by Drew Elyse
Ash looked between her man and Quinn before asking in a resigned way, “What did you do?”
“Just my job,” he told her.
“I think part of your job is talking people out of putting crazy shit on their bodies forever,” Quinn cried.
“Quinny,” Max called, getting off Ham’s lap to approach her best friend. “How about you take a breath and fill the rest of us in on what the hell you’re all fired up about?”
Quinn took a little huff of a breath, looking a lot like Emmy did right before she stamped her feet and through a princess fit. “That one,” she started, pointing to Ace, “and him,” she swung her finger toward Sketch, “they…GAH!”
“I’m going to guess this involves a tattoo and not some sort of homoerotic encounter you’re keeping from me,” Max guessed.
“Seriously, babe? Why do you always have to fuckin’ go there?” Ham called, exasperated.
“Blame the internet!” Max shot back. “It’s not my fault guy-on-guy is hot.”
“Max,” Quinn snapped, “focus!”
“Right,” Max muttered, moving her attention over to Ace. “What’d you do?”
Meanwhile, Ace had started moving toward his girl, still amused at her tantrum. He didn’t reply to Max, just looked at Quinn, and asked, “Should I keep it covered, little bird?”
She rolled her eyes, keeping them toward the ceiling as she sighed. “You might as well show them. It’s not like it’s going to be covered forever. It’s on your freaking arm.”
Ace started rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, careful of what was definitely new ink. While he did, Quinn took a look around the room, really noticing her whole audience—noticing me.
Forgetting Ace and her tiff entirely, she moved around him and right toward me until she wrapped me in a hug.
“Hi, Daz,” she said, her voice way softer than it had been in her tirade. “I didn’t know you were back.”
I hugged her back. “Made it just in time for the show,” I teased.
She pulled back a bit, not letting me distract her. “How’re you doing?”
Before I could answer, I was saved by Max yelling, “Holy shit!”
Quinn sighed and turned back to where Ace now had his arm bared for everyone to see. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I walked us both over to see what all the fuss was about.
On his forearm, still tinged red at the edges and shiny, was a pin-up girl with a stack of books, horn-rimmed glasses, a tight skirt showing the tops of her thigh-highs, and her blouse unbuttoned enough to bare plenty of cleavage. Besides clearly being a librarian like her, Quinn was obviously objecting to the fact that the woman in the image was her. There was no denying it. Sketch had managed to get her likeness down to a tee, even in the small space.
“You look hot, Quinny,” Max put in.
I looked over at Sketch. “Nice work, man.”
Quinn swung out an arm to whack me in the gut. “Not nice work! That’s me! And it’s all—”
“Sexy as hell?” Ember, who’d made her way over to take a look as well, supplied.
“It’s weird!” Quinn insisted.
Ace reached out, grabbing her and pulling her into him. She resisted, but not enough to keep him from getting the arm with the offending tattoo wrapped around her waist.
“I like having you on my arm,” he said as he moved in to kiss her neck, not giving a damn that she tried to pull away.
“You could have at least asked me first,” she griped.
“Would you have said yes?”
“No!”
Everyone but Quinn laughed.
“That’s why he didn’t ask,” Ham put in.
Quinn, who I wouldn't have guessed was the type, actually pouted in response.
“I think it’s hot as hell,” Max offered, earning her a heated glare.
“You are a terrible best friend. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Max just shrugged. “I can get you drunk so you’ll stop being hung up on people seeing the sex kitten version of you and realize it’s actually seriously cool.”
Quinn groaned and covered her blushing cheeks with her hands. “Not helping,” she muttered into her palms.
I couldn’t resist. “Why, because she called you a sex kitten? That’s nothing. I was thinking more along the lines of Ace never needing jerk off material again since he’s got some inked right there on his arm.”
Throwing her hands up in the air, Quinn broke free of Ace’s hold and stormed off. Ace looked my way, his expression the same frustrated one I got a lot.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re such a dick.”
I made my way back to the couches to grab a seat next to Ember—right next to her, where our legs were touching and Jager was looking like he was tempted to lay my ass out—while I shot back, “If you can honestly say that shit won’t happen, I’ll take it back.”
He didn’t argue. The fucker knew I was right. He just adjusted the beanie he always had on and followed his girl.
“You’re such a pig,” Ember said, but it was almost wistful.
“Aw, did you miss me, babe?” I put my hand on her exposed thigh beneath the end of her shorts. It was probably a really stupid move, but I couldn’t help myself. “Jagerbomb there not taking care of you?”
The brother didn’t even hesitate. He leaned forward and threw a jab right across his woman’s lap full-force into my bicep. I laughed, but that shit hurt. I’d never been with Jager in the ring—I wasn’t stupid enough to try—but I figured he hadn’t pulled that one much. There’d be a serious bruise there by the morning.
“Hands. Off.”
Not wanting to court another hit, I scooted over on the cushion until there was a little space between Ember and me.
“All right, all right. Fuck. Some welcome home this shit is.”
Ember, not even reacting to her man’s outburst, asked, “How’re Kate and Owen?”
We’d talked a few times since the funeral. All the women and half the brothers made it a point to check in. She knew all about how Kate was—or, more accurately, wasn’t—handling things. I figured what she was actually asking was how leaving the house with at least Kate understanding we weren’t going back had gone.
“Owen’s fine. Kid still can’t really digest all of this. Not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing, but at least he’s not losing it, so I’ll take it for now. Kate…still can’t really say. Aside from me knowing she’s crying all night instead of sleeping, she doesn’t really react anymore. Just walked out of the house this morning without a reaction at all. I’m a little worried about her being at the hotel tonight when she can’t really get away from Owen to let that shit out, but I wanted to get out to the farmhouse and get rooms set up for them before I take them there.”
Ember’s head turned to look at Jager, then over to Sketch, Ash, and Ham, who were sitting around us, also listening. Then, her surprised face came back to me. “No one told you?”
“Told me what?”
Ash spoke up then. “We already took care of getting rooms ready for them. We redid the rooms Emmy and I used when we lived there to give them each something of their own. Emmy’s princess pink probably wouldn’t have gone over too well with Owen.”
“Doc gave us some ideas for what to do for each of them. He also went through their kitchen to get us a list of food to stock up on,” Ember added. “Everything is set for them to move in.”
Shit. My chest got tight.
I thought I’d just be making sure two rooms were clean and had sheets and shit. I didn't dream I’d be able to give Kate and Owen spaces done up just for them, at least not right away.
I should have known this club—my family—wouldn’t let that happen.
“You did all that?” It was a struggle to keep my voice level.
Ash shrugged shyly, and Ember answered, “Deni called around everywhere to find out who had furniture we thought they’d like in stock. Quinn, Max, and Cami helped us get ever
ything and set it all up. The guys painted and did all the heavy lifting.”
Fuck. Everyone was a part of it.
I didn't have words for that. After they’d traveled all that way to be at my side, they piled on taking care of giving my family a home instead of a couple rooms. I wasn’t convinced there were words for that.
I reached out, tagging Ember’s neck and pulling her toward me so I could kiss her head. Jager and any retribution he wanted to vet out be damned. Then, I got to my feet to go give Ash the same. I’d thank the other women when I got my chance, but it would happen. It was the least I could fucking do.
When I sat back down, both the girls were smiling at me. I tried again to come up with something to say, some way to thank them and my brothers, but nothing came.
Ham, the motherfucker who understood me best, got me out of that bind. “What, I don’t get a kiss for moving shit in the heat?”
Just to fuck with the asshole, I got back up, walked right to him, and laid one right on his forehead. I wasn’t even back to my spot on the couch when Max cried out, “Do not tell me I missed biker-on-biker action!”
“Jesus Christ,” Ham muttered.
That did the trick to fully shake off the suffocating emotion. Dropping back to my spot, I let myself laugh full out for the first time in weeks.
Pandora was playing a mix based on “Pony” by Ginuwine to try to help me find some new music for the guys to dance to, and I was chopping up chocolate to make a ganache. I'd been into Candy Shop earlier before it opened, and everything had been fine, so for the first night in weeks, I let myself have the evening off.
I told myself I was baking on that one break I’d gifted myself because it was what I did. It was how I liked to spend my time. The fact that I was making a batch big enough to bring into the club, and that I’d driven across town to the fresh market instead of just going to the normal grocery store so I could get good raspberries for the filling was beside the point. As was the fact that Daz had mentioned—before either of us had gotten sidetracked when we’d last talked a few days ago—he would be back and hoped to stop in to check on things.
And that my dark chocolate raspberry cupcakes had been Daz’s favorite? Totally irrelevant.
For the record, I wasn’t doing a great job of convincing myself of any of that BS.
I was, however, doing a more than adequate job of pulverizing the chocolate. Luckily, it was getting melted down anyway. Before I was stuck working with powder, I checked the heavy cream I had on the stove. I’d just finished pouring the cream over the bowl of chocolate pieces when someone rang the doorbell. I jogged to the door, needing to make it quick. The cupcakes themselves would need to come out of the oven any minute now.
When I pulled it open, there was no one there. No, there was just a vase of flowers on the stoop. I looked around to see a delivery truck driving away. Not sure whether I found it more odd to be getting flowers at all, or that they were delivering so late, I bent down to grab the arrangement and take it inside.
It was only after I got the cupcakes from the oven and checked on the ganache that I went back to the flowers to find there was no note attached. Months of calls at the shop with no one on the other line, and now this. My stomach dropped.
Questioning the girls hadn’t yielded fruit because it wasn’t one of them with a problem.
It was me.
Hours later, after I’d gone to bed hoping to get to sleep way earlier than usual, and after waiting around for sleep to take me had gotten old and I’d resigned to pulling up a movie on Netflix, my phone rang.
The sigh of relief I released at seeing it was from Candy Shop was as much one of resigned frustration.
“Hello?”
“Got a bit of a problem here,” Roy jumped right in.
“The kind of problem that means I need to get out of bed and come down there?”
He paused, and I knew it was him considering whether he could take care of whatever it was himself. Roy was a good guy like that, but he’d called for a reason.
“I’m on my way.”
The breath he released was audible. “Thanks, Cherry Pie.”
When I rolled up to the club, I saw Roy had sent one of the bouncers, David, around back to watch for me. This was good. Even though I hadn’t made an effort like I usually would if I was going to be on the floor—whatever crisis I was walking into, it would have to be faced in yoga pants—I was still a woman and it was dark. Strip clubs might have been a way to unwind for a lot of guys who would never dream of hurting a woman, but they could also attract some unsavory people.
“Do you know what I’m walking into?” I asked after he came to my car and opened the door for me.
“Sorry, no. I’ve been on lot duty all night. Had a couple guys hanging around out here earlier I didn’t like the feel of, so we moved shit around so I could keep an eye out. Only knew you were coming in because they radioed out to me,” he responded, eyes moving around the lot instead of spending any time on me.
I never knew where Rick found the guys he got to do security, and I had no earthly idea where the Disciples had found the couple they’d hired since the buyout, but I’d trust any of our bouncers with my life. Our guys didn’t fuck around with the safety of any of us girls. I didn’t even obsessively carry mace or a Taser like I did before coming to Candy Shop. It wasn’t even just that David was on the smaller end despite being six foot and well-muscled. It was the fact that nothing got by these guys. Their heads were never out of the game.
“Going in blind then,” I muttered.
Then, David shared some news that had me pulling up short.
“Daz is in, though. Showed up about an hour ago.”
That was not what I was expecting, but I suspected it had a lot to do with why I was there. David got half a step ahead of me before coming to a halt and actually turning his attention my way.
“What’s wrong?”
Crap. I was making him jumpy. Shaking myself out of it, I resumed the brisk pace he’d set to get us to the door.
“Nothing. Sorry.”
Inside, I went right to Daz’s office. The music was muffled back there, but still loud enough to feel the vibrations of it. It felt like my body was trembling. That sensation was one of the things I’d always liked about the job. The music had a way of invigorating me even on an off night.
The door to the office was slightly ajar, so I took the gamble and walked in.
Daz wasn’t behind the desk like I’d expected. No, he was lying sprawled out on the couch at the side of the room instead.
“Daz?”
His head popped up from the arm of the couch to look at me, and he gave me a lopsided grin. Just with that, I could tell I had drunk Daz on my hands again. This was the only time since the first call he made to me—at least that I knew of. Still, I found myself thinking I should keep an eye on him, maybe figure out how to reach out to Doc if it became a pattern.
Force of habit, I guess. The burden of growing up with a cyclically alcoholic mother.
The concern was pushed back in my mind just seconds later when the grin opened to a full smile. Then, Daz started singing.
“She’s my cherry pie.”
Good lord.
From cute to making me want to smack him in one line.
Yes, even drunk he was definitely all Daz.
“Really?” I demanded.
“Come sit on my face and give me a taste, sugar.”
Was it wrong to walk away and leave his drunk ass there?
Right or wrong, I started to. We could call around to the brothers and see who wanted to come deal with him.
As soon as I turned away, Daz spoke again in a voice that sounded a lot less steeped in liquor. “Fuck. Don’t go. I’ll stop being a dick.”
Well, that was better.
I spun again, and took a few steps into the office, closing the door and muffling the music a bit more. Daz sat up on the couch. I was sure his drunk greeting wasn't entirely an act, but
he didn’t seem to be so plastered he had a hard time getting upright. That was a good sign.
“Did you ride here?”
His expression turned to what I thought was outrage, but he drunkenly didn’t fully commit, so it ended up more like confusion.
“No,” he cried, indignant. “Risk my baby and all this?” His hand came up to indicate the whole of his body. “Fuck that. I took a fuckin’ cab.”
Well, at least there was that.
“I didn’t think you’d be in until tomorrow,” I said.
He ran a hand through his shaggy hair, not bothering to smooth it back down afterward. He looked good. Really good. His hair like that made me think of mussing it up myself. It’d looked a lot like that after he’d gone down on me in the private room.
That room is just down the hall, the slutty voice in the back of my head reminded me.
I wondered whether it was just me he did this to, or if all the women he got in to bed suffered from the same affliction.
“Thought I’d be busy tonight. My sister-in-law and nephew came back with me. Thought tonight would be all about setting up rooms for them.”
He hadn’t mentioned they were coming to Hoffman with him. Not that we had deep heart-to-hearts when we talked, but still.
“And now you don’t have to?”
His eyes got a bit vague, his voice almost awed. “The club took care of it for me.”
The awe made perfect sense to me. I couldn’t imagine what that kind of support must have felt like in light of all he lost. Going it alone through the worst days of your life was no way to live.
“That was good of them,” I said, taking a seat on the couch next to him. The words felt too small, like I was trivializing what they did for him, even though that wasn’t my intention at all.
“Yeah,” Daz agreed.
We both sat there for a moment. I didn’t want to speak. There was no way to know what was going through his mind, and it felt wrong to interrupt if he was working through something big.
Then, without warning, his hand came out to settle on my thigh.
“I’m glad you came.”