Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Sour Cherry
by
Nichole Severn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Sour Cherry
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Nichole Severn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Angela Anderson
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2013
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-776-2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To the amazing author, Siobhan Muir.
You complete me.
Chapter One
Some people are cursed with the ability to remember every object and scent in their surroundings for the rest of their lives. Sherlock Holmes, Sean Spencer from Psych, and even Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory share this predicament. They possess something called Eidetic Memory.
I, however, do not.
Which would explain why I couldn’t remember how I’d ended up with a broken nose on Las Vegas Boulevard at eight in the morning.
Oh, wait. Yes, I could.
The bitch standing in front of me had just hit me in the face. With a skateboard.
My name is Cherish Williams, Cherry for embarrassment's sake, and right now, I looked at a whole lot of woman. Blonde, to be exact, with tattoos, and a set of Double Ds. Complete opposite of my five-foot-six gangly frame. Along with the fact that I’ve never been the kind of person to hit someone in the face with a skateboard as they walked down the Las Vegas Strip. I tried to inhale the hot, dry air through my now-broken nose, but the sounds of passing cars reverberated too loudly in my head to concentrate on one simple task. Breathe in. Breathe out.
All I could see was Blondie. The amount of pain coursing through my head wouldn’t be anything compared to how much it would hurt for me to deflate that chest of hers, but if anger management had taught me anything, it was to evaluate first then react. I coddled my nose, wincing when waves of pain filled my skull. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you just randomly hit people in the face with skateboards?”
Blood dripped into my mouth, the salty liquid working its way down my throat. I tried to spit it out, but the damage had already been done. I could practically taste the wood in the blood. Like a good wine, flavors tended to reveal themselves the longer you savored.
“You really think you can hide from me?” Blondie asked.
I pushed myself from the ground, wiping some of the blood away with the back of my hand. The sight of that much blood didn’t bother me so much as getting a pretty decent view up Blondie’s skirt. Yikes.
“I don’t even know who you are, you stupid bimbo, but you should seriously consider wearing some underwear.” I ran my tongue over my teeth. Everything intact. Thank God.
Blondie’s face contorted, her lips drawing back into a snarl.
I would die on Las Vegas Boulevard at the hands of an oversized Barbie, but if she happened to leave me for dead, my own club would finish the job. I was supposed to be back at the shop over an hour ago, and if I’d learned anything in the past two years, they wouldn’t grant leniency just because I was a woman. With hands raised in front of me, I backed away from Big and Blonde unsteadily. Not only was she twice my size, but Blondie obviously didn’t have reservations about hurting random people. I didn’t think this was someone I wanted to tussle with. “Listen, I don’t know what the hell your problem is—”
She burst into tears. “I can’t believe you! Why’d you have to sleep with him?”
I couldn’t explain it and I’m sure the expression on my face mirrored my confusion. What the hell just happened? “Uh...”
I searched for a camera, Bob Saget or something to make sense of the bawling woman in front of me. Candid Camera had to be hiding around the corner. “Are you all right?”
Wait. Shouldn’t someone be asking me that? I was the one with the possibly broken nose, after all.
Blondie dropped the skateboard and I watched it roll down the sidewalk as a distraction. “I’m sorry!” She stumbled toward me, hands outstretched. Her arms wrapped around me as she buried her face in my shoulder. I could feel that chest of hers squishing against my B-cups. At least she wore a bra. “My therapist says I need to work out my frustrations in a safe place and I—” Something slimy dripped down my shoulder. “I can’t believe him!”
“Oh.” I had to get out of here.
Blondie pulled away, snot and tears clinging to my T-shirt and leather cut. Her baby blues darted to my chest. I covered my goods unconsciously, worried she might have the same idea about popping some balloons. “You’re with the Outriggers Motorcycle Club?” More sniffles.
“Uh huh.” Behind Blondie, a man nearing thirty crossed the street toward the black Harley Fat Boy parked about fifty feet away. My thighs tightened as flashes of last night flickered across my mind. Cooper, bartender extraordinaire, and the reason I would be late for my own crucifixion, didn’t seem to have the same afterglow I did this morning. “Glad we’re caught up. I gotta get going.”
Long, red-tipped, slender fingers gripped my arms as I watched my one night stand drive off. “You can help me.”
What?
“I don’t think so. You just hit me in the face. With. A. Skateboard. What makes you think I want to do anything for you?”
Those angry eyes settled on me once again and a chill sped down my spine.
I hitched a thumb over my shoulder and took an involuntary step back. “I have a meeting I was supposed to be at an hour ago.” I backed up another step, my mid-calf boots scuffing against the sidewalk. Luckily no one had seen our little incident, so the coast was clear to bolt. I just had to get Blondie here off my back. “I have to wash my hair. Go to the grocery store. Kill myself.”
“No, no! You’re perfect.”
My teeth rattled as Blondie shook me, my head snapping back on my shoulders.
“We can do this! All you need to do is come with me,” she said, her blue eyes distant as if she were scheming something terrible.
I had a bad feeling about this. I batted her hands away. “Stop shaking me!”
Blondie stopped short, her mouth snapping shut at my outburst. Serves her right. People just didn’t shake other people and demand them to go with them for no good reason. Not at least without offering candy. Her gaze became glassy again.
“Oh, no.” I hated crying women. They made me uncomfortable and tore down every defense I had. My head darted from side to side, my eyes searching for an escape. My bike was parked about twenty feet away. If I ran fast enough, I could outrun the waterworks.
“Please don’t cry again.”
I couldn’t handle this. What did this bitch think would happen after she tried to break my nose?
Here come the tears.
“Are you seriously doing this to me? You hit me in the face!” I had to get to that meeting. The meeting with Satan’s Army would redefine the club’s dealer status. As Vice President, I could not miss it and I couldn’t be caught dead on the Strip either. The rules were clear: stay out of Satan’s Army territory. Besides, I’ve had these types of encounters before. Wives wanted revenge for their husband’s cheating ways. All you have to do...blah blah blah. Nothing this double-D blonde said would surprise me, but no matter what hare-brained scheme she had in mind, I didn’t have the time. “Listen, I—”
“I need you to kill someone up for me, Cherry. But you have to make it look like an accident.”
That was new.
I looked at her then down at myself. “You’re kidding, right?”
When I said I had a gangly frame, I wasn’t exaggerating. I could barely even bench fifty pounds and that’s from the one time I’d stepped into a gym. Spying? Sure. I always like a good conspiracy. Picking up a miscellaneous package to deliver? Depended on the compensation. Fighting? Well, let’s just say what skateboard Blondie had used was the most action my nose had ever seen. I wasn’t a fighter and I could barely handle a gun. “I don’t kill people and you might have just broken my nose. What makes you think I want to help you? And by the way, how do you know my name?”
Blondie reached inside that big bra of hers and pulled out a wad of cash. A hundred dollar bill rested on the outside and the anxiety in my chest grew two times stronger. “Doesn’t matter. Two thousand bucks. I’ll give you half now and half when it’s done.” She shoved the cash into my hand and my fingers closed around it automatically.
I could use the extra cash. Vegas wasn’t exactly the ideal place to live, especially for someone who didn’t dance, sing, whore around, do drugs, or party. I’d been planning on leaving some day. The two grand would help. A lot.
“Who is it?” My voice hitched on the last word.
Blondie stepped closer. Her eyes dried up and darted from left to right. She handed me a photo. “Make it quick and dirty. And make sure nothing can be traced back to me.”
I looked down at the photo. My heart plummeted into my stomach.
Cooper.
My bartender.
“You want me. To kill. This guy?” I could imagine exactly how my attempt to rough anyone up would go down: with me on the floor. But attack Cooper? Well... A smile pulled at one corner of my mouth. I certainly attacked him last night. “He’s three times my size.”
“Well, I can’t do it!”
“Why do you want him dead?”
“He cheated on me.” Blondie twirled a fake strand of hair between two fingers.
I shook my head in disbelief. Aside from the stab of pain in my stomach thinking about Cooper and Blondie together, the ache in my face grew to all new kinds of pain as I winced. Without warning, my eyes stung with tears. What the hell was wrong with me? He was a one night stand. I wasn’t supposed to care.
“We’ll talk about this later.” I shoved the cash into my back pocket and jogged toward my own bike.
“How do I get a hold of you?” she yelled across the street.
I didn’t answer, carefully setting my helmet over my head to avoid my nose. I threw one leg over my pride and joy and started the ignition. Thoughts of the hit I’d just been paid to participate in disappeared as I focused keeping my breathing even. Not knowing what would happen to me today set me on edge. Less than ten minutes later, I drove into Outrigger territory. Anxiety clawed its way up my throat. I’d been a member for more than two years, but my status as Vice President wouldn’t cushion the punishment waiting for me.
I’d fucked up. Big time.
I’d be surprised if the club didn’t burn off my membership tattoo for letting one of the largest shipments of cocaine out of my sight.
My bike rumbled beneath me as I shifted down and pulled into the shop’s parking lot. Other members of the crew avoided my gaze as I parked. I threw the kickstand down, pulled off my helmet, and stepped onto the asphalt.
The shop employed every member of the Outriggers Motorcycle Club on paper and served as headquarters for meetings. The cinderblock walls, plywood doors and oil-stained cement gave cops the impression of a garage, but that end of business had died out long ago. If you needed your bike fixed, you had to do it yourself.
A bike I didn’t recognize had been parked on the other side of the lot, another behind it I couldn’t see. Looked like Satan’s Army had already arrived, which meant the meeting had started without me.
I pushed my way through the side door, and was immediately confronted with the long, oak table surrounded by my brethren. As the only female member, I’d gotten plenty of lusty, offended and confused looks in my day, but now? The Grim Reaper himself stared out through my president’s eyes.
“What the hell happened to your face?” Ryder Branson, President of the Outriggers, stood. He walked over to me then cradled my face with both hands.
His touch sent a shudder down my spine. Not only had he taken what was once a good, honest, and family-oriented club and turned it into his personal shell company for dealing blow, he gave me the creeps. “Skateboard accident.” No point in telling them some Double-D’d hoodlum paid me to kill someone.
“Have Trish look at it when we’re through.” He motioned for me to sit. “Cherry, you’ve met Vasquez, President of Satan’s Army, Nevada.”
I maneuvered around the standing members to my reserved chair and sat. My gaze connected with Vazquez and I nodded curtly. I’m sure the embarrassment running rampant in my body showed through the new bruises on my face. Nothing like a Vice President showing up late to a members meeting.
“And this is his VP, Cooper Nolan.”
I immediately wished Blondie had killed me.
Slowly, I directed my gaze to the man whose apartment I’d left this morning in a hurry. My one-night stand. Shit.
Chapter Two
The meeting went as expected, except I’d survived against all odds.
However, I couldn’t say the same for the newest VP of Satan’s Army. I’d cornered him at the back of the in-house bar during the celebrations. Outriggers and Satan’s Army were now partners in the cocaine business and it looked like I’d be stuck with him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were S.A.” I took a swig of my beer as I kept a lookout for any signs my ass would be handed to me soon. “This was supposed to be a one-time thing, remember? Never see each other again?”
“You didn’t really give me a chance to talk.” Cooper gave me that devilish grin that’d gotten us into trouble in the first place.
“You will not blame this on me,” I hissed. “You came onto me.”
He laughed then took a drink from his own beer. “Whatever you say, baby.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You didn’t seem to mind last night.” Those steel-gray eyes of his roamed over the party. He wouldn’t even give me the courtesy of looking at me.
Bastard.
“Skateboard accident, huh? Looked a little more serious than that when I left this morning.”
The anger in the center of my chest burned hotter. “You saw me?”
“Hard to miss a cat fight.”
“It wasn’t a fight.” At least not on my end.
Cooper’s laugh only fueled the fire. “What’d you do to piss off...?” He cupped both hands in front of his chest and I knew what he meant.
Disgusting.
“Ask Big and Blonde next time you see her.”
He didn’t even react.
I reached out lighting-fast and dug my fingernails into his tattooed-to-hell-and-back arm. I secretly hoped my nails had left injuries across his back. “Listen to me. No one can know about what we did. Do you hear me? They’ll kill us.” I searched the bar again
, ensuring we weren’t watched or overheard.
Cooper wrenched his arm out of my grasp. “Who says I want that broadcasted? Wasn’t like it was the best night of my life.” With that, he walked off.
A piece of me wished I could say the same. Sure I’d been with a couple guys here and there. It was Vegas after all, and running wasn’t my only activity to let off a little steam, but I hadn’t expected last night to rank in the top five. Not even in the top two.
Didn’t matter. I’d be gone by the time the club found out. And they would find out. Not through me, but secrets never stayed buried between members.
“Cherry.” Trish sauntered toward me with bandages in hand. Her baby blue doe eyes centered on the carnage of my face. She pushed her long black hair back behind her shoulder.
“Hey, Doc. I’m fine.” I wiped at my nose, hoping it wouldn’t come away with blood. Not my day. Fresh blood coated the side of my index finger. “Shit.”
“I can see that.” She stepped forward, wiping some of it away.
I let her. No point in arguing with the club doc.
“Who’s dark and serious over there?” Trish lifted her chin toward Cooper.
“Cooper Something. Just met him. S.A.’s new VP.” His name tasted sharp on my tongue as flashes of last night crossed my mind. Technically, I wasn’t lying. I did just meet him. Just. Not. Here.
My gaze darted across the room toward the subject of our conversation. A small, pink line showed on the back of his neck from beneath his T-shirt. I’d definitely left claw marks down his back. I hope it hurt.
“He’s cute,” Trish said. She strapped a bandage over my nose, sending pain throughout my entire skull.
“Ow!” I jerked away. “What the hell was that for?”
She looked at me pointedly. “To keep your head in the game. He’s off limits.”
Anger flashed hot in the center of my chest. Who the hell did she think she was? I’d had problems with anger management before, but against my better judgment, the court-mandated classes actually helped. I closed my eyes. I used my six months of newfound education to breathe in deep and bury the urge to make Trish my broken-nosed twin. I forced the anger out through my exhale as I’d been taught.
Sour Cherry Page 1
