“Did what?”
“You already made the perfect pinot.”
Skyler grabbed the table to make sure she wouldn’t fall to the floor in relief. Besides, she hadn’t been eating much since her visit to the prison, and a few sips of wine had gone to her head.
He pushed a plate of crackers toward her. “If you die of starvation before the classic, then you can’t win.”
“I don’t know if they’ll let me enter. The grapes aren’t from the Russian River Valley American Viticultural Area.”
“The worst that can happen is you show up, and they won’t let you enter it formally. So? We’ll set up a table outside and we’ll make people drink this wine.” He drained another half glass. “People who’ve tasted this wine won’t want any other wine. It’s like the wine equivalent to having sex with me.”
She almost choked on a cracker. “Once you try it, you don’t want anything else?”
“And you can’t walk right for a week.” He waited for a laugh, which she gave him. “Are you going to call him?”
“What would I say, Michael? I’m the one who fucked everything up by walking away, by not trusting him. He hasn’t called, which means he needs more time to get over it.”
“I still think you should ask for his help.”
“I’m trying to take care of it myself. I went to my dad.”
“So, you’d rather go to prison than call Travis?”
“It was your idea.”
“I’m not exactly the patron saint of good decisions these days.”
“Did you just admit to being wrong?”
“Yes. And it will probably never happen again, so enjoy it.”
She’d rather deal with her father than risk Travis slamming the door in her face. Rejection from Travis now would be a thousand times more painful than graduation night. No, a million. Her head started to hurt, a throbbing behind her right eye. “That’s not it. Travis isn’t the kind of guy who would sit back and wait. If he still wanted me, he would have called. A hundred times. The fact that he hasn’t tells me we’re really over.”
Michael sat the wine glass down and grabbed for her, gathered her in his arms. “It’s going to be okay. And, if it’s not, you’ll have plenty of wine to drown your sorrows.”
“Debbie’s exact words were, ‘Why don’t you take a bottle of that wine of yours and stick it where the sun don’t shine? Your crusty old barrels make it taste like shit, anyway.’” Skyler loved the gasp that came out of Sara with those words.
Sara was helping her set up for the tasting at the Pinot Classic. Wine critics from around the country—around the world—would show up shortly and do a blind tasting of pinot noir. Debbie made sure that Skyler was included by her divine act of bitchcraft against Merle Givens.
“Are you nervous?”
She thought about Sara’s question. She had a lot of nervous energy, but she knew her wine would place. She just wanted to get this show on the road. And she was a little scared to see who Berrys sent; selling them the remaining cases of her wine would be ideal.
She could start paying Michael back. In a few years, he’d be free and clear of any funny business going on in that barn. She was also stressed about the meth lab in the shed and whether her father would actually come through for her. She hadn’t been back, too worried that she’d find them up and running. And worrying about what her father would do made her feel like a teenager again, and not in a good way.
Of course, she couldn’t say anything to Sara about it. Because Sara would go to Chevy, who would go to Travis, who would try to fix the whole damn thing. He would put himself at risk, and, even though it would feel so good to lay her problems at his feet and let him make everything okay, she wouldn’t let him ruin his life over her. She wouldn’t bring him down when she could use an already fallen man—her father—to get rid of this problem. Especially because he still hadn’t called.
She didn’t have much time to think about the meth lab or Diablos Santos because the buyers and judges showed up. Word about her Burgundy spread quickly, and soon she heard people whispering about an auction for the remaining cases.
Her delight turned when she saw Travis walk in with Gabe and Duster, especially when he steered clear of her table. He didn’t even make eye contact or lift his chin in her direction. The lack of acknowledgement from him broke something inside her.
She continued to smile and pour and talk price per case, but she felt nothing but wanting. Would it always be this way? Neither of them would move, but she’d always have to feel this emptiness on the inside when she saw him.
And, dear lord, when he started bringing other girls around? She didn’t know if she could take it. Now that she’d had him, now that she knew how it felt to be his, she would burn shit down if she saw him touch someone else. She would never be able to handle it. When the day came, she’d have to find someone else. Not because she thought she could fall for anyone, but because she’d need something to staunch the pain. But, for now, the idea of someone else touching her made her nauseous.
Thinking about Travis distracted her enough that she didn’t even notice the Burgundy rep from Berrys get a pour from Sara. But she tuned in when she heard the same voice that had called her every blue name in the book say, “This is truly excellent, Miss Clark. If you avoid future churlishness, you may indeed have a career in this industry.”
She suppressed the laugh that threatened like a looming cloud.
Faint praise, and yet she wanted to tell Travis all about it. He was the only one who would see the humor in it the same way she did.
Fuck. She didn’t know how she was going to live here with him for the rest of their lives. A week apart, and it was already torture. But whose fault was it? Hers. Always her fault.
In that moment, she realized she couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t be in a room with all of these people.
She smiled at the buyer from Berrys and said, “If you’ll excuse me.”
Not waiting for him to respond, she walked out the back of the empty processing plant.
When she got to the alley, she sat on an old crate and bowed her head between her knees. Being in the same room as Travis, even in a crowd, made it hard to breathe.
When she sat up, he was standing right there, with a concerned and angry look on his face. If she wanted him back, maybe she could have him. But—dear God—she ought to let him walk away from her shit-show of a life right now.
She couldn’t help it, she was happy to see him there, but they weren’t good for each other. The fact that she wanted to jump him in an alleyway was proof enough of that. “You’ve got to leave me alone, Travis.”
All her wishes about having him back crumbled to dust with him standing in front of her. Thinking she could have him back was cocky, just like Jacob Clark thinking that he was still her father.
“Carrots, I can’t. I’ve tried. Leaving you alone—just not an option.”
“That’s why you haven’t called?” She didn’t mean to sound so upset he hadn’t called. It was just proof he could live without her. That he was better off without her.
“You left. I asked you not to.” Just like he’d said to Isaac. And like his brother, she didn’t listen. “I tried to stay away from you, but I just can’t.”
Her heart squeezed when he said that. “But if that’s what I need?”
“Why the fuck would you need that?” He put his hands on his hips and looked down at her in that imposing, bossy way he had. She could see him searching for the words because of the way he moved his mouth. Like he was chewing on his thoughts, seeing if they tasted right. “I fucked up at that party. I lost my temper, and almost ruined something for you. I didn’t want to, but that sonofabitch wouldn’t stop talking about taking you away from me. I couldn’t—”
“I’m sorry he showed up. I'm sorry I came back. You have this life for yourself, and I walked all over it. All of a sudden, you’re assaulting my ex. I don’t know; it scared me. I don’t think I’m good
for you.”
“You think I'm like your father.”
He ran his hands through his hair, some of the strands coming out of his ponytail. He turned his back to her, and she felt like she was never going to get to see his face looking at her like he wanted her again. She knew it because she had to say what she was about to say.
“You’re nothing like him. That’s why I want you so much.” She stood up and walked around so she could look him in the eye. They were about three feet apart. She couldn’t get closer to him because she would just fall again. “I want you, but I can’t keep you because there’s something wrong inside me. I’m broken. He broke me.”
She looked down, and his hands curled around her upper arms in a split second. His heat seared her before he dropped them just as suddenly. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing.”
“There’s everything wrong with me, Travis. I liked it when you hit Ian. It made me hot. And that’s terrifying. After all this time away, I liked seeing you make him suffer. I sort of wanted it. All that tells me is we’re both bad and we’re both wrong. All we can do is stay away from each other, try to staunch the bleeding that us being together could cause.”
He stepped back, and another bit of her heart broke away. “You’re wrong, Carrots. Nothing about you is bad. Even when you’re a total bitch, you’re not bad. But I’m not going to stand here and let you talk about yourself like that anymore. I’m done.”
He turned and walked back inside, and she doubled over in pain. It was too much. All the worry, the happiness at being vindicated—that was nothing compared to the pain of losing him.
Because he was wrong.
26
Travis did what he always did when he was thinking about a problem—he tinkered. In the twenty-four hours since seeing Skyler at the Pinot Classic, he’d finished three different pieces. All of them were stuff that had heavy design input from the client, so he could sort of do them on auto-pilot. He was just glad he didn’t have to look at the things anymore. None of them were for the wall.
Maybe if Skyler could see that he was respected by all those fancy jerks, she’d come back. God, you sound pathetic. If that didn’t sway her before, it sure as shit wasn’t likely to sway her now. Just focus on the work.
Today, he was working on Chevy’s Jawa for the Concours—just so he’d have something to do. He was so lost in his own thoughts, trying to concentrate on rebuilding the old bike’s engine, that he didn’t hear anyone come in the garage. He didn’t notice he wasn’t alone until someone slapped him on the back of the head.
“What the—”
“That was because you’re an idiot, and you’re not protecting your woman.”
He rubbed the back of his head, put down his wrench, and sat on a stool once he realized this conversation wouldn’t be a short one.
“That girl—that girl is like my own blood. You better get your head out of your ass before you lose the best thing that ever happened to you.” Bishman looked ready to do violence. Not that guy’s normal M.O., so he sat up and listened.
“I already lost her.”
“No, you didn’t, but you might.”
“What the fuck does that mean? She doesn’t want me.” He didn’t have patience for the old man talking in riddles.
“The Diablos have moved their lab out to her property. If she discovers it and tries to handle it herself, they’ll fucking kill her.”
“How did you find this out?”
“Her old man—”
“You still talk to Doc Clark?”
Bishman held out his hands in a defensive gesture. “Wait just a minute, I don’t talk to him, but he reached out. The man wants to protect his daughter.”
Travis snorted. “That’s new.” His chest squeezed. That should be my job now.
Duster and Chevy walked into the garage. “What’s up, Bishman? We were ready to start drinking.”
Bishman leveled a glare at the two men. Travis looked down at his grease-covered hands, hands that tore his relationship with Skyler apart.
“What are we going to do?”
“Burn it to the ground.” Bishman’s answer for everything.
A move that would usually make sense. But not now. Not when they would be burning down a building that close to Skyler’s livelihood. The building where he’d first tasted her sweet mouth. The building where he’d betrayed her for the first time. He wouldn’t have it be the place where he’d betrayed her for the last time. And he couldn’t let Deacon and the Diablos decide she was getting in the way. Because, if she’d discovered the lab, she would look for a way to get rid of it herself.
Fuck, he had to do something. Now.
“When are we going to do it?” Chevy looked eager. He was probably already putting together some sort of incendiary device in his head.
“No. We have to make sure nothing touches the vineyards,” Travis said. “We have to get her away from them. I don’t trust Deacon.” He hated the fact that he’d allowed danger to touch Skyler. He’d let her walk away from him, and now it could hurt her. This couldn’t stand.
Duster grunted and Chevy nodded.
“Whatever you need, mate.” Duster made it sound like it would be easy. “She’s one of us.”
“We’re not going to do anything to hurt your old lady’s place.”
“She’s not my old lady. Not anymore. But she doesn’t deserve to get tied up in biker shit again.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Chevy rolled his eyes.
Bishman nodded and smiled, and they all walked out of the garage together. Maybe this time, he’d be able to protect her without fucking up her shit.
27
From a bluff above the barn, Skyler stared at Deacon and two other Diablos Santos carrying boxes into the building. She couldn’t say what they held for certain, but she’d bet the vineyard that it was more meth cooking supplies.
And she would bet her father had something to do with it.
Shit. Shit. Double shit. Her mind raced, and her chest tightened. She tried to remind herself to breathe, but she couldn’t get air. She’d pass out if she didn’t remember to keep oxygen flowing. She hadn’t had a panic attack in years—not since the night the sheriff had picked her up for drug trafficking.
Coming off the bluff, she moved along the fence line, trying to get closer. She didn’t want them to spot her, but her brown coveralls and kerchief-covered hair wouldn’t be obvious against the grass. They’d parked two bikes and a van about ten feet from the barn.
She crouched and pulled her phone out of her pocket. If her father couldn’t stop the Diablos from using her land to cook meth, maybe the sheriff could help. Michael might have to use some of his connections to keep her from getting arrested, but that was a damn sight better than running and crying to Travis about it. She’d call Ethan and show him the photos. He wouldn’t believe she was involved if she brought him photographs of other people going in. She had enough people in town to vouch for her now that she’d been back a few months and the good publicity from the Pinot Classic and the Barlow deal would help.
Too bad Roy would probably get arrested, too. He could always testify against the club, but that would put his son—everyone and everything he loved—at risk. The most sovereign law the Diablos Santos held was to “never suffer a snitch to live.” That went for his family and friends, too.
She zoomed in as far as her phone’s camera would allow and tried to get photos of their faces. She got Deacon, but the other two had their backs to her.
Turn around.
She crawled along the ground just to get closer. She leaned back on her haunches and got a shot of each of the other guys—Short-Fat-Guy, and Tall-Fat-Guy—before someone pulled her to the ground by the back of her collar.
“Could never follow instructions, could you?”
She couldn’t answer because Roy’s hand came over her mouth. He pulled her back with more speed and strength than she would have expected out of the old man. So hard he’d knocked
the wind out of her and she struggled for breath. She could taste the chemicals on his gnarled paw. So, Roy cooked for them? Not just loaning out her space without permission.
“I told you to stay away from those guys. They kill nosy, interfering women.”
Are you going to turn me over to them? Her will to live made a surprise reappearance and she started thrashing on the ground. He threw his leg over her, and pushed his hand into her face even harder. Her upper lip pressed so deeply into her teeth she tasted copper.
Still, she kept her legs moving. She had a good four inches on old Roy. If she could leverage him off her with her legs, maybe she could get away.
“Stop fighting, girl.”
She bit down on his hand; fear had turned into rage and she wanted to taste his blood along with her own.
“You dumb bitch!”
He pulled back his other meaty fist and punched her in the face. Jesus Christ. She couldn’t stop herself from crying out loud. She saw spots, and her eye started to swell.
“Travis.”
“No use calling for your boyfriend now. I told you to call him at the start of this. But did you listen? No. Never a more hard-headed girl.” He was babbling as if talking would deliver an answer to his problem.
He’d dismounted from her chest, and she brought her hand up to hold her eye. She wanted to spit in his face and insult him, but the only sounds that came out of her mouth were moans and whimpers. Getting hit in the face really fucking hurt. She should be scrambling off the ground while he tried to figure out what to do.
He’d already hit her in the face, so he probably wouldn’t have any compunction about handing her over to Deacon, who had probably heard her scream.
Deacon looked like a guy who got off on hearing women scream.
She tried to get up, using her hands, but she slipped in the dirt and landed on her chest. It sent another wave of pain through the left side of her face. Roy grabbed her arm and pulled her up.
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