Two
TWO
CHAOS
Pretty little thing. I eye the girl in my mirror as she scrambles to recover papers from the roadside until the leather-clad shoulder of my VP rudely cuts off my vision. Jinx swerves to avoid a pothole in the dusty road, cursing through the intercom.
“This whole idea is bullshit.”
Fang chuckles, a reverberation in my left ear. “You can’t handle change, is all.”
“Shouldn’t need to change, is what I’m saying.” A soft grunt precedes another, “Fuckin’ shit road.”
“Nothin’ a tip-truck and a roller can’t fix.” I glance in my mirror again, the woman a mere slash against the green scenery. Don’t need the distraction anyway.
Engines growl as our trio slows for the signposted property, the guys dropping back to let me lead us single-file up the long driveway. We should have been here half an hour ago, but Fang figured he had time for a quick dive into Reno’s pussy before we left, not calculating the half hour he’d need to spend afterward hearing her bitch about how long it’s taking to make her his old lady.
Told the fuckhead he should cut her loose before she trapped him into a moral dilemma, but he didn’t listen. And now he has a baby momma with a chip the size of fucking Mexico on her shoulder and a hellion toddler who looks exactly like her daddy.
“Looks like the president of your fan club made it on time.” Fang rumbles another laugh as we circle around the back of the sleek sports car parked in the middle of the yard.
“Fuck up.” I reach up and hold the buttons to switch my headset off.
Marianna Gleeson. Or the Mariana Trench, as she’s known within the club.
Steer too close to her honey-trap curves, and she’ll have you drowning in the dark as the pressure cracks your bones and forces blood from your eyes and nose.
There’s a reason why the bitch took up real estate when we left school.
“Hey, boys.” She saunters over as we kill the engines and remove our helmets. “You ready to take a look at your new home?”
I eye the form-fitting dress that molds to her pornstar body, neck to calf. Off-white. As though she’s set to marry the next geriatric billionaire that she happens across at the drop of a hat. “How’s Doug?”
Her nose crinkles at her husband’s name, fingers moving to twist her flashy diamond wedding ring as she answers. “Alive.”
At age twenty, she married the fifty-seven-year-old mayor in a union that made Anna Nicole-Smith look like a fucking nun. Rumors were the old fuck had years at most to live after a particularly aggressive tumor had left him with a rather unsightly growth off his ribcage. Yet, here we are, ten years later, and the smug prick is still kicking.
Must eat her fucking alive, watching the known pervert waste his fortune on hookers and horses.
“Anyway.” She shakes her head as though clearing the nightmares and turns for her Jaguar. “Let me get the details before we go inside.” Bitch opens the driver’s door and leans across the seat to retrieve a folder on the opposite side of the vehicle.
I roll my eyes and turn away from the blatant spectacle to find Jinx looking at me with a barely suppressed smirk.
Yeah. I drowned in that once before I learned how to swim.
I raise my middle finger at him, then swipe a flat hand to the back of Fang’s head to snap him out of the trance her shapely ass has him in.
He gives me a snarky glare as she straightens and shuts the car door.
“Right.” Glancing down at the paperwork clipped to the front of the folder, Marianna recites the facts as we move toward the farmhouse’s porch. “Built in 1924, it has seven bedrooms and four baths. An expansive sitting room at the front opens onto the extra wide veranda, with a library upstairs that can be used as an office or a second living area.” She gestures to what was probably a spectacular home in its heyday. “The kitchen needs major renovations, and the bathrooms are a mixture of states of disrepair, but the building report came back with only minor work needed to the subframe and roof, which is a miracle in itself for the property's age.” The timber steps creak beneath her polished high heels as she leads us inside.
I flick Fang on the ear when he hangs back to stay eye level with her ass.
“The primary suite has an attached full bath, and four other rooms share two half baths. The remaining two rooms are at the rear of the house—probably originally servants’ quarters—and they have a full bathroom accessible via a short walk along the back of the home.”
“How much was it again?” I hesitate at the front door and run my fingertips along the intricately carved design that frames the entrance to the home.
“ point one.” She straightens her spine, folder clutched to her chest.
“Million?” Fang chokes.
“No. Cents, you fuckwit.” Jinx shakes his head, moving inside the house.
“You just said it needed a lot of work.” I hold Marianna’s eye.
She wets her lips, gaze dropping briefly to my lips. “It comes with one hundred and fifteen acres.”
“And they probably all need work, too.” I push past her, arm brushing her shoulder as I enter the farmhouse.
She emits a shaky exhale and follows me inside.
I’m used to this shit. The desire that rolls off women in fucking waves when they get near me. With mismatched eyes and my hair split-dyed to accentuate the anomaly, they’re thirsty before they even get a whiff of the road-warmed leather on my back or catch sight of the patch that declares me part of the Kings of Anarchy MC. Good girls love a bad boy, and bad girls love to make a wild man beg.
I’ve never pleaded for a goddamn thing in my life.
I’m not about to start doing it for pussy.
“Walls need redoing.” I point to sections of the plaster torn away to the timber slat framing behind. “Floor will need to be sanded back and polished. Light fittings updated, which probably means the wiring is shit.” I gesture to each task, racking up a list of renovations the deeper into the house we go. “Banister is unsafe.” I grip the smooth rail and move the entire structure back and forth as I climb to the second floor.
“I thought you wanted to make this a clubhouse?” Marianna bitches from her spot in the center of the massive foyer.
“I do.”
“Why worry about how good it looks then?”
I set both hands to the rail and lean over it to stare down at her. “Because we ain’t fuckin’ animals, Mary.”
She cringes at the use of the nickname her daddy gave her. “You’ll wreck it anyway.” Her painted lips curl into a smile. “I’ve been to a Kings party.”
“Ten years ago.” I open a door and discover the primary suite. “Times have changed.”
“Sure they have.” Her heels click underneath the landing to search out Fang.
Woman knows where the attention’s at.
I wander into what will be my bedroom as the president of the chapter and run my fingers around the wall while circumventing the space. It’s large. Easily enough room for a super-king bed, some chairs, and a set of drawers. Could even get a goddamn bike up here and still have enough room to swing a cat. My fingers catch the change to the pitch of the wall, a window center on my lefthand side in a wide dormer complete with a built-in bench seat.
Resting one knee on the scuffed timber top, I lean toward the window; hands braced on the frame to survey the surroundings. Acres and acres of open space for us to do whatever the fuck we want with and nary a goddamn neighbor in sight.
Only the glimpse of a small dusky blue cottage in the distance.
Colorful gardens surround the simple square construction like a warm hug.
My focus shifts right to where I saw the pretty little thing drop her shit, then back to the cottage.
There are no other houses down here. There’s only one place she could have come from, and that is not a house that looks as though it has a man living inside it.
Well, howdy do neighbor.