“So, if we didn’t have sex, what did happen?”
“You drank, cursed, and complained about your shitty life. Drank some more. Then passed out on my bar.”
“Ugh. I’m sorry.” I groan.
“It’s fine. I scraped you off the bar and brought you here to sleep it off.”
“Thank you. I’m so sorry to drop all my shit on you. You didn’t have to be so nice to me. You could have just left me. I’m sure I would have been fine. I don’t want to bother you.” I rub my hands over my face. I can’t believe I did that.
“It’s okay. Really, I don’t mind. You’re pretty tiny, so it wasn’t hard to carry you here.”
“It’s just a really bad time in my life, right now.”
“I know, you kept rambling on about it yesterday.”
“I’m so sorry again. I really can’t apologize and thank you enough.” I’m rambling on and on. I can’t believe I threw this all on a guy I just met. How can he be so nice to me after the idiotic mess I’ve been ever since I met him? I bury my face in my hands, embarrassment washing over me—just one more thing to add to the pile of shit that is my life.
Beau’s chuckle catches me off guard. Now he’s laughing at me. This day just started, and it already can’t get any worse.
“It’s okay. We’re all a mess at one time or another. I wasn’t exactly all together myself until I came out to my family. Life is hard, and sometimes there’s nothing we can do to control it but let it spin out of control,” He says softly, but not to me. His gaze is lost, staring somewhere across the room, not focused on anything. Although his words hit a little too close to home, my mind latches on to the family part.
“At least you have a family to turn to. To try and gain control.” My words are soft, but he hears them all the same. Turning to look at me, I can only guess at the expression on his face. Confusion, pity, maybe a little understanding. I don’t look at him—I can’t handle pity—I’ve given myself plenty of that. I don’t need it from others. That’s even worse. Pity from those who hear my sob story and say I’m sorry but don’t really have a flipping clue about anything. Strangers pity is useless and unnecessary. I have plenty for myself.
A silence passes between us for a moment as we both internally deal with our own demons.
“Do you remember last night when I asked you if you could start over somewhere new, would you?” His voice is soft and curious as he tries to remind me of our conversation from the day before. It sounds familiar. I remember thinking of being someone new, somewhere new.
“Sort of.”
“Well, my family back in North Carolina can give you that. If you want it.”
Could they? Is it possible to start over? Do I have the right to? Just when I thought I was heading back down to rock bottom because I wasn’t quite there yet, but I was well on my way. Beau entered my life by some fucking cosmic kismet. Offering me exactly what I need. Is it too good to be true? Of course, it is. Mom always said, if it seemed too good to be true, then it is. There has to be a catch. Or maybe he’s trying to kidnap me and sell me in a human trafficking ring. Yeah, that’s it, Hillary, because a five-foot-nothing, mouthy redhead is in high demand these days.
With a huff, I realize that even the possibility of that is more tempting than returning to what I currently call a life. Rather, the lack thereof.
“You mentioned a job, right? What kind of job?” I ask hesitantly. Hopefully, not stripping; I dance like a chicken with its head cut off.
“There are a few possibilities. My family owns various businesses—an auto body shop, bakery, storage complex, bar, a tattoo shop. Any of those up your alley?”
“I was being trained to be a bartender at my last job. I’ve been waitressing for a while, so I’m pretty good at handling people.”
“Perfect, then you can work with me at the bar. And trust me, being able to handle people will come in very handy there.”
“Is it that bad?”
His laugh is low and deep in his chest. Apparently, there’s something I don’t get. “No. We just have an interesting group of patrons. You’ll see.”
He talks as if I’ve already agreed to go with him, and I’ve already gotten the job.
“Just like that? I’ve got a job?” I ask suspiciously, but secretly hopeful.
“Almost. You’ll still have to interview with my Uncle. He owns the bar, and you have to get his approval first. But I don’t think that’ll be an issue. He’s going to love you.”
“How do you know that?”
He’s only known me for, like, what? Twelve whole hours? Most of which I was unconscious for. How would he know if his Uncle would love me or not?
“Trust me, I’ve worked for Uncle Faust for years. We are a very close family. If I like you, he’ll like you. You have a fiery personality he’ll appreciate and the no-nonsense attitude needed.” Smiling broadly, he bumps his shoulder against mine.
“Fiery, huh? You only say that because I’m a redhead.” I joke. It’s not the first time that terminology has been used on me. I may be tiny, but I’m big in voice and opinions. The filter from my brain to my mouth has gone from fully intact to barely there. What you see is what you get. Life’s too short to keep everything to yourself. Mom’s death taught me that.
“Nah, I can tell. They’ll all love you.”
I let his words sink in as I think about what I should do. Really, I’m just stalling because, well, there is no reason for me not to go. Beau continues to try and convince me, not knowing I’ve already decided.
“My family really is amazing. A little crass, loud, and a bit out of the ordinary.”
“Ordinary is boring.”
“You have no fucking idea. But, by that, I mean some of their business dealings are slightly off the books.” Teetering his hand side to side—the universal gesture for, more or less, but mostly more.
“What like gambling? Are you guys bookies for the horse races?” I’m being overly sarcastic, but also kinda curious. The only part I ever played in something illegal was buying from a dealer, never anything on the other side of the spectrum.
“Something like that. There’s definitely a lot of cash transactions and backroom negotiations.” He looks at me warily from the corner of his eye as he vaguely informs me about his family’s business. “Is that something you think you would be okay with? Or am I reading you wrong, and you’re really a goodie-two-shoes that’s gonna go tattle on me the first chance you get?”
“I most certainly am not!” How dare he insinuate I’m a goodie-goodie? I am no such thing. “I have no issues with some off-the-books business. I’m no stranger to the real world. Not everything is in black and white—besides, it’s all that grey in the middle where life happens.” I didn’t know that’s what would come out of my mouth when I opened it, but it’s the truth. I’ve seen the seedy and the shadows of the dark alleys. Bloomingdales and Starbucks aren’t the entirety of society. There’s far more out there that’s not so shiny and polished. Making up the majority of the real world.
“Good. I didn’t picture you as a stuck-up prude. Figured you might be more suited for the shadows.”
If he only knew the half of it. For a good portion of my recent years, I’ve felt like all I knew were the shadows.
“Just to make sure, though, you don’t kidnap innocent young girls and sell them into sex slavery, right?” Beau bursts into a hearty laugh. Holding his toned stomach as if I just told him that I believed I was the real-life Wolverine. There’s even a tear forming in one eye. “Hey, I’m serious. I can handle a lot of things. But I’m not into that.”
His laughter continues. Trying to catch his breath so he can respond, he leans back and wipes at his eyes. “No. We do not sell innocent girls into sex slavery. That’s definitely not what we do.”
“Okay, good. Then sure. I can handle it. I’m a tough girl.” Straightening up, I try putting on my most serious, tough girl face. I could probably do better if I weren’t hungover with massive bedhead
. It seems to convince him, though. He stops laughing at least and takes me into consideration.
“Okay then. It’s settled. You’re coming back with me to Huntersville, North Carolina.”
Perhaps it is time to try something new. I tried the straight and narrow way of getting back on my feet, and all it did was kick me back down in the dirt and step on my face. Tasting the forbidden fruit might be the right way for me. Time to do things a little differently, I suppose. Being less law-abiding might be fun. As a matter of fact, I’m sure it will be. Every time I went to my old dealer for pills, just that act alone made me feel more alive than anything ever has. It also sounds like Beau has a large family. Maybe he has a hot straight brother. If any of the men in his family look like him, I’ll go just so I can stare at them all day.
“Okay,” I agree.
“Okay?”
“Yes. I’ll go to North Carolina with you. But can I ask you something first?”
“Sure.” He waits with patient sparkling green eyes staring at me.
“Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t know. I like you. There’s just something about you. Sometimes I just get this gut feeling, and every time I follow it, it always leads me where I need to be. It’s what brought me to Mississippi. Right now, it’s telling me you belong there.”
A blush rushes across my cheeks. I belong there. No one has ever told me I belonged anywhere. I was always somewhere I shouldn’t be, with someone I shouldn’t be. To belong somewhere and have everyone accept it is new. It feels nice—right, even.
“Since you’ll be staying with me for a while, maybe I should know your name now?”
Holy crap, I can’t believe this entire time I never told him my name. Not surprising, I hate my name. Always have, always will, and try to avoid telling it to people for as long as possible.
“Hillary,” I grumble out.
“You don’t like your name, do you?”
“Gee, is it that obvious?” I say overly sarcastic with an eye roll for good measure.
“Well, the sigh of disgust kind of gave it away.”
I was never very good at being subtle.
“No, I don’t like it. It’s too prim and proper. Like I should be wearing a navy-blue power suit and working in a law office.” I say with a frown and sneer.
“Doesn’t suit you at all.”
“Gee, thanks,” I spit out sarcastically before I can stop myself. There’s that malfunctioning filter again. “Sadly, it’s the only one I got. Trust, my middle name isn’t any better, so I can’t use that either.”
“What’s your middle name?”
Shit. Should have seen that one coming. I shouldn’t even have said anything. Groaning, I begrudgingly give in.
“Prudence.”
“Oh, dear God. That’s horrible.” A strangled laugh comes from him as he takes in my full name.
“Yeah, I told you. My mother was a horrible judge in girl names. Most of the time in school, I would go by my last name, Jones. It was easier and not as horrible.”
“I don’t blame you. Hillary Prudence. Yikes.” He shakes his body like my name morphed into spiders trying to climb up his arms.
“Well, not much I can do about it.”
“Sure you can. We’ll just pick a new one for you. My family doesn’t know you, so pick a new name, and that’s all they’ll know you as.”
Pick a new name? I’d thought about changing my name in the past, but my mother always protested. Saying it was a family name and I shouldn’t break tradition. Well, Mom, I no longer have any family, and no one cares—but what should I pick?
“Let’s brainstorm. How about Emily?” He suggests I shake my head no.
“Sarah?” I offer.
“Astrid?”
“Emilia?”
“Lenore?”
“Karen?” I say questioningly.
“Um, no. Not even close. How about Ruby?”
“Natasha. Always liked that name ever since I watched Rocky and Bullwinkle.” Memories of watching the old cartoon pop into my head as I smile softly, thinking about the flying squirrel and talking moose.
“No, none of those are right for you.”
Exhaling loudly, I lean forward off the headboard and stretch. Maybe a little movement will inspire the right name—get the blood pumping and the body moving. My arms are high over my head as Beau offers up another name.
“What about Clover?”
“Clover?” That’s an interesting name. I wonder what inspired that?
“Yeah, like the one on your shoulder.”
Turning, I twist my head over my right shoulder to look at the Celtic knot four-leaf clover on my shoulder. I got the tattoo when I was seventeen. Thought it only fitting since, ya know, red hair, blue eyes, Irish. Made sense. The boys liked it and bought into it.
It’s a good name. Unusual, unique, quirky even. Could it fit me? Clover. Clover. Clover. I roll the name around in my mind hearing it and finding—“I like it. It suits you,” Beau says, interrupting the Clover mantra in my head.
“I think you’re right.”
“Well, Clover Jones, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Beauregard Colton. You can call me Beau.”
He sticks his hand out for me to shake, and I take it. Squeezing it eagerly. A new name, a new job, a new state, and a new life. Maybe this isn’t the worst day ever.
Chapter 3
Phoenix
T oday was too fucking long. All I want is a cold beer and a hot chick to sink my cock in for the night. I need to delegate more of the deliveries to the lower minions. That’s what we pay them for, after all. Pulling into the parking lot of my pop’s bar, I holster my gun. Settling it into the back of my jeans to cover with my shirt—not that I expect anyone to fuck with me in my own family’s bar, but it has been known to happen—when people have a death wish. So, I take it with me, anyway.
The Colt 45 is as familiar to me as my own home. My parents practically raised me in this bar. Over the years, there have been some necessary upgrades to modernize the place. Though it’s still a comfortable chill bar to relax in after a long day. It’s just past ten p.m. when I walk through the main door, the familiar sounds and smells rushing over me. Music plays through the whole house system, and the smell of cigarettes mixed with the fried Southern food we offer on the small bar menu instantly calms me.
Surveying the evening’s possibilities, I see there are a few nice options throughout—two brunettes and a blonde, so far. A redhead would be nice. I wouldn’t mind one tonight. They are always tigers in the sack, and I haven’t had one in a while. The night is still young. You never know who’s going to walk through the door before last call. Finding my usual seat at the polished mahogany bar’s front end, I prop my elbows up on the bar top and look around for Rosie. Since we’ve been short-staffed lately, she’s been working behind the bar more than usual. She spots and heads straight for me. Before she even stops, I chide her jokingly.
“Hey Rosie, what’s a guy got to do to get a drink around here?” It’s all in good fun. Rosie is my cousin and doesn’t take shit from anyone. Which is why she is such a great bar manager. Much better than I would have been. Rosie makes it to my end of the bar, ignoring a few waving hands on the way, muttering, “I’ll be right with you.” as she passes. “Hey, cuz. How’d today go?”
“Fine, same boring crap—deliveries. Arrow didn’t show, so I had to make his delivery as well—I need a beer.”
“You got it, sugar.” Her lilting Southern accent thickens when she says sugar. Some of our family tend to have more of an accent than others. Like me—it only comes out when I get pissed or irritated—I’ve been told it happens when I get really horny too, but I have no evidence to prove that.
Grabbing a glass from the rack, she fills it with our best beer on tap. A local brew that’s my favorite.
“Thanks, Rosie. Any idea when y’all are gonna hire a new bartender?”
“Ugh! We’ve been intervie
wing potentials, but your pop is so damn stubborn. He hasn’t liked one yet. At least Beau will be comin’ home soon.”
“Yeah, Pop can be pretty picky.” I take a hearty gulp of the ice-cold beer as she sets in front of me.
“Picky?! The man could find something wrong with Mother Teresa. Too short, too tall, too quiet, too loud. Man needs to figure it out ‘cause I ain’t gonna be back here every night.” She takes the momentary reprieve to lean against the bar. I’d say I feel bad for her, but after the day I’ve had and the shit I have to deal with daily, serving drinks is a cakewalk.
“Hey! Can we get a drink already?” A man down the bar calls out.
“I better get back to it. The natives are getting restless, and if I don’t get them their happy juice, shit’ll really hit the fan.” Huffing in exasperation, Rosie turns and saunters down to the man muttering back, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep it in your pants.”
A light chuckle escapes my throat at her response. Rosie ain’t afraid of no man, but boy are the men sure as shit afraid of her. She’s a no-nonsense kind of girl, just the way I like her. Pop really needs to get more bartenders in here, though. Rosie can’t do everything. Eventually, she’ll reach her limit and fucking explode, and none of us want to deal with that. He’s going to have to ease up on some of his rigid requirements.
Maybe I should help find someone. Yeah, right, in what free time? When I’m not running security for high-profile clients or keeping tabs at the clubs, I’m making deliveries or at my tattoo shop. When would I have time to search for bartenders? Pop and Rosie are just going to have to deal on their own.
Sipping my beer, I swivel in my stool to lean my back against the bar. Back to the important matter at hand. Who will be the lucky lady that gets to ride my joystick tonight? I really need to get my dick wet to make this day better. It’s been so fucking long and dull. It wouldn’t have been had Arrow actually shown up for his delivery instead of leaving me to do double duty today. That fucker is usually reliable, but when he catches a girl’s eye, he’s useless. He’s probably been getting his dick sucked all day, leaving me to pick up his slack. The asshat’s going to pay for this.
Phoenix (The Colton Cousins Book 1) Page 2
