Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Parker
Wearing my nicest jeans and a plain black T-shirt, paired with my trusty black boots, I think I’m ready to meet my brother. I need to shake my shit out, though, because I’m feeling jittery. The whole of the last year has been leading up to this point.
Literally on her deathbed, my mum confessed what she told me was her worst sin.
That I had a big brother, ten years older than me, but she sent him away to live with her brother in the US.
Apparently she couldn’t handle having two kids from two different dads.
I’m not surprised she waited until her dying day to confess because that is a lame-as-fuck excuse for sending your kid away.
I resent her for keeping him from me for the first twenty-four years of my life.
Twenty-five if I’m counting the last year I have spent digging for information on him.
I imagine what it would have been like to grow up with a big brother.
Would he have sat with me when Mum and Dad argued night after night about her pill problem?
Would he have taken some of the pressure away from me when it came to Dad’s lifestyle?
Maybe I wouldn’t have seen my first dead body in our basement at the age of nine.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been my fault. I had wanted to impress my dad, to show him how unafraid I was to pull the trigger, just like he taught me.
He was so proud of me that day, but what would my big brother have thought?
I don’t have the answer to any of those questions, and I never will, but this has been my focus since the day I found out and I won’t feel complete until I meet him.
Okay, get your act together, Parker. You’re meeting your big brother today. You can do this.
My little pep talk to myself helps and I nod at myself in the mirror.
I couldn’t find a hairdryer or straightener and I ran out of hair products about a week ago, so I scrunched my hair into space buns to keep it out of my face.
Well, mostly. I have a few shorter layers around the sides that tickle my cheeks.
It was real nice of them to let me stay in this room for a few days, seeing as my ‘hotel room’ is actually non-existent.
I just hope tonight doesn’t go sideways and end with me back on the street.
With every penny I had saved now sunk into this trip—and medical expenses because even the back door docs cost the world—I’m relying on being accepted here.
A knock on the door reminds me I was supposed to be leaving the bedroom, not admiring myself in the mirror and getting stuck in my thoughts.
It’s difficult to hide my grin when I see Grinder standing on the other side of the door, holding out his elbow like a chivalrous gentleman.
“I am here to escort m’lady to the party.
The birthday boy has been found, and I should really introduce you to the prez.
” He’s wearing jeans that I can just tell hug his arse perfectly, and as per earlier, in the kitchen, he’s only wearing his leather cut on the top half.
The tattoos across his chest and ribs are mesmerizing, dipping and folding with his muscles and… nope! Stop it, Parker.
“Oh, God, does the prez hate me? Was it totally rude of me to not introduce myself before now?” I have turned into a question machine, but I just can’t stop them from pouring out.
To be fair, I have no idea how this whole motorcycle club thing is supposed to work.
I have dealt with my fair share of dodgy gangs in London, but never a motorcycle club.
Grinder’s chuckle does things to my clit again, and as much as I love the feeling, I’m not here to fuck my brother’s friends. That’ll get me kicked out for sure.
“Nah, he’s good, but he’ll wanna ask about the dead man.” He winks and holds out his elbow again. “Party?”
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely.” Hooking my hand through his arm, I practically skip from the room, which then turns into a full-on skip as Grinder joins me. We stop at the top of the stairs, grinning like idiots.
“Fuck, I haven’t skipped like that for years.” Another clit-tingling laugh from him and I want to drop trou. Right here, right now.
Again…stop it, Parker. No.
We’re in front of the doors that I know lead into their main bar room clubhouse thing. Whatever the fuck they call it, I don’t care. It’s where the party is being held and that’s all I need to know.
Will I even recognize my own brother? Of course I will. There’s only one birthday boy today…I hope.
“You okay, Miss Stabby?” I think that’s genuine concern I can see in Grinder’s piercing eyes as he lightly nudges my arm because I’ve stopped. My legs won’t move.
“Mmhmm. Yup.” I take a deep breath and blow it out with a puff. “Ready.”
“Do you have a date in there or something? Because if you do, I’m gonna have to kick their ass. I called dibs already.”
“What the fu—?” My fuck is cut off as he yanks me through the doors and the body heat hits me first, then comes the smell of smoke and alcohol. It’s familiar, comforting, somewhere I could definitely call home.
There’s a pool table on one side of the room, a lot of tables and seating, a large bar with stools, and an area that I would say is a dance floor. However, it looks a lot more like a stand-and-fuck floor at the moment. Bodies are writhing to the loud, pumping music, mostly dressed, but not all.
“Welcome to paradise.” Grinder pauses in the entrance with me at his side, allowing me to take it all in for a second.
“Where’s the alcohol?” The singular beer I had in the kitchen was nowhere near enough for this kind of party.
“This way!” Pointing toward the bar, Grinder weaves me through the tables like a travel guide waving a red flag—one I eagerly follow. “Shots?”
“Several, please.” Grinning, I jump onto one of the bar stools. It makes me slightly taller than before and now my eyes are at Grinder’s level instead of staring at his impressive pecs.
Standing this close to me, his scent of pumpkin spice and leather easily wraps around me and I breathe it in. Mmm.
As I’m basking in whatever the fuck this is, I realize Grinder isn’t moving and I trail my eyes up from his chest to his face.
They trace over the short beard on his jaw, his plump lips, the straight Roman nose…
and finally land on his bright blues. They’re the icy kind of blue that pierce right through you with just a glance, impossible to ignore.
“Getting a good look, Little Miss Stabby?”
“Yes. Yes I am.” I nod, forcing myself to break eye contact because it’s heating my body in a way I have to ignore.
On the bar, six shots await, and I’m being glared at by the woman who apparently served them. She’s beautiful in a classic way, with bouncy blonde hair and a bright smile, her lips perfectly pink over her brilliant white teeth.
“Do we have an issue here?” I glare right back, gesturing between us and tilting my head in question.
She frowns and opens her mouth to speak, but a throat clearing beside me has her eyes shifting to Grinder then back to me again.
“No.” Her tight smile tells me she’s lying through her teeth, but I’m not here to start a fight so I’m choosing to pretend I believe her.
“Good.” My clit practically vibrates with excitement when my attention slides back to Grinder and his electric smile.
There’s something about the way he looks at me that I want to bottle up and keep forever, but that shit needs shutting down.
Holding up the first two shots, I pass one to him and hold mine up, ready to clink our glasses. “Down the hatch, up yours!”
The tequila—because I know tequila—slides down my throat, the burn welcome, and as I’m about to grab a second, I pause because Grinder’s looking at me again. This time, though, with curiosity instead of the usual hunger.
“Is that phrase a common Brit thing?”
“Dunno. It’s something my mum would say. She drank a lot, had a lot of house parties.” I shrug, downing shots two and three in quick succession. “Do I need to meet the prez now?”
“Nah, but I will introduce you to the birthday boy.” He follows suit and downs his shots as I jump from the stool.
Here we go, I guess.
Being totally consumed by Grinder thus far means I haven’t really taken the time to pay full attention to everyone else.
Rookie mistake. I see the woman from the kitchen sharing a red lollipop with the man she’s sitting on, clearly having a great time.
Next to her is the man who brought the cake, I think he said his name is Spencer.
He doesn’t look like he’s having the best time, nursing a bottle of beer as he stares into space, slowly rocking his head along to the beat of the music.
I should thank him for being so welcoming earlier.
Grinder leads me toward the pool table and I pause, literally stopping in my tracks as nerves take hold when I see him.
He has a Birthday Boy sash on and is unmistakably the man I’m here to see.
He has a small tattoo on either side of his forehead, one beneath each eye, and his hands are covered.
I wonder whether they have any meanings?
“Boys!” Grinder gets the attention of the four men around the table, all glancing up at him with varying degrees of interest. “Meet Pah-Kah.” He gestures toward me like a magician’s assistant presenting the next trick.
I have two choices here…two main ones, anyway. I could awkwardly wave, or I could smack Grinder upside the head for taking the piss out of my accent.
I go with option three.
“Can I play the winner?”
“Sure thing, hot stuff. Name’s Jonesy.” The man approaches with his hand out, but before I can introduce myself, Grinder punches him out of the way.
Jonesy falls onto the pool table, and it’s followed by groans and curses from the others.
“Fuck sake, Jonesy, now we have to start again!”
“Fucking cheat.”
All I can do is laugh because that was fuckin’ funny. The way he fell from a teeny punch totally comical. I look up at Grinder beside me.