York (Golden Glades Henchmen MC #13)

Chapter One

York

“Why does Calvin have Cherry’s bra on his head?” I asked as I glanced out the back window to see the old man sitting with his legs in the pool, his mostly bald head getting pink in the unyielding late afternoon sun.

“Tequila. Tequila is the reason,” Dixon said, waving an empty handle in the air.

“His wife is gonna be pissed.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, gesturing back to the window.

I turned.

And immediately wished I hadn’t.

Because there was Calvin’s wife, Maud, jumping off the diving board. Topless. In nothing but her giant parachute panties that came up under her boobs.

I mean, I was all for everyone feeling comfortable with their bodies, but seeing eighty-year-old tits hadn’t exactly been a goal of mine.

Until I was eighty, maybe. And I damn sure didn’t know that not only did Maud have a bright red boob tattoo of a rose but she’d also pierced her nipples.

Something told me those were new additions.

When we’d first met Calvin and Maud, they’d been typical grandparent types. You know the type: khaki pants, sensible bright white shoes, tucked in shirts, hankies in their pockets.

I mean, I’d literally heard Calvin say shit like “heavens to Betsy,” and “I’m so mad I could spit nails.”

They played bridge and bingo and read the obituaries for fun.

But then Calvin started coming over to the club with some of his buddies.

Drinking, partying, looking at the half-naked club girls.

Until, inevitably, Maud would come storming over, grab him by the ear, and drag him back across the street to the retirement village, while giving us all an ear lashing about his medications, heart, age.

Apparently, when I wasn’t paying attention, she’d had a real change of heart. A tit-tattooing change of heart.

“When’d this happen?”

“She joined that horny lady book club over there.”

“The book club you routinely do yard work half-naked for?”

“Yeah, that one,” Dixon, shameless, admitted. “Guess one of the books got her heart racing. She dusted off the cobwebs, grabbed a bottle of gin, and decided to start living the last decade of her life instead of surviving it.”

“Oh, not just any of the books,” Velle said, coming down from the back staircase. “Wanna take a wild shot in the dark what sub-genre of romance she got into?” He walked over to a woven beach bag tied with a floral silk scarf and dropped a paperback on the counter.

On the cover was a half-naked couple on a motorcycle.

“Biker romance,” he said with a chuckle.

“Shit,” I said, shaking my head. “Might wanna make sure you keep your keys hidden. Those two might sneak off for a joyride when no one is looking.”

“And do some… joyriding while they’re at it,” Dixon said. “Calvin was telling me all about this new prescription he got from his doctor.”

“Didn’t need that mental image,” I said with a laugh.

“Eh, it’s sweet. I hope I still want to fuck the shit out of my wife when we’re both wrinkled and saggy,” Velle said.

“What wife?” Dixon shot back.

“Hey, way these guys are getting scooped up, I figure it’ll be my turn sooner or later.”

“Better you than me,” I said. Though part of that was bluster. Yes, I was having fun being free and fucking around all I wanted. But I was older than these guys. And the idea of finding someone to settle down with was starting to have more and more appeal.

“If this club is anything to go by, wedded bliss will come for us all sooner or later,” Dixon said.

“You better hope your future wife isn’t the jealous sort, or you’re gonna deeply disappoint your book club,” I told him. But my smile fell a little when I looked back out the window. “Christ. We’re gonna need to turn the hose on them.”

Dixon glanced out, watching Maud swim between her husband’s legs, one of her hands suspiciously absent while Calvin cupped her ass.

But before we had to be the bad guys, Huck came striding over from the direction of his house. “Yo. I’ll tolerate the nudity, but if you’re gonna be fucking, you gotta take that shit indoors. There’s kids around.”

Giggling like two horny teenagers, the couple got up, grabbed towels and their clothes, then hurried around the house.

Huck came in the back door a moment later. “Where the fuck do you get underwear that big? You could make a sail out of that much material,” he said, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and chugging it.

“Good timing,” Dixon said. “York was about to turn the hose on them.”

“Thought we’d get a lot of noise complaints when they opened the retirement facility and nursing home across the street. Didn’t expect to have so many horny old people running around half-naked.”

“At least it keeps them from calling the cops on us,” Velle reasoned.

“That’s true.”

“You got work for us?” Velle asked.

“Nah. Things will be quiet for a couple weeks. Zayn ran into a little heat. Nothing we need to worry about, but he’s taking a breather. And I don’t have any local clients I’m entertaining right now.”

“Usually a break in the action means you’re looking for us to check out a new prospect or two,” Velle said.

“I’ve got feelers out,” Huck said. “Coast’s boy, Ryland, is chomping at the bit for a chance, but for the record, I want him to get another year or two on him before I consider that.

So I need some new guys in the meantime.

Might have a little open house next week, so we can all meet them and put feelers out. ”

We could all go for some new prospects. For the most part, it was really just the three of us partying now.

Which was all right. But Velle was more of the introspective sort, taking the chicks away for conversations rather than drinking shots out of their belly buttons.

Dixon was still young and crazy but didn’t have anyone to kick around with, since he saw me more like an older brother type than a buddy.

Fresh blood kept shit interesting.

“I know, I know,” Eddie said, bustling in through the back door with no fewer than ten grocery bags hanging off his arms. “You haven’t had a meal that didn’t come in a bag for six days.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.

It’d been nothing but pizza, tacos, Chinese, and fast food since he’d been mysteriously absent.

He’d had his moments over the years where he disappeared for a day or two.

And he wasn’t around for every meal. At least he hadn’t been since before my time.

But it was not normal to not see the guy for a week.

I was starting to feel like the grease was leaking out of my pores. I knew Dixon and Velle were still working with that young guy metabolism. But if I wanted to keep the definition I had, I had to eat right at least most of the time. Eddie made that easier. I’d been taking him for granted.

“I’ve almost skeletonized,” Dixon said, getting a smile out of Eddie.

“I know a fast-food pallor when I see it,” Eddie shot back, shaking his head. “I’ve got some vegetables to fix it.”

He reached into the bag and started pulling out peppers, onions, zucchini, and greens. Tortillas and cheese came next.

“Are we getting… quesadillas?” Dixon asked, hopeful.

“With zucchini. And I don’t want to hear any complaints about it.”

Dixon mimed locking his lips.

“Quiet around here,” Eddie said.

“Don’t fucking jinx it,” Huck shot back. “I gotta go help with a book report. I’ll be back to steal some food when it’s done, though.”

“It’ll be here.”

“Glad you’re back,” Huck said before disappearing.

“So, why is it so quiet? Not a single pretty thing walking around?”

“I’m not pretty enough for you?” Dixon asked.

“Oh, go get your attention from the blue hairs. They’re setting up their lawn chairs.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Dixon said, already whipping off his shirt.

“Oh, to be young,” Eddie said, shaking his head.

“Don’t knock the old,” I said. “You just missed two half-naked old people trying to get it on in the pool.”

“I’m not sure if I’m happy or sad to have missed that,” Eddie admitted, but his smile quickly fell when he pulled open the knife drawer. “Where is my knife? What did you do to my knife?”

I shared a look with Velle, but we both shrugged.

“It better not be in the dishwash—oh, there you are!” he cooed at the damn knife. “Who used you to butter bread? Like you’re some basic piece of cutlery.”

“You wanna be left alone?” I asked, getting a chuckle from Velle as Eddie took the knife to the sink to scrub it.

“Did you know it’s not supposed to go in the dishwasher?” Velle whispered after moving closer.

“No fucking idea.”

“I’ve put it in there at least a dozen times,” he admitted with a wince. “I feel like I need to buy him a new one now.”

“Fuck… fuck… fuck you, Benny,” Mackie, the blue and gold macaw, grumbled from inside his cage.

“Nice to see you too, Mackie,” Eddie said. “Any reason he’s locked up?”

“Dixon was vacuuming,” I said. The bird hated three things in life: when someone was eating food and didn’t give him some, hats on people’s heads, and the damn vacuum cleaner.

“Did the mean man lock you up so he could use the devil machine?” Eddie cooed as he walked over to open the cage and pass the parrot a slice of zucchini.

It wasn’t his favorite, but seeing no other offerings, he took it.

“I’ll make you up a nice chop,” he promised.

“And the tortoise, if he hasn’t had dinner yet. ”

“Saw the kids throwing flowers in to him, but I haven’t gotten to that yet,” Velle said. “Everything alright with you?” he asked.

“Don’t need to shrink my head,” Eddie said, waving him off. “Just had some… life stuff.”

Velle and I shared another look, but we were both too glad to have him back to press the issue and piss him off.

“Well, glad to have you back. And not just because I missed the food,” Velle said as he grabbed a soda out of the fridge. “I’ll get it,” he said when the doorbell chimed. “Probably Dixon asking for some body oil or something.”

But when I glanced out, I noticed a beater parked in the driveway—compact, blue, dinged up all over, the hood bent slightly inward like something heavy had dropped down on it.

“Hey, can I help you?” Velle asked, but his body and the door were blocking whoever he was talking to from view.

“Hey, sorry to bother you. I’m just… looking for someone. I was hoping I maybe finally found the right place.”

It was a woman’s voice—all soft and sweet with a hint of huskiness. Something tugged at the edge of my memory, but it was gone before I could grab hold of it.

“Sure. We got people here. Who are you looking for?”

As he asked, I saw something move inside the backseat of the car. No. Not something. Someone. Someone small. Tossing something up in the air. A stuffed animal, maybe?

“Well, here’s the thing,” the woman said, and there was that tug again. Almost like familiarity. Like I’d heard that voice before. “I don’t think I even know his real name.”

“Okay. What name do you have?”

“York.”

York.

Everything snapped into painfully sharp focus.

Because I did know that voice.

But I remembered it even more husky, tight, and breathy with desire, lips near my ear, her soft body under mine, everything tightening as she came, as she cried my name.

Velle, as if sensing my presence just a few feet behind him, stepped back, taking the door with him.

Then there she was.

Tall, lean, wearing baggy jeans and a loose, tucked-in, well-worn T-shirt for Yosemite National Park. Her long hair was half up, wavy, and tousled in a way that was less designed that way and more from pure forgetfulness to run a brush through it.

It’d been a few years, but, damn, that face was as pretty as ever—rounded features, plush lips, the lightest smattering of freckles over her cheekbones and nose, and dark, almost black, eyes.

“Runa,” I said.

I glanced from her to the backseat of the car.

Where a little girl was hugging a stuffed animal to her chest.

Not just any stuffed animal.

Oh, no.

One from a small-town fair in some backwoods place in New York State.

Where I’d stepped up beside a pretty woman at a shooting game and put down my quarters.

I won.

Gave the pretty woman the stuffed capybara.

Then went to her hotel room with her.

And left before the sun came up in the morning.

“Fuck.”