Plain Jane and the Bad Boy (Plain Jane Series)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Chapter Two

  There was nothing better in life than a cold beer in the palm of your hand and the sizzle of beef cooking on the grill, especially after completing another flip. A flip which should bring in a nice chunk of change.

  Liam did the math in his head. He bought the house for one eighty on a short sale, spent thirty-five upgrading the kitchen with new cabinets and appliances, spent another twenty-five on turning the bathroom into a mini-spa with a sunken tub and walk-in shower. Another ten grand on the floors, paint job, and landscaping. He and his men put in long hours and got everything done in two months. Local listing prices of neighboring houses were in the two eighty range. He planned to list the house at three twenty and decrease if necessary. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be necessary.

  A cheer went up in the family room, followed by a string of curses and the tinkle of broken glass. Liam leaned over the arm of his deck chair and pushed open the screen door. “You break my shit, I break you.”

  “That was the jaw of your UFC fighter breaking. You owe me a Benny,” Mack shouted.

  What else was new? He sucked at picking a winner. He had a thing for the underdog, always wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, until they bit your hand off. And they always bit his hand off, such was his expertise.

  Willa, Mack’s old lady, crossed to the kitchen and returned with a broom, as Mack hauled his ass out of Liam’s favorite chair and lumbered over to the patio. “You’re burning the meat.” Mack headed for the grill.

  “Touch my meat and you’re fired.”

  Mack snorted and picked up a pair of tongs. “I’m the best drywaller you have, asshole.” He opened the hood on Liam’s custom-built grill and flipped the steaks.

  A fact Liam couldn’t deny. He looked out onto the open backyard and the houses adjacent to his—Mack’s and the rest of his little group—houses they’d flipped together, which created their own little enclave at the end of the cul-de-sac. Man, they’d all come so far from the days when he was just the son of the president of Mayhem MC.

  Liam grew up in the motorcycle club and had enough of the violence and crime that the army was an acceptable alternative. Six years in as a grunt going from war zone to war zone; and four years as a respectable business owner flipping houses, he should be pleased.

  Shit, he was pleased, though something was missing, something tangible.

  The patio door slid open again and out traipsed Willa, followed by everyone else: Billy and his pregnant girlfriend, Sasha; and single and loving it, Jay.

  Tonight was their ritual feast after completing a job. Everyone gathered at Liam’s for a meal and some downtime before the next job. Liam stole the ritual from his father who did the same thing before a drug or gun run. Great way to establish camaraderie before illegal activity. The ladies handled everything except the meat and the liquor.

  “Liam burned the meat, so blame him, not me.” Mack piled the T-bones onto a platter Willa had brought over. Liam didn’t have any of that fancy shit in his house.

  Willa did a year in college as an interior designer, then Mack knocked her up and she dropped out. Now, she was a stager, working with a few developers, including Liam. He gave her free rein to design his house. With no woman in his life to defer to, he didn’t care what the inside looked like as long as he had a place to sleep, eat, and shit.

  Tomorrow morning, she’d stage the house they just finished for a showing later that afternoon. Tonight, it was all about kicking back and relaxing. They gathered around the picnic-style dining table. The spread looked good—baked potatoes, corn on the cob, grilled veggies, and meat. Liam’s stomach growled as he filled his plate.

  They talked shop as they ate. Mack and the crew would start on their newest project on Monday, while Liam and Anna, his office manager, would scout the houses up for auction. There were a few properties he wanted to invest in and flip; however, the competition would be fierce.

  “Have you seen the new renter? Is she pretty?” Jay asked midway through the meal.

  “I thought the plan was to turn it into a community man cave or some shit.” Sasha rubbed her distended belly. One more month and she and Billy would welcome their first child, a boy. She worked in the office with Anna. He’d have to find someone to replace her while she was on maternity leave, even though Anna insisted she didn’t need the help.

  Liam took a swig of his fresh bottle of beer. “I am, once I get zoning for it. Why let it sit empty while we wait?”

  “Snoop knows a guy working for the zoning commission.” Jay volunteered.

  “I bet he does.” Liam snorted. “He always knows a guy from somewhere who’ll do something for some money or a favor.” Snoop was his father’s VP and not someone you wanted to owe anything to. Liam wanted nothing from the fucker. And nothing from the club.

  “Knowing a lot of people comes in handy.” Jay was already onto his second plate. “Back to the neighbor. Is she pretty?” Always on the lookout for a new lay, Jay’s dick did most of his higher thinking.

  Liam shrugged. Anna handled the few rental properties he owned and did a good job. The renter moved in a week ago and he’d yet to lay eyes on the woman. He’d call that being a good neighbor. As long as she paid the rent on time, they’d get along just fine.

  Willa piped up with, “I tried to do the neighborly thing and bring over a casserole two days after she moved in. She didn’t answer the door and I know she was home. I could hear the baby inside. She chose to ignore me.” She scoffed. The quintessential old lady of a biker, no one ignored Willa. She was an in-your-face every day, all day type of chick that demanded attention. When Mack did an eight-year stint on a weapons charge, she raised their two daughters on her own, while holding down a full-time job and, by extension, holding him down. Her loyalty never wavered. He worshipped the ground she walked on…just not enough to leave Mayhem alone, even though that was a condition of his parole.

  “You know how Anna always greets the Lazarus renters…” Sasha joined in. “Well she couldn’t ’cause of her dog being ill again. So, yesterday I go over and bring a Bundt cake. Saw the blinds move. She never came to the door. She thinks she’s too good to mingle with us.” Sasha snorted. Where Willa led, Sasha followed.

  Liam glanced at the frosted Bundt cake from his favorite bakery placed in the center of the table. He wasn’t sorry as it would soon be in his stomach.

  “I’m too good to mingle with you harpies.” Mack shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth. “She don’t want to be bothered with us, I don’t blame her. I don’t want to be bothered either. Now, can we shut up about some dipshit female and enjoy the spread?” he said around the food.

  “Shut the fuck up.” Willa slapped her husband on the side of his head while Sasha flipped Mack the finger.

  And that’s why Liam loved these irreverent assholes. Sensitive much? Then keep your ass and your feelings far, far away.

  Jay slammed his fork down. He ignored the napkin next to his plate in favor of dragging his arm across his greasy mouth and shoved his chair back. “I’m gonna have to go over there and knock on the door to find out if she’s worthy enough for my dick’s attention.”

  Mack bounced a crescent roll off Jay’s forehead. “Sit your simple ass down. Lazarus House, Jay. An abused woman doesn’t want to deal with your shit. She probably wants nothing to do with anyone with a dick. Stay away from her, she’s damaged goods.”

  “Anybody home?” A voice called out from the side of the house. The rest of the gang had arrived. Now it was a party. The son of his electrician, the apprentice of his plumber, his contact at Home Depot, plus their wives and girlfriends, and anyone else who wanted to stop by. It was all good. What’s a few more steaks and a few more drinks when it came to friends.

  The one exception, Michelle. One of the risks when you have an open-door policy, the ex may walk her sexy ass back through your side door. The party had moved back inside to catch the main event—not Michelle’s ass whipping—the UFC headlining fight. She lo
oked good in a black miniskirt and stilettos, her top clinging to a pair of double Ds Liam fucking loved to suck on.

  She cut through the crowd and sauntered up to him, all legs and attitude. He fell hard for the entire package the first time he laid eyes on her at a bar. His dick did all his thinking, which wasn’t much when he had her in the back of his truck that same night. She was wild, full sleeve tattoos on both arms, piercings on her nipples, nose and eyebrow; she gave two shits about nothing except the way she liked her liquor and sex. He loved everything about her until he didn’t anymore. Getting burned did that to a man.

  He didn’t need to look around to know they were the center of attention. All eyes trained on them. A thread of violence snaking through the group. All knew the situation and the few that didn’t were quietly brought up to speed.

  Michelle met his glare with one of her own. No fear, not that he expected any.

  “I came to get the rest of my stuff.” She swept her blond hair off her shoulder.

  The rest of her stuff? Shit, he kicked her out six weeks ago and piled her crap in the garage.

  “You waited until tonight?”

  “I didn’t want a confrontation. Figured this was the safest way,” she said loud enough for all to hear, as if they’d protect her. Snort. They wouldn’t. She knew who the fuck they were. Where he came from.

  “Ain’t no safe place from us,” Mack growled.

  Michelle smoothed her hair behind her ears, a nervous tactic. She tread on thin ice. Mack and Jay separated from the crowd watching the next UFC fight. Because of her lifting ten thousand from the company to feed a habit Liam didn’t know she had, he wasn’t able to deliver on the bonus he’d promised.

  Twelve years ago, he would’ve skinned her alive for that shit or lose valuable street cred. No one stole from a member of Mayhem. Army life and one reincarnation, he wasn’t that guy anymore. Ten thousand was a hit, but one he could absorb, and the guys would get their bonus, late, but they would get it.

  This was a lesson learned. Pick better women to screw, else get screwed.

  Liam waved Mack and Jay away and took the lead to the garage. “Your shit’s there.” A chin lift pointed the way to the crap he was nice enough to shovel into a plastic garbage bag and place opposite his prized 1977 Harley Super Glide. There wasn’t much in the bag. She hadn’t moved in, rather she’d left a few outfits and makeup, toothbrush, and other random shit to make sleeping over easier.

  She scooted past him, grabbed the bag and rifled through it. What the fuck would he keep? The heels? The lipstick? He should’ve dumped everything on the curb instead of stacking it in the corner.

  Liam hit the button for the garage door, revealing her red Mustang convertible parked at the curb. She walked toward him holding her stuff in one hand.

  “I’m surprised you kept this. Anyone else would’ve burned everything and beat the shit outta me.”

  He noted the disappointed gleam in her dark brown eyes. He enjoyed a bit of BDSM as much as the next guy, but not with her. Not anymore. The beating he was tempted to deliver she would not enjoy.

  “The night is still young.” When pissed, his Irish brogue slipped out. He sounded like his father, which he hated.

  She eyed him nervously. “It’s just gonna take a few weeks. Then I’m gonna come back and you’ll forgive me because I love you, Liam, and you love me,” she said all breathy then chewed her bottom lip.

  Liam kept his snort to himself and managed to keep his face blank. This wasn’t the first time she threw out those words. He hadn’t reacted then and wouldn’t now. But her reaction to his non-reaction? One… Two… Three… Her eyes watered and two fat drops rolled down her cheeks. Weaponized tears only worked when you gave a damn.

  “I screwed up. I know I did. I ruined a good thing with a great guy. I’m going to rehab. I’m gonna get better, I’m gonna pay you back—”

  Not holding his breath on that one.

  “—and I’m gonna make it up to you any way you want.” She pressed into him, offering the only currency she had. All his muscles locked. Unless invited, do not enter his personal space. She wasn’t invited.

  Liam fisted her hair and yanked her head back. Control, whispered through his head. It had been a long time since violence tempted him. Giving into it would take him back to a place he’d barely crawled out of, to a time where anger fueled him, and he used his fists to fight his battles and a bullet to end it. That wasn’t a reference to his military issued weapon. She wasn’t worth it. Nothing was worth sliding back into that cesspool his father wallowed in.

  Liam picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Her screeching cleared the house and brought everyone into the garage and onto the front porch for the show. She could’ve won an Oscar with the way she carried on, pretending he hurt her. He banded an arm tightly around her thighs, securing her to his shoulder; her pride was the only thing hurting on her. With his free hand, he snatched up the garbage bag. Guess it was time to take out the trash after all.

  “What are you doing! Put me down!”

  He ignored the nails clawing his back and headed for her car. Ass first, he dumped her into the backseat and tossed her shit into the passenger seat. She tried to climb out, but he wasn’t done. He shoved her back and kept her there with a single finger to the center of her chest.

  “Keep the money. Never come back and never cross my path again. If I see you…” He wouldn’t hurt her, he wouldn’t go that far. She didn’t need to know that.

  Liam stepped back, allowing her to climb over the middle console, and drop into the driver’s seat. She peeled away, tires smoking, engine revving.

  “All right, people, back in the house, nothing to see. Show’s over.” Puffing on a cigarette, Mack stood on the curb next to Liam. “Never a boring moment at your house.” He passed Liam a fifth of whiskey and watched as he gulped a mouthful. “You’re too soft, man. You shouldn’t of let that bitch off. I’ve buried men for a Benjamin, never mind ten grand, man.” He took a long drag on his cig.

  True enough and it was nothing Liam hadn’t already known. “Once we sell the last property, you’ll get your bonus I promised.” Another mouthful of liquor washed the Michelle aftertaste away.

  Mack shook his head, pissed off but holding it together. “This ain’t about the bonus, man.” Part Italian, he talked with his hands. “You got it, good. You don’t, me and mine ain’t going hungry.”

  Because he was back in the game. Liam knew and kept the fact to himself. Mack was a grown ass man and Liam wasn’t into hand-holding. What was the saying about leading a horse to water and making it drink? Either way, he gave Mack a job, making legal cheddar. As long as he didn’t bring any of that shit to the job, live and let live.

  Mack leaned close. “This is your rep. People think you’re soft, they treat you with less respect. They try you in ways they wouldn’t have before.”

  “Point taken.” But the deed was done, and a loss was a loss. No use bleeding over it.

  “Too soft, man.” Mack shook his head. “Fucking military made you that way.”

  Liam grunted, but didn’t correct his friend-employee. If that’s what he wanted to believe, then so be it. It was easier than dragging up memories he’d buried deep.

  “There was a time when you wouldn’t’ve let that shit stand.” Mack continued his dog gnawing a bone routine. “Chick or not, she woulda left here bloody and missing a limb if she’d done that shit to me. She’d be dead if she’d done that shit to the club.”

  True enough on all counts. Liam wasn’t that person anymore, and it had cost a lot more than ten grand to ditch that version of him. Going back to that alter ego wasn’t an option.

  Mack’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket for a quick scan. The deadpan look on his face told Liam enough.

  “I gotta go,” Mack said and gave three sharp familiar whistles. Jay came running. “See you Monday at the new site.” Mack crossed the driveway, and the strip of lawn separating their property
to hop on his bike, a brand-new Harley—all chrome, no black, custom job.

  “Nite, boss.”

  “Nite, Jay.”

  Jay did the same with his bike. Ten seconds later, the two tore down the road, the rumble of their bikes making a “Don’t fuck with me” statement. They had steady jobs, made good money, in agreement with their parole requirements; however, they were still members of Mayhem, and when the club called, they went running.

  Free will wasn’t always free, especially when Finlay Callahan, Liam’s father, was Mayhem president.

  Liam spun to return to his house. Don’t know why he glanced at the rental across the street. The lawn was overgrown, and the recycling wasn’t out. A service came once a week to take care of his lawn, the same service the rest of the houses used. Anna must’ve canceled the service for the rental after the woman moved in. He’d give them a call tomorrow.

  As he turned back to his home, a sliver of light appeared between the living room blinds. Then it was gone. She was still there. Watching. Spying? A slow burn started in his veins. He may be out of the club, but some things were ingrained.

  Yeah. Tomorrow he’d meet the renter.

  Chapter Three

  Buzz.

  Liam reached for the alarm and swiped air. Confused, he jerked upright on the couch, in the living room, not his king-size bed. The party broke up shortly after Mack left, though Liam continued hitting the Jack until the couch did double duty, apparently.

  There was that buzzing again. Now, it resided between his ears. He was slightly hungover. He hadn’t been that drunk since Mack had no mercy and got him blitzed on his sixteenth birthday.

  The buzzing settled into the distinctive sound of a lawnmower. Who the fuck mows their lawn at—he freed his phone from his back pocket—three in the afternoon? He rolled off the couch and headed to the bathroom to drain his bladder, then dunk his head in a sink full of cold water. While submerged, the night’s events replayed in Mack’s grating voice. Ten grand, man! And Michelle. He never loved her, but he had cared until she played him for a fool. That shit wouldn’t happen again.