If she even still planned on that.
It had been months since Reeve was taken, since he was beaten and left. Since Marco told us - after much persuasion - that she had some harebrained scheme to see her daughter and grandchildren.
There hadn't been a single word on her since then.
We had no idea if that was because she had left the area permanently, or was just handling her business on the down low.
If she were smart, it would be the former.
I couldn't claim to know Reign as well as a lot of the other guys did, but I knew a lot of angry men in my day. His rage took the cake.
No one threatened the people he loved most.
And he was feeling useless as fuck not knowing where he could point a gun and blow enormous holes in people.
His only course of action was to keep the women and children safe... and tell all of us to be more careful.
Which was what we had all been doing as winter moved on into the late stages of spring.
The club had to keep on keeping on.
Money needed to be made.
So drops had to keep happening.
And me, well, I was fucking tired of hanging around at the clubhouse, so I volunteered to do the drop, figuring if that crazy bitch wanted me, she'd have a fuck of a time getting me. Even if she did take me out, I'd go out in fucking style.
Virgin had volunteered too, but for reasons that weren't immediately clear to me, Reign rarely let us do deals together. Maybe he was worried about loyalty or some shit, though I was pretty sure we'd proven ourselves since we signed up. But we clearly had a ways to go.
"So I didn't get a name," Peyton, the chick with the runaway mouth, said from beside me, snapping me out of my thoughts, making me realize she had jacked down the ear-splitting music sometime after inviting me into her motherfucking hearse and peeling off into the night. "In case that wasn't blunt enough," she went on when I didn't immediately answer, "this is because you're rude and didn't give me one."
Poking at a biker.
Even with loansharks and robbers in her extended family, that was brave. I had a feeling it had nothing to do with them, either. That was all her.
And that, well, it was intriguing.
I shot her a smirk.
"Sugar."
"Suga," she repeated, dropping the 'r' as I always did. Then, I shit you not, this chick pulled to a stop right in the center of the goddamn road so she could turn to face me. "Suga?" she repeated. "As in how you get so fly?"
Clearly, there wasn't a single woman in this fucking town that wasn't up on their somewhat obscure early two-thousands one-hit-wonders. All I had heard since I signed up to prospect was that line. I had learned to even embrace it here and there.
"Yep."
"No shit!" she said, whacking me in the chest. "Ugh, I want a road name. Peyton is so lame," she added, putting the car back into drive, and peeling off again. "That can't be your real name though."
"Baby, you don't know me well enough to know my government name." Hell, most of the guys in the club didn't.
"I bet it is something lame. Like Bobby or James or something. Why else go by Sugar? That's about as gangsta as an Easter bonnet."
"Gangsta?" I snorted, watching her profile as she kept an eye on the road.
She was fuckin' gorgeous.
There was no way around that.
But not in the plain, natural way.
In the way that said she wanted to be more than just the flesh she was born with. Hence the streaks of pink, blue, green, and purple in her hair. And the piercing in her nose and all the way up her ears. And the ink on her arms and chest. And the makeup that had likely been not-melted and hot as shit before she sweated through it.
She was the kind of chick who was unashamedly, fully herself. And that shit was always sexy. Regardless of what was clearly good bone structure and a hot as fuck figure.
Just the memory of her pressing her tits into my chest and making me grab her ass was getting me half-hard.
"Yes, as in 'What up, Gangsta.' 50 Cent?" she added giving me a sideways look when I didn't agree with her. "What, did you live under a rock in 2003?"
"Got the reference, babe. Just wondering how the fuck you know gangsta rap, but can't distinguish between a gangsta and a biker."
"Oh, distinguish. Three whole syllables. Is your brain alright? It didn't overheat trying to get that big word out, did it?"
"Smartass."
"My ass? You mean my sweet honey buns?" she asked, bringing the fucking song up again.
"Why the fuck do you drive a hearse?" I wondered, deciding changing the subject was the best bet.
"It's sweet, isn't it?" she asked, grinning like a freak.
"Creepy might be a better word."
"I know! That's what makes it sweet. The creep-factor. You should see the faces of the old peeps at the library when I roll up to work every night."
"Hold up. Library?" I asked, brow raising. "No offense, baby, but you are the furthest fuckin' thing from a librarian I have ever seen."
"No offense taken. That is actually a compliment. I'm not all middle-aged, pinched-faced, and shushing the kids because they are giggling over the nudey pictures in the old encyclopedias."
"So you know Reese," I assumed, meaning Cy's old lady. Who, in her quiet, bookish way, did strike you as someone who would hole up with books all day and be perfectly happy.
"Reese is the cutest. And Cy is the best."
"You know Cy."
"He used to hang at the library all the time, puppy-dog-eyeing Reese while he tried to be the better person and keep his dick to himself. Why, I have no idea. Because, clearly, sharing his dick did all kinds of good things for the both of them. And, lately, he's been pulling sentry duty whenever she has a shift. Word on the street is The Henchmen have a new enemy. Which is kinda cool."
"Kinda cool?"
"In a very... anything could happen, and that is exciting in both good and bad ways kinda cool."
"Ever even held a gun, Peyton?"
"Ugh, don't get me started," she grumbled, shaking her head.
"On what?"
"The police state we live in. One too many stays at the NBPD put up some kind of flag in the registry. They denied my request to get a permit."
A permit.
That was cute as shit.
"Too many stays at the NBPD, huh? Go crazy-ex-girlfriend a few too many times?"
"Ew. God no," she said in a way that almost seemed to imply that being someone's girlfriend was the gross part, not the going postal on an ex part. "A couple drunk and disorderlies. Some vandalism. Public indecency."
"You're shitting me."
"Nah. They all know - and tolerate - me there. I bring them a Box O' Joe and a dozen donuts the day after they bust me each time. I miss Collings though. He used to give me that You need to shape up, young lady look and tone whenever I went in. It was obnoxious. Reminded me of my dad."
"A librarian with a record."
"Gotta live up to what the people at the library expect from the likes of me, right?"
"Guess so," I agreed, watching as we finally pulled off the back road and onto the highway that led right to the bridge that would take us into Navesink Bank.
Oddly, a part of me wished we were on that road longer.
Crazy shit, I know.
But this would likely be the last time I ran into this crazy ass chick. That, well, was a damn shame. I guess I just wanted another couple minutes around her particular kind of crazy.
"So, Suga," she said, her tone mock-serious.
"So, Peyton," I rumbled back at her, watching as she chanced a look over at a red light, a look in her eyes I had seen enough to recognize it when it was staring me in the face.
Desire.
She wanted me.
The fucked up part was I would have gladly taken her up on the offer in her eyes if I didn't think there would be consequences from it. The kind of consequences that would have Reign asking why the
fuck I had to dip my wick in the family of a friendly organization... as he let me be dragged out to the yard to get the shit kicked out of me.
It had been a long ass time since I had been jumped, but it was not the kind of thing a man forgot. Mostly because it hurt like a motherfucker.
It was not something you chose to put yourself through just for a piece of tail.
No matter how hot and weird and interesting that tail was.
"Waiting on a particular shade of green?" I asked, making her jerk her head back out the windshield and lay on the gas, just barely making it across the line as the light turned back to red.
"Were you gonna finish that thought?" I asked when she stayed what seemed to be uncharacteristically silent as we drove down the highway.
"What thought?"
"The one that started with So, Suga."
"I forgot," she lied. And she wasn't all that great at it either. Her voice hitched slightly. Though maybe I just picked up on it because I was used to people trying to bullshit me.
"Liar," I called her on it, watching as she shot me a seething look, knowing she was caught, but not having one of her smartass remarks to throw at me.
"You're a new Henchmen, aren't you? Since that massacre at the clubhouse."
"Yeah."
"What did you do before this gig?"
"I was a biker."
"Well, duh," she said, rolling her eyes. "But I mean what did you do?"
Figuring there was no reason to hide the truth, I shrugged. "Enforcing."
"Enforcing like Shane?"
"Enforcing like the whole MC worked as hired muscle to whoever paid the fee."
"That's why your hands are so messed up," she mused, though how she had even gotten a look at the crisscross of scars in the dark was beyond me.
"Yep."
"What happened to your lip?" she went on, clearly not being the kind of person who cared about boundaries.
"Busted beer bottle in a bar fight."
"Come on!" she said, looking over with a goofy I don't believe it grin.
And for some reason, my lips curled up a bit too. "True story. I told a chick that if she was tired of Limp Dick Rick with a drinking problem and wandering eye, she could call me up."
"You didn't say that."
"Fuckin' damn straight I did. She was too fine to be locked down by some slimy shit like that."
"Did she call you?"
"Only got halfway through my number when the guy came back from the john and realized what was going down."
"Scars are cool," she said oddly, though most women did dig them. "They always have a story behind them, y'know? Like ink. They're there for a reason."
That was maybe a little deep for almost three in the morning with a complete stranger. But I guess with a woman as unconventional as this one, you couldn't expect the norm from her.
"There it is. Your coyote friend is still up in his glass room."
"Coyote friend?" I asked, lips twitching.
"Yeah. I've seen him around town here and there. There is something almost... feral about him. In the way he moves. In his eyes that seem to see it all. It's very wild animal-like. And since he is always up there at night, I went with coyote. Besides, you already have a Wolf. They're not going to open the gate," she mused when she pulled up to them, eyeing up two of Lo's guys who were still on loan until things cooled down with V.
"Nah. Not until you pull away anyway."
"How do all the clubwhores get in then?" she asked, looking over at me while the car idled.
"They walk up, don't pull up. And are willing to get frisked," I added, though that was complete bullshit.
She nodded at that as I reached to push open my door.
I didn't get to get out, though.
Nope.
Because a second later, the front of the neck of my shirt was grabbed in her small, but surprisingly strong, hand, and yanked until I was leaning over her center console, and her fucking lips were sealing over mine.
Up close, I could smell her perfume or lotion, all soft and sweet, something that didn't seem to suit this hellion who was bruising her lips into mine until a growl escaped me as I reached around to grab the back of her neck.
As soon as the contact pressed down, though, her hand was no longer curling into my shirt, but flattening onto my chest, and shoving me away hard.
More thrown off than a woman had maybe ever been able to get me, I stared at her for a long second as she took a deep breath that made her tits swell slightly over the low bodice of her dress, making me have a sudden urge to reach over, drag the material down, and suck one of her nipples into my mouth. Right there in front of Lo's guys. I didn't give a fuck. I just wanted more.
"Well, it was interesting rescuing you, Suga. Stay fly," she said, putting the car into reverse and already starting to press her foot on the gas.
Not having much choice, I jumped out the door, not even getting a chance to close it. It did so itself from the momentum as she peeled off.
That fucking woman.
That was pretty much the only thought that came to mind as I stood there watching her goddamned hearse pull away into the night.
"Yo, where the fuck you been?" Virgin's voice called from behind me. "And where is your bike?"
"Out on some back country road broken down," I told him, shaking my head. "Repo and I got split up, and he had my phone on him, so I couldn't call anyone."
"So an undertaker happened by to pick you up?"
I turned around to look at him, a smirk pulling at my lips. "You won't believe this shit. She's a fuckin' librarian."
"Drivin' a hearse."
"She's weird as shit," I agreed, following him as he moved toward the now open gates.
"How did the drop go?"
"No issues. Bunch of bangers in Passaic thinking they can take on the mob. Morons deserve what will be coming to them for making a move. But nothing to write home about."
"Sugar, heads up," Repo's voice called as soon as we walked inside, my phone flying through the air a second later. "What held you up?"
"Bike broke down. Got a ride back. Just gonna grab a cup of coffee, and Virgin and I will head back out to pick it up."
"See if Wolf or Reeve is around," he suggested, knowing they were the two with trucks and ramps. "I will take a look at it tomorrow if you can't figure out what it is right off."
"Thanks," I agreed, heading into the kitchen as I slid my phone unlocked.
The thing about being a biker who lived with his brothers ninety-nine percent of the time was... you didn't end up getting a lot of texts.
So the fact that I had four in a row from an unknown number, that was suspect.
Clicking over my messages, my eyes scanned the texts.
"Fuck," I hissed, looking over at Virgin who had known me since we were looking up skirts, so he stiffened immediately at my tone.
"Who is it?"
"Believe in ghosts, Virgin?" I asked, holding my phone out to him, watching as he read the messages, his body getting as tense as mine already was.
His gaze moved up to hold mine.
And he reiterated the word I felt down to my bones.
"Fuck."
THREE
Peyton
Believe it or not, I'd had weirder nights.
Many, in fact.
It had been a long time since I zoned out on the drive home - then the walk from the building parking lot to my door - because I was replaying what had just happened in my head.
Not the gay rave in the sticks either.
That was all but forgotten.
Well, sort off. Once I scrubbed off the body glitter and got off this goddamned thong that had been riding up so high, I could feel it in my damn throat.
But it wasn't the strobe lights and little baggies of X being handed around like candy that was on my mind.
It was a sexy, scarred biker whose eyes - as it turned out - were gray. Freaking gray. Who the hell had gray eyes? Like he wasn't already t
oo darn good-looking.
I slipped inside my apartment, trying to shut the door quietly, not wanting to wake up the puppy - or the person crashing on my couch.
But as it turned out, Jamie was a light sleeper.
The second the door closed, she had shot up from her sleeping position, somehow looking completely awake in a blink.
Jamie was, well, was it P.C. to say butch? I mean not that I was the most politically correct person in the world, but the jury was out on that one. I would have to ask her. But that was what she was. She was six feet in her red Converse, her body wide, but not fat. Just stocky. Strong. For a girl. That was a phrase I knew she would hate. Just like she hated That kinda girl. So I used it all the time simply to push her buttons. Her chest was actually rather impressive, but for as long as I had known her, the only time she didn't bind her tits was directly after the shower. Her face was a bit soft. There was no mistaking the femininity in her bone structure, no matter how short she kept her brown hair. She had these deep blue, soulful eyes that many a girl had fallen in love with. Even though Jamie was a serial non-monogamist.
Style-wise, I wasn't sure I had ever seen her in anything other than plaid - spring through winter. Right now, she was in a red and blue one, a brown henley layered under. Her jeans were what chicks would call 'boyfriend jeans,' but in reality, she just got them from the men's section.
You know how nice it is not to have to worry about sizes? Just go in knowing your waist circumference, and you got yourself a pair of jeans.
"It's about time, young lady," she said to me, lips curving up at one side. It was moments like this that I understood how she got more pussy than most hot guys did. She just had something. I couldn't even say what it was. I didn't swing that way, but there were definitely times that Jamie made me consider it. "You smell like a prostitute," she added, lips twitching as she moved to stand, going across the room into the kitchen area to turn on the Keurig for me. She was a saint that way. It was why she was still crashing on my couch a month after she said she would be out of my hair.
"Well that is my signature fragrance," I agreed, smiling.
"We gotta talk, sweetheart," she said, spreading her hands wide on my counter, leaning forward like what she was about to say was of the utmost importance.
Sugar (The Henchmen MC Book 12) Page 2