As much as I want to scowl or huff, or tell him he’s being unreasonable for putting me in this spot, I know I can’t show my aversion because an angry Scot is standing right beside me, growling under his breath, grating his jaw.
“Didnae Sniper fill ye in?” Lachlan rumbles, speaking to Bonez.
“Fill me in about what?” I think Bonez knows what Lachlan’s referring to, because he’s grinning like a madman. This man is definitely up to no good, which he knows and apparently likes, too.
Lachlan’s leg moves and glues itself to the side of my chair. It bumps my elbow, and I tuck my arms into my lap so I’m not touching him.
Fiddling with my hands, I use them as a distraction to try and ignore the sensation of his penetrating eyes drilling into me, or that minor touch scalding my skin. I hate that he has this effect on me.
“Ownership, brother. Ownership,” Lachlan bites off, jerking my chair backward. The scraping feet make a horrid noise, as my chair vibrates, being moved further away from the table.
I’ve had enough.
Grateful to have my legs back in action, I stand and swiftly sit in the chair closest to Bonez. He scoots closer to me, throwing his arm across the back of my seat. I still refuse to look at Lachlan, but feel the air shift into something not good, not good at all.
“Ye better stop touchin’ her chair, brother,” Lachlan warns.
“If Maggie wants me to stop touching her chair, I think she’s old enough to tell me herself. Right Maggie?” Bonez interjects calmly, patting my shoulder in reassurance.
I hear boots shuffle closer, followed by a soft click.
Continuing to stare into my lap, I cuff my hands over my knees, before I dare to glance up. Tipping my head to the side, I look at Bonez, not Lachlan. Faintly, I grin at him, “You’re right, Bonez. If I don’t want something, or don’t wanna do something, I’ll let ya know.” Wow, I sound much stronger than I feel. Check—two points for Mags.
Bonez winks at me, as if he’s communicating that was the right answer, and his hand moves to squeeze my shoulder, cementing my assumption.
“Mags, ye are not goin’ tae the party with Bonez.” Lachlan fixates his argument on me, and it falls on deaf ears. I don’t want to hear it. He can’t have control over everything. I’m not a possession; I’m a flippin’ person, and he needs to realize that. I’ve been on my own for far too long. Taken care of myself for far too long. I don’t have it in me to let a man dictate my life. Life’s too short to be someone’s slave. Not that that’s what Lachlan expects.
Drilling my eyes into Bonez’s neck, where a black tattoo peeks out from under his collar, I stay preoccupied and politely accept his offer. “I’d love to go to the party with you, Bonez.” I emphasize to get my point across, and I think it’s driven home when Lachlan repeatedly curses under his breath. The word ‘bloody’ attached to every other word.
Bonez doesn’t respond to me, but his head tilts to the side, just as I hear Lachlan fiddling with something. “Put that fuckin’ thing away, Smoke. It’ll end with you in a place you don’t wanna be. This ain’t worth it, man,” Bonez reasons evenly.
Lachlan doesn’t seem to give a crap when he seethes, “I told ye. . .ownership. Ye’re fuckin’ with what’s mine.”
I sure hope they’re not talking about me. His? I’m not anyone’s. If anything, I’d prefer to be an equal.
“Riiight,” Bonez drawls, “and bringing that thing out is gonna change what’s happening right now?” He’s rapidly losing his patience. “No, it’s not. Maybe you should be more focused on righting some shit you did wrong, instead of threatening me with your fuckin’ dagger. I’m not Thor. I’m not gonna piss myself. And I sure as fuck ain’t gonna pussy foot around the fact I got my brother standin’ here challenging me with that damn thing. Put it the fuck away, and go back to Whisky’s where you can keep starin’ at her, ‘cause she obviously don’t wanna talk to you.”
Yep, they’re talking about me, and I hate that I have to listen to this. Moreover, I can’t believe Lachlan has his dagger out. How did I not even notice he carries a dagger? He did something to Thor, too? Made him piss himself? I can see how he could do that by just looking at someone. He’s scary as hell when he wants to be. But to yield a weapon, right here, right now, in the early afternoon? That’s stupid and crazy. What if a cop comes by? And what if Bonez wasn’t so understanding? Lachlan’s not thinking clearly, and part of me wants to reason with him and tell him to go, because it’s for his own good. While the weaker part of me wants to wrap him in a hug and tell him it’s going to okay, and I’m not mad at him anymore. Even though that’s partially a lie. I’m not actually mad. I’m hurt, and sitting here with him so close is fucking with my senses. Oh. My. Whoa. Buddy. I just dropped an F-bomb. Crappy crackers, I really need to calm the heck down. My brain’s moving too fast, and my senses are too riled up.
I inhale a deep cleansing breath.
“Fuck off,” Lachlan bellows. “This ain’t none of yer business.”
“Yes it is. We’re all family. You made sure of that. Now, I’m taking care of family by taking her out for some shitty lemonade. Now put it away.” Bonez’s eyes flick to what I assume is said dagger.
Something moves, and a snap is clicked into place.
I release my breath.
“Smart move,” Bonez notes, keeping his cool. He’s the master of Coolville. I’m impressed.
“Now, do the right thing and walk away before you make Maggie more uncomfortable,” Bonez suggests amicably.
More uncomfortable? There’s such a thing? Riiight. . .Pretty sure this would be hard to beat. I’m squirming in my skin over here. I don’t like confrontation, and I especially don’t like it when it’s about me and includes Sir Moody Pants.
“If ye touch—” Lachlan starts.
And is quickly cut off when Bonez abruptly declares, “It’s not like that. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I better not,” Lachlan rumbles lowly, before his tone turns sweet. “Mags, I’ll see ye at home for supper.”
I nod in reply, but don’t face him. I can’t; my resolve will fade too fast, and that can’t happen—not yet.
“Later,” Bonez calls to Lachlan, and I hear a grumble in response. Boots stomp away, and when I finally hear the faint ding of Whisky’s bell floating through the air, I’m able to breathe easier. Releasing another breath I didn’t know I was holding, I slip into my previous seat.
When I meet Bonez’s eyes once again, he’s grinning tenderly at me. “You did well. I thought you were about to come out of your seat a couple times.”
“Am I that transparent?” I reach out to take a sip of my now watered-down, lemonade. It tastes even worse than it did before, if that’s even possible.
I purse a sour face, swallowing the contents in my mouth, and Bonez chuckles. “That bad?”
My nose wrinkles at the awful aftertaste lingering in my mouth. “It’s disgusting.”
“I won’t bring ya here again. Wanted to take ya to Whisky’s, but with Smoke bein’ there, I figured this was second best,” Bonez explains.
“Again?” I ask as my mouth involuntarily falls open with doubt. He plans to do this more often?
“Since I’m gonna be seeing you twice a week, and we’re gonna be doing them on your work days, I figured we could grab a bite to eat. We both gotta eat, and you’re good company...Killin’ two birds with one stone.”
I blurt the first things that comes to mind. “You don’t think that might give the wrong impression?”
Bonez shrugs with a calculating smile. “Seein’ as though you’re pissed at Smoke and you almost gave in, this might help with whatever devious chick plan ya got going on in that pretty little head of yours.”
He can’t mean that. “You want to help me teach him a lesson?”
“More or less.” He shrugs again. “We both get to eat, and I like the company. You’re funny. Plus, it’ll be good for me to have a lady friend who I have no intention of fucking.�
��
Wow, he doesn’t beat around the bush, does he?
Regrettably, I can’t help it when my face falls a little at his ‘no intention of fucking’, comment. My chin meets my chest and I stare into my lap. That stung. Can’t deny that. No girl wants to hear that come from a man’s mouth, especially an attractive man's. It’s a hard blow. You and I both know it.
“Get that fucking frown off your face, Maggie,” he scolds lightheartedly, slapping the table top. I jump a little and lift my head to meet his gaze, still sulking. “You’re extremely fuckable, so don’t be getting this ‘I don’t wanna fuck you because you’re not sexy’ into your head. I prefer a woman with something to hold on to. And I loovvee big tits and a juicy ass. You’re bangin’,” his hands move to his chest, cupping imaginary breasts, “in all ways.” He winks. “But, you’re not mine to fuck. A claim has been rendered, and I’m respectful enough not to step over that brotherly line. Even if I wouldn’t mind trying to screw a lady who’s much sweeter than I’m used to.”
His no holds barred compliment has my entire body blushing something fierce. I can’t control it. Even my ears burn hot, and I bite my lip, trying to swallow his brashness like a hard shot of liquor. It burns all the way down, and once it settles in my gut, it warms me from the inside out. Nobody has ever been that forward to me. Not about finding me. . .um. . .you know. . .pretty. . .or whatever. It feels amazing, but kind of embarrassing, too. I still like it, though, and it’d feel a whole lot better if it came from the one person I wish felt the same way.
“Thank you,” I mutter shyly, rubbing my palms on my jeans to wipe away the clamminess.
“No, thank you. . .for your company. I’m looking forward to doing this again next week.” He winks and gets up from his chair to pull out mine. Offering me his hand to help me to my feet, I accept it. Although, I’m caught off-guard when a warm bear hug wraps around me, and a soft kiss is pressed to the top of my head, making my mind swim with contentment. Pulling away, he winks once more. “See ya next week.” He walks up the sidewalk, headed back to work, and I wave a farewell
. “Next week!” I call to his back.
What a flippin’ day, and now I’ve got to hit the grocery so I have something to cook for dinner. Guess, I’ll be setting the table for three. Uh. . . .
Hugging Bonez, I lift onto my tiptoes and press a kiss to his stubbly cheek. “Thanks for lunch,” I mutter, stepping back.
“Always a pleasure, babe.” Bonez offers me a two finger wave as he watches me walk up the driveway back to my job. “See ya Saturday!” he hollers to my retreating form.
“See ya there,” I return, entering the bay and heading straight to Viola, who I’ve been working like crazy on.
She’s not perfect yet, and she’ll still need a fresh coat of paint. Overall, though, she’s drivable and I plan on taking her out for the first time on Saturday when I meet Bonez at the club party. A party I’m a nervous wreck about.
Today marks one week since my first appointment with Bonez. It was my third, and from the sounds of it, I only have four weeks to go. Granted, I’m not too thrilled about his newest suggestion. . .he wants me to start working out. He recommended I get a membership at Thor’s, and since I’m family, it should only cost me twenty bucks a month. I don’t like the idea of Thor’s, and I really hate the idea of working out. It’s not that I’m opposed to the working out itself, just the part about having my body moving in front of people. More specifically, my headlights jiggling, as other parts jiggle, too. It’s gross to think about. All of this, shouldn’t be doing all of that. It’s. . .um. . .not sexy. It’s grotesque and embarrassing. And the last thing I want to do is make someone sick in the midst of all my feminine jiggling. Yuck.
Let’s just leave that on the back burner for now. Talk about it later. . .much later. K?
Sliding into the passenger seat of Viola, Sniper approaches the open door and rests his forearm on the door frame and car, boxing me in. He crouches down, taking a looksee inside. “The seats are almost done,” he observes.
I bend forward, my head between my legs, chair all the way back, as I work on fixing the carpet. I replaced it all. It needed it. “She’s almost done. Just waiting on Cas’s buddy to drop by next week to pick her up to take her to get repainted.” I sigh, defeated. “I’d be nice if Cas had a paint room so I could do it myself.”
“You’re such a control freak,” he teases.
Sniper’s not wrong. I am a control freak, especially with Viola; she’s like a daughter to me.
“Yeah, I am. But so is Cas. He’s the one who picked out the best carpet and talked the guy down to three percent above cost.” I’ll never forget that day. It was last week, when we’d been working on Viola. He didn’t even seek approval when he blurted his decision, “This carpet has gotta go.” And that was that. New carpet arrived yesterday. We installed most of it this morning and now I’m just finishing up, checking seams and whatnot.
“He’s a tightwad.” Sniper chuckles.
“Fuck yeah I’m a tightwad, asshole. If I wasn’t, this place woulda been dead years ago.” Cas makes his grand entrance and pushes Sniper out of the way to steal the same position, his strong arms boxing me in.
I glance up from the floor. “She’s about done.” My finger points to the last edge.
“She’s lookin’ good. So how was lunch with B today?” Cas is digging for information. He’s been doing it for days. Ever since I informed him I wasn’t speaking to Lachlan and refused to give him a reason why. It’s none of his business. That’s why. If Lachlan wants him to know, he’ll tell him. I’m not about to stupidly run off and tattle on him to his club president and VP.
Speaking of Lachlan: last week when he said he’d be home for dinner, he was. Just as he’s been home every night except the nights he’s working. On those nights, I pack his bucket with leftovers. I know that makes me a weak idiot, because I said I wasn’t going to fix him any more food, but I feel guilty if I don’t. Don’t judge me.
However, over this past week of supper, Lachlan’s been different, way different. Bridget seems to have taken notice, too, because he’s moved from six-word sentences to full on paragraphs.
On Sunday I’d taken a bite of lasagna, as I listened to Bridget prattle on, in another one of her tangents. “I don’t understand why Whisky doesn’t hire someone else. I’m bad at frosting, and I can never get the recipes right. She wants me to know them by heart, like she does, but I can’t store the measurements up here.” She softly knocked on the side of her head, reminding me so much of her father. “It’s like she wants me to work there forever. But I’m going to college so I can get a job working with kids. I don’t want to be a baker,” she whined.
Lachlan shook his head, took a drink of his lemonade, draining the glass, and when he set it down, he started his own lecture. “Whisky loves ye, Pip. She only wants what’s best for ye. If she wants ye tae remember her recipes, it’s because she loves ye; not because she expects ye tae work there forever.”
“But—” Bridget began, and was cut off when Lachlan waved his hand for her to be quiet.
Then he continued, “I know ye’re young and she’s bossy, but Whisky’s the only lassie who’s cared enough aboot ye tae do what’s right.” His eyes drifted to me. “Now ye’ve got Mags, too.”
“I know I do, but—”
“Na buts,” he cut her off again. “Ye’ll work there until ye graduate, and then ye’ll go tae university. But ye should learn her recipes before ye do. It’s a family thing. It’s not aboot work. Aye?”
“Yes, Dad.” She slumped down into her chair with her arms tucked across her chest, unhappy that she’d been scolded.
I, on the other hand, was kind of turned on by his parenting skills, and thrilled to see him assert himself. I hadn’t seen that many times before. As much as Bridget appears to be mature, fun, and outgoing, she’s still a teenager who needs guidance. The more I’ve gotten to know her, the more I’ve noticed and tried to help. But t
here’s something special about the bond a father and daughter share that no one can sever. Not that I’d want to, anyhow.
The entire week has been the same nightly routine. I cook dinner, we eat together at the table upstairs, and Bridget spills her girly teenage guts to us both. Lachlan gives his input as I remain quiet and let them hash it out. It’s not always a reprimand; most of the time it’s more of a father-daughter battle of wits, to see who backs down first. Normally, it’s Bridget, but it’s all in good fun. Honestly, I get my own sort of silent pleasure in listening to them talk. Its makes for sweet dreams at night.
And, yes, just in case you’ve been wondering, I’ve stuck to my guns. I haven’t spoken to Lachlan. I’ve nodded and shaken my head, but that’s it. Nothing verbal. It’s been torture, yet, effective. I can tell it’s frustrating him.
Last night, after Bridget had settled her plate in the dishwasher and went downstairs, Lachlan had turned his attention to me. “Are ye really going tae the party with Bonez?”
I was surprised he hadn’t brought it up sooner.
In response, I nodded my head, and he growled, slamming his fist to the table. “Ye’re not goin’,” he ordered as I sat there and stared, biting my tongue to the point of almost drawing blood. I wanted to tell him to kiss off. I didn’t, though. I let it slide off me, even if it was hard.
Standing up from the table, I dismissed myself by setting my own plate in the dishwasher before I left the kitchen to retire to my bedroom. Evidently, Lachlan had plenty more to say when he followed me like a dog, still angry and domineering.
“Did ye hear me?”
Sure did.
“Ye’re not gonna be his date.”
Sure I am.
“I dinnae bloody like ye ignorin’ me.”
I didn’t like it either.
“If ye wanna go, I’ll take ye, but ye’re ridin’ on the back of my bike.”
No, I’m not. I’m taking Viola.
I entered my bedroom and gently shut the door in his face. This didn’t deter him from speaking his mind. He was on a roll.
Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC) Page 27