I don’t think it was any kind of dream this time, and the feeling lingers. I look around the room, trying to find anything that’s been disturbed or that has changed, but there’s nothing. Everything looks exactly as it did before I fell asleep.
Placing my hand on my belly, I let out a sigh. I know I’m not crazy, but I can’t shake this. Standing, I make my way into the kitchen for a glass of water. The clock on the microwave shows that it’s only three in the afternoon. Prescott usually doesn’t come home until after seven. Without the bar to manage during the day, I’m bored.
Downing the water in just a few gulps, I decide to go to the bar anyway. I won’t work, but I can’t sit around here watching daytime television a moment longer. Some of the stuff is interesting enough, but I need to be around people. I am not a someone who is okay with being alone for long periods of time. I don’t know what it is, or why, but I need people.
Walking over to my purse on the kitchen counter, I grab it, my cell, and my Jeep keys before heading out the front door. I don’t send Pres a text, knowing that when I arrive at the bar, Crooner will be there and will assuredly let him know of my whereabouts, or he’ll be here himself.
Once I climb into the driver’s seat, I start my engine and back out of the driveway. Glancing back at my house one last time, I still have that sinking feeling in my stomach. Something isn’t right, but I don’t know what. I can’t just tell Prescott that I have a feeling with nothing to back it up. He would think I’m crazy, and honestly, I feel a little crazy myself as it is.
The sinking feeling in my stomach becomes lighter the more distance I put between myself and my house. I hope that it’s not my house that is a problem because I love that house.
My Uncle Cash left me that house, and I have no desire to ever leave, especially not after Prescott remodeled it a while ago. My phone rings as I pull into my parking spot and I reach out, cringing when I see who it is.
“Hello,” I say.
“I’m coming in a couple months to help you set up for the baby, and I’ll be staying until it’s born to help,” my mother announces.
My eyes widen, and I suck in an audible breath. I love my mama, I really do. However, we don’t always get along and to have her here, for what it sounds like will be months, it honestly sounds hideous. Plus, Prescott has only met her once, and I’m not sure how he’s going to feel about having her stay with us for an extended period of time like that.
“I’ll have to talk to Pres about this, Mom,” I say, attempting to hide my groan, turning my engine off.
She huffs. I can tell she’s about to tell me something she truly believes, and I may not agree with. “You’ll want me there, and he’ll want me there. Somebody has to take care of that baby.”
I snort. “I don’t know, I think that maybe Prescott and I can take care of our baby,” I mumble.
She laughs, and it isn’t some tiny little giggle, it’s a full-on burst of laughter. I frown as I wait for her to compose herself. “Trust me. You’ll be glad I came, after all, I would think that you’d at least let me be around for the birth of my grandchild since I wasn’t allowed to be at your wedding.”
Guilt gnaws at me. Nobody was at our wedding, but my mom took it the hardest. She cried, full-on cried when I told her that we’d eloped. I close my eyes and sigh. “Okay, let me know when you’re coming so I can tell Prescott,” I mutter.
She promises to text me her flight information and then she ends the call. I let my head fall forward against the steering wheel and it bangs a few times. I don’t know how I’m going to survive with my mother visiting for months.
I let out a low groan.
A knock on my window causes my head to fly up in surprise and Crooner is standing there, his brows pulled together in worry.
Reaching for the door handle, he takes a step back so that I can open the door. “You okay?” he asks as soon as I slide out of the car.
I nod. “If Prescott and I don’t get a divorce by the time my mother leaves, it will be a miracle,” I announce. Crooner’s brows rise and almost disappear into his hairline they’re so high. “She just informed me that she’s coming for months, months, Crooner,” I stress the last two words, so he knows just how serious this is.
Crooner just smirks, the bastard. “I texted Prescott to let him know you’re here. You’re not working, are you?” he asks, closing my Jeep door behind me. I click the automatic lock and start to walk toward the bar.
“No, just couldn’t sit in the house all day and stare at the television,” I shrug.
Crooner opens the door and I smile as I walk inside of the bar. I inhale deeply and look around. It’s clean, really clean, and I can’t stop my smile. Yes, Hayden is going to work out phenomenally.
I glance behind the bar and notice that she’s there, wiping down the bar top. She gives me a shy smile and I wave in her direction as I make my way over to a table in the back.
“I’m glad you’re here, I wanted to talk to you about interviews,” Crooner murmurs.
I groan, unable to control myself because I fucking hate interviews but I know that they need to happen. Jacquie can’t stay here, she sucks ass. “What about them?” I ask grumpily.
“They start tomorrow at ten in the morning, you’ll be here?”
I want to tell him that no, I won’t be here, but I know that I will. This is my uncle’s legacy and my career. This is mine, my bar, and it’s kept me on the ground when I wanted to fall apart after returning home. Without it, I have a feeling I would feel like I was walking through life aimlessly, it anchors me. Plus, with a baby coming, and Prescott’s schedule, I’m going to need it more often than not, just to keep my sanity.
“I’ll be here,” I nod, pulling out my phone and setting an alarm for the morning.
For whatever the reason may be, I can’t seem to remember a damn thing lately. I read on one of those pregnancy websites that it’s normal, but it’s driving me crazy.
Hayden appears a few seconds later and asks me if I’d like anything to drink. I take her up on the offer, and although I would love a beer, I order a water instead. I lean back in the chair, pressing my hand to my stomach and closing my eyes for just a moment.
“What’re you doing here, peaches?” a voice whispers in my ear.
I jump practically off of my seat and press my hand to the center of my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. Prescott walks around and is directly in front of me, his eyes smiling down at me. The ass. “You scared the shit out of me,” I scowl.
He only chuckles and sits down across from me, leaning forward, wrapping his big hand around my knee and giving it a squeeze. “What’re you doing here, and why didn’t you at least text me to let me know you were leaving the house?” he asks. His voice is quiet, and he doesn’t seem mad, but more curious as to my actions.
I shrug with a grin. “I knew Crooner would call you.”
He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. “You can’t bank on that, Ginger. You gotta let me know where you’re at.”
“Why?”
Prescott lifts a brow, not saying anything, but rather waiting for the realization to dawn on me. I knew why before he said anything, it’s because of everything that happened. Which, bizarrely enough sounding, is the reason I didn’t tell him.
I don’t want to be scared anymore. I hate living in fear. Telling him my every move, it just makes me feel as if I’m too cautious, like I’m always looking behind me. I want to look ahead, only ever ahead.
I open my mouth to explain how I’m feeling, but I snap my lips closed, unsure of how to actually say the words. Luckily, for me, he nods as his eyes search my face.
“I get it, peaches. For me, could you just shoot me a text when you go somewhere, for my peace of mind?” he asks, his voice soft and even a little cautious.
Pressing my lips together, I nod. “I can do that,” I whisper.
He awards me with a smile, teeth and all. I wonder if this
is a good time to tell him about my mother. Pinching my eyes closed, I tell him about the phone call with my mom. He doesn’t curse or throw anything by the time I’m finished, so I chance opening one eye slightly to take a peek at him.
“Your mother is coming here, for months?” he asks, his words coming out extremely slowly. I nod, my eyes staying glued to his, afraid to move anywhere else. “Months,” he repeats.
I only nod. It’s all I can do. My stomach twists with worry. Then, his torso jerks and he bursts out laughing. “We’ll either get along or kill each other,” he announces.
“Prescott,” I scold. I’m trying not to and failing, to laugh. I join him in his laughter, to the point where I’m bent over, with my arms around my stomach. “This is going to be bad, Pres,” I whisper through my laughter.
“Fuck it, peaches. If she wants to come for a while, let her. Take the help, and maybe it’ll do the two of you some good,” he suggests with a shrug.
I shake my head. “I’m almost thirty, I doubt there’s much hope for turning us into besties at this point.”
He lets his arms fall from behind his head and reaches out toward me, taking my hand in his. “Life changes people, peaches. You don’t know how your relationship will be now. You’ve lived apart for a while, and you’ve lived through some serious shit. Don’t discount it before it’s even happened.”
He stands, tapping his knuckles on the table then bends down and brushes his lips across mine. “Love you, peaches. I got a couple calls to make,” he grins against my mouth.
“Okay,” I breathe.
I watch him walk away, thinking about his words as he does. He’s right. The last time I saw my mother was, before. I never told her what happened to me, either. How do you tell your mother a nightmare like that? Shaking my head to myself, I grab my water and take a big gulp.
Everything could be completely different between us, and for the better. I hope that it is. I’m all about the silver lining these days and looking for positives to come out of my past. I’ll take all that I can get.
SNAKE
I pull a cigarette out of my vest pocket. I shouldn’t smoke, and I had almost quit once, twice, three times but something always happens to put these fuckers back in my hand.
Today it isn’t the fact that Ginger left without telling me, or that her mom is coming for months, it’s something else. It’s how I felt when she left our place and came here.
My heart skipped a beat when Crooner told me that she was at the bar. I don’t give a fuck that she came down here. I’m glad that she did. As long as she isn’t on her feet hustling booze, and cleaning the place, she can do whatever she wants.
It has to do with how I felt about her getting in her car, leaving, and I wouldn’t have known where she was going. I need to know, or I need to be with her.
She may feel comfortable enough to go around living life again, but I’m not. I lost her for a while. My own stupid fucking pride pushed her away, then she was taken, and I didn’t even fucking know. The guilt I still feel every second of every day eats away at me. I don’t think that it will ever go away.
My phone rings and I grab it, answering it as soon as I see the name flashing on my caller ID. “I tried to find Lucifer,” Free announces.
“And?”
“Gone. He hasn’t been seen in months. He hasn’t been heard of in months,” he explains. “His crew voted him out about four months ago and he vanished.”
“Then he probably doesn’t even know about, Hayden,” I offer.
Free only grunts. Lucifer probably does know about the girl. It isn’t hard to continue to get information, even when you’re off the grid. Lucifer is a dangerous motherfucker. I don’t want him anywhere near my club, or my woman, he’s a loose fucking cannon.
“What else do you have for me?” I mutter, knowing that there must be more.
Free sighs. Then he goes on to tell me about club shit that’s not going the way it should. I run my hand over my face, not wanting to even think about this shit, but knowing that as the president I must.
When he’s finished I give him a few instructions, we have church in the morning so I can go over everything with the men then, including keeping an eye out for Lucifer the lunatic.
“I thought you’d quit,” a sweet voice says from behind me.
I feel her arms slide around my waist and her cheek press against the middle of my back. “I tried,” I grunt, blowing out some smoke before I throw the stick down and press my heel into it to extinguish it.
“Can I say that I don’t mind?”
I turn around in her arms and rest my chin on the top of her head. Placing one hand at the back of her hair and the other at the small of her back, I ask, “Why’s that?”
“It’s comforting. When you come to bed smelling of smoke and whiskey. It’s just you,” she whispers.
I flex my fingers in the back of her hair, gently tugging her head back to look into her eyes. “Comforting?” I ask.
She shrugs, her eyes never leaving mine. She doesn’t say anything else, and I’m frozen by her words, surprised that she would feel that way. I know she’s thinking of me, before—the way we were—fighting and fucking like crazy.
I came to her bed drunk more nights than sober. I thought she hated me then, thought she wouldn’t want that again. Her words, the way she’s looking right at me, it says something else.
“A lot has changed since we first met. But that doesn’t mean that I want you to completely change,” she whispers.
Lowering my face, I press my lips to her nose, then her mouth. “I’m changed for no other reason than the fact that I love you, peaches. Now, enough of this bullshit,” I grunt. “Let’s go inside and have some fun. It’s early still, and I’m sure the guys will start filtering in sooner or later.”
Releasing my hold on her hair, I slide my hand down her back and smack her ass. She yelps, but there is a wicked smile on her face. “Wanna play pool?” she asks trying to sound coy as fuck.
“Hell no, woman,” I grunt. “I taught you everything I know, and you’ll beat my ass.”
“Damn straight I will,” she shouts as she starts to walk toward the door.
I shake my head and follow behind her. Whatever lies ahead of us, we got this.
CHAPTER FIVE
GINGER
After spending all late afternoon, and early evening playing pool and hanging out at the bar we decide to go home. Prescott follows behind me on his motorcycle. I realize as soon as I pull into the driveway that I’m starving. Not just a little peaked, I’m like gnaw on my arm starving. I slip out of the Jeep, and hurry toward the door, my main goal—food.
I shove my head in the refrigerator, in search for—anything. I hear Prescott walk into the house, but I’m a woman on a mission. I reach for a fruit bowl that I made earlier in the week, knowing it’s what I should eat. Then my fingers graze what I know is a plate with cake covered in foil.
“Get the cake, peaches,” Prescott’s voice murmurs from behind me.
I stand and turn to face him. “I don’t need the cake, Pres,” I practically whisper.
“Oh fuck yeah, you do,” he grunts. “Don’t worry, peaches, I’ll be working that cake off in a little bit. Eat it while I grill us up some dinner.”
“You’re going to cook?” I practically breathe.
He shakes his head, “Take your cake, sit down, relax. I got dinner,” I nod, reaching back into the fridge and taking the cake.
Prescott holds out a fork for me and I grab it as I walk past him. His hand taps my ass as I make my way over to the sofa.
Sinking down into the cushions I unwrap the foil and inhale the sweet scent of chocolate and buttercream. It’s probably as close to heaven as I could be right now.
No, that’s a lie.
If Pres were between my legs and I was eating this cake—now, that would be heaven. I giggle to myself, imagining what that would be like. Then I turn on the television and flip through the channels for something
to watch.
“You got that doctor’s appointment tomorrow, right?” Prescott calls out from the kitchen.
I turn my head slightly and nod, as I try to swallow my bite of cake. “Yeah, why?”
“I got church in the morning. I might be late, if I make it at all.”
It takes everything, every single thing, inside of me not to freak the fuck out on my man. It’s the most important appointment, at least to me it is. This is the one where we get to find out the sex of the baby. I want him there, no, I need him there. My eyes suddenly fill with tears and the craving for cake is all but gone.
Placing my plate down on the coffee table, I stand. Instead of going into the kitchen where Prescott is, I decide to go upstairs. I can’t be around him right now. I feel vulnerable. I feel like I’m on the edge of breaking down, and a downright unstable mess. I sit on the edge of the bed and I do the girliest thing ever, I cry.
“Are you crying?” Prescott asks, sounding dumbfounded.
I sniffle and dash the tears away from my eyes. “I can’t believe you aren’t going to the doctor. Don’t you want to know what the baby is?” I whimper. Good lord, I sound weak as hell.
His head nods up and down, then he tips it to the side. “Peaches, it’s a doctor’s appointment. You’ll tell me everything right? I’ve been to them all up until now. I won’t miss it if I can help it.”
“It’s one of the most important ones,” I blubber as tears continue to fall down my cheeks.
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Okay, yeah. How about I meet you there? I won’t let church go over, and I’ll drive right over?”
I give him a trembling smile, pleased enough with his answer, even if it isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear. “Now, stop with the waterworks, yeah?” he asks walking over to me. I nod, standing up and making my way toward him, as well.
His lips touch mine and my eyes immediately dry. His tongue sweeps into my mouth with a groan. “You taste so fucking sweet, Ginger,” he mutters against my mouth.
Laced with Fear (Cash Bar Book 1) Page 6