Chapter 4
Chapter four
Hunter
Idon't think the three of us have ever run this fast outside of a gym. Not as adults, anyway.
We practically fly across the street, but I stop Mark and Paul when we hit the sidewalk and turn to face them with my hands outstretched.
"What’s our plan? What are we going to say to her?"
"Get up to our bedroom. We need to teach you a lesson and make you ours forever," Paul says.
Mark nods in agreement.
I shake my head. "Seriously?"
"I am serious. That's what I plan to say to her." Paul looks at Mark like I'm insane.
Mark furrows his brow at me. "I'm sorry, are we not having sex with her immediately?"
I groan, adjusting the hard bulge growing at the front of my pants because, yes, I would like that. "She ran away to a town without cell reception. I think we need to address any reservations she might have before we overwhelm her with lots of sex and orgasms."
"My way is more fun," Paul grumbles.
Mark clenches his jaw and stares at me for a long moment. He wants to do it Paul’s way, but logic finally wins out, and he nods. "Fine. We'll figure out why she left us first."
I look at both of them. Their pain is mine. We all want Skylar to want us. "She gets a chance to explain, then we edge her until her orgasms are so incredible, she’ll never leave us again."
Mark and Paul groan, adjusting themselves at the image of Skylar crying out in pleasure.
"All right, let's go get our girl," Mark declares.
Paul checks his watch as we head up the sidewalk to The Wet Whistle. "What kind of bar is this busy at 11 o'clock?"
"A bar that serves lunch," a high-pitched voice answers, making us all jump.
We turn to look at the older woman in the red coat standing behind us.
"You boys in the right place? Foxy Falls in the winter isn’t much fun for tourists."
"We’re only here for a few nights," Mark explains.
The woman grins. "Ooh, the ladies will be in heaven if you three come to the auction tomorrow night." She shakes the paper in her hand and holds it out to us. "If you're planning to bid, you have to stop by the police station before noon. All bidders have to be vetted."
We examine the brochure announcing that New Year's Eve marks the annual Foxy Falls Auction and Fundraiser.
"Thank you, ma'am." I grin at the woman and hold the door open for her. "After you."
"Call me Babs, sugar." The woman pats my cheek as she slides past and calls out to someone inside. "Diane! I got rid of half of them."
Paul, Mark, and I look at each other and head inside.
The tables are packed, and excited chatter fills the large space. A line of single diners sits at the bar, and a group of people sets up a game of pool in the back corner. A large table on the left side of the bar is filled with what appears to be swag bags.
Babs heads over there with her stack of papers and whispers to the woman behind the table, who eyes us curiously.
As I glance around, a curvy vision barrels out of the kitchen with a tray full of plates. Skylar looks tired and a little frazzled, but as beautiful and sexy as ever. She greets the people at the table like old friends as she maneuvers her tray like a pro.
"Here are the meatloaf sliders with sweet potato fries for Henry. The steak sandwich with regular fries for Phillip, and the grilled chicken chopped salad with a side of tots for Deirdre."
A chorus of thanks follows as she turns back to the kitchen.
Then she sees us.
"Holy shit." Skylar stares at us with a mixture of elation and panic as we descend upon her.
As we get closer, Steak Sandwich moves his hand to the gun on his hip and stands. "You know these guys, Skylar?"
Wow. Nora was not exaggerating.
The entire place quiets down at the possibility of cold-blooded murder.
"Yes," she breathes, breaking eye contact for a second to acknowledge the older man. "Yes, I know them."
He sits back down, and the conversation resumes.
"What in the world...?" Skylar stares at us like she's seeing the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future.
"You left without saying goodbye," Paul says matter-of-factly.
Skylar's mouth falls open in disbelief. "I left a note," she squeaks.
I narrow my eyes at her. "Yeah, we got the note." Moving closer to her, I inhale against her temple and close my eyes as her delicious watermelon scent hits me.
Skylar pulls back, staring up at me, then looks around to see the entire bar watching us. "Oh, my god. I'm at work," she blurts out, turning abruptly to hightail it into the kitchen.
We follow hot on her heels to find her pulling plates onto her tray and adding the sides.
I immediately bristle when I realize she's in here with another guy.
He's at least six-foot-five with muscles that make him look like he can pull trees out of the ground with his bare hands.
Giant-Man glances up at the three of us in surprise, but continues to flip sliders and steak, pausing only to change out a fry basket like a machine.
"Look, guys." Skylar pauses what she's doing long enough to pinch the bridge of her nose and take a deep breath.
"I’m so happy to see you. You have no idea.
But every single person out there is waiting for their lunch order, and it's just Vance and me back here.
I need you to go to the hotel and wait for me. I'll come find you in a bit."
That she thinks we’re willing to let her out of our sight ever again is more adorable than a basket full of kittens.
Skylar swallows hard as Paul stalks her toward the stairs. Her chest heaves when he leans forward and stares into her eyes.
"Or we could take you upstairs and remind you who you belong to, Skylar."
She lets out a hard breath, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. Biting her lip, she shakes her head, finally finding her voice. "Unless you want my father to get an eyeful, you'll need to hold that very sexy thought. He lives in the apartment upstairs."
Paul raises his eyebrows in surprise. Mark glances at me before returning his attention to Skylar. We didn't find anything about Skylar's father in our research. Not a single mention other than his name on the birth certificate.
Skylar's voice softens. "Wait for me at the hotel. I'll stop by after we close."
"No." Mark crosses his arms, voicing all our thoughts.
Skylar's bewildered gaze bounces between the three of us.
Vance clears his throat, and we all turn to look at him. "I'd love to leave so you all can sort this out, but I could start a fire. And those plates of food are getting cold."
"Oh, my god, Vance. I'm sorry." Skylar's cheeks redden, and she pushes against Paul's chest until he lets her pass. She picks up the tray, eyeing Mark as if he might tackle her right here in the kitchen, then hustles out the kitchen door like her ass is on fire.
And what an ass it is.
"All right, then. What's your system?" I ask, walking to the sink to wash my hands, and motioning for Mark and Paul to follow me.
Vance chuckles. "Get it all done fast is the only system I can handle for the lunch rush."
I nod. "Okay, I'm your sous-chef. Mark, grab a tray and pull plates for the next ticket so that when Skylar comes back, it’s ready to go. Paul, find out if the bartender needs an extra hand and clear plates if anybody is done. Our girl needs help."
If Vance finds my use of "our" surprising, he doesn't let on.
It takes a few minutes, but we get into a rhythm as I rotate plates from Vance to Mark and add the sides. When Skylar comes back into the kitchen, she eyes us all cautiously but grabs the next ticket and tray gratefully.
We work like a well-oiled machine for the next few hours, with Paul washing dishes as if he's competing for an Olympic medal in the Dishes Decathlon.
By the time the kitchen is closed to new orders, the dishes are done, and Vance shakes our hands in appreciation. He's quiet, but he’s a hard worker, and his steak sandwich is better than anything I've had in the city.
"Good luck, fellas," Vance says with a chuckle as he packs up his knives and heads out the back door.
Skylar returns to the kitchen, followed by Whitney, the bartender.
"Wow, you guys are amazing," Whitney looks around the clean kitchen appreciatively.
"Thank you," Skylar says, eyeing all three of us and swallowing hard. We could cut the tension with one of Vance's knives.
"Um, I'm going to go help Ms. Diane and Babs." Whitney throws her thumb back behind her and practically runs from the kitchen.
Skylar swallows hard, now that she's alone with us. She should be nervous. We're all dying to throw her over our shoulders and carry her back to the hotel like cavemen. But during the brief lulls, Paul, Mark, and I hatched a plan.
"Why did you leave, Skylar?" Mark asks.
She moves, keeping the stainless-steel worktable between us.
"My dad had an accident." She looks around at us and quickly adds, "He's fine.
Broken ribs and lucky to be alive, but he is doing much better.
He called me to help his, well, to help Monica, who owns this bar. She was in the car with him."
"Why'd you leave without telling us, Skylar?" I ask because the accident might be the excuse, but it's not the reason she left.
Skylar opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, and she closes it again with a shake of her head.
"Skylar!" Ms. Diane calls through the kitchen door.
Skylar pushes off the table to poke her head outside. "Grab some glue, will you, dear?"
Mark and Paul look at me, then head out of the kitchen. Skylar watches them go and eyes me for a moment. "I'll be right back."
I nod, then follow her into the large supply closet at the back of the hallway. We already scoped out the space as part of our plan. In addition to the supply closet, there’s a small office and a private employee bathroom located back here.