Smoke (Archer's Creek Book 5)

by Gemma Weir

  “Should we consider taking on one of the other kids that have been sniffing around? We normally have more than one prospect at a time.”

  “Viper, the president of the Alabama chapter called me the other day; he’s got a legacy kid wanting to prospect, but not in his daddy’s club. I said we would think about taking him on. He’s gonna be here in a couple of days.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want to prospect in his family’s club?” I ask, confused why anyone who had club family would want to go to another chapter.

  “His dad’s the V.P. The kid wants to feel like he earned his patch on his own,” Anders says.

  I nod, because I can understand why he’d want that. “What’s his name?”

  “Kid’s name is Ellis, but everyone calls him Duke.” Anders says, then rises from his chair. “I’ll put Lord on gate duty till Duke gets here. He won’t mind, he likes the quiet.”

  I rise too, sensing Anders’ dismissal and make my way to the door. “See you later, Boss.”

  Anders doesn’t reply, his ass back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him.

  Walking back into the club, I spot Puck sat at a table, his coffee cup gripped tightly in his hand. The guy is my brother, but he’s definitely an odd duck. He’s particular to the fucking extreme; he even has his own coffee cup, on a special shelf away from the others. I’ve seen the fucking psycho put someone down and beat seven shades of shit out of them just for touching it.

  Grabbing my own coffee, I sit down on the chair opposite him. “Morning, brother, how’s the coffee?”

  “Shitty,” he replies.

  “But would it taste better in a different mug?” I ask, baiting him.

  “I’ve never drunk it from another mug.”

  “So maybe this is great fucking coffee and that’s just a shitty mug,” I say, pointing to the plain white coffee mug that’s gripped so tightly in his hand his knuckles are turning white.

  “You do know that you start working for me tomorrow and I can make your life fucking hell, don’t you?” Puck says with an imperious lift of his eyebrows.

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Yeah but you like me, and I know where your mug is, so you wouldn’t do that.”

  “I have no idea why I put up with you,” he snarls, pulling his mug into his chest and turning away from me.

  “Don’t worry, bro. I wouldn’t fuck with your mug. My face is too pretty to get ruined by your psycho ass.”

  Puck’s eyes close and I swear I can hear him counting under his breath.

  “What time do you want me tomorrow? I can’t fucking wait to do something that doesn’t involve me just standing and looking scary.”

  “I usually get in for just after nine. The stuff I’m gonna have you doing is basic and pretty fucking repetitive, but it will give you an understanding of the software’s controls and you’ll need that before I can teach you more advanced stuff.”

  “I’m a fast learner and I want this; hell, I need this,” I say, leaning forward in my chair.

  Puck nods, his expression full of understanding. “I know.”

  Those two words relax me a little and I slowly settle back into my seat, sipping at my coffee.

  Three hours later, I’m back on my bike and riding out of town and toward Beavers, the titty bar the club owns and runs. We provide security for most of the local companies, from CCTV systems, to rapid response teams, and cyber security. You name it, we do it. When you become a fully patched-in member of the club, you get allocated a job within one of the businesses, and for me, being the huge motherfucker that I am, I became muscle.

  It’s a proven fact that a massive guy who looks big enough to wrestle a polar bear will both deter people from starting trouble and make people feel safer. I’m fucking huge. At six feet, six inches tall and built like a linebacker, I’m the perfect build for security, and for years I’ve done it and enjoyed every minute. But six years on, I’m sick of being a mindless figure whose only use is to stand still and look scary.

  I’m actually not a fucking idiot. I scored high on my SAT and I went to college; I just didn’t finish. My ma got sick, so I came home and joined the Sinners instead of finishing school. People assume because I’m big and a happy-go-lucky kind of a guy, that I’m stupid. Sometimes I let them think what they want and other times I just don’t care.

  Maybe I wouldn’t be so restless if it wasn’t for my brothers all moving on with their lives around me. First Echo, then Daisy; even fucking Blade the psycho, and now Park. One by one, they’ve all found purpose, and both Echo and Blade have kids on the way. I’m being left behind, so it’s time to stop hiding behind excuses, step up, and be more useful than a meathead guard.

  “Hey, Smoke,” Cara purrs the moment I step through the door and into the club.

  “Cara,” I say in greeting, heading behind the bar and toward the offices that are hidden in the back.

  “Hey, Grits, I’m here,” I call out. When there’s no reply, I poke my head around her office door and spot her sat behind her desk, her phone to her ear. Her brow is furrowed, her lips turned down in a scowl.

  I pause, waiting by the door; not wanting to listen in, but also concerned about what’s causing her to look so worried. Most people find Grits a little caustic, but she loves me and I’ve only ever seen the sweet, affectionate side of her that she’s finally showing to everyone since Dove and Nikki came into our lives.

  “Okay, thanks. Yeah, I’ll speak to Anders. Bye,” she says and clicks to end the call, her worried face rising to mine.

  “You okay? What’s going on?” I ask.

  She sighs wearily and lifts one hand to rub at her temple. “Someone’s skimming.”

  “From Beavers?”

  “Yep. Profits are down, but I know we’re taking more than our bank balance is showing. Something’s going on, I just don’t know what.”

  “Do you think it’s one of the staff?” I ask, my fingers clenching into fists.

  “That’s the thing, I don’t. I don’t see how it could be any of the staff. The tills match the receipts, the money is banked, but the balance isn’t showing the right amount. The money isn’t cash being stuffed into a purse; it’s digital numbers on a computer screen.”

  “You think someone’s syphoning money straight from the bank?” I ask, my tone a little incredulous.

  “Maybe I’m just losing my mind. I don’t know, but something doesn’t add up,” she says, sighing again.

  “What has Anders said?”

  “He’s looking into it, but he’s as baffled as me.”

  “Why don’t you get Puck to look into it? Surely he can tell if someone is hacking our accounts or something, can’t he? That’s his thing.” I say, stepping fully into her office and leaning my hands on the back of a chair.

  “Anders is going to speak to him,” she says, propping her elbow on the surface of her desk and dropping her face into her palm.

  “Do you need a hug, Mama Grits?”

  Her eyes flick to mine, one eyebrow lifting imperiously. “Fuck off, Smoke,” she says with a grin twitching at the corners of her lips.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, saluting her as I turn and leave her office, unease and worry twisting at my gut.

  My shift goes quickly, but by two am when the last girls have finished their routines on stage and the club is starting to empty, I’m ready to go home. I used to love this. The strippers, the tease and anticipation that comes with the buzz of a good strip club, all of it. This was my haven, my own Playboy mansion, packed full of pussy just ripe for the picking. Only now I’m ready to be more than just a scary dude in the corner. Life is moving on around me and I’m standing still.

  “Hey, Smoke,” a low seductive purr calls from behind me.

  I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Shannon, the one-night stand that just won’t go away. If I could, I’d walk away; but Shannon isn’t the type of bitch who likes to be ignored, so I turn and plaster a blank expression to my face.

>   “Shannon,” I reply coolly.

  With a practiced ease, she saunters lazily into my personal space, her fake tits resting on my chest, and her cherry-red painted lips only a handful of inches from mine. When I finally got her to take me home six months ago, it had been the hardest I’d had to work to get laid in years. Shannon looks like a Barbie doll, and her brand of beautiful had intrigued me enough to chase her a little. Looking back, I should have realized that just because she was shiny, didn’t mean she was precious. Just like a Barbie doll, when I’d stripped her clothes off, she’d been plastic, hard, and generic as fuck.

  From her overly round fake tits, to her shapeless hips and barely-there ass, she’s someone’s perfect woman, but that someone definitely isn’t me. With my cock barely hard, she’d jumped on my dick and rode me like a porn star, minus the camera. I didn’t even come. Not that she noticed as she faked her way through three orgasms, screaming and throwing her head back in a ‘When Harry met Sally’ worthy performance.

  For most guys even a shitty fuck is still a fuck, and pussy is pussy is pussy. But me and my dick are the crème-de-la-fucking-crème and my cock is more of a pussy connoisseur. When Shannon finally finished her bid for the longest fake orgasm scream, I’d rolled her off my dick and was dressed and heading for the door before she’d even finished ruffling her hair for that perfect post-sex look.

  Ever since then she’s been alternating between acting like Jessica fucking Rabbit and the ice queen. Personally, I prefer her ice queen impersonation because that usually comes with death stares and silence and that’s a whole lot better than this femme fatale seduction thing she has going on.

  The cloying scent of her perfume fills my nose and I fight the urge to turn my face. My skin ripples with annoyance and revulsion. We’ve all had mediocre sexual experiences, but this bitch just won’t take the hint. I’ve been nice to her, letting her know I had fun but that I don’t do repeats. She didn’t take the hint. I’ve been a dick to her, picking up women and leaving with them right in front of her. She just pretends she doesn’t see.

  The only thing I haven’t done is tell her that her body made my dick go soft and that she was shitty in bed, but honestly that might be the next step if she doesn’t get the hell away from me. “What can I do for you?” I ask, taking a step back and swallowing a gulp of perfume-free air.

  She presses close to me again, her hand sliding down my chest and over my junk. She squeezes slightly and I swear my dick tries to crawl back up inside of me. Reaching down, I pull her hand away from my crotch and again take a step back.

  “Now, now, Shannon. You wouldn’t like it if I touched you without permission; the same rules apply to me even if I do have a dick.”

  “But you like it when my hands are on your dick, baby,” she coos, pushing her lips into an exaggerated pout.

  I try not to laugh, but a sense of sheer incredulousness consumes me. Surely, Shannon can see how disinterested I am? Everything about my body language is screaming ‘get the fuck away from me’. But this woman is either clueless, or just so single-minded that she’s prepared to ignore everything she doesn’t want to see.

  “My bed’s awful cold without you,” she purrs again, pushing her tits out almost comically.

  “Well, I’m sorry about that, Shannon. Maybe you should consider a thicker comforter?”

  Carefully, I shuffle to the side, turning us so I’m closer to the doors and escape.

  “Smoke?” She says huskily, moving to step into my personal space again.

  I react before she has a chance to touch me and take a large step backwards. “Shannon, I don’t do repeats, you know this. So you and your cold bed should try your luck elsewhere.”

  A flash of undiluted fury snaps in her eyes, but it’s gone a second later. She softens and rather than sex kitten, she’s suddenly all girl-next-door coy, blinking up at me from beneath her lashes. “But Smoke, I’d rather have you.” Her voice is so sweet and light and demure, that I almost don’t notice her hand sliding up my arm.

  “I’ve got to go. Have Hal walk you to your car,” I say, pulling my arm away from her touch and backing away. I’ve met a lot of scary fucking men. Hell, I’m brothers with a few terrifying motherfuckers, but a woman scorned is a hundred times more terrifying than a homicidal man.

  Practically running, I knock on Grit’s door and let myself in. She’s stood to the side of her desk, loading money into the safe beneath the floor. “Hey, sweetie,” she says when she spots me. “Any trouble tonight?”

  “Ginger and Rochelle got into it over who gets to wear the white and blue nipple tassels in the cowgirl number, but other than that it was all quiet.”

  Grits smirks at me, shaking her head in amusement. “I’m sure you helped them sort it out.”

  “I did.” I say with a wink, “Right after they had a bit of a wrestling match on the dressing room floor.”

  She laughs. “Boy, you are gonna get your ass kicked one of these days.”

  “So I’ve been told. But I’m too pretty to hit and tall enough that most of them can’t reach me.”

  Chuckling to herself, she clicks the safe lock into place and drops the rug back over it, covering it and hiding it from sight.

  “You ‘bout ready?” I ask.

  “Yep, is the bar all closed down?”

  “Yep, all done. Hal was just walking the girls out to their cars when I ran into Shannon and told her to have him walk her out too.”

  “Let’s go home then, my bed is calling me. When are you gonna take over and run this place, Smoke? I know you’re supposed to be going to work at Sinners Security, but you know this place inside out. The girls all love you. You’re the only person I’d trust with my club and now I’m getting a grandbaby from Nikki, I want to be home more to enjoy it.”

  “A grandbaby?” I ask.

  A soft smile graces her lips and color flushes her cheeks. I’ve never seen Grits be anything other than confident and poised. She’s a total badass.

  “Nikki and Dove, those girls are family.”

  “Yes, they are,” I agree, smiling.

  “Nikki asked me if I want to be nana or grandma, but I think I’m more of a mimi.”

  I’ll never ask, but I swear I can see a tear at the corner of Grits’ eyes. “Definitely a mimi,” I say, closing the gap between us and slinging an arm across her shoulders. “That baby’s gonna be lucky to have such an amazing mimi.” I say, bending down and dropping a quick kiss to the top of her head.

  I guide Grits from the room, pausing as she locks the door. Then like every night I work, I walk Grits to her car and follow her home, waiting as she parks her car in her and Anders’ driveway. She climbs out, walks over and kisses my cheek, then makes her way to the front door and Anders. Like every night, he has the door open for her and the moment she’s within reach he pulls her into his arms. He nods my way and I salute them both before I kick my bike forward and ride home.

  I suspect that on the nights I’m not at Beavers, Anders’ probably rides over and picks her up, but I don’t mind the short ride out of my way to make sure she gets home safe. As I make my way to my apartment a few blocks over, Grits offer ruminates in my mind. She’s made offhand suggestions that I take a bigger role than just security before, but this is the first time she’s actually come out and offered me something for real. She might just have been joking, but Grits isn’t the type of woman to make an offer like that without being serious.

  The idea is much more tempting than I’d thought it would be. I love the club; I just need more purpose than being the hired muscle. If I took Grits up on her offer, I’d finally have some purpose, some direction. But it would mean giving up on the opportunity to work with Puck and learn the computer side of things.

  My mind is swirling with possibilities when I pull into the parking lot for my apartment building. It’s nearly three am, and the streets are dark and quiet. Only the streetlamps illuminate the sidewalk in the otherwise deserted street.

  I r
arely finish work before this time. I’m a night owl, so the quiet doesn’t bother me. Climbing off my bike, I make my way through the lot and into my building. The sensor lights click on the moment I enter the lobby and I climb the stairs up to my apartment on the first floor. Turning my key in the lock, I push the door open and make my way into my home. The aroma of coffee hits me and I sag with relief. My mom sent me this fancy ass coffee maker as a Christmas gift. I figured I’d never use it until I found out it has a timer on it, so I can set it to make half a pot and be ready the moment I push through the door.

  Dropping my keys onto the table by the door, I kick off my boots and head straight for my bedroom. Shedding my clothes, I take a shower, ridding myself of the scent of stale cigarette smoke, body glitter, and sweat.

  Five minutes later, in only a loose-fitting pair of pajama pants, I pad barefoot into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee. Most people wouldn’t want caffeine in the middle of the night, but coffee always helps me settle after a busy shift. I don’t bother to turn the T.V. on. I enjoy the peace of my dimly lit apartment and allow my mind and body to calm.

  Two cups of coffee later, I’m settled and relaxed. I love this time of night, when the majority of the country are asleep and the people on the other side of the world are starting their day. I’ve never left the country, but right now I feel an affinity with those people, like we’re both living in the same second only thousands of miles apart.

  My body is tired, but my mind is still whirring, so I reach under the couch and pull out the wooden box I keep for nights like tonight. Flipping open the lid, the smell hits me first. Sweet and earthy, the weed smells amazing. Cultivated by Park, it’s the best marijuana you’ll find in the entire state. I’ve never liked the taste of tobacco, so I pull out my specialist vape pen and carefully fill the coil with the ground green bud. Pressing the button on the pen, I lift the vape to my lips and inhale, holding the smoke in my mouth before exhaling slowly.