The two of them continue to bicker as the screen door opens then bangs hard against the wooden frame. In front of me, the folded paper appears absolutely harmless. Lots of things seem innocent, but in the end are deadly.
My fingers tap against the table. Curiosity is bad. Curiosity is dangerous.
I could visit for a week, tell Dad that I talked to my bio family and then return home, but evidently I’m more of a McKinley than I thought myself to be. With a slam of my hand against the table, I grab the paper and slowly unfold it.
Oz
I TOSS A black bra that’s more holes than fabric off the bar and still come up empty. Short of digging through the trash, Olivia’s glasses aren’t here. I take that back, they could be a million places within the clubhouse, but I’m not searching anymore. An itch in the back of my brain tells me that Olivia wanted one-on-one time with Emily and I just got played.
A car engine starts and I silently curse. Olivia left Emily alone. Not even a few hours into my first job for the club and I’m already failing. I stalk over to the door, grab the handle, yank it open—and my body rocks as someone runs into me.
My arm snaps out to catch the form and my other hand lands on the hilt of my knife. One breath in and my mind conjures up images of beaches and sand castles and seagulls eating my lunch. It’s a great smell. It’s a calming smell. And damn if that scent, along with the warm pressure of soft breasts against my chest, doesn’t make me go hard.
I glance down at wide-eyed Emily. Every time I peer into those dark brown eyes a part of me is lost. I better stop looking or I’ll start losing pieces I’ll miss.
“Sorry.” Ah hell, Emily’s voice is all soft and please-kiss-me breathless. “Olivia left and she told me to help you find her glasses.”
A tickling sensation on my chest and that’s when I notice her palms flat against me. She must have been trying to break her impending fall. One of her fingers moves and lightning licks up my veins. Her scent wraps around me and my fingers twitch with the desire to slide them through that thick silky hair.
Damn, I’m attracted to her, and by the way her body subtly shifts in my direction, she’s feeling it, too. I imagine pushing her away. I need to push her away, but my body is not listening to my brain.
Emily blinks like she’s waking up. I loosen my grip as she simultaneously steps back. Her hair brushes along my arm and I go up in flames as a fantasy overtakes my mind—Emily kissing her way down my chest and that hair drifting along my bare skin.
“I’m sorry.” She twists her fingers. “For kissing you and then threatening to use it against you. That wasn’t nice.”
The red in her cheeks confuses the hell out of me. She radiates good girl—the ones I purposefully stay away from—but that kiss had bad written all over it. Fuck it, it doesn’t matter. She’s Eli’s daughter and she’s trouble.
“Don’t worry about it.” I pivot away and head to the bar. Emily and I—we require distance. Lots of distance. As in oceans between us. I pick up a stack of papers to check for Olivia’s glasses though I’ve already canvassed the entire bar.
“You can look over there.” I point to the couches on the other side of the room. The area that’s the farthest from me. “Sometimes Olivia likes to sit in the recliner.”
Emily stands there appearing as dazed and befuddled as I feel. Doesn’t take her long to snap out of it and move toward the corner. Midway, she hesitates and her spine straightens.
I scan the room, hunting for the unseen threat. “You okay?”
“What is on the walls?” Hands to her hips.
“Bras,” I answer, stating the obvious. A wide variety of them. From A cups to triple D’s. Bright pink to black as night. Satin and lace. Conservative to see-through. Clasp in the front and hook in the back. Won’t lie. At the age of thirteen, I found it quite educational.
Emily goes openmouthed with pissed-off round eyes. Shocked outrage. That would be the reason why I won’t date or do good girls. There’s a life I’m going to live and good girls want to break down, rebuild and reform. I’m not interested in being changed and I’m not interested in crushing the spirit of some girl so I can lead my life. I’ve seen both situations happen in the club and it usually ends in nuclear fallout.
“Why are there bras on the wall?”
“Where else would we put them?” I shoot back.
“Why would you even have them?”
“After a girl goes through the trouble of taking it off and giving it to us, it would be tacky to lay them on the floor.” I’m screwing with her now, but my words are true.
Emily wraps her arms around her stomach as she assesses the clubhouse. Neon beer signs alongside posters of naked girls. Our skull with flames is painted floor to ceiling on the wall nearest her. Bordering the outside of the emblem are wooden plaques with pictures of deceased members. For Emily, it’s possibly the most normal part of the building.
Behind me on the shelves, an endless supply of Mardi Gras beads hang from trophies earned from the annual get-together for the entire club, National Run. Mom received one of those first-place trophies a few years ago in the wet T-shirt contest. Dad’s still damned proud.
Around the bar, it smells like spilled beer. Emily wrinkles her nose. Bet her area stinks worse.
“Suck it up and get used to it. From what I understand you’re stuck here for the summer. Try the end table next to the recliner. Olivia will take her glasses off when she gets tired.”
Emily picks up her foot and it makes a sickening sound as she has to peel it from the floor. Prospects are in charge of cleaning the clubhouse and the club’s schedule has been shot to hell since Olivia’s wake, which means not much work has been completed.
“Am I ever going to be left alone or are you and Eli going to take turns stalking me?”
“If you want we can pretend you’re alone. Talking can be overrated and I’m fine with us ignoring each other.”
“Sounds good to me.” Yet she continues, “You guys take this Riot stuff too seriously.”
Emily’s not taking it seriously enough. I go behind the bar and search near the glass display case that holds the merchandise the club sells: T-shirts for members, supporter T-shirts that signify people are friends of the club, bandannas, knives, throwing stars, whatever shit you can think of.
“I found them,” Emily says. “Half glasses that are red?”
“That’d be them.” Rose-colored glasses. It’s a joke Olivia likes to tell.
Emily tugs on the jean skirt as she crosses the room. Even though she’s sexy as hell in it, it’s hilarious to watch her mentally willing the material to cover more of her gorgeous legs. She slips the glasses to me from the other side of the bar. “Did she need them for her appointment?”
“She’ll be fine without them.”
Emily lightly lays her fingers on the bar like she’s afraid to touch it and continues her examination of the clubhouse. There’s a lot to see. Christmas lights are strung across the ceiling. Pictures of naked women engaging in very erotic things. Her head tilts as her eyes land on the trophies. When her face drains of color, I’m assuming she found the one with my mother’s name. Hell, maybe she discovered several of Olivia’s.
“Are you okay with all this?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer without hesitation.
“I mean, you know this is not how normal people live, right?”
“Normal’s overrated. You should try living on the wild side sometime.”
Emily rolls her eyes, completely dismissing me.
“Our life isn’t what you think,” I say.
“I’m sure it’s everything I think and more. Are you telling me you’d be okay with your mom’s bra being up there?”
Guess she didn’t find Mom’s particular trophy or she didn’t connect the dots. “Who says it isn’t
?”
Emily coughs through a choke.
“Don’t judge,” I say.
“I’m not,” she whispers.
“You are, and the worst type of people are the ones who judge and don’t think they do. If you want to judge us, do it, but at least own your opinion.”
I expect her to digress into meek and keep her head down because I told her off. Sure as hell shocks me when she narrows her eyes and spits out, “Fine. This place is disgusting and it’s a slap in the face to women everywhere. So which one are you going to do? Judge me in silence or own your opinion?”
A chuckle rumbles out of my throat and I’m drawn in by the mysterious smile forming on her face.
“You’re crazy,” I say.
She giggles and, screw me, I like the sound. Emily hops up on a stool and props her elbows on the bar. “You wear the crazy crown. For real, who carries a knife and, seriously? Who walks in with a bra on and is okay leaving without one? Those things are expensive.”
“What do you know about money? Your dad’s a doctor, right?”
“He is,” she says in slow, methodical way. “But how do you know that?”
I shrug. “Eli talks about you.”
She’s silent. Too pensive for someone her age. I can practically hear her brain ticking, which causes me to be more curious about Emily. I like girls with brains and I like girls who don’t mind using them.
“What else do you know about me?” she asks.
This is where Eli drew the line. “I know you live in Florida. I know Eli visits you once a year. I also know that Olivia almost canceled her doctor’s appointment today so she could hang with you.”
Her shoulders hunch over at the mention of Olivia. I should let it go, but I can’t. “Spend time with her tonight and not in your room hiding or staying silent in the corner. Play cards. Can’t have too much of a conversation when you’re trying to hustle each other.”
Emily’s mouth moves to the side like she’s considering what I said, which I admire. It means she listens and I’ve not met many girls who hear what anyone else has to say. They prefer to listen to themselves talk.
“I can do that,” Emily eventually says, “but what about the other stuff? That photo of me and Olivia...she said that Mom and I lived here for a while. What do you know about that?”
More than her, but not as much as others. “You know we’re the same age, right?”
Her eyebrows furrow together. “You’re seventeen?”
“Eighteen. I’m a year older, but the whole point is, we were sharing a crib. I know as much as you do.” It’s a lie buried in the truth, but that true lie will make me a prospect.
“Were we really sharing a crib?”
Mom has a picture of me, Chevy, Violet, Razor and Emily in Reign of Terror shirts hanging out in a Pack ’n Play that was set up in this very bar. “I was proving a point.”
“Do you know what Honeysuckle Ridge is?”
My eyes dart to hers. I do. But she shouldn’t. It’s family property ten miles up in the hills. Can be difficult as hell to reach and the reason it’s a secret is because it’s the hideout in case everything goes to shit. “No.”
She digs into the skirt, produces a piece of paper and unfolds it. I blank my expression as I read Eli’s handwriting: “Meet me at Honeysuckle Ridge at 8.”
“Got a secret admirer?” I ask. “I wouldn’t try going. Could be the Riot going after you again.”
“Whatever. My dad told me the Riot isn’t a big deal and that everyone is overreacting, so stop trying to scare me. Olivia gave this to me and I need you to tell me what Honeysuckle Ridge is.”
As if her dad knows us. One more hater who thinks he gets to judge what he doesn’t understand. “Ask Olivia.”
“She won’t tell me, and I think you know what and where this place is and I also think you know my past.”
“You’d be wrong.”
Emily taps her fingernail on the bar as she stares at me. I stare back. It’s the same damn look Eli had right before he pulled the gun on me last night. If I didn’t break with him, I sure as hell am not breaking for her. She slams her hand against the bar. “I don’t believe you. I think you know everything Olivia knows.”
Not everything. “Not my problem what you believe.”
“Well, it should be.”
This, I have to hear. I lean forward on the bar and gesture with my hand for her to continue. Hell, maybe I waved at her so she’d come nearer. She’s already inclined in my direction and my heart skips a beat when she nudges closer. Her shirt dips and a hint of her beautiful cleavage is on display.
Won’t lie. I peeked. “Why should I care what you believe?”
“It’s an integrity issue. If you’re lying now, then I won’t believe anything you say in the future, even when it’s the truth. Is that what you want?”
What I want is to be a prospect. What I want is to begin my job with the security company. What I want is for Olivia to come home and tell me that a miracle happened and she’s cancer-free. What I want is for Emily to stop nibbling on her bottom lip so I can kill the fantasy of reaching across the bar and pressing my mouth to hers.
“You’ll last a week before you call your mom crying to go home, so I can live with it.”
“The longer I go without knowing, the longer I’ll be here,” Emily offers. “Are you excited to spend an entire summer following me around?”
Something flashes inside me. A warning. A thrill. A combination of both. I’m already imagining pushing her up against a wall again and kissing her until her knees go weak and my hands roam free. Not a good thing when touching her would be a death sentence. “Is that what you want? To stay in a place that disgusts you?”
My tone is lower, huskier than it should be and Emily’s chest expands as she draws in a shaky breath. I will her to look away, but she doesn’t and I’m secretly proud the girl won’t back down. I hate this connection. I crave this connection. She’s continually messing with my head.
“I need to know,” Emily admits.
“Why? You’ve lived your whole life not knowing. Why now?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because I need to know if my mother is lying to me,” she shouts. “Because if my mother is lying to me then everything I know is wrong and that’s not okay.”
Emily’s eyes moisten and I lower my head. Just shit. I walk around the bar and stand by Emily’s side. My hands awkwardly move up then down because I don’t know how this comforting crap works. Isn’t this the part where the girl stumbles into me and I hug her?
But Emily doesn’t collapse into me. In fact, she seems to have forgotten I exist as she twists her fingers into her hair. “What does it mean if she lied to me? Because this...”
Emily scrutinizes her surroundings. “This scares me and I’ve lived my whole life thinking that she wasn’t a part of this so I need to know that she’s telling the truth and that I don’t belong here, so will you please tell me what you know?”
This. She refers to my life as this. As if we’re poison. “You really are quick to condemn all of this.”
Emily breathes in deep then straightens. Gotta respect that she’s refusing to cry in front of me. “In less than twenty-four hours I’ve been banned from my home and I’m hanging out in a place that uses bras as wall decorations. Find a way to justify all this to me and I’m game.”
I take a step and tower over her. She’s pissed. I’m pissed. Energy is building in the air. “If this is so disgusting to you, then leave.”
“Maybe I will.” She rises on her toes as if that will give her height.
“Then go,” I say.
Emily and I are so close that I can feel when she inhales and exhales. Her dark doe eyes search mine and there’s a spark of
fear and lust. Dammit it all to hell. If she doesn’t move away, I’m going to be the one to kiss her.
Emily
MY ENTIRE BODY is warm and my skin is flushed. Oz’s head is close. So close. Close enough that my mouth waters with the idea of kissing him, tasting him, devouring him. This is crazy. This is insane. This is... “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Neither do I,” he responds. “But I’m not keeping you here.”
He isn’t and I don’t move. Oz stays still, as well. My breaths come in and they go out and my heart beats in time with my thoughts: kiss him, kiss him. Kiss him? But... “I don’t like you.”
I hate him...I think.
“I don’t like you, either.” Yet Oz tucks the wayward strands of hair that had fallen between us behind my ear and little goose bumps form along my neck. “But no one said that this had to do with liking.”
Oz slowly grazes his knuckles against my cheek. His skin is the perfect combination of rough and soft and I lean into his touch like a cat begging to be loved.
I inhale and I’m greeted by his dark scent that reminds me of wood burning and open flames. It’s an addictive aroma. One that calms me. One that encourages me to erase the gap between us. One that causes me to forget why I’m here and who he is.
Oz tilts his head and I mirror the motion. His breath heats my skin. My lips lightly part and a wave of desire runs through me. One kiss. Just one. Then it will be done. The craving satisfied.
Oz presses his forehead to mine, our mouths nearly touch, and...
The rumble of a motorcycle engine. My stomach jumps to my throat and I stumble back. The haze lifts and I drown in a rush of terror, excitement and this frustrated sense of loss.
“What was that?” I demand.
Oz drags both of his hands over his face. “A lack of control and thought—that’s what it was. It’s also nothing that will happen again. Stay here while I check this out.”
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