Chapter 6
Chapter Six
DEUCE
Two days later, I pull into the cracked parking lot of The End, and it looks just as bad as the first time, but this time, I have a plan.
I’ll approach her calmly, put a check on my bad-ass biker vibe, and try to be calm, winning her over with my charm.
Then I’ll go over all the reasons she should sell the bar to me.
Only problem—I’m not charming, and calm to me is—well, fuck, I don’t know calm, but maybe I could make her see the overhaul is too overwhelming for one person.
Shit, I have some carpentry skills thanks to the last five years, and I remember Fist and Scratch have some talent with electrical and plumbing.
It could all work out, and I have no doubt we could get this place up and running, but first my mystery woman has to sell it to me—and tell me her damn name.
When I get close to the door, I see it’s ajar.
Better yet, saves me having to convince her through a closed, locked door.
I enter the main room and look around. The floors have been swept, and most of the dust has vanished.
The scarred wooden bar top is also dust-free and actually has a shine.
The ripped linoleum has been torn up, and the room smells of pine cleaner and antiseptic.
A big step up from the moldy smell and dirt of the other day.
I stop and listen to mumbled voices coming from the back hallway. As I get closer, the mumbling grows louder until I’m standing outside the same door as the other day when she was beating the safe with a hammer.
I press my back against the wall and listen. Definitely a male and female arguing.
“I don’t give a shit what you want,” a rough male voice barks. “I thought I made myself clear the other day.”
“And I told you, I’m not selling.” Definitely the sassy female from two days ago.
“You don’t seem to get it, bitch, I’m not playin’.”
“And neither am I. You can’t make me sell.”
The male barks out a harsh laugh. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”
Her sass and spirit make me smile. The male voice is familiar, but I can’t place it. Pressing my back against the wall, I side-step closer to the door. When I get as close as I can without being seen, I slowly crane my neck and peer through the crack.
Shit! My eyes are glued to the back of a worn leather cut with a bottom rocker reading Philadelphia and a top rocker reading Rabid Dogs.
The rough male voice has a name—Viper. The psycho president of the Dogs.
An enemy with no boundaries who would stop at nothing up to and including knifing his own mother to make a buck.
Rumor says he pimped out his sister to another club just to get a better deal on some guns.
I lean back against the wall and stay perfectly still, listening.
“Fine, you don’t wanna sell me this shit-hole, then just give me what I want?”
What could she possibly have that Viper would want?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Something smashes, and my back stiffens.
“I’m getting tired of this game, bitch. I want the flash drive, and I want it now.”
“What flash drive?”
“The one your deadbeat old man gave you.”
“Sorry, but he was bullshitting you, ‘cause he didn’t give me anything.”
Another crash, and I push off the wall. No matter how much I want to stay in the shadows and hear this play out, I’m not gonna let Viper’s bullshit go down.
I shoulder through the door just in time to see Viper slam the girl against the desk. She yelps, and in four big steps, I’m across the room, gripping Viper’s shoulder and spinning him around.
“What the fuck?” Viper does a double take. “Deuce?”
“That’s right, fucker, it’s me.” I pull him further from the girl. “Doesn’t look like you learned any manners while I was away.”
He throws the girl a dirty look. “Fuckin’ bitch is lying to me.”
The girl pushes off the desk, all fire and spit. “I’m not lying.” She gets up in Viper’s face. “I’m just not saying what you want to hear.”
Fuckin’ amazing. She almost got her teeth knocked out, and she’s still ready to fight.
“When the fuck did you get out?” Viper asks.
“Just in time to tell you to go back to Philly where you belong.”
“Still a fuckin’ wiseass.” He grins, and I’m tempted to knock that gold tooth right out of his mouth. “But maybe you haven’t heard, the Kings are dead.”
I rush him backwards until his back hits the wall. “Maybe you haven’t heard, fucker, I’m back, and the Kings are back, and we don’t want any Dogs shitting in our territory.”
“Don’t bullshit me. The other Kings don’t want nothing to do with you since you sold out to a Fed.” He shakes his head. “You got nothing, and you know it.”
“You don’t know shit.” I slam him against the wall again for good measure, then heave him across the room.
He catches his balance on the desk, then spins to face me, and I gear up for another fight. I expected to take shit from my brothers, but mixing it up with Viper would be an added bonus.
“You’re fuckin’ with the wrong club,” Viper spits out.
“You threatening me?” I hiss out a low laugh. “‘Cause as I remember it, the Dogs were pussies five years ago, and it looks to me,” I let my eyes rake over him, “like nothing’s changed.”
“You better watch your back, Deuce, ‘cause this ain’t over.”
I spread my arms wide. “I’ll be waiting for you along with the rest of the Kings, so keep your sorry asses outta AC. Better yet, stay in that shit-hole Philly and outta Jersey.”
Viper growls, upends the desk and storms out of the room. The piece-of-shit desk crumbles into a pile of rotted wood.
I turn to the girl, but I can’t read her expression. Pissed off? Agitated? Frustrated? Definitely not scared.
“Well, thanks for making a bad situation worse.” She storms past me, steps around the broken desk, and out the door.
Okay, pissed off, but why at me?
I follow her out of the office, and she heads straight behind the bar. In one quick move, she uncaps a bottle of crap, generic vodka and fills a short glass halfway, then she takes a big gulp, staring at me the whole time.
Miraculously, she doesn’t choke, spit or sputter, and I gotta say I’m impressed. Sure, I can slug booze too, but that shit she’s drinking is only a little better than lighter fluid, and it’ll burn your throat out.
She takes another hit, and I cock my head. “You gonna drink all of that?”
“Why? ‘Cause it’s only noon, and it’s too early for vodka?”
“Nah, you can get your drink on whenever you want.” I come around the bar and search the shelves. It looks like the good stuff is gone, and all that’s left is the shit liquor nobody drinks. I move a few bottles around, and hiding in the back is a full bottle of Blanton’s.
“But why the hell are you drinking that shit when you could be drinking this?” I hold up the bottle of bourbon. “At least this won’t rot your insides.”
Her eyes narrow. “My father’s favorite.”
Again she mentioned her father, but it sure wasn’t in a loving father/daughter way. More like “I hated the bastard, and I don’t need any reminders of him.” Which I totally get, but somehow I always had a vision that daughters automatically loved their fathers.
I twist the cork, it gives a satisfying pop, then I find two freshly washed glasses, fill each with two fingers of the amber liquor, and push one glass in front of her. The whole time, she’s watching my movements like a lion who’s been caged, or someone’s who’s been locked up.
She wraps her slender fingers around the glass, and I lift mine.
She grins or maybe it’s more of a smirk. “You’re gonna make a toast?”
“Here’s to finding out each other’s names.” I return her smirk, and she cocks her head like my words confuse her.
“I already know your name.” She waves her hand to the back of the bar. “Viper called you Deuce, so I assume that’s your name, or your road name.”
Interesting, in the midst of getting roughed up, she caught my name and knows the term “road name.”
“Then you’re at an advantage, ‘cause I still don’t know your name.”
“No, you don’t.” She takes a healthy drink of the bourbon, and again handles the burn, but doesn’t reveal her name.
“Okay, fine, but I’ll find out sooner or later when you sell me this place.”
Her big brown eyes narrow. “Like I told you the other day, and just told that asshole, Viper, I’m not selling.”
“Big mistake.”
She places the glass on the bar. “You gonna push me around now too?”
I smile full out at the dare in her voice. Today she’s replaced the dirty overalls with a pair of oversized jeans, and an equally baggy, worn t-shirt. Cleaner, but still impossible to see what I’m guessing is a bangin’ body.
“Not my style, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe.”
“You won’t tell me your name, so what the fuck am I supposed to call you?”
She sips more of the bourbon like she’s considering which is worse, me knowing her name or me calling her babe.
“Has Viper been here before bothering you?”
She takes another sip. She’s almost empty, so I lift the bottle. Maybe if I get enough of this in her, she’ll loosen up and at least tell me what her deal is and why she wants to hold on to this dump. Although, so far, she’s showing no signs of the booze even affecting her slightly.
She lets me refill her glass, her big doe eyes never leaving mine. “Viper’s always bothering somebody.”
“Fact, but how do you know that?”
She nods to the back of the bar. “Experience.”
Another leading comment. I’m guessing this woman has even more secrets than me. The most interesting one being the flash drive Viper threatened her about.
“So, he’s been here before?”
“Didn’t seem like you and him were very friendly,” she counters.
This woman has an annoying way of answering a question with one of her own. “That’s ‘cause we’re not, but how do you know him?”
She puts the glass to her lips but doesn’t drink. “I’ve been around AC long enough to know the players.”
“I’ve been gone for five years, but if you were one of the players before that, I would’ve remembered.”
She lowers the glass. “Not likely. Five years ago, I was seventeen, still in high school and living at home. Instead of thinking about the prom and graduation, I was trying to keep my mother alive.”
I school my expression. “Big fuckin’ revelation for someone who won’t tell me her name.”
“Yeah,” she points to her glass, “I guess it’s this smoky bourbon.”
“You’re only twenty-two?”
“That’s right, and I never ended up going to either prom or graduation because of Covid, the same reason I lost my mother.”
“Fuck! That sucks.”
She snorts out a laugh. “You could say that. Also didn’t help that I had to shoulder it alone since my deadbeat father was doing time in Rikers.”
“Shit.” That explains the edge to her voice when mentioning her father. “I thought my life sucked.” I want to reach out to her, but I know that would be a red letter, blaring alarm mistake. “Does that have to do with the reason you wanna keep this place?”
“Yes and no.”
Wasn’t really an answer, but I gotta go slow if I wanna make this deal.
She gulps more bourbon, leans back against the bar, and I see the outline of her full, perfectly rounded breasts under the worn t-shirt. Of course, my traitorous dick reacts, but that fuckin’ thing is gonna have to stand down.
“I know all about your life turning into a shit-show, but if you sell this place to me, you can get outta here, maybe start over.” I congratulate myself on sounding concerned, yet making my point.
Obviously, she’s been through a lot, but I can’t change the shit that already happened to her.
What I can do is make a good deal for both of us.
She sips the bourbon, like she’s actually thinking about my words. “That’s not an option.”
Fuck. All right, double-back and regroup.
I wave my arm around the bar. “This place looks a lot better than it did the first time I came. Did you do this all yourself?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I got nothing but time, and nothing to do with it.”
Strange comment from a girl who looks like she could have plenty of options, other than being tied down to this dump.
She finishes off the rest of her bourbon, lays the glass on the bar and moves in front of me. She runs those delicate hands over my abs. The heat of her touch seers me through the thin material of my t-shirt, and when I twitch, she smiles. “Nervous?”
Fuck yeah, ‘cause this can’t happen.
She leans up to my ear. “I really need this.”