by Debra Kayn
"Curley," she mumbled against his lips.
He grunted, not wanting to talk. Not in the mood to argue.
If he kept his eyes shut. If he kept her going. If he pretended Walker wasn't her unc—
Curley raised his head, fell away from her, and bellowed, "God damnit, Faye."
"What? What did I do?"
He wiped his forearm across his mouth, trying to rid himself of the pleasure clinging to his lips. His heart raced, every muscle in his body tense and vibrating. He wanted nothing more than to comfort and let her know she was right. He fucking loved her. He always had.
Nothing about their relationship was normal. He should never have had a hand in raising her.
If he had met her a couple of years ago, when she was an adult, he wouldn't be standing here miserable, damning himself as some kind of asshole, but in her bedroom, smack-dab on top of her with his cock in her pussy.
Or, he could be sitting in prison doing life.
He took a staggering step toward the door. It was a stupid idea to come over here. Nowhere around Faye was safe for him. He was weak. It would take nothing for him to turn around and go to her.
"Curley?" she whispered, stopping him from leaving.
He kept his back toward her and shook his head. She asked for too much from him. Somehow, he'd figure out how to keep her from working at Kingston's Bar before she was due on Wednesday.
He'd stop Walker from holding to his word. Nobody was going to take Faye away from him.
A soft object hit him in the back. A throw pillow from the couch plopped on the floor by his left boot.
"Why do you hate me?" Her tight voice pierced his chest.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. It wasn't hate that he felt toward her.
Loving her scared the fuck out of him.
He opened the door and walked out of the house. Halfway to his Harley, the door opened behind him.
"Just stay away from me." Her voice grew louder. "Walk away and let me go. Let me have my life back."
He sat on his Harley, poised to drown her out by starting the engine.
"I don't truly belong to you anyway. Do I, Uncle?" Pain glaringly obvious in eyes that seconds ago held more passion than he was used to seeing stared at him.
He started the motorcycle, looped around in the driveway, and rode away. Bound to her in a way she would never understand, he couldn't ride away and forget her.
He loved her.
He always had.
Chapter 14
Curley
Priest walked out onto the deck at his house. Curley stayed at the railing. He couldn't see anything below in the valley. Darkness coated the side of the mountain where his president had built his home.
The hiss of a beer opening stopped the frogs from croaking. "Are you sure you don't want a beer?"
"No." His chest remained tight. "My head is already fucked up."
Priest joined him at the railing. "What's going on?"
"Faye."
They'd talked many times over the years. Priest was the only one who knew the truth. Any time one of the Tarkio members got arrested, it was felt throughout the club. But Curley's part in the crime pinned on Walker made him the one responsible, and it was hard to live with the outcome.
"She went to the prison and made a deal with Walker. Her freedom in exchange for giving up her job at Kingston Bar." His jaw ached, knowing one day he would give her credit for finding the right angle to get rid of him. But for now, it hurt. "I'm not letting her go."
Priest passed a joint to Curley. "I don't say this lightly, but maybe it's time to call it quits. It's not like she was ever your woman in a real sense. You’ve kept her at arm's length and never brought her into your life. Walker has had all the time in the world to think about what happened. His views could've changed over the years. Tell him you're walking away and then go in front of the club and make the announcement. If Walker has a problem with that, he'll let me know, and we'll take it to the table, and you can plead your case in front of the officers."
There were strict rules within Tarkio about messing with family members. To fuck a brother's wife, daughter, niece, without permission would take the patch from his vest or worst. It was a vital law within the club, and the only way a Tarkio member could protect their family in a lifestyle where someone could shoot you in the back without breaking a sweat.
"I can't let her go." He gritted his teeth. "How can I?"
"She's suffering, too," said Priest.
He hung his head. No one needed to tell him that he had made the situation worse for Faye. He agonized over her every day, knowing what he'd done. Knowing what she wanted. Knowing he couldn't be the man for her.
And yet, in the back of his mind, he had the knowledge that what he was doing by keeping them apart was for her own good. What he thought was good made her feel rejected and unloved. It was something he couldn't change.
He sniffed and straightened. "Maybe I'll tell her the truth," he whispered.
The reason why Walker had been sent to prison had never gone beyond him and Priest. Far as he knew, Walker planned to take what happened to his grave. Some days, he wanted to tell Faye so fucking bad, he was willing to throw everything away—his club, his life, her.
But he always stopped. His loyalty to Tarkio ran deep in his blood.
"You can't tell her," said Priest, reminding him of the oath he'd sworn to the night he'd earned his patch.
Taking another hit off the joint Tarkio produced themselves, he handed the smoke back to his president. He waited for the right thing to do concerning Faye to become clear in his head, but he'd never lived his life doing the right thing.
Other men could rely on honor, loyalty, and pride to make their decisions. He acted on his gut to keep his ass out of trouble. He'd claimed Faye to keep the club from killing him for fucking with a member's family member without permission.
It was do or die.
Even if years had gone by and the initial reaction of him sleeping with an underaged Faye had softened Walker, he wasn't willing to let her go. He wanted her more than he wanted to be V.P. of Tarkio. Nobody would understand his position because the club was his life.
There was no way to clear up both of his problems. He had walker on one side and Faye on the other and damned if he felt like they were splitting him apart.
"She's your woman. Take what's rightly yours."
"Because, as it is, she hates me for how I treated her, but I can still take care of her when she's hating me, which at least lets me do something for her." His head pounded. "If I give her what she wants. Hell, what I want, and in five years or twenty years—if I'm still alive—and the truth comes out about Walker, it'll destroy her. Nothing between now and then will mean a damn thing. I'd rather cut out my heart."
"Curley..."
He looked at Priest. "If she finds out I was with Walker the night two Cusclan members were killed, and I should be the one sitting in prison instead of her uncle, she's not only going to go through life hating the sight of me, she's going to hate herself for loving me. I won't let that happen."
"You think she loves you?"
He straightened. "I know."
Priest rolled the end of the joint between his thumb and finger. Curley understood what Faye was going through because he was right there with her every step of the way. They couldn't be around each other without wanting more.
He rubbed his hands over his face. "I need to get home."
"Yeah, Nicole's sleeping. I'm going to hit the sack." Priest stepped toward the sliding door and paused. "You could just make sure Kingston Bar fires her and try to keep one step ahead of Faye as she hunts for a new job."
"I already did that when she got hired at Riverside Bar and look where she ended up."
"Then, create a job for her," said Priest.
His spine stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Put her to work and control what happens. Hell, run a bar. Missoula can never have too many."
As soon as he stomped out the idea, he gave it another thought. Faye would be with him every day if he could create a job for her. He could make sure her clothes weren't coming off. She'd be safe. He could keep other men away from her.
"Is Tarkio interested in running a bar?" He tilted his head. "Is that why you brought it up?"
Priest shrugged. "The club could foot the rent if you can find a building."
"There are enough members that need a job," he said aloud, thinking more on the idea.
"It'd be your baby. We're cooling down on running to California so often, and that frees up some of our time. You could make it work. Give it a year, and if it's profitable, and you want out, sell it or let the members keep it open." Priest slid open the door. "Whatever you do, it's your initial investment. If you want to throw your money away to keep your woman, you have to ask yourself if she's worth it."
He followed his president inside. Priest always had a plan worked out ahead of time. It was one of the reasons why he came and sought him out tonight. He needed someone who could think with a clear head and not be emotionally invested in Faye.
Priest slapped him on the shoulder. "See you tomorrow."
"Yep." He walked out the front door to the driveway.
There was an empty warehouse a half a mile from the clubhouse, heading toward the airport. The road received a lot of traffic. The exposure was good.
But did he really want Faye working in a bar, regardless if she kept her clothes on?
Her love was wrapped up in growing plants and beautifying everyone else's life but her own. She wanted the independence and joy of running the nursery.
And she needed the extra money from a second job to reach that goal.
Yeah, she was worth the investment.
Chapter 15
Faye
Faye pulled the thread through the hem of the shorts, made a knot, and held her arms out for Angela to cut. "Try those on and do some squats to see if I got them the right length."
"You're brilliant." Angela wiggled into the shorts. "I can't sew, and thought I'd have to return them to the store."
Stephanie held up a pair of four-inch heels and squealed. "Girl, where did you find these?"
"Montgomery Wards, believe it or not. It's amazing that what they consider bridalwear can two-time as sexy-time clothes." She grinned. "At least now, I have a couple more outfits to wear to work. A pencil skirt while topless wasn't going to bring in the tips. My closet is embarrassingly lacking anything sexy."
"That's because you're always in your jeans and flannels, digging around in the dirt." Jeanna sighed. "I wish I could've gone shopping, too."
"Save your money, and next time, we'll make a special trip to get you some clothes." She eyed the shoes. "The Fourth of July is coming up in a couple of months, you could get some sequins and maybe some tassels and decorate one of your old outfits and make it new without it being gaudy."
"A man will take gaudy over a plain Jane any day." Jenna laughed.
"All you're thinking about are the tips." Angela walked across the room, kicking her legs, bending down, and keeping her fingers on the edge of her shorts. "I think they're short enough now."
"Yeah, if you want to show your coochie." Jenna raised her brow. "At least you shave."
"Oh, my God, girl." Angela fell over onto the couch, letting her amusement consume her. "I'm bald and proud."
"Oh, remember that chick at that dive we went to when we were getting ideas on what to do after we left the lounge? Every time she danced in front of the men, they all leaned back as if they'd get caught in her pussy hair." Angela gagged.
Faye laughed, holding her stomach. "Stop. I'm going to pee."
"Seriously, she could've put a man's eye out with one single pubic hair...straight to the eye." Angela held her fingers four inches apart and shivered. "Someone needed to tell her that Nair is a girl's best friend."
"Oh, man. That was a crazy night." Stephanie slunk into the chair, putting her clothes back in the bag. "I hope Kingston Bar doesn't turn that rowdy."
"If it does, we're out of there. Lance knows that. I think our first night went okay. He seemed protective in a non-creepy way." Faye stood, taking one more sip of the wine they were sharing while they worked on the costumes. "I need to use the bathroom."
"Me, too." Angela followed her out of the room.
Leaving the bathroom door open, she went inside and used the toilet. Angela stayed on the other side of the halfway partition, blocking the area from the sink and shower.
Looking in the mirror, Angela said, "So, are you going to tell us who that sexy, older biker-guy was that pulled you out of the bar on Saturday night?"
"You came into the bathroom to ask me that?" She finished and flushed, pulling up her jeans.
"Mm." Angela turned her. "I figured you couldn't avoid the question if I asked in here."
She turned on the faucet and washed her hands. "He's an old family friend."
"I thought you didn't have any family."
"I don't." She dried her hands. "Not anymore."
It was too hard to explain her past or that she still had an uncle, but he was serving a twenty-five-year sentence and wouldn't be released until she was thirty-three years old and seemed like she had a lifetime to go until she reached that age.
"Well, that must be nice to reconnect with someone close to you."
"Mm-hm." She raised her brows. "Do you think the others are going to want dinner?"
Angela shook her finger. "Nice change of subject and I'll let you get away with it tonight. But we're not done talking about Mr. Sexy and the way he looked at you."
She rolled her eyes, her stomach fluttering. "He wasn't looking at me."
"Girl, he totally was. I spotted him right away. He stood by the door and gazed at you as if he wanted to throw you over his knee and spank—"
"You're crazy." She walked out of the bathroom and raising her voice, said, "Who wants dinner?"
In the living room, Stephanie said, "Not me. I need to head home and stay with Jeff. My mom's due to work in an hour."
She stood behind the couch. Caught up in Angela's statement about Curley watching her, she half-listened to the other women's excuses for leaving. The only thing she seen in Curley's eyes was anger at her.
Helping the others gather their bags and making sure they understood what time to be at Kingston Bar tomorrow night, she walked with them out to the driveway and waved to them as they left.
She hadn't said anything to the others about her deal with Uncle Walker. While she would continue to work, she also had to face the fact that soon Curley could let her go at her uncle's request, and she would have to find another job.
The others would be okay. They enjoyed working topless and making more money.
As soon as they drove out of sight, she headed back to the house when a familiar rumble filled her neighborhood. Goosebumps broke out along her arms. While she waited, she gave in to pretending Curley was coming home and anxious to see her.
He rolled around the corner. An impressive sight.
The motorcycle an extension of himself, Curley leaned with the bike, commandeering the machine underneath him. His sunglasses hid his eyes, and she was thankful for that because she could pretend a little longer.
The evening sun glinted off one of the pendants hanging from a leather strip around his neck as a warning to her.
She raised her hand and shielded her eyes against the brightness. His presence intimidated her. She had no idea how to heal her heart after all his rejections.
At one time, there was so much love for her to give to someone else, and she'd picked him to have it all. Nobody else. It was always Curley.
Even when she was too young and only had a clue about love.
All those foreign feelings exploded inside of her until she'd worked up the courage to go to him. She'd p
lanned to tell him her feelings and to ask him if he could ever see her as more than Uncle Walker's niece, and instead, he'd pulled her down on the bed and started touching her.
She'd thought his affection meant he loved her. God, she'd been so immature, mixing up drunkenness and passion.
Inhaling a trembling breath, she steeled herself to deal with him.
Curley stopped in the driveway and motioned for her. She hugged her middle and approached him.
He'd neglected his shaved head. There were short stubbles over his scalp. Usually, he kept it smooth, unless he'd gone on a ride.
"Lock up your house and come with me." He took off his sunglasses and hit her with his dark eyes.
"Why?"
His gaze never left her. "Why do you always have to question me?"
"Because I always end up disappointed," she snapped, feeling vulnerable after Angela brought Curley up to her, and she had to reminisce.
The last thing she wanted was her friends knowing the history between them, and what a fool she'd been to think he'd love her. She couldn't even use her age as an excuse for making a big mistake when her feelings for him had never changed through every fight and rejection she'd experienced since that day they had sex.
She knew it was best to move on, but her heart argued otherwise.
"I want to show you something," he said.
She studied him. He gave nothing away. Sitting his bike, his body remained hard and poised to ride off, making her wonder if she told him no he'd leave. Hating that she wanted him around and afraid he'd go without her, she hurried to the house.
Grabbing the leather jacket she'd kept out of the boxes containing Uncle Walker's belongings, she locked the door and jogged over to Curley.
He eyed her upper body. His gaze flinched before looking away.
She'd removed the Tarkio patches on the jacket, and it made the leather look more worn—and she liked the look, no matter what Curley thought of her wearing Uncle Walker's leather. It wasn't like she had messed with a Tarkio vest.
She held on to him, aware of how comfortable it was against his back. It'd been two years since she'd ridden with him. The last time only happened because her car had broken down, and Curley had come to pick her up alongside the highway.