Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
SAMMIE
The plan Deuce lays out isn’t completely terrible or unrealistic.
What is alarming and jarringly irrational is the way my eyes track every flex of his muscles as he shifts for a more comfortable position on the couch.
Even his face banged up and swollen ignites a simmering flame deep in my gut, then a few inches lower.
The timbre of his voice is what the most expensive bourbon would sound like, all smoky, dark and addictive. “So, what do you think?”
Good question. My judgment of late hasn’t been the greatest, but there is just something about Deuce that tells me he’s an outlaw for sure, but he’s not Viper.
I followed most of his words until my brain took a detour, stopping at all the erotic places this man could hold me hostage.
“I’d have to have something in writing.”
“Like a contract?”
“As I’m sure you’ve already gotten from my brief history, I’ve been screwed around, and mostly by men, so excuse me if I don’t totally trust or believe everything you’ve laid out.”
He zeroes in on my lips, then his gaze travels to my eyes and lingers. “The Kings are not the Dogs, and we’re not gonna screw you.”
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and agree that you wouldn’t screw me intentionally, but you are one-percent outlaws.” I draw in a calming breath. “Not unlike the Dogs.”
His lips curve into a frown, and, yes, my guileful brain finds that attractive too.
“The way I see it, you need us as much as we need you, but if you want something in writing, fine. Then I’ll show you how we’re different.”
“There is also the matter of the money needed to get this place up and running.”
“I told you, the Kings will buy all the shit needed to get this place up and running, plus we’ll pay you monthly rent.” He nods toward the door. “Are there other rooms up here?”
“There are three other rooms up here.” I tilt my head. “Not as big as this one, and each of them has plumbing or electrical problems. That’s why I chose this room. It’s bigger, and it was the only one with pipes that didn’t leak or dead electrical sockets.”
“We’ll make it work. For now, the other brothers have their own places, but when we get to it, we’ll overhaul the rooms up here too.”
“You mean at some point they’ll be living here too?” I certainly don’t like the sound of that arrangement. I remember the craziness of the Dogs’ clubhouse in Philly.
His smirk returns. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t think you do. I want The End to be a working, profitable bar, not filled with club bunnies, fucking and sucking on the main floor.”
He heaves out a low laugh. “I guess you really do know club life.”
“All too well.”
“The Kings’ first priority is getting this place fixed up, then to have the bar show a profit while marking The End as our clubhouse. My guys are far from saints, but if they’re balling a bitch, it will be behind closed doors.”
“And what about drugs?”
“No hard shit. Ace and I went down that road, and we both know the hard stuff is the fastest way to lose it all, ‘cause your brain is fried.”
“Sounds like you have firsthand information.”
“Too many lines of coke made me weak, then I missed the warning signs. The fine white powder also made me believe the bitch I was banging was hot for me and wasn’t a DEA agent.”
“Kudos to the DEA for using a woman.”
“Yeah, a woman with stripper hair, dressed in crotch-shot skirts, and tops so sheer, you could see her nipples.”
“Ahhh, a biker’s two favorite things. Tits and ass.”
“Yup, she fed me the good stuff, along with telling me how great my dick was, then, when I was either too fucked up to care or fucked out, she hacked my laptop and sent all our lives into the shitter.”
“Interesting.”
“Now, I gotta scrape my way up from the bottom of the barrel just to get to where I was five years ago. So, to answer your question—no hard drugs.”
“And that goes for the other guys too?”
“If they wanna be Kings, it does. Smoking weed, or doin’ a few shots doesn’t get you in the same trouble as snorting five lines before breakfast.”
“Unless you’re my father, who blames alcohol on every bad decision he ever made instead of owning his bullshit.”
“I have a feeling you have one of those love/hate relationships when it comes to your father.”
“That’s exactly what the prison therapist said.”
“Yeah, I had to see one of them too. I think they all throw out the same bullshit phrases, but the guy I saw used to talk about accountability a lot. Instead of blaming the DEA bitch for taking me and my clubhouse down, I should own my shit. Like saying I shouldn’t have been snorting blow off her ass or spilling my guts while I was shooting my load, balls-deep in her snatch. ”
I suppress a giggle. “I have a feeling he worded it differently.”
“Yeah, maybe, but you get the idea.”
“What I get is that we’ve both been screwed over by the opposite sex, and I’m guessing you, like me, have huge trust issues.”
“Fuckin’ truth.”
“My problems started with a father who was like a child, always looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” I bite my lower lip. “When I was little, I hung on his every word, then I got older.”
“My old man was . . . let’s just say he sucked at being a father.”
“My father was never mean or cruel. Just didn’t have good judgment, and no matter how many times he was proven wrong, he always thought his fortune was just around the corner.” I mash my lips together. “He was a perpetual dreamer.”
“Some guys never grow up, while I had to grow up way too fuckin’ fast.”
Interesting how he skirts the issues of his childhood without giving too much information.
“My mother always felt it was her job to save my father, and after she died . . .” My throat tightens. “I took on the responsibility even though I knew deep down I couldn’t change him or help him.”
“It’s tough when the roles of a kid and a parent are reversed.” His voice holds regret with a strong dose of anger.
I stare into Deuce’s dark eyes. I never would’ve expected such insight from an outlaw.
Embarrassed by my scrutiny, he shrugs. “Just some more bullshit I got from the prison shrink.”
“Very perceptive.” Even more intriguing that he actually listened to what his therapist said. My experience with most outlaw bikers was they didn’t listen to anybody, no less someone trying to analyze them.
Deuce finishes off the last of his coffee, and I take the cup from him to refill it. “There is something else we should discuss.”
When I return to the living room with a fresh cup for both of us, he takes his and waits.
“The money. Or the money that might be hidden somewhere in this building.” I sip at the hot brew. “How do I know if, during the renovations, one of your guys finds it and keeps it for himself?”
“That money, if it’s here, is yours.”
“As simple as that?”
“Yup, ‘cause I’ll put the word out that anything found in the floorboards or walls is yours.”
“And you think they’ll agree?”
“They will if they wanna keep breathing. I’m their prez, what I say goes, and anybody who refuses has to answer to me.”
“Sounds good in theory, but . . .”
“Our loyalty stays right here.” He taps the one-percent patch on his cut. “Brothers and club above all. Including a shit-ton of money.”
I stick out my hand. “I still want the contract that lays out the work you’re going to do, the amount of rent paid me, and that I’m allowed to stay here.” I point to my ankle bracelet. “Since I don’t have too much of a choice on that.”
We shake on my words, and his hand lingers, then he squeezes my palm and releases my hand.
He nods to the monitor. “How much longer you gotta wear that shit?”
I follow his gaze. Normally, I hide the device at all costs, but I didn’t mind being exposed in front of him. “Another two months.”
He reaches out, his thumb brushing the edge of the monitor. “May.”
My first instinct is to pull my leg away from his touch, but I don’t. “The exact date is May fifteenth.”
“At least you’ll have it off before the summer.”
“I’m not worried about my tan.” I huff out a humorless laugh.
“Just sayin’, some nice beach days in May and June before the summer crowd.”
I stay silent as those dark eyes of his pierce through me, but I refuse to look away.
“Spent most of my adult life at the shore, and I’ve always thought the best days of the whole fuckin’ summer are the beginning of June. Days are not too hot, and the nights are still cool.”
Is he trying to wow me with his knowledge of weather at the Jersey Shore?
“You like the beach?” he asks.
“Sure, doesn’t everybody?”
“Nah, my enforcer, Shady, hates the beach, hates the sand, and bitches and moans how hot it is.”
“Okay, but obviously you like the beach.”
“Spent plenty of days surfing and plenty of nights sleeping on the beach.”
“You surf?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I just don’t see you as a surfer boy.”
“I’m obviously not blond, but I do get a damn good tan.” He stares off, remembering. “Paddling out over the breaking waves, then finding the perfect one to ride into shore. Nothing like it for complete freedom.” He smirks. “Except riding my Harley and . . .”
“Sex?” I couldn’t help myself. There is something about this man that brings out the teasing banter in me.
“Yeah, sex with the right person.” Again his eyes linger on mine, but this time, I quickly look away, stand and replenish my coffee.
The absolute one thing that cannot and will not happen again is Deuce and I having sex. Especially now that we’ve entered a business agreement and have a joint investment in the renovation of The End.
Shit, we’re practically partners.
I wouldn’t allow my feelings to interfere with getting the bar up and running at a profit since right now this is my only source of income—and my only home.