Blade (Archer's Creek Book 3)

by Gemma Weir

  “What exactly do you do?” Daisy asks, his voice interested rather than interrogating.

  “Err, technically I suppose I’m a financial trader, but what my company offers is more wealth management now,” I reply nonchalantly. I enjoy my work, but it’s not something I’m used to talking about with anyone other than my clients.

  “Nikki is super smart, she scored a 1570 on her SAT,” Dove says absentmindedly, her eyes solely focused on stroking Cedric’s white fur.

  Both Daisy and Blade turn to look at me, their eyebrows raised in surprise. I shrug. “I’m good at tests.”

  “So how did you start your business?” Daisy asks.

  “Err, it just sort of happened. I’ve always loved numbers, they’re reliable and unyielding. There’s no opposing point of view with numbers because there’s an expectation to follow a single set of rules that everyone is taught and that’s it. There’s no bending the rules, one plus one will always equal two and regardless of who you are or what you do, the answer never changes. When I first left town, I went to Houston. I got a job at a hole in the wall bar waiting tables and mixing drinks. The money was crappy, but the tips made it a decent income for someone with zero job experience.”

  Three sets of eyes are all focused on me and listening to me intently. “I worked with a girl called Erica and when her roommate left without any notice, she offered to let me move into her apartment with her. It was a tiny two-bed on the first floor above a café and the scent of coffee coming through the floor always made our apartment smell faintly of burnt grinds like the teacher’s lounge in highschool.”

  “Where did you live when you first left?” Dove asks.

  “I couch surfed between Kenny’s apartment and a few of his friends. It wasn’t ideal, but they were all good guys. Living with Erica was a blast. The rent was low, and I learned really quickly that if I lived modestly I could pay my bills and still have a little money to put aside for a rainy day.”

  “How did bartending become financial trading?” Blade asks, his eyes narrowed and his voice low and hard.

  The sound sends my senses on high alert and I have to physically bite back the “Fuck you,” that is on my tip of my tongue. He wants answers, and even though it’s none of his business, my sister deserves the truth. Deep down I’d known it was only a matter of time before I had to explain my life for the last couple of years.

  “We had a regular customer who came into the bar every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. His name was Marc, and he was the one who first suggested I buy some stocks and shares. I laughed off his suggestions—I didn’t have enough savings to buy anything worth having—but when I got home that night I pulled up Google on my cell and started to look into stocks and investments. Before I left home I’d almost finished my degree in finance, so I understood the theory behind trading, but apart from some required reading as part of one of my core classes I hadn’t spent anytime actually looking at the logistics and strategies,” I say, looking directly at Blade, daring him to question me.

  “That night I stayed up until 5am, and by the time the sun rose I’d opened an account with a stock trading website and invested a hundred dollars of my savings. I lost over half of it within a week, but by the following week I’d doubled my money. The rises and falls fascinated me and within a month I found myself forecasting and successfully predicting trends. The amount of money I was risking, though large to me, was pennies in comparison to the other people risking hundreds of thousands of dollars. But week on week I started to see a healthy return on my time and money. I invested pretty much all of my tip money for the next six months, and by then my savings were dramatically healthier. Eventually, I paid my last semesters tuition, finished up college online, and discovered a passion for trading that I’d never expected. I spent my days watching the price of my investments and buying and selling to maximize my profits. I didn’t really need to work nights at the bar, but I didn’t quit because I was terrified that my investments would tank, and I’d be left broke and without an income,” I finish with a shrug.

  “You always were good with numbers,” Dove says, a proud smile on her face.

  “How did dabbling with tip money become a business?” Blade asks, his tone lighter. His posture is more attuned to me now as he sits forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

  I laugh as I remember. “It was a bet. Erica and I got drunk one night and she bet me that I couldn’t turn a hundred dollars into a thousand in forty-eight hours. I’d cockily accepted and invested the money on her behalf. At the end of the two days her profile showed she owned stock valued at twelve hundred dollars. The next week she’d given me two hundred dollars and asked me to see how much money I could make her. At first, I’d refused. Two hundred dollars was a lot of money and although I’d discovered an aptitude for trading, risking your own money is a hell of a lot easier than risking someone else’s; especially a friend’s. But she hounded me relentlessly, assuring me that she understood the risks and that if I lost all the money she would be fine, that it was the money I’d made her the previous week and she would still be up, given the profit I’d made her.”

  Relaxing back into my chair, I smile. “When I’d finally agreed, I’d meticulously researched companies and trends, only ever buying from low-risk companies and selling slightly earlier than I would have done had the money been mine to lose. I didn’t rush into decisions, documenting carefully when to buy, when to sell, and plotting intricate forecasts. A month later Erica’s two hundred dollars had become five thousand.”

  My sister gasps. “Wow, that’s a lot of money.”

  I nod. “It wasn’t long after that I made my first bad trade and lost a thousand dollars. I cried for two days. After that I became even more fastidious; my choices were made with considered planning and even though I still took risks, they were more educated risks, rather than enthusiastic whims. Erica continued to give me money to invest every so often and almost everytime I made a return for her. My second client was a guy called Rob. He was a retired Army sergeant and a barfly who came in every night of the week to escape his nagging wife of thirty-five years. He won five hundred dollars on a horse race, and drunk as a skunk he gave me and Erica a hundred dollars each. I didn’t feel right about taking his money, so I invested it for him and a month later I gave him a check for two-and-a-half thousand. I thought he was gonna have a heart attack. Erica pushed me to do all of my trader’s exams and then clients sort of just found me.”

  “You must be good at it.” Daisy offers with a sly wink.

  “I am,” I say with no preamble.

  Blade whistles through his teeth, his eyes sparkling with intensity and perhaps even a glint of admiration. “Five million in the bank says that you are, Duchess.”

  My head swings to look at him so fast it makes my neck hurt. “How the hell do you know what I have in the bank?”

  “We’ve got our ways,” he replies dismissively.

  “You’ve got your fucking ways?” I shout, jumping to my feet. “What gives you the right to look into my financials? Not to mention how illegal that is.”

  Blade slowly leans back in his seat, crossing his feet at the ankle. “You barged into our club, shouting your mouth off and trying to take one of our women. We have every fucking right in the world.”

  “You egotistical asshole, she’s my sister,” I shout.

  Blade shrugs and I grit my teeth and clench my hands into fists. “Fuck this,” I mutter, then turn to my sister. “I’m sorry, I need to leave. Do you fancy lunch, just the two of us tomorrow?”

  My sister jumps to her feet and rushes toward me, throwing both Daisy and Blade angry glares. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to. But tomorrow?”

  She nods, her eyes worried and brimming with tears. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

  Pulling her into a tight hug, I whisper “I love you,” into her hair and then pull away, grabbing my purse as I hurry from the apartment and into the fresh, Blade free air.

  I watch the
tense line of Nikki’s back as she rushes from the room and I quickly brace my hands against my knees and push up from the seat intending to go after her. The decisive shutting of the door and the furious anger pulsing from Dove pushes me back down onto the couch.

  “What the hell did you do?” she cries, turning her head to address both me and Daisy.

  “Angel,” Daisy says, his voice placating, but Dove lifts her hand into the air to stop him from speaking.

  “Three days ago, I thought my sister was dead, and I had no biological family left in the world. Today, I have my sister alive and in my life again, and I will not allow any of you to drive her away. She is not here to hurt me; she isn’t here to hurt any of us. Our father hurt her, just like he hurt me. Probably worse, I don’t really know. But I want her in my life, so you need to deal with it and start being nice to her,” Dove cries.

  Daisy springs to his feet and pulls his woman into his arms, cooing soothing words into her neck. Standing, I rub the back of my neck, instantly regretting baiting Nikki. I take a step toward them and when Daisy releases Dove, I reach out and stroke her hair. “I’m sorry, Little Dove. We had to look into her background to make sure she wasn’t gonna cause problems for you. But I hear what you’re saying, and I’ll make peace with your sister, okay?”

  Dove nods. “You don’t have to like her, you just have to not piss her off. I don’t want to lose her again.”

  I smirk. “Well, I can’t guarantee not to piss her off, but I can promise that the club won’t be the reason you lose her. She might be your family, but you’re mine and I look after my family, Dove. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Dove steps toward me and kisses my cheek. “I couldn’t ask for a better big brother.”

  Shaking my head at her, I wave my goodbyes and leave. I climb onto my bike and start the engine; the roar instantly clears my head and the pressure in my chest lessens. Regret gnaws at my chest and pushing my bike off the kickstand, I accelerate until the wheels are swallowing up the road beneath me. I ride away from Archer’s Creek and into the winding country lanes that link us to the surrounding towns. Without a destination in mind, I simply enjoy the sounds of the engine and the feel of the wind in my face. I allow the stress of the sleepless night and the tension that touching Nikki has built within me, to blow away into the warm air.

  Touching Nikki had been a mistake, but I couldn’t help myself. Behind the pinup girl bravado and the hellcat attitude is a fragility that calls to me, and after she left last night, I couldn’t banish the image of her in Park’s arms from my mind. She left with him and that fucking infuriated me. All I could think about when we were alone in that kitchen, was that he would get to christen that house with her.

  I’d pushed her for a reaction, pressed her buttons, and my cock twitches as I remember the way she’d imploded in my arms. The moment we’d touched, it was like we were two magnets drawn to one another without our consent. Her tongue had dueled with mine and her pussy had ground against my leg like she would die if the friction stopped. If we’d had more time, I’d have slid her jeans down, pushed my rock-hard dick into her, and fucked all that attitude right out of her. Fuck, I still want that; so much so I rock back in my seat as a red-hot wave of lust hits me.

  Normally I’m almost impassive about sex. I do it, I enjoy it, but I don’t feel any deeper emotion about it. It’s a release, a way to blow off steam and release some stress. On occasion I use sex as a distraction, a means of blocking out the fucked-up memories that I’m constantly trying to repress. I can’t ever remember being jealous before, but never have I wanted to fuck someone the way I want her.

  My mind flashes to my life before I moved to the Archer’s Creek Chapter. I’d been a member of the Nevada Doomsday Sinners and things had been different there. Women were passed around like objects and I hardly ever knew the names of the whores that hung out at the clubhouse. The Nevada guys were heavily into the hard drug trade—we imported and distributed the bad shit. Crack, smack, and meth, we prospered on the industry that destroyed people’s lives and I basked in it. My job had initially been as an enforcer, collecting debts and making sure everyone understood the consequences of crossing us. But after a few years, I discovered I had a unique skill set that the Nevada president decided to exploit. He realized that I was very good at killing people and that the club could rent me out as a gun to hire.

  I spent two years murdering people for money and now they haunt me; a silent punishment for trying to be God and doling out retribution that was never mine to administer.

  Without realizing my direction, I find myself outside Park’s tattoo parlor. Killing my bike, I climb off and make my way to the front door. A buzzer heralds my arrival the moment I push the door open and Park’s voice shouts. “Be there in a minute,” from somewhere in the back.

  His eyes narrow when he sees me. “Boss.”

  “What the fuck’s going on between you and Nikki Coleman?” I hadn’t meant for the question to sound quite so much like an accusation.

  “Why the fuck is that any of your business?” Park demands, pulling a cigarette from a packet and placing it between his lips.

  “Because Dove’s a Sinner and I won’t let anyone fuck with her.”

  Park lights his cigarette and inhales deeply. He blows the smoke out, his gaze intent on mine. “I don’t think the reason you’re here has anything to do with Daisy’s old lady.”

  “Why else would I be here?” I say dismissively.

  “Because you want to know if I’m fucking Nik.”

  “And are you?”

  Park laughs a dry, humorless laugh. “Nikki’s not gonna cause trouble for Dove, or for the club. She’s a good girl.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” I growl.

  Park tilts his head to the side and blows a ring of smoke in my direction. “No, I didn’t, did I?”

  “Park,” I warn.

  “Boss,” he mimics back at me.

  “Are you fucking her?” I ask, between gritted teeth. I need him to deny it, I need him to tell me that he’s never touched her.

  Park’s lips twitch into a smug grin. He dramatically looks at his feet, then twists to look over his shoulder. He looks back at me and raises his brows. “Not right now.”

  Seeing red, I stomp toward him and he laughs. “Calm down, Boss. No need to go all fucking Rambo on me. No, I’m not fucking her. I’ve never fucked her. We’re friends.”

  The anger evaporates from my body and I release the agitated breath I’d been holding. “Tell me about her,” I demand.

  Park lifts himself onto the worn wooden counter and stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray. “I don’t really know what I can tell you that you don’t already know. Until yesterday I’d have said I knew her well, but it turns out I don’t have a fucking clue. She turned up here a couple years ago like a scared little fucking mouse, all wholesome long blonde hair and big eyes. Took her a full five minutes to tell me she wanted to get a tat, and then she cried, like sobbed the whole way through. She told me she needed a job, and I told her that a bar I knew of, Peachy-keen was hiring. The next time I went in for a drink she was working there.”

  “She was blonde?” I ask, unable to believe my feisty redhead was ever a blonde.

  Park chuckles. “Yep, now that I think about it, she probably did look a lot like Dove back then.”

  “You’re just friends?” I say, unable to believe anyone could be just friends with someone like her.

  Park lifts his hands and shrugs. “Have I ever thought about stripping her naked and licking all of the tattoo’s I’ve put on her skin? Hell, yes. Have I ever actually done anything to make that happen? No, I haven’t. We’re friends, just friends.”

  A growl comes from deep inside my chest. Just the thought of her with Park makes me irrationally angry. She’s not mine, I don’t want her to be, but she can’t be his either. She can’t be anyone’s.

  “Nik’s not as strong as she looks,” Park says, all hint of playful
ness gone from his face.

  I nod. “I know.”

  “She keeps to herself. Nik doesn’t party. She was good friends with one of the other waitresses from Peachy’s but she moved out of state about a year ago. Until I found out about Dove and her family yesterday, I never really thought about how alone she is. She’s my friend, so don’t fuck with her. I’ll vouch for her, she won’t be a problem for the club. Hell, I’ll fucking claim her if I have to. Just leave her the fuck alone and let her and Dove be. Okay?” Park says, his tone serious.

  “You’re not fucking claiming her,” I snarl.

  “She’s not one of your whore’s, Blade. Just leave her the fuck alone.”

  If only it were that simple.

  After Park’s warning, I simply nodded and left, and now I’m here outside Nikki’s house. The blinds are open, and I can see her sitting at a desk in the corner of her living room, a laptop in front of her and a phone to her ear. I know I should leave, I definitely shouldn’t be watching her through her windows, but I can’t help myself and I stay rooted to the spot.

  I don’t particularly like her, but she fascinates me, even while she pisses me off. Maybe it’s because she’s not opening her legs for me, like every other bitch I’ve met since I was twenty years old has? Pussy has always chased me and having never had to work to get laid, she’s certainly an enticing challenge.

  Maybe it’s just that she’s hot as fuck and I want to bend her over and fuck her pussy until she stops being such a bitch? Or maybe, a small voice inside me says, it’s because you recognize the dark and twisted bits of her and think they might soothe the blackened parts of yourself.

  Regardless of the reasoning, something drove me to come here and whatever that is it won’t let me leave. So I sit on my bike outside her house, watching her work. She’s sat in an office chair, her legs curled beneath her and her hair twisted into a messy knot at the top of her head. She’s changed clothes since this morning and now she’s wearing what look like sweatpant shorts and a huge, loose t-shirt that’s fallen to the side, exposing one of her colorful shoulders. Nikki looks younger, and more like Dove than ever before.