Sully (Kiss of Death MC #8)

Chapter One

Sully

The smell of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and something I thought might be grilled onions permeated the main room of Throttle.

The bar was frequented by not only members of Kiss of Death MC, but most MCs in the area.

People behaved for the most part, but occasionally, the place could be counted on for a good knockdown, drag out brawl. It was one of my favorite bars.

I stood alone at the far end of the bar where I could flag the bartender when I was empty.

Right now, I nursed a double shot of Jack that burned less and less with each sip.

Night had fallen an hour ago, but the place was just starting to get rowdy.

The jukebox in the corner played Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Someone had put Street Survivors on repeat which…

I mean, great album. But if this kept up, I might have to rethink staying much longer.

Men in leather vests with patches proclaiming their club affiliation and road names hunched over pool tables in the back, cue balls cracking against each other in sharp retorts.

Some of the guys had women hanging onto them.

Some were trying to get rid of the women hanging on.

I just wanted to get pleasantly buzzed. Made the company seem less offensive and more amusing.

I took another sip, letting the amber liquid slide down my throat.

The bartender, a mountain of a man with forearms thick as my calves, wiped down the counter in mechanical circles, his eyes constantly sweeping the room for trouble.

There was always trouble at Throttle. It was just a matter of when.

Then she walked in.

I didn’t recognize her, which meant she wasn’t a regular.

Nobody who valued their skin wandered into Throttle without knowing what they were walking into.

She wore a leather jacket that had seen better days.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy braid, revealing sharp cheekbones and a small scar that cut through her right eyebrow.

It wasn’t the kind of scar you got from childhood accidents. It was the kind you earned.

She moved with a predator’s grace, weaving between tables without touching a single patron.

Her boots made no sound on the scarred wood floor.

I watched her scan the room as she made her way to the bar.

When those eyes briefly met mine, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the watered-down Jack in my glass.

After ordering her poison, she headed straight for the dartboard hanging on the back wall, where three bikers were tossing darts with the casual disregard of men who owned the space around them.

They noticed her approach, their conversation dying as she stopped at the edge of their circle.

The tallest one, a bear of a man with a gray-streaked beard reaching his chest, looked her up and down with a smirk.

“Lost, little girl?” he asked, twirling a dart between thick fingers.

The woman smiled. Not a nervous smile, not an appeasing one. It was the serene smile of a shark who had spotted blood in the water and knew there were no lifeboats.

“Just looking for a game,” she replied, her voice carrying easily despite the blaring rock music. “Unless you boys are afraid to play with girls.”

The three men exchanged glances, amused by her audacity. The bearded one chuckled lightly. “You need to move on, sweetheart. The kinda playin’ we do ain’t somethin’ a sweet little thing like you could handle.”

“Look,” she said, leaning in closer to the big, bearded guy.

“I’m just gonna give it to you straight.

I’m broke.” She shrugged. “Flat busted. I want alcohol and a motel room, and since I don’t believe in earning my keep on my back or my knees, it’s gonna have to be darts. I’m not very good at anything else.”

“Tell you what,” Big Beard said, crossing big, beefy arms over his chest. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you can get a dart in the inner single ring.”

“Which one is that?” She didn’t bat an eyelash as she asked her question.

I held my breath, watching in rapt fascination as the girl led the three men by the balls straight into a trap I was sure they didn’t see coming.

The bartender snorted as he polished a glass before turning his back to the corner.

“See the two thick circles that separate the outer part of the board and the inner part?”

“Uh-huh.” She stuck a finger in her mouth to nibble on the nail nervously.

“Well, if you can stand over there” -- he pointed to where there was a bright yellow line on the floor -- “and throw a dart that sticks in the big circle closest to the center, I’ll give you twenty bucks.”

The girl grinned. “Okay. How many shots do I get?”

The guys looked at each other before one of the others spoke. “We’ll give you three shots this time. But if you win, the next time you only get two.”

“Okay. That sounds fair.” She reached out her hand for the darts.

“Don’t you want to know what you have to give us if you lose?” The big guy spoke again. The lascivious grin on his face left no doubt what he’d demand as her payment.

“Why?” She tilted her head, looking for all the world like she truly didn’t understand his question.

“Well, we figured you’d want to know our prize if you lose. You don’t want to make a bed and not know what you’re giving up. What if I demand your house?”

She shrugged. “That’d be your bad since I don’t have a house.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Besides, I’m not going to lose.”

They all three chuckled again, and Big Beard handed her a dart. “Behind the line, darlin’,” he drawled. Big Beard tossed his dart first and it landed at two o’clock in the middle of the first single ring on the board. His buddies grunted in approval. “Your turn, darlin’.”

The girl complied, then shook out her arm in a big show.

She took a couple practice movements, then tossed her dart.

It hit inside the circle she was supposed to hit and her dart was closer to the center than Big Beard’s.

A wide grin split her face. “I did it! That’s twenty dollars you owe me!

” She looked so happy I found myself smiling.

Until I caught Big Beard’s expression. He was going to push her.

“Now, wait a minute,” he said with a grin. “Give me a chance to win my money back. It’s only polite.”

“Since when do men like you worry about being polite?”

“She’s got you there.” The second guy chuckled.

“I still want another chance. How about best two outta three?”

“So, I’d have to hit the target one more time without missing?”

“Yep, only this time we’re gonna move it in just a little bit. Now you need to hit the ring just around the bull’s-eye.”

“That’s a whole lot smaller target,” she said, curling a finger in front of her bottom lip in contemplation. “I’ll have to win more when I hit that. So, instead of twenty dollars, I want an extra hundred. You’ll owe me a hundred twenty dollars.”

“Well, at least the bitch can add.” The third guy, who’d been silent until now, rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of a nearby table.

The girl gave him the side-eye before turning back to Big Beard. “Well?”

“Sure, little darlin’. You won last toss, so you go first.” He winked at her, like it was a big joke.

I got an itch between my shoulder blades.

I knew the guys would try to take something the girl probably wasn’t prepared to give, but I couldn’t make myself move.

Because I had the distinct feeling things were about to get interesting.

She turned her head back to the dart board. This time, she didn’t take a practice aim. Instead, she raised her arm and tossed the dart in one smooth move. It landed in the outer bull’s-eye, just like it was supposed to. If she’d been any closer to the inner bull’s-eye, she’d have been inside it.

Big Beard raised his eyebrows. “Nice one.” He grinned then. “But I’m better.” He concentrated on the board and with careful movements, tossed his dart. It landed just barely inside the inner bull’s-eye. “Looks like I got one more chance. You ready, little darlin’?”

“Yep.” She grinned and motioned to the board. “After you, big guy.”

Big Beard tossed his dart. He landed in almost the same place hers had in the toss before. Not inside the inner bull’s-eye, but not even a millimeter outside of it. “Looks like you got some work to do.”

She grinned at the guy. Then she raised her hand to the bartender. “Double shot of Jack on” -- she looked at his vest -- “Butch.”

“Never said I was payin’ for your liquor.”

“Nope. But I said you were.” She held her hand out as the bartender -- Mike, I think his name was -- brought her drink.

She took the glass with her free hand and, very deliberately, picked up a second dart in the other hand.

With a little half smile, looking straight at Butch, she downed the double shot and tossed her dart with her other hand at the same time.

The dart landed dead center. Never taking her eyes from the big man, she tossed the remaining dart in her hand, again without looking at the board.

The tip of the dart landed practically in the same fucking hole as the previous dart.

The bar erupted in cheers. Christ. I’d been so mesmerized by the woman I hadn’t realized the whole fucking bar was watching her too.

Including the bartender, who’d backed his way to the bar so he hadn’t missed the throw.

“Well, I’ll be God damned,” muttered Mike beside me, pausing his endless wiping.

At thirty-nine, I prided myself on not being taken in by a pretty face.

But this girl wasn’t like anyone I’d ever seen in my life.

The bikers stared at the board in disbelief.

Their easy mark had just turned the tables, and from the expressions darkening their faces, they weren’t happy about it.

“Beginner’s luck,” growled the bearded one, reaching for his wallet with reluctance.