by Cat Porter
“Yeah, all set. No worries.” Ruby smiled and clinked her empty glass with mine.
I hadn’t taken it lightly that Ruby was putting herself out there in the lion’s den for the club. She wasn’t even Jump’s property. Unlike most of the women who hung around the club, Ruby had made it clear from the start that she wasn’t interested in any such ties that bind. All the better—although I could tell that Jump had been ticked about her sharing her wares with Vig for over an hour in a VIP room at the strip club. He hadn’t stayed ticked for long, though, as usual.
Ruby had once again proven that she could see the forest for the trees, and I’d gladly taken her up on her offer to help with Vig. The woman had shown herself to be a quick thinker in several other tight situations that could have gone south. Just last month, she had smoothly stepped in—much to my relief—and played the role of the sexed-up bitch, creating a distraction to the hilt with a guy who’d been lingering on the street in his car waiting for someone, giving me and Jump and Dready time to reset an alarm system and get out of an auto parts store in the middle of the night without a hitch.
No, Ruby was anything but dumb. She’d come through for us. The only thing that concerned me was her mighty serious love affair with coke and speed and God knew what else.
“I appreciate this,” I said.
Ruby winked at me. “Good to know.” She glanced over at Grace once more and lifted her chin. “And I appreciate this.” She turned and stalked off on those unbelievably long legs of hers in boots, her tight ass peeking out of her cutoff denim shorts. Lucky Jump. Lucky Vig.
I stretched out my lower back. Suddenly, this barstool was a pain in my ass. I drained my beer bottle, licked at the last traces of brew on my lips, and swiveled around on my stool. Like they had a will of their own, my eyes searched the cavernous dark interior of this old bar that the town had practically been built around over a hundred years ago.
I couldn’t help myself.
There.
She was leaning over a table, taking an order, her long hair shining like thick waves of satin under the spotlight hanging overhead. She grinned and nodded at the two gray-haired ranchers who were chatting her up. The balding guy in glasses said something, and she suddenly knocked back her head and laughed.
A spark raced up my spine. How sexy could a woman’s throat be?
I looked away as if my eyes had been pricked by a blaze of sunlight.
“YOU GONNA BE OKAY, MAN?”
“Honestly?” Wreck asked.
His heavy eyes rested on his little brother, Miller, who was packing up his gear into Wreck’s truck in the front yard of the club. Miller pressed a hand down over a layer of rolled-up khaki and camouflage T-shirts as he dragged shut the zipper on his duffel.
“Always,” I said.
“I don’t fucking know.” Wreck dragged his fingers through his short beard. “It was one thing, sending him off to basic training. But this is a whole other hill of beans. Hell, I’m not the one shipping off to some civil war halfway around the world though, am I? He’s the one who needs the support here, not me.”
“Face it. You’re like a great big mama bear sending her cub off into the wild forest.” I slapped my hand over his bulky shoulder squeezing it. “He’s your boy, man, our boy.”
Wreck nodded as he sniffed in air, jamming his hands into his jeans pockets.
I leaned into him. “Miller’s a good kid. He’s not some newbie out of the suburbs. He knows how to handle a weapon. Hell, he’s comfortable with a whole range of weapons. We made sure of that. And he’s been around the block. The kid can sense trouble a mile off. He’s smart, careful. You gave him that. That came from you. He will be fine, just fine.”
Would he be? Fuck, I hoped so. Miller was Wreck’s half brother via their rodeo slut of a mother. He had tracked the kid down for years before he finally found Miller, beaten up and bruised in the basement of his drunken father’s shack of a house on the Pine Ridge Reservation. Wreck had punched out the old man, grabbed Miller and brought him home, raising the kid himself.
Now nineteen years old, Miller was taller than Wreck and just as tough—on the outside at least. The kid’s darker than dark eyes hid a swarming world in their depths.
I slung my arm around Wreck’s shoulders. “He wants this, right? You gotta give it to him. Shit, you’re the one who put the idea in his head anyway. Get some living under his belt before he decides on patching in or not? He ain’t the college type, so all that discipline and obedience he’s gonna be swimming in now will only forge his character. Make him a man to be proud of.”
“He already is that man,” Wreck breathed, his eyes on Miller.
“Yeah, he is,” I said quietly. “Don’t make this harder for him though.”
Wreck held my gaze, his mouth stiffening.
“All set,” Miller said, a lopsided grin on his tan face. His guarded eyes darted between me and Wreck. “We good to go?”
“Yep.” Wreck nodded and headed for the driver’s side of the truck.
Miller gestured at Wreck with a flick of a thumb. “He okay?”
“He will be—eventually.” I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hugged him.
Miller thumped my back. “Thanks for everything, Dig.”
“Shut up, and make us proud.”
He released me, his black eyes holding mine, his jaw tense. “I’m gonna miss everybody.”
“We’re going to miss you, too, kid.” I ran a hand over his freshly buzzed hair. “Still can’t get used to you buzzed. Sucks.”
He let out a throaty laugh and swatted my hand off his scalp. “Yeah, me neither. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.” He rubbed his sheared head of hair as a half smile lit up his dark eyes. “But I gotta say, it does make life easier.”
“It’s too harsh a look on you. Grow it right the fuck back the minute you’re out.”
“You kidding? No question.” He glanced over his shoulder at Wreck sitting in the truck, lighting a cigarette for Boner, my best friend, who was leaning against the vehicle. Miller’s features sobered. “Dig, keep your eye on him for me.”
“Always do.” I lifted my chin. “Don’t worry about him. You stay focused and get the job done. And don’t fuck anything over there. You might get your dick cut off.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “I’m not going to the Middle East, Dig. They’re sending me to Europe.”
“Well, you never know, man.”
Miller let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” He strode toward the truck, and as he climbed inside he shot me a grin.
“You’re the little sister, right?” As if I fucking didn’t know.
The pounding loud music along with the rumbling of the Saturday night crowd at Pete’s made it next to impossible for her to hear me. She leaned in closer. A magical fragrance of orange blossoms filled my nose. Florida in early spring. Heat, sun, freedom.
Jesus.
She narrowed her eyes at me.
Good, she was nervous. It was the first time I’d talked to her in years—since that keg party in fact.
She struck a pose and mouthed off about my patches.
My cock jerked to attention once the words, “Oh, an officer? Are you a gentleman, too?” sparked out of that sweet hot mouth as she threw me an I-could-give-two-shits-who-you-are look from her usually innocent face.
My entire body tightened. I held her fierce gaze. “Sit down.”
Grace moved quickly and finally settled. I explained the situation in very simple terms.
Ruby had fucked up the Vig setup on the last day. According to Jump, everything had been going perfectly until Ruby decided she needed more blow to help her through her post-weed low. She’d scored some cocaine but gotten in the guy’s face about his customer service when he tried to stick his hand down her shirt. Meanwhile, Vig had meth and a couple of unregistered guns on his bike, and Jump’s pockets had been lined with weed.
All this had happened at a truck stop
with two highway patrol cruisers present. Police involvement had been inevitable, and a quick escape had been a fantasy. Jump had Vig get rid of his un licensed guns, and he’d stockpiled all their goodies into Ruby’s designer backpack while she was having it out loudly and wildly with the frisky dealer. It was a good call, and it sucked. We would either throw Ruby under the bus, or Vig, if he didn’t want to play ball our way.
“She got herself arrested today with one of my brothers.”
Grace only took a deep breath and pressed her lips together. She didn’t look too surprised or upset, but not shocked either. No yelling, shrieking, crying, fainting. No accusations, only asking one question after the next.
“Calm down, Peanut.”
Where the hell did that come from now?
Her being all frazzled, looking like a lost little girl trying to hold it together and determined to make sense of it all was something to behold. Her hair swished off her shoulder as she spoke. I couldn’t resist touching it, and I twirled a soft lock around two of my fingers. It was a richer color than I’d originally thought. Brown with streaks of dark gold. A sun-kissed nymph.
The second I told her I needed her to do something for me, she squeaked, and her eyes popped open like one of those old-fashioned baby dolls. I had no idea why the fuck that had set her off, but I’d had enough. I pulled her into my lap and held her against me. That was good, too good. In fact, it was bad. I knew this, but now that I had her on me, I was like a sinking ship that had stalled just before it got sucked down in that final nosedive toward the abyss of the ocean.
I stroked her back, my other hand squeezing her thigh. I went in closer to that sexy throat for another whiff of that fresh-but-not-too-sweet scent, now mixed with girlish panic. Why was that such a turn-on? I usually liked the experienced ones who never needed much direction from me in order to suit any mood and appetite. Kept things moving nicely along.
This girl was not that. She was…
Christ. What the fuck am I doing?
Back to business.
I needed her to visit Ruby in jail and convince her to take the fall for possession. I had to keep Jump clean and Vig clean, showing good faith and brotherhood so that Vig would be in my debt and finally cooperate in the way I wanted him to. If not, I’d throw him under the bus instead of her. It was a good opportunity. Just a shame about Ruby. But I’d make a deal with her. I wasn’t going to let her or her little sister flap in the wind over this clusterfuck.
“We’ll look out for you, too,” I said.
She fidgeted in my lap, her eyes narrowing at me. Her ass rubbed against my very hard dick, and I grinned. Her eyes went round as saucers as my erection enjoyed itself against her. That seemed to shut her up right quick, and she lost her concentration for a moment. I pulled her even closer, my hand moving up her tight thigh over her velvety soft jeans. My thumb flicked between her legs, and her breath caught in her throat.
Fuck, what would it be like to get in there, pound into that, pull moans out of her over and over again, hear that mellow voice cry out my name?
I fingered the hem of her T-shirt, grazing her soft bare skin. “You still got that pissant boyfriend, peanut?”
She was at a total loss for words and only shook her head.
My fingers slid up along her warm skin, and she shivered They slipped under the thin cotton fabric of her bra strap, and her breath hitched again.
Oh, yes, Peanut. That little bra is coming off, and soon—with my fucking teeth if need be.
“How about I take you to breakfast tomorrow and explain it all then?” I asked.
Yeah, that, and give her another taste of playtime with Dig. God, I’m such a dog.
I was in a haze of lust and in the iron grip of an overwhelming urge. Was it to protect her or devour her? Hell, it was both. There was a first time for everything.
The hulking figure of Pete stood over us, his hands slung on his hips. “You want to let my star waitress get back to work, Dig? I got a business to run.”
I let her go. She swallowed hard, grabbed her serving tray, and sprinted off.
I only grinned.
“I thought you meant something else when you said you needed me to do something.” She glanced out the big picture window by our table at a small diner two towns over from Meager where I’d told her to meet me. Her jumpy gaze followed the lone elderly man wandering down Main Street with a newspaper under his arm on this sunny Sunday morning. No rush hour in Pine Needle today. Her eyes rested on my Harley parked right out front, next to her old Jimmy truck.
“Why? What did you think?” I asked.
Grace’s cheeks turned beet red as she concentrated on swishing her waffle around in a puddle of syrup. A wavy lock of hair fell out of her ponytail and swung in her face, hiding her eyes, and I stifled the urge to reach out and wipe it away.
“Hey, tell me.” I trapped one of her legs between mine under the table and squeezed it.
She blinked up at me. “That, um…I was going to have to come to the club and, um…”
“Yeah?”
“Do stuff.”
“Do stuff?”
“I mean, do things…for you and the rest of the men.”
I swallowed my coffee down fast before I spit it up. “No, Peanut. That ain’t gonna happen, not ever.”
“But that happens, right? Pete’s told me—”
“I don’t know what Pete or anybody else told you, but I’m telling you that is not happening.” Not with her at least. “Is that what your sister told you?”
“She’s never told me much about the club. But with the few things I saw and heard at home when everyone used to come around, I figured…”
“Well, shit happens, not all of it good. But the women who hang with the club are there because they wanna be. Look, you just concentrate on talking to Ruby today.”
“Okay.”
“I wish I could take you into Rapid to see her, but we got to play Ruby’s club connection a bit loose here—or at least try to. Our lawyer hired another lawyer for her, so she’s all set. You’ll meet him eventually. He’ll walk you through everything. Until her sentence has passed, I’m gonna be out of touch. I’ll be around if you need anything, though. I’ll be watching out for you, but it won’t be a good idea for us to have any contact for a while.”
Hell, isn’t that the truth? I sank back in my vinyl seat and gulped the lukewarm coffee in my mug.
Golden sunlight poured through the large window filling the tired small luncheonette with warmth. The only other patrons were an elderly couple sitting side by side, silently chewing their food. In about an hour the place would be jammed with the good folk who had gone to church services this morning. The heavy smell of bacon grease and singed toast hung in the air.
Grace chewed on her last piece of waffle, staring at me.
I grinned. “What’s so fascinating, Peanut?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Nothing.”
“Spill. Come on.”
“It’s, um, your hair.”
“My hair?”
“Yes.” A slight smile swept her lips.
“Do I have dandruff or something?”
“No! It’s just in this light, the color—”
“No one’s ever been able to figure out this color—light brown, gold dirt, dirty honey, dirty blond—you name it, it’s been…”
“Your hair is the color of whiskey and wheat.”
Her eyes melted with mine and something shifted in my chest.
“Well, no one’s ever said that before.”
“That’s what I see.” Her face broke out into a shy grin, and she brought a syrupy fingertip to her lips as she swallowed.
I took in a deep breath, my grip on my mug tightening. “You like waffles, Peanut?”
“When they’re homemade, not the frozen ones. My mom used to make them for us every Saturday morning when we were kids. There’s nothing like eating one fresh off the waffle iron. The butter melts in all the deep nooks, and if you’v
e got really good syrup—the real-deal maple, not that fake-colored corn-syrup crap, well…” She let out a sigh.
I stretched out my legs, grazing hers again. “You know how to make ’em?”
A sudden image of her puttering in a kitchen, concentrating those beautiful eyes over gloppy batter in a steaming electrical appliance as that piece of hair fell in her face, had me enthralled.
“Oh, yeah. It’s not exactly rocket science. But I haven’t had the chance in a long time. My mom trashed the waffle iron a while ago in a fit of anti-domesticity.” She yanked a couple of napkins out of the metal dispenser at the edge of our table.
I laughed. “And what exactly is a fit of anti-domesticity?”
“When your husband and the father of your children leaves you one day after twenty years of marriage and takes off, never to be heard from again.”
“Oh, that.” I toyed with the handle of my coffee cup. “Yeah, that does suck.”
She wiped her lips with a napkin and balled it in her hand. “Where’s your family?”
“My family?”
“Yeah. Are you from around here?”
“No. Came up from Colorado years ago with Boner, kicking around on our bikes. We met Wreck at Sturgis, came down here to Meager with him and hooked up with the club.”
“You still have family back home?”
“No. Nobody’s left in Colorado.” I swallowed more coffee.
“No brothers or sisters?”
“The One-Eyed Jacks are my brothers.” I drained my mug and shifted in my seat.
She put down her fork, and her eyes rested on me. She was probably waiting for a story, but it was a story I wouldn’t tell.
I swiped the bill from next to my dish, the paper sticking to my suddenly damp hand. “You finished?” I shot up from behind the table, not caring for her answer. “I’m gonna go take care of this.”
The words family and home in connection with blood relatives hadn’t been a part of my personal vocabulary for over a decade.
“Fifteen dollars, please.”