Two
Oh boy, here we go. Is it too much to ask to sit at a bar, have a whiskey, and be nosy? Is it too damn much universe? I look up at the ceiling because I want to know. When I get no response from Sky Daddy, I sigh, exasperated. It is? It is too much to ask. Mentally, I prepare myself before turning around because I do not doubt that some foolishness is about to ensue. I felt eyes boring into my back causing me to let out a deep breath. Turning ever so slowly toward the individual who insists on interrupting my people watching time. I come face to chest with a behemoth. My eyes trail up from his bulging pecs and impressive broad shoulders encased in a black long-sleeved Henley and a neck that looks like it has its own damn workout regimen. Damn, who has those kinds of muscles in their neck? Apparently, this guy. Also, what is it with bikers and Henleys? Is it a requirement, along with good looks and being muscley? I shake off the question I don’t want nor need the answer to. My eyes slowly trail up to his chiseled jaw, full lips, and expressive green eyes. Eyes of someone who's seen some shit. Eyes I know from my research and photos. Eyes I recognize, the eyes that look similar to the ones belonging to my sperm donor.
“You lost, sweetheart?” He smirks down at me with amusement at my appraisal of him.
Ewe! Gross, does he think I find his behemoth ass sexy in any shape or form? Because again, Ewe!
Listen, I was born a snarky bitch, and I never apologize for that very teeny-tiny, itsy-bitsy minor flaw. I answer in the only way I know how, “Nope,” popping the P, and spinning my ass around, ultimately dismissing him when I do. Once I face the bar, I find my whiskey waiting for me. Yum!
Looking up, I stare at the intruder to my whiskey peopling time through the mirror above the bar, my resting bitch face on full display. I don’t need to engage or encourage a conversation with him, not just yet. My purpose tonight was not to engage with the wildlife. My goal was to get a feel for the place and people. When the back of my head tingles, I feel that by the end of the night, I’ll be far more entangled with the club than I intended. My eyes remain on the mirror as I watch him step closer to my back. Luckily, not so close that it feels uncomfortable or inappropriate.
“Well, if you're not lost, there are few reasons for someone like you to be in a place like this looking like you do.” He trails his eyes up and down my body, and I recoil in disgust as I turn my head to look at him.
Once he finishes his perusal, his eyes meet mine. Luckily for him, I don’t see lust in them. And hold up? Did he say someone like me? What hot, stunning, brilliant, and badass, with a hint of sass and a dash of crazy. Because that's what someone like me is. Jackass.
Listen, I'm fine... fine. I'm five foot ten with curly, thick natural hair. It's naturally dark brown, nearly black. Currently, it’s in a picked-out ‘fro. Embracing and displaying my heritage fully and completely is my style. I may not have 4C hair because of my mixed heritage, but I can still pick my hair out like a champ. I’m full, luscious, and curvy, and I embrace that shit to the fullest. My dark hazel eyes are a few shades lighter than my mom's, and because of their almond shape, people always think I’m looking at them in some kind of way. Sometimes I am, but not always. And my skin gives glowing Goddess, which I got from my mamma, brown, smooth, and beautiful. I’m not conceited. I know I look good and don’t feel bad about saying, thinking, and feeling it.
Watching him closely. His curiosity shifts to a hint of annoyance because I haven’t responded to him. Of course, he tries to hide it. But I see it as a slight smirk plays on my lips. I live for this shit.
Patients, patients, big brother, sheesh.
I decide to take pity on him, seeing that he is being so friendly. I shift back around on the stool. With my head tilted to the side, eyeing Chase. I give him my brightest smile, hoping to keep him disarmed enough to say what I need to. Shuffling through all the scenarios that can occur with this interaction, I decide how to handle this line of questioning. I squint my eyes slightly, knowing I may piss him off no matter what I say. He seems the type to get all manly when someone challenges his reality. They don’t call him Bull for nothing. Discovering who I am and why I’m here will do that.
I sigh. Here we go.
“Listen, I'm in town for a little while trying to connect with my long-lost sperm donor, who may or may not know I exist.” My voice is calm and even. There's no need to start on a ten when two should work. I don’t want to rile up the beast or bull. I internally cackle at my joke.
Am I being intentionally evasive? Yes, I am. I know for a fact Gunner, the sperm donor, knows I exist. At least he understands he has a spawn somewhere in this big old world. But that's neither here nor there. He and my darling siblings will learn soon enough about me and Blaze.
Chase shifts his stance while his eyes narrow on me. His face becomes thunderous, and I know he doesn’t like where this conversation is going. Ask me if I care. Seriously, ask me. I don’t.
Call me petty for taking enjoyment in fucking with people. The shift in his demeanor makes it clear he’s getting riled up. And as his sister, who missed out on twenty-three years of teasing and poking the bear. I've got a hell of a lot to make up for. Why not start now? Hmm?
Chase takes a step back and stares at me, understanding the implication of my words. He crosses his arms as his eyes scan my face. He says nothing and waits for me to continue, so I do. Because why not stir the pot? Being evasive is not going to work.
“I think my long-lost pappy is a part of this merry band of misfits. Maybe you can help me out?” I say with a smile.
Oh, he is about to be big mad. I can feel it. Oh, come on, fucker, don’t be a dick. Stay chill, bro. I think to myself. Chase's eyes narrow while we continue to stare at one another. His jaw ticks, and it won’t be long before he explodes on me. His stance becomes taller, and he puffs out his chest, flexing his arms, making them look bigger than they already are. As the club's enforcer, I know what he is doing. It’s giving I’m a big bad biker man, don’t fuck with me energy. It’s almost intimidating, almost. I get it, though. My insinuating that a brother may have a wayward child doesn’t sit right with him. It downright pisses him off, and his intimidation tactics aren’t working, which he can tell because his eyes narrow on me when my smile doesn’t falter. I shrug. And continue to stare into his eyes, letting him know I’m not bothered.
Choice made.
The plan to fuck with Big Bro is now activated. He can blame his posturing on how this interaction plays out. I’m sticking to that explanation if anyone asks. Like Big Boobed Petty Betty, my big brother Chase here can’t seem to quit while he’s ahead and play nice.I’m feeling a little giddy about fucking with him. I can't help it. It's in my DNA. And he is my brother. So, here we are. And so we are clear, he is the one that messed up my plan to sit and people-watch because he’s nosey. And now he must deal with the consequences.
Chase continues watching me with annoyance, frustration, and suspicion lacing his features. My smile shifted to a smirk, and his eyes narrowed into slits. Didn't I already say I am a bitch and enjoy fucking with people?
His body shifts again, and I see when he decides not to use brute force to find out who I am and why I'm here. His stance loosens, and his hand comes up to his stubbled jaw, rubbing it back and forth. He chuckles when he comes to a conclusion. Albeit, it’s most likely the wrong one, but one nonetheless.
“Well, sweetheart, the only people I can think of around here who might… be who you're looking for are Titus and Flicker. And they ain't here tonight.” he says with a self-satisfied smirk, like he just figured me out. He hasn’t, but I won’t point that out just yet.
He scans my face like he's trying to find a family resemblance, which I know isn't there for either man. I've researched this entire club. I know every member, ol’ lady, even skimming over the club girls and patch chasers. Come on, don't judge. No one needs to know the names of the holes. Everyone knows those girls, guys, they’s, and them’s are interchangeable. And yes, LSMC is an inclusive club. They take having club ass seriously, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, then you’re the problem, Susan. Anyway, back to my brother and this weird interaction. I give him my biggest and brightest megawatt smile. It’s not the, “I'm about to kill you,”one I’m known for, but the, “I know something you don't know.” Oh, I'm about to truly and utterly fuck up his day. Shit is about to get real.
As I’m about to divulge some hard truths, I get distracted by flowing blonde hair and pale skin. My attention is pulled away from Chase when I realize who the culprit is. Ugh! I turned my head to confirm. Yep, it's Princess herself, my target slash half–sister.
My mind goes to my research of her. I immediately knew I wouldn’t like MC Barbie–like at all. She seems like a spoiled princess with zero self-awareness, which is the opposite of me. My eyes roll, then narrow as I watch her as she saddles beside him. That act alone is another reason to dislike her. When she wraps her arms around his neck, leaning in and saying something far too damn close to his ear, my body stiffens, and my palms itch. It’s hard work ignoring the voice in my head screaming for me to go over there and rip her arms off him and shatter every one of her bones. My fist clenches at my side to keep from bolting out of my seat. I close my eyes, trying to calm myself. My skin prickles, and I have to force myself to think about anything other than what’s happening on the other side of the room.
Hot mayonnaise and onions.
Baby poop.
My parents having sex.
Ugh, my brother having sex. Gross.
Blood, gore, and death.
Flying.
Motel sheets.
With that last thought, I let out an audible breath, and the sensation enveloping me subsides. I’m a dumbass and want to torture myself more–because why not? I watch as she leans down, and her rail-thin lips kiss him on the cheek. Fucking hell. As quickly as it subsided, it’s back. The need to maim. Shit. My vision gets blurry, and the powerful urge to charge over there and pour acid on his cheek to burn her touch off him plays in my mind. I could pretend that’s some shit I wouldn’t do, but that’s a lie. I really fucking would.
The possessiveness over a man whose name I don’t even know is irrational. But my inner crazy has claimed him, and she is far from a fickle bitch. I knew this day would come. But this is not something I need to think too hard about. I’ll be here awhile and have time to figure out what this is soon enough.
Until then, ignore, ignore, and ignore some more.
My eyes and body are refusing my command to ignore the scene. I watch as she speaks into his ear, and my fisted hands tighten at my sides, nails digging into my palms, which no doubt will become a bloody mess if I don’t let up. Then the dumb motherfucker that is mine, yes…yes, I know he doesn’t know that yet, but that’s not the point.He smirks at her. He fucking smirks and shakes his head. As if she’s the most entertaining person he has ever met. I pull in a lung full of air, trying to rationalize that he doesn’t know any better. He’s just being nice. They might even be friends. Trying to be rational isn’t working. I see the laughter in his eyes and stare daggers at them. My fury isn’t potent enough because neither of them seems to feel the sharpness of the blades I’m shooting their way, which causes me to become irrationally angry. Pissed that I can’t kill her with my eyes. When she gives him a wink and flutters away, I wrap my legs around my stool because chasing her down and beating her ass is bad.
Nope, not going to like her.
I watch her as she continues to flit around the room like the fucking Queen of England without a care in the world, with no knowledge of the monster lying in wait, ready to end her. And I’m not talking about the mafia douche. Maybe I should let him get her, which would serve her right. With a frustrated growl, I shake my head at the thoughts filtering through my head. I know I can't let that happen. But I sure as shit can think about it. And think about it. I do.
I give a hard eye roll at how ridiculous and full of herself she seems. How are we related? I mean, look at her. All sweet and innocent looking. Tall, blonde, skinny, and gives off an air of ditzy. It's all a facade. From what I've gathered, she is the type to lie in wait, trample on, and use people for all they are worth, just like her mother. And this is not an assumption. These are facts. She may have been popular in high school, but the people she considered friends did not love or even like her. They feared her. They feared her family. And let me tell you, they had a lot to say about Princess. According to the people we’ve talked to while collecting background information about this job, the club, and her. Paisley, aka Princess, was and still is an attention whore, who never apologizes for it. I’ve learned there isn’t a genuine or kind un-manipulative bone in that girl’s body. She’s all fake but good at showing people what she wants them to see. I was told that her brothers and father tried to keep her in check. But when you grow up with a nickname like Princess, you’re bound to be a spoiled rotten little bitch who gets away with everything.
No, seriously, sisters we are not.
My attention returns to Chase, my brother, whose eyes have remained on me, trying to figure me out. And also figure out why I have a look of irritation, disdain, and disgust directed at his beloved baby sister. It is oddly endearing in a brother-sister way to see that he's taken offense to my reaction to her. I’ve never been bad at hiding my thoughts and feelings. But this situation is not one I’ve ever experienced before. As out of character as it is for me, no matter how hard I try to hide under my mask of indifference, it’s not working.
I’m cold, calculating, and unshakable in my line of work. Sometimes you couldn’t get a damn thing from me. This is not one of those times, even though it should be. It takes a moment for me to collect myself. I take a few deep breaths, trying to stop this tsunami of emotion from consuming me and clouding my judgment.