When I use the plates all I can think about is the fact that I’m creating more work for myself. Can you dry?”
“Sure,” he said, catching the towel I tossed toward him. It only took about ten minutes to wash everything up, but he stood next to me the whole time. Every minute or two our bodies would bump, and I swear, I felt his presence in the air itself. My breasts were tight, and I kept catching myself shifting my hips as flickers of awareness and arousal ran through me.
We finished way too soon for my taste, or maybe it wasn’t soon enough. I had this vivid daydream that he’d sweep me up with a kiss, maybe haul me back to my bedroom and ravish me. You know, like in an old romance novel, where men were men and women stayed home and waited to be ravished in elaborately decorated country manor houses . . . Our apartment building was Tudor revival. That should count, right?
Now we stood staring at each other. His eyes were intense, and if it’d been anyone else on earth, I’d have sworn he was into me. Then his phone rang. Cooper pulled it out and frowned.
“What’s up, Talia?” he asked, dumping cold water all over my fantasies. So much for my impending ravishment—stupid Tudors, giving me hope. I turned away, pretending to be fascinated by something in my spice cabinet. Yup, there was the dill. You can never have too much dill. “No, not really doing anything. How soon? Okay, I’ll head right over.”
He hung up as I reached for the little bottle, which was on the top shelf. I ignored him, determined not to react to his talk with the girlfriend, because how pathetic would that be?
“Let me get that for you,” he said, right in my ear. It startled me so much that I jumped back, right into his body. One strong arm came around my waist to steady me while the other reached for the bottle. My entire body seemed to melt into his strength, and my boobs made a serious bid for escape from my halter top when the hard muscles of his chest touched my back. I felt him bulging a little against my butt. Not like he had a full boner, but the package was definitely there, and it wasn’t soft.
Goose bumps broke out all over my body.
“I really enjoyed dinner,” he said, the words a low whisper in my ear. “But I need to get going now—I’m meeting up with Talia. Here’s your dill.”
Cooper handed me the little bottle, then let me go before walking out of the kitchen.
What. The. Fuck.
Through the kitchen window, I watched as he threw a leg over his motorcycle. Then he was kicking it to life, pulling away from the curb with a spray of gravel. Every nerve in my body tingled, my nipples were like rocks, and my panties were soaked. Nobody had made me feel this way in forever, and yet instead of staying here to finish the job, he’d left to go see his girlfriend.
Hateful bitch.
My fingers hurt, and I looked down to realize I’d been squeezing the bottle so hard they’d turned white. I scowled, tossing it in the garbage, because who the fuck likes dill, anyway?
CHAPTER FIVE
GAGE
For once, I was thankful that I had a date with Talia. Yes, she was a controlling bitch and I hated dealing with her . . . But it reminded me why I wasn’t free to go after Tinker. I couldn’t afford an entanglement with another woman. Not if I wanted to stay loyal to my club.
My dick disagreed.
It thought we should just bang Tinker on the kitchen counter, because fuck loyalty. Gotta admit, it was damned tempting. I had this recurring fantasy of ripping off her pants, smacking her ass a couple times for color, and then splitting her wide open while she screamed at me. She’d be hot and tight and warm . . .
Fuck.
It actually hurt to climb on my bike—that’s how much she’d worked me up. At least the ride out to the Nighthawks’ clubhouse gave me the time to pull my shit together. I turned into the parking lot, nodding to the prospect standing watch outside. He looked like he was fifteen years old, and I couldn’t see him weighing much over a hundred and twenty-five pounds. Marsh was obviously scraping bottom at this point.
“I’m here to see Talia,” I told him, and he nodded, his face distinctly uncomfortable. Great, she must be up to something. Just what I needed to deal with tonight.
“She’s right inside.”
I opened the door to find the clubhouse maybe half full. Men wearing Nighthawks colors sat around talking, and girls flitted back and forth, fetching beer and giggling. Along one wall I spotted Cord and the other malcontents watching the rest with calculating eyes. A few women wearing leather vests sat with them—their old ladies. I’d been studying them closely and was convinced that Cord and his group wanted Marsh gone as much as the Reapers did. That added urgency to the situation, because sooner or later they’d stop watching and waiting. Then we’d have a civil war on our hands and that’d bring down trouble on all the clubs.
I looked around for Talia, spotting her toward the back of the room. Sitting on another man’s lap. Fuck. I knew him—Mike something-or-other, another hangaround. The thought struck me—another hangaround—because that’s all I could be right now. A fucking hangaround, after nineteen years with the Reapers. Going undercover sucked—I missed my club colors.
Talia glanced toward me and I saw her eyes harden. Great. I was supposed to be out here an hour ago, but I’d eaten dinner with Tinker instead. Now she was going to punish me. Deliberately turning her back on me, she swung a leg over Mike’s lap and straddled him, her mouth covering his. She obviously wanted a scene, and I’d have to give it to her or roll over and beg like a pussy.
Heh. Wouldn’t that serve her right.
Eyes followed me as I strolled across the room, resigned to playing my part. At least she’d picked a nobody. If I confronted one of the brothers, they’d kill me.
Little cunt.
If shit like this happened back home with a woman I was seeing, we’d have a problem but it wouldn’t last for long. No brother would pull that on me, and if another man was stupid enough to touch what was mine, I’d put him in the ground.
In Hallies Falls, things were more complicated.
These men weren’t my brothers, and they had no reason to back me up. If she’d chosen one of them, it’d all be over because it’d be me against the whole club. She obviously knew that, so she’d picked out a nobody, forcing my hand. If I told her to fuck off, I’d lose my connection to the club. Even worse, it might be seen as an insult to her brother. I’d watched him enough over the past few weeks to know he was erratic as fuck—what made him laugh one night would lead to him beating a man half to death the next. Sure sign he was using his own product. You take a man who starts out as a sociopath and start to give him meth, things get ugly fast. Now the little bitch would get her scene, which pissed me right off. Probably a good thing—it put me in a fighting mood.
That’d make what had to happen here a lot easier.
I moved across the room toward them, playing my part because Talia needed my jealousy to feed her ego. Marsh stepped out of the hallway in the back, presumably to enjoy the show. I caught his eye, then jerked my chin toward the couple making out. Marsh smirked, but he nodded his head and I knew I was in the clear to take care of business.
Catching Talia’s arm, I jerked her off the man’s lap. She fell to the floor as I caught him by the front of his shirt and pulled him to his feet.
“You don’t touch what’s mine,” I growled. “Now get the fuck outside and we’ll finish it.”
He held up his hands.
“No need to fight over a gash.”
“That’s my sister you’re callin’ a gash,” Marsh said loudly, obviously enjoying himself. “You sayin’ she’s not worth fighting over?”
I could practically see the thoug
hts racing through Mike’s head as he finally realized just how fucked up the situation was. Man apparently wasn’t that bright.
“Get your stupid ass outside,” I told him again. “I don’t want to make a mess in the clubhouse. That’d be plain rude. You don’t want to be rude to the Nighthawk Raiders, do you?”
He blinked, and I realized the dumbass was drunk as fuck. Christ. Talia hadn’t taken any chances—Mike was a lamb to the slaughter.
“I’ll kick your ass,” he slurred, and we started for the door. Voices rose around us, a new energy in the air. Everyone loved a good fight.
Outside there was just a trace of light still in the sky, and the evening air was hotter than it had any right to be. I caught a whiff of smoke and wondered if they’d been stupid enough to start a bonfire or something. There was a burn ban across the whole region. Last summer there’d been huge wildfires and we’d gotten even less rain this year. Combine that with low snowpack and a couple lightning strikes up in the hills, and building a fire was a real, real bad idea. Hopefully even Marsh wasn’t that stupid.
Mike stumbled into the parking lot ahead of me as the bikers followed us. He must’ve been faking me out, because suddenly he turned and tried to sucker punch me. I managed to dodge it, which left him off-balance, opening the way for me to slam my fist into his kidneys. Fucker groaned but kept to his feet, which impressed me.
“Fight, you fucking pussy!” Talia shrieked behind us. Mike lunged and I danced back out of the way, feeling the anger rise. Anger at Talia, anger at Marsh. Hell, even at poor Mike for wasting my time. Some men loved to fight, but I’d never been one of them. Not that I was scared of anything—I’d stood up for my brothers time and again—but destroying a man with my fists was just another job.
Man? Hell. Mike hardly qualified, I decided, catching him in the stomach. Barely old enough to drink legal, and while he had strength and energy, I had experience on my side. Mike crashed to the ground, groaning, and I gave him a kick for good measure. Men shouted all around us, and I realized some of them were taking bets. Fuckwads.