Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Grease streaked my knuckles black. I stepped away from Coast’s army-green Dyna Street Bob and wiped my hands on a ripped red rag. “Carburetor’s fucked.” I ambled to the mini fridge. “Beer?”
Coast nodded, and I tossed him a can of Lone Star before cracking my own. The ice-cold beer offered relief from the early-summer Texas humidity.
Coast let out a slow whistle. I followed his gaze to a pair of long, bare legs striding across the parking lot. I threw the wrench to the ground and stormed outside.
“I thought you had to work tonight.”
Merci grinned. “Playing hooky. Like the outfit?” She struck a pose, one hand on her hip, the leather miniskirt riding dangerously high on her tattooed thigh. The crop top showed off her toned stomach and sparkly navel ring.
“Where’re you headed?” I demanded.
“A party. You’re not invited.” She stuck her tongue out at me.
A low growl rumbled in my chest. “We’re having a party here tonight. Stay.”
Merci scoffed. “Nah. You overprotective alpha-holes won’t allow a single guy to even look at me, let alone talk to me.”
I balled my fists. She wasn’t wrong. Over the past several days, I’d warned off more than a few hangarounds and prospects who didn’t know who Merci was to the club.
“I promise I won’t get into trouble.” Based on her saccharine tone, she was lying. “I’m having drinks with some girls I knew in high school.”
I released a breath and stared up at the sky, begging whatever God that might be listening for her to stay out of trouble. “Call me if you need a ride home.”
“Sure thing, boss. Don’t wait up.”
Merci peeled out of the lot, gravel spraying behind her truck’s tires. Her hand hung out the window, middle finger in the air. I stared long after she was gone until Coast cleared his throat.
“What’s going on there?” Coast asked, his curious brown eyes examining me.
“Nothing,” I insisted. “I’ve known Merci since she was in junior high. Just want to make sure she’s safe.”
Coast nodded, though I could see in his expression that he wasn’t fully convinced of my intentions.
“I get it. My daughter went through a wild phase right before she went off to college. Picked her up from more parties than I’d have liked to.
Couldn’t get mad at her though, because at least she’d trusted me enough to call for help. ”
I choked on my beer. “You have a daughter? You’re like, two years older than me. How the fuck do you have a college kid?”
Coast shrugged. “I was sixteen when Savannah was born.”
“Damn,” I muttered. “Fucking crazy.”
“You’re telling me,” he grunted. “She just finished her freshman year at Texas A&M. She’s traveling with her mom this summer to every rodeo they can hit.”
“Rodeo?”
“She’s a barrel racer. One of the best on the circuit right now.”
“That’s pretty cool.” I glanced back at the parking lot where the dust hung in the heavy air. “Hopefully Merci stays out of trouble tonight.”
Coast tilted his head, waiting for an explanation.
I blew out a breath. “Merrick’s worked hard to keep her on the right track. Put her through college. Made sure she had everything she needed to get out of here and build her own life. But I’m worried that what her ex did has fucked with her more than she’s letting on.”
“She looks like she can handle herself,” Coast observed.
I scoffed. “She could beat down most of our prospects—except you. Not sure she could take on a SEAL.”
“Bet she’d give me hell, though,” Coast shot back.
“Careful,” I warned.
Coast held up his hands, his grin more a taunt than a promise. “Heard you the first time. I wouldn’t think of crossing that line with her. Besides, she’s not much older than my daughter.”
We continued tinkering with his bike. By the time we finished and I’d showered off the sweat and grime from the day, the party was in full swing.
The clubhouse smelled like smoke, whiskey, leather, and sex—the same alluring cocktail that drew me in when I was a twenty-one-year-old prospect.
A fire roared behind the clubhouse, and the air pulsed with the bass of divorced-dad rock and laughter mixed with the occasional growl of an engine revved for no reason other than to be loud and obnoxious. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Most men my age came home to a mortgage and a minivan. I came home to this—cold beer, hot women, and the promise of a damn good time holding both. I let the familiar mayhem that felt like home envelop me as I walked through the clubhouse to the backyard.
Home. Funny word for a guy who’d never really had one. I’d stopped looking for one as a kid. I’d learned as a teen that touch was easier than trust, a woman’s body warmer than the empty promise of love. I lived every single man’s dream.
I grabbed a beer and found a spot by the fire pit near Fuse, watching the flames throw a golden glow across the crowd.
A pretty blonde wearing a low-cut top sat on my lap.
She smelled like coconut, lime, and copious amounts of tequila.
My hands found their way to her hips, more from muscle memory than real interest.
Mandy? Mindy? I’d already forgotten her name. My pocket chirped twice before I groaned. “Lean over a bit, doll,” I said, reaching for my pocket. She pouted but shifted just enough to allow me to pull my phone out.
It chirped several times again in succession before I unlocked the screen.
Merci: So you know how you said to call if I needed a ride? I think I might.
Merci: Or maybe I’ll sleep in this field. The stars are pretty.
Merci: Do you think I’ll get eaten by a coyote if I sleep on the ground?
Merci: I’ve always wanted a pet armadillo. I wonder if I can catch one.
“Stand up,” I ordered the blonde. She huffed until Fuse patted his lap. I walked away from the group and dialed Merci. The phone rang through to voicemail. I called a second time. No answer. I furiously typed out a text message.
Me: Answer your goddamn phone.
Merci: I’m busy building an armadillo trap. I’ll call you back.
I scrubbed the back of my neck with my hand and dialed her again. This time she answered.
“Where are you?” I snarled.
“Um, so I went to a party. Then these girls I met offered to take me to another party. A better party. But it’s some The Hills Have Eyes shit out here.”
I tensed at the idea of Merci, alone and vulnerable. And drunk. “Send me your location.”
She continued to ramble, her words slurring together. “I wandered away from the group because I had to pee in the woods, and I think they left without me. Which is complete bullshit. Who leaves a girl at a party with a bunch of frat boys she doesn’t even know?”
“Send me your fucking location.” This time, my tone slipped into a clipped order.
Merci ignored me, babbling on like she was speaking in cursive. “It’s peaceful out here away from the party,” she mused. “Don’t worry. I have a pointy stick to keep the coyotes away. And if I can just finish this trap, I could have a pet armadillo by morning.”
My patience snapped. “Merci, if I have to track down Linc to ask him to find you, the next call I’m making is to Merrick. And he’s going to leave his happy little vacation very pissed off that I couldn’t keep his sister out of trouble for more than a few days.”
“What was that?” Merci stuttered, fear edging her voice.
“What’s happening?” I asked as I pushed through the crowded party to find Linc.
“Something just rustled in the woods.”
My phone pinged in my ear.
“I just sent you my location. Get here before a mutant mountain lion chews my face off.”
I glanced at the pin and sighed with relief. The abandoned Smith farm. I knew it well—I’d hooked up with more than a few girls at parties out there over the years.
I jogged to my bike, jamming the helmet onto my head and roaring out of the driveway.
I weaved through the back roads before I hit the long, winding drive that led to the set of old barns.
Partiers stared at my bike as I parked and pulled my helmet from my head.
I glanced around, hanging it on the handlebars before swinging my leg over.
Where the fuck was she? I pulled out my phone and called her.
“Fucking seriously?” I muttered as the call went straight to voicemail again.
“Hey, man. Did you bring any weed?” a college boy with a backward visor asked as he stumbled up to me.
“Have you seen a woman named Merci? Dark hair. About this tall,” I asked, holding my hand in front of my chest. “Obsessed with armadillos?”
“No, all the chicks left a while ago. Just us guys.”
“Cool. Well, my friend is out here hiding somewhere. I’ll leave you to your sausage fest.”
I stalked toward the open field and wooded tree line. “Merci,” I bellowed.
“Marco,” she shouted.
“Goddamnit. I’m not playin’. Where are you?”
“Marco,” she sing-songed again.
I grumbled. This fucking woman. “Polo,” I said tersely.
Merci giggled nearby. I saw an open spot in the tall, swaying grass. I strode over and stood above her, glaring down as she splayed before me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, reaching for her hand to pull her up. “You’re probably covered in ticks.”
She hiccupped. “Do you want to check me for ticks?”
My fists balled at my sides. “I want to spank your ass so hard you won’t be able to walk right for a week.”
“Oh, kinky. I like it.”
“Let’s go home,” I growled, ignoring how the filthy images that filled my mind made my dick twitch.
“I don’t have a home anymore,” Merci whined. “I don’t want to go back to the clubhouse. Let’s stay. We can camp. I’ve always wanted to go camping.”
“We don’t have what we need to go camping. We’re leaving.”
Merci gazed up at me, pouting. Then a flash of mischief crossed her face. She turned and ran. “Can’t leave if you can’t catch me,” she quipped.
Irritation shot through me. With shorter legs and an unsteady gait, she wouldn’t make it far. I wasn’t concerned about her getting away, but I was worried she’d break a fucking ankle.
I jogged after her, barely making an effort, and tackled her, wrapping my body around her to break the fall. I grunted as our bodies hit the ground.
“We. Are. Leaving,” I huffed, punctuating each word.