"What's going on with you?" Jack demanded. "You've been acting like an ass for weeks now."
Carl chuckled. "He's always an ass, he's acting psychotic."
"Fuck you, both," he snapped.
"No, wait. I know what this is," Carl said, the bastard's eyes lighting up. "Derk's got a woman and it's not just a wam-bam thank you-ma'am. Is it?"
He inhaled another drag off his cigarette, but drilled both men with a warning glare. One that clearly didn’t disturb the two rat bastards. Obviously Carl knew about Mackenzie. Which meant Murphy had him followed and kept tabs on him. Hell. He should be pissed, but it was Murphy’s paranoid style to keep a bead on all the close members of his team.
Jack's demeanor perked up. "Reeeally? You don't say, Carl? Well, what do you know? Derk got himself tagged."
Flicking the cigarette away, Derk pushed off the wall and went back inside, his blood boiling. Who the hell did those two think they were giving him a hard time? Both those men were married to old ladies, who looked like beat-up, worn hags. Graying hair, coke-bottle glasses, assess wider than the doorway. And they fucking nagged the hell out of their husbands. Yeah, like they had any right. Not only that, they didn't know jack shit. He wasn't tagged. He'd never get engaged, hitched, married, whatever. There was too much crap that came with that type of dedication. Disastrous union was not in his future.
His mood not exactly friendly, Derk took position off to the side of the Murphys.
"Ignore them," Smith said.
Good thing Derk didn't surprise easily. Smith's uncanny ability to move stealthily unnerved most. He could sneak up on anyone. Briefly and for the first time, he considered Smith might be former military.
He slid his friend a glance.
"What do they know? Their wives are hags and they have more affairs than an entire US Navy fleet," Smith said.
Derk snorted. Funny. Smith actually cracked a joke. "I'm not going to Murphy's Pub."
Smith didn't reply.
"Need a ride to Cards."
"No problem," Smith said.
They were interrupted by Courtney stepping in front of them, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Can I ask one of you to get me a bottle of water? Derrick's talking to someone." She waved to that damn Western territory idiot, who was intent on being the center of attention.
"I got it," Smith said sympathetically.
Derrick leaned over, snatched a box of tissues off a table, and handed it to Mrs. M.
"Thank you," she whispered and blotted her face.
"I'll get Mr. Murphy," Derk said. Time to let this territory asshole know that Mrs. Murphy came first. While Jack and Carl were busy outside busting his balls about Mac, they should have been inside doing their fucking job and keeping Murphy away from business.
He stalked straight up to Murphy and positioned himself between the two men. He nodded to Courtney. "Mrs. M."
Sliding a quick, calculated glance over to his wife, Mr. Murphy seeming casually turned and went back to his wife's side. Derk knew better. In public, Derrick Murphy acted the part of a detached, hands-off husband. That was far from the truth. The boss's obsession with his wife was unrivaled. Mr. Murphy slyly slid a hand around Courtney's waist and pulled her in snug to his body. She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest, as her husband supported her.
Derk wheeled around to the territory manager. "Get lost," he quietly growled. "If I see you fucking near either one of them again, I'll personally slit your throat while you're sleeping."
The man grew upright, only taking him to five feet ten inches. "How dare‒"
"Find another fucking time to talk business." Derk pegged him with his forefinger. "Get the fuck gone."
"Problem, Derk?" Jack asked, appearing next to him, his tone threatening.
"Yeah, your buddy here doesn't understand to leave the Murphys be while Mrs. M grieves the loss of her father," Derk said. "I have an issue with that."
"Let's talk," Jack said, tossing an arm around the man and escorting him outside.
That little display went unnoticed by most at the funeral home. They were all used to little scuttles here and there. Nothing truly fazed these men and women.
Spinning around, he found Courtney and Derrick eying him closely.
"Thank you," Courtney mouthed to him.
For a fleeting moment, he felt himself melt for her appreciation. Aaannnd then he came to his senses. Fucking women were messing with his head. Damn it, he needed a cigarette.
16
Stirring out of one of the best rests she'd had in an extremely long time, Mackenzie stretched her sore body, a loud moan escaping. She blinked her eyes open. Naked and displayed in Derk's bed, a cold shiver swept over her. She'd never slept on silk sheets before and couldn't say she'd invest in a set. At least they cooled her flushed hot body after her lascivious bed antics with Derk.
Slowly, she crawled out of bed, went to the bathroom to relieve herself, then searched for her clothes. She found her torn panties under the blanket, her yoga pants on the stairs, her bra on the floor next to the front door, but her tee remained MIA. Well, she'd just have to borrow one of Derk's.
Mackenzie rummaged through his dresser. She found his tee shirts in the next to bottom drawer along with some items that caused a brow raise. A large wad of cash placed in each corner of the drawer, several different hand guns, and knives in different lengths and sizes peeked her curiosity. She decided to research every drawer in the dresser, then proceeded to the chest of drawers on the other side of the room. The amount of weaponry and cash was astounding. Didn't he use a bank? And why the hell did he need an arsenal? All sorts of deadly weapons that could be used hand-to-hand or from a distance. She found a rifle with a scope half-hazard covered by jeans in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers.
Okay, they lived in Western Pennsylvania and men there took their firearms seriously. They hunted and fished. But they didn't keep thousands of dollars in cash and guns stashed into drawers unless they were drug dealers or into other illegal activities. Right? Guns were kept locked in cabinets. Money was put in the bank or safes. This wasn’t normal.
Slumping back onto her heels, certain circumstances started to click. Derk's flexible work hours. His souped up truck. Smith. What single man owns a four-bedroom home complete with a six-person hot tub, three full bathrooms, a three car garage, and a game room with a tournament size pool table? Not to mention the night he saved her, those unsavory boys knew who Derk was, and they stepped back as if some detrimental harm would come to them if they didn't move out of his way. Plus there was the fact that he got away with whatever he wanted at her bar without being tossed out like any other patron would who broke the rules. He knew too much about her and she knew practically nothing of him. How could he possibly find out intimate details about her unless he had some sort of hidden agenda and connections?
Clarity smacked her upside the head. Shit, she'd done it again. She'd picked a guy she should have run from.
All right, so she'd already known that, but she hadn't exactly rushed away from him like a smart woman would have done. Rationally, there couldn't be a conceivable legal explanation for everything laid out before her. If he was military, he’d utilize a better way to stash his money. If he was a hunter, he’d store his weapons safely.
Jumping up from the floor, Mackenzie rushed downstairs to find her shoes and purse. In the process, on the kitchen counter she found a set of car keys and a note. Ignoring them, she pulled out her cell and dialed a grumpy Kayla to retrieve her.
Now would be the best time to stick to her newfound mantra of starting in the right direction. She had a bed-rolling good time with Derk last night, got her itch scratched, but didn't need anything further. At least, nothing that he offered. Time to end this before she became another victim to yet another less-than-stellar man.
Without a backward glance, Mackenzie left Derk's home, slamming the door shut behind her.
17
A pac
ked Cards with wall to wall drunken men. A handful of women scattered throughout guaranteed those chicks would get some heated action by the end of their night.
Mackenzie rushed around without the opportunity to really take in the scope of the evening. She'd done four routines on the bar and almost cracked her head off a light fixture. How that happened, who knew? Being vertically challenged, she never worried about striking her head off objects. It was as if someone purposely lowered the light to watch her injure herself for their amusement. Which was a ridiculous theory, but really, where had that spotlight come from?
Tonight she'd received three marriage proposals, two one hundred dollar tips with inappropriate after hours propositions, and an absurd amount of wrapped condoms−phone numbers included. All in a day's work. Frankly, Mackenzie adjusted to the nightly debauchery a long time ago. There wasn’t much that bothered her. Again, a testament to her look-the-other way personality. Well, within reason. At last she’d been sensible enough to decide to give Derk his walking papers.
One of the girls called off for the evening, with just one employee down it put them in the weeds. Luckily, the co-owner, Grant Donnelly, made a rare appearance and lent a hand.
In the middle of pulling out a couple bottles of Yeungling, a soft, deep voice whispered into her ear, "Mackenzie."
She squeaked in surprise and whipped around.
"Sorry," Grant said, his grey eyes alight with humor.
"You shouldn't sneak up on someone like that," she scolded.
He laughed and held up his hands. "We're in the middle of a packed bar. I wouldn't exactly say I snuck up on you in a quiet room."
She snorted. "I guess not. Sorry, I suppose I'm too focused on work."
Brushing past him, she served the beer and took the money off the kid who didn't look close to twenty-one. Though she didn't question his age. The kid had to get past the doormen, who were far from inviting when it came to checking ID's.
Grant slid up beside her while she rapidly shoved the twenty into the register and made change. His six foot five inch frame towered her tiny stature.
"I've noticed you've become a favorite here," he said smoothly.
She glanced up to find him carefully studying her. What did she say to that?
He nodded to her assigned section for the night. "My brother said your section is full every night you work."
Shrugging, she handed the change back to the kid, who tossed a five back at her. She turned to face her boss. "I try to do a good job."
"Well, you do and it hasn't gone unnoticed," Grant said appreciatively. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Mr. Donnelly, I'm really busy," she said, unsure why he would pull her away from the over-crowded bar.
"It'll be less than a minute," he urged.
Apparently no wasn't an option because he gently took her elbow and led her to an area located out of the view of the customers. As soon as they rounded the corner he faced her. "Mackenzie, what are you doing after work tonight? I'd like to take you out to grab something to eat."
What?
Stunned, she knew she was gaping. "Mr.‒"
"Call me Grant," he interrupted.
"Grant, I really don't think that's a good idea," she said unsure. After all, he was the boss. Those scenarios never turned out well. Ever. Though, she was quite tempted. Grant was the owner the girls swooned over. Sandy blond hair with sharp facial features, a straight nose and full lips, he was model material. He'd taken off his suit jacket, unbuttoned his white oxford shirt, and rolled up his sleeves to help out. His biceps and chest strained against his dress shirt. His developed forearms flexed admirably, and his bronzed skin hinted he'd recently returned from the beach.
His brows slanted together. "Why?"
"Well, you're my boss," she said obviously.
"No, my brother is your boss. I only sign the paychecks." He grinned, showing off a set of perfect white teeth.
"Technicality," she challenged.
"Mackenzie, don't over think this. I'm just asking to take you out after your shift for a light bite to eat. No big deal," he said coercing. He took a step closer, into her personal space. His scent, a mixture of cologne and masculinity perfectly combined, wafted around her. Teasing her.
Her eyes searched him over. She'd never been one to use a man, well, not use him use him, as in to get over another man. She'd only ever leaned on men for the possibility of affection and the hopeful security of love and a solid relationship. Well, that was Kayla’s observation. She didn’t necessarily agree with the sentiment.
Grant could be the perfect distraction to separate herself from Derk's dark lure. Professional, wealthy, intelligent, kind, he was total opposite of Derk. A perfect catch for any perceptive woman.
"All right," she spouted too quickly.
Surprise crossed his handsome features, then he smiled widely. "All right. Now, back to work."
Laughing, she shook her head and saluted him. "Yes, sir."
His eyes flashed when he whispered, "Sir."
Mackenzie didn’t have time to inquire the shadow that crossed over him. She left Grant standing there lost in whatever came over him.
When she rounded the corner to the bar, she stopped briefly before going to her section. Derk and Smith sat at her end of the bar. The look of fury on Derk's striking features said he knew she didn't take his car, which meant he knew something was up. Hesitantly, she pulled two bears out of the cooler, then approached them.
"What's up, Mac?" Derk asked snidely as she set the beers in front of them.
"Working," she answered.
Smith pulled a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to her. As soon as she reached for it, Derk snagged her wrist and yanked her toward him, the bar painfully digging into her stomach.
"What the fuck is up, Mac?" he thundered. "You didn't take the car or your shirt. What's going on?"
There was no way she could admit what she found in his drawers. If he was the man she concluded, her life could very well be in danger. And she had no idea what he was capable of or what sort of action he might take.
Trying for nonchalant, she shrugged. "I had fun last night, Derk, but that's all it was, fun. We both know neither of us has any intention on playing house."
She could hear her own voice quaking. Derk's eyes narrowed.
Crap.
Obviously, she wasn't capable of hiding her lie very well. That never had been one of her strongest traits.
"Really," he drawled menacingly. "That's how you're going to play this?"
"Derk‒"
"Don't fuckin' bother, Mac," he said, masking his anger. He released her arm, sat back, picked up his beer, and downed it in one long draw. Slamming the empty bottle down, he stood. "You're right. Last night was fucking fantastic, but you're not my type, M. Too damn darlin' for me. I need a woman who can keep up and you're not her. But, if you ever need that itch scratched again, I'm game." He stalked away and out of the bar.
She glanced at Smith, who gave her a sneering once over. "You fucked up, Mackenzie," he said factually. "Of all days you shouldn't have gone this route, today is that day." He stood, left his untouched bottle in place, and followed his friend.
A low whistle and chuckle came from behind her.
"What was that soap opera scene about?" Kayla asked as she stepped up next to her.
"I think I just broke up with Derk," she answered, unsure. She didn't think Derk considered them to be in a relationship. He made that perfectly clear. At least, that's what she assumed. But his anger threw her off. She didn’t take him as a man who’d care all that much if they ended. That she was another notch on his headboard. She couldn’t have misread him, right?
"Ummm, broke up? Don't you actually have to be a couple first for that to happen?" Kayla voiced her exact thoughts.
She turned to her girlfriend, entirely baffled. "I don't know what just happened," she paused, "or how I feel about it."
"Well, shit, Mackenz." Kayla snorted.
Yeah, that about said it all.
***
Three in the morning, seated in a booth across from Grant, Mackenzie's stomach kept turning. She couldn't get past a feeling of guilt. Why, she couldn't understand. Derk and she didn't have a commitment. He'd made it clear that wasn't an option and she'd agreed. Except he'd seemed so angry. The dark blaze in his eyes spoke volumes.
"Hello, earth to Mackenzie," Grant interrupted her wandering mind.
"Sorry," she said. Holding her menu open, she perused the items again. She needed something light this time of night. A chicken salad would be a good fit. Though how she was going to stomach that, she had no idea.
The waitress approached and took their order. When finished, she scurried off to continue her work. Mackenzie didn’t miss the way the woman openly drooled over Grant.
"So, how do you like working at Cards?" Grant asked. "You haven't been there long." At that time of night or early morning, the diner sat virtually empty. They could easily have casual conversation without being overheard.
"I like it. Tips are great. Now, if I could just quit falling off the bar, all would be well," she answered.
He laughed, tossing his head back. Those grey eyes of his were unreal. So vividly sharp. They had to be contacts.
"Is that your real eye color?" she blurted.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Yes."
"You get asked that a lot, huh?"
"Yes. I inherited them from my mother. Well, that and my blond hair, but Mom is fair skinned, like you," he said, his tone indulgent.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" A large part of her always felt she'd been given the short end of the stick by the lack of parents and siblings in her life. She desperately wanted to be part of a large family unit. Which explained why she loved visiting Kayla's screwed up family. It didn't matter that each member of that family had skeletons bursting out of their designer filled closets, they were close despite their shadiness and that's all that mattered to her.
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