Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2)

by Suzanne Halliday

  “There,” he drawled, tweaking a nipple. “Perfect.”

  “Men!” she growled, shoving him away with a laugh and yanking open the door scant seconds before Tori tried the knob.

  “Oh, there you two are,” she jeered. “No time for the pantsless intermission, kids.”

  Angie sputtered, but nothing came out, so Parker did the honors. “Something you would know about, Mrs. St. John. I’ll bet fifty bucks your fingers have been all over someone’s zipper.”

  Tori giggled outrageously and nudged Angie with her shoulder. “Performance high. Stage adrenaline.” Gesturing, she said, “I heard the stagehand say they’d be ready for y’all in about ten so you better get out there before they send a search party.”

  Right. He still had a short set to play. Looking down at the beautiful señorita at his side, Parker knew just how that part of the night would pan out. She’d be his in the most public way and Aldoriffic and any other buttfucker eyeing her up could eat shit. After tonight? To get to her, you’d have to go through him. Good luck with that.

  Alex grabbed him the second he reappeared in the bar. “Well?” he barked. “She packing her bags or can Uncle Eduardo pencil you two in?”

  “I’ve got this,” he assured his friend. “Buttfucker Yellow Socks over there is complicating things, though. What’s his deal? Why is he still here?”

  Alex laughed, but the sound was more malevolent than reassuring. “Ignore him and focus on the set.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Parker replied. Alex was right. Time for music.

  Alex grinned. Big time. “Mmmmm,” he drawled. “Obviously, we open with Coming of Age. After that? You lead, I follow. And seriously . . . if you can’t make that song work, you are one sorry fuck.”

  Parker threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  “Team Justice!” Alex hollered. “Assemble, gentlemen.”

  Game on.

  SHE HADN’T CHUGALUGGED A COLD beer since college when stupid shit like that happened all the time, but that was exactly what she did while Aldo ran off at the mouth, rather belligerently scolding Angie for what he described as a poor showing that he declared slutty.

  Oh, my god. The nerve of him. How many times had she bit her tongue while he gallivanted all over Europe with a tribe of questionable celebrity types who were essentially sluts for money. What a dick.

  Angie was sure she’d completely lost her mind when, after draining the bottle, she slammed it onto the table top then expanded her gut and gave power to a mighty beer belch that deserved an award.

  Aldo looked at her in horror. “What is wrong with you, querida? Has this place made you forget who you are?”

  The subtle insinuation that her behavior was somehow off was shot to hell before the words left his mouth when two guys and a woman walking by gave her a thumbs-up like a lady burping one out in public was an everyday occurrence. Tori and Lacey shouted from a few tables away with approving hoots, claps, and boisterous laughter. So, what exactly was this place doing to her?

  “This is about that cowboy lawyer, isn’t it?” he goaded her. “I understand,” he added silkily.

  Ewww. Was he kidding? Angie shuddered.

  “These things happen all the time, my dear. The allure of something so different. If you must fuck him, please get to it so we can go home to the life we planned.”

  That sleazy comment was so far over the line that she, well . . . she knew exactly what she was doing and couldn’t blame the adrenaline or the beer for what happened next. Nah. That was all her.

  In a major league move, her arm bent back then arced forward as her small hand flattened and tightened—aiming directly at Aldo’s smirking babyface, she walloped him good. Hopefully, the hand mark she left would be more visible than a tattoo.

  Damn proud that she was now a true Whiskey Pete’s gal, having slapped two different men on two separate occasions, she stowed her smacking hand, and tried to hide a smirk.

  Like fruit flies descending on an overripe peach, Family Justice was all over them in the next heartbeat. Angie knew there was no way she could haul off and whack Aldo without them seeing. And reacting. But she wasn’t quite finished yet.

  Sizing Ronaldo Esperanza up for a burial suit was looking easier and easier. Little man. He’d always been pompous, but he’d never pulled this holier-than-thou nonsense—she wouldn’t have put up with it. Angie guessed what she was seeing was the real Ronaldo. Gone was the practiced gentleman with the continental airs. And in his place was a small-minded cynical sack of shit. She sensed he still wanted something, this trip had a purpose, but she was done being nice. Fuck that.

  “Your language is rude and offensive,” she ground out. “And your insinuation that fucking a cowboy was something you’d ALLOW is beyond disgusting. You are a pig, Aldo, and I demand an apology.”

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” Lacey asked as her arm snaked around Angie’s middle.

  Little Tori came and stood right in front—between her and Aldo—crossed her arms, and stared at him. Behind them, she could feel Cameron and Draegyn’s ominous presence. Angie knew with one word she could have the man gawking at her ripped to shreds.

  The house lights dimmed and the air came alive with the hum of guitar amps. The crowd moved closer to the stage. Alex and Parker were going on.

  Since Aldo didn’t seem in a hurry to apologize, she threw up her hands and stomped away in a huff, supremely conscious the whole time of her bouncing breasts and the way her nipples peaked. Great.

  “Angelina,” Aldo squawked. “Do not walk away.”

  Angie whirled around as Tori gave him a hearty shove and walked past. Knowing or rather hoping that her parents understood, she flipped him the bird then went to find her man. If Aldo tried to mess with her through the winery or her folks, she’d deal with it but more than that? He really could go fuck himself.

  They found Meghan where she always was—right by the stage ogling her Major and making sure he wasn’t overdoing it. Parker, of course, was right where he always was. Up front. In the spotlight. Larger than life. Hotter than a dozen heart-throb country singers rolled into one very sexy package and staring right at her.

  Adjusting his guitar, he grinned and started talking to the crowd while his fingers picked out a chord. “Helluva show earlier.”

  His meaningful leer and the wink that followed got her all tingly and way too giggly for her own good.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Heard some good shit tonight, right?”

  More cheering.

  “Well, me and the boys are here to close out the stage and you know how Pete is about sending a bunch of rowdy motherfuckers onto the roads after a night at Whiskey’s.”

  Now the cheering was raucous and over-the-top.

  “So,” he drawled with a sneer as he fiddled with a guitar pick, “that old fucker made us promise no head banging. Ballads and soft rock only.”

  A smattering of, “Boos,” were heard, but for the most part, people laughed and nodded like it was a good idea.

  “Now most of you know our part-time drummer . . . another old fucker, my good friend Thunder Foot of the Justice Clan . . .”

  A titter of good-natured laughter rippled through the room.

  “But what you might not know is that one of tonight’s performers is Thunder Foot’s little sister.”

  Oh shit. Angie wondered if she’d get arrested for throttling him.

  Tori nudged her playfully and Cameron whispered, “FYI, little sister. Grown men play for keeps.”

  The color started creeping up her neck. Little sister. Someone was going to die.

  After a bit more boisterous applause and shouts of, “Who?” Parker nailed her with a look that was all challenge. Grrrrrr. Damn him. She never could say no when he did the taunting. Alex’s smirking, know-it-all expression made it clear he was in on this little performance.

  “What do you say we get her up here to share the stage—make it a family affair?”

&nbs
p; People went nuts with applause. She was doomed.

  In full smirk, Parker locked eyes with her and called out, “Desert Angel! Get your ass up here and sing with me, sweetheart. Let’s show ’em how the big kids do it.”

  Aww, shit. She absolutely couldn’t hold back her laughter. Lacey smacked her butt and said, “Come on, sister! Get up there in those nasty boots and wipe that smile off his face.”

  Tori rubbed her back. It was like they were in her corner, psyching her up to enter the ring.

  “Uh, Angie?”

  “Yeah?” she answered.

  “What happened to the pasties you had on earlier? Your high beams are lit up, Angel baby.” Tori giggled.

  Angie quirked a lopsided grin. “Yeah, about those,” she drawled. And then she walked to the side of the stage and took a deep breath, hearing Lacey and Tori’s shrieks of laughter as she walked.

  Parker immediately came over and extended a hand to help her up the short stairs, then pulled her to center stage where he put his nose in her hair and breathed deep.

  “Tell me something,” he asked sounding serious. “Did you mean what you said about me being your boyfriend?”

  She snickered. “Who knew you were so needy, counselor?”

  He swatted her behind for not answering and left her standing in the spotlight. Angie didn’t need to ask what song was coming. Alex’s ridiculous gotcha smirk only confirmed what she already knew. Spying Meghan’s fancy tambourine near the drum kit, she grabbed it so at least she’d have something to do.

  Back at the mic, Parker riled up the crowd a bit. “If you like eighties rock, you’ll know this one. It’s our all-time favorite little sister song. Another playlist standard! Check it out—Coming of Age from Damn Yankees.”

  A whoop of approval rose from the crowd when he soberly added, “Please observe a moment of silence for all that awesome eighties hair.” The mocking reference brought the house down.

  Proving she was up for anything he threw at her, Angie rocked out with glee. This time when she heard the song, instead of it igniting memories and yearnings she’d rather not face, she let it seep into her senses until a huge bubble of joy grew.

  Yeah. She absolutely was the little sister and glad for it, too. And now that she actually had come of age? Parker Sullivan, Esquire belonged to her. All that other noise? The years of self-doubt and confusion? Even letting herself believe she could ever replace Parker with . . . well, with anyone? All that was the past. It was him or a life of yearning and regret. No in-betweens.

  Arizona was in her blood and Parker was in her soul. This was the right choice for her. She’d been an idiot long enough.

  The first time he and Parker played this song with a band and for an audience was during college, and over time, it grew into one of their go-to numbers because it rocked, had a catchy tune, and was a favorite of both sexes. Just the sort of thing any decent cover band had ready to go.

  Fast forward to Angie’s high school graduation. Alex was stateside for a time and had retreated to Sedona—mostly to sleep and lay on a lounger by the pool. It was just by coincidence that he was around that June. Same for Parker, who by then was already up to his nose hairs in terrorism stuff.

  Surprising his baby sister was no easy task since she had some sort of weird sixth sense where he and Parker were concerned. But for that occasion, they managed to pull off the mother of all surprises by showing up at her graduation party. In addition to simply being there, they cranked out a pretty kickass rendition of the song. Coming of Age. Huh. Seemed appropriate then and was a little like waving a red flag now.

  Props to Angelina, he thought proudly. She was truly a Marquez. Even if she was completely rattled, she’d never show it and certainly performed gamely enough, making quite a statement of her own with those boots and Meghan’s tambourine.

  As the song ended, she came to the front of his kit, dropped the tambourine to the side, and tsked at him several times.

  He answered with the big brother grin.

  “Some brother you are,” she snarled gleefully.

  The contradiction was pure little sister. He arched a brow and widened his grin.

  “I don’t know, Alexander. Letting that old pervert,” she taunted with a barely concealed laugh, “take your little sister. How could you help him?” she wailed laughingly.

  “Take?” Yeah, right. Laughing, he tsked right back. “More like took and zip that mouth, kid, before it gets you into trouble. Behave and do as you’re told.”

  She stomped her foot and grunted, just like she did when she was six. He was sure as shit glad that Parker knew what a handful she was.

  “I think your boyfriend wants you,” he quipped dryly. “Oh, and I hope you like Lady Antebellum.”

  Angie’s head zipped in Parker’s direction at supersonic speed. Dude was smiling, only Alex knew the expression was more Get your ass over here. She must have known it too ‘cause she swaggered over to him, taking her place behind the microphone he indicated, and unless his lip-reading was woefully insufficient, said something along the lines of bite my ass with a dazzling Angel baby smile on her face.

  Shit, this was fun. Alex glanced in Meghan’s direction. She was also watching the interaction on stage with avid interest. Meeting his eye with an expression of loving amusement, she eye rolled and quirked a little grin. They were both relieved that Angie finally stopped running and was standing her ground.

  About fucking time, too. He had a wedding and a fiancée to focus on.

  “GO EASY ON ME,” HE joked into the microphone, his eyes trained on the stunning beauty sharing the stage with him. “This being my first time and all.” He snickered as whoops of delight greeted his declaration.

  “That’s right! You heard me,” he growled at the audience. “I’m a virgin. Never done it in public with this pretty little girl before. Sing with her, I mean.”

  Angie crossed her arms and cocked a hip at him mockingly. “Give it a rest!” she quipped with a bit too much glee. Pointing at him, she wagged her head like a know-it-all and proclaimed him, “The Almost Forty-Year-Old Virgin.”

  Desert Angel easily got everyone laughing with her dry, sarcastic delivery. The tits, short dress, and thigh-high boots helped. Everyone was watching. She was roped in and knew it. This was almost more public than jumbotron kissing at the sports arena. No turning back now.

  Running his fingers across the strings of his guitar, he nodded to Dave, his bass player, and Dave’s wife, who was doing keyboards, ‘cause no way could they do this song right without them. Then he gave a quick glance to Alex. This was it.

  Let’s see what she does, he thought on a deep inhale. Saying a quick, silent prayer that this was the right thing to do, he leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  “Angel girl, I need you now.”

  It was a statement first and a song title second.

  “And,” she murmured softly, “I can’t fight you anymore.”

  How long did it take to sing that song? He didn’t know. Not long enough. Not nearly. They’d harmonized together in their younger days hundreds of times but never like this, in public with an audience.

  Parker picked this song for a reason. Besides the haunting melody, he liked the lyrics. They said everything he couldn’t. And she wasn’t fighting him anymore. If there weren’t several hundred eyeballs watching them right now, she’d be naked and underneath him instead of just beyond his reach.

  But make no mistake about it, she was making her feelings abundantly clear anyway. Angie sang from the heart. Every sway, every movement, each breath was loaded with emotion. Her eyes never looked away and on the harmonies, she shared his mic. It felt uncommonly intimate even with so many watching.

  He’d be so fucking lost without music in his life. It was his drug of choice. The magic they were creating as they sang to each other felt effortless, almost trancelike. As if they’d been singing to each other forever. And maybe they had.

  When the song was ending, Parker felt a
wave of emotion wash over that almost wrecked him. He’d loved this girl from the first time they locked eyes. What had she said? That she’d waited forever to be old enough for him? Jesus Christ. He wanted to cry.

  When the final notes faded, all he wanted to do was drag her somewhere private and kiss her silly. She was certainly looking at him like her thoughts were running along the same lines. Fuck it if Alex didn’t pull the plug on such insanity by pounding out a count on his sticks and immediately ripping into their closing number.

  Angie laughed when Dave leaned over and told her what they were playing and dashed for the tambourine. Another duet with some country style harmonies, they rocked out singing about going home and being a rolling stone. Bon Jovi was compulsory for any rock band worthy of an electric amp, and just like with the Lady Antebellum song, this one was tailor-made for him and Desert Angel.

  Alex got in on the rowdy vocals and right away it turned into a joyful musical interlude for the three of them. Parker would remember this for a long time. It was good stuff. The shit you made room for in your memory.

  When they were finished, what was left of the crowd was enthusiastically appreciative. Especially after Alex announced that the next round was on him. Nothing like causing a stampede for the fucking bar!

  In a way it was good that everyone except Team Justice was distracted elsewhere because in one of those slow motion are you fucking kidding moments, Mr. Spanish Shiny Pants leapt onto the stage making a straight line directly at him. Parker saw him coming and decided not to do a fucking thing. Piss ant motherfucker. He shit turds with more character than this annoying bitch.

  When the little prick swung, he was reminded of the cartoons where the puny loser tried to mow down a muscle-bound Goliath and struggled not to collapse laughing.

  In his peripheral vision, he saw dumbfounded expressions on Cam and Drae’s faces and figured they must have gotten caught flat-footed when Aldoriffic bolted from their custody. Well, at least there were eyewitnesses, the lawyer in him noted.