by Rayne, Sara
Pretty Boy listened grimly as she told him what was up. Shep wasn't going to like this one bit. Especially not after the pointed lecture the prospects had gotten on “laying low” and “club safety first” and “keep your goddamn tempers for fuck’s sake.”
But sometimes, a man had to do what he had to do.
And fuck the consequences.
Chapter Seven
Don't drink with Voo. He's better at it than you.
~Four Horsemen Prospect Handbook
* * *
Pretty Boy's momma liked to say he'd been born to hustle and she wasn't wrong. From dawn to dusk, he was always moving, selling something, working some angle, building up allies and selling out enemies that never saw him coming. Today was just such a day. He'd spent the morning stacking tires for the rally at Seventh Circle Motors and flirting with Dani, cause why the hell not? He'd stopped by Eddie's to pick up the clothes she was donating to a family in his trailer park who'd just lost their father. Had lunch with the guy two trailers down from him who was trying to quit drinking and found the guy’s daughter a baby-sitting gig for the new mom in the red doublewide.
He spent the afternoon selling off his latest stash and a goodly amount of Eddie's shine. And tonight? He was on bartending duty at Perdition. Ryker had him on the schedule twice as often as the other prospects because of the spike in sales when he was working the bar. From daring cougars looking for a little cocktail courage to take home a biker and a story, to hellions who were usually more interested in clocking the guys than sucking down the drinks, he could get all of them running tabs that kept the bar's financials in the black.
The place was packed tonight, he couldn't even see the club motto, Think on Your Sins' on the back wall through all the people. But from the fresh clean on the bikes suspended from the exposed steel beams across the vaulted ceilings to the new felt on the custom Trans-Am Pool table, the former warehouse was all decked out and ready for the upcoming rally. He was rimming some glasses with salt for a bunch of MILFs he was pretty sure ran the PTA in town when Shep walked in, Voo hot on his heels.
"Just saying, mon frère, you're no preacher now. Celibacy should be a thing of your past."
"I was going to be a pastor, not a priest. Celibacy was never on the table," Shep called back, elbowing through the usual Thursday night crowd in for the half priced drinks.
"All the more reason to get your dick wet, brother," Voo returned, his soft Creole drawl accentuated by whatever he and Shep had been pre-gaming before they ambled into the MC's favorite watering hole.
Pretty Boy handed the tray of margaritas off to Fetch to deliver, shooting a wink to the table of ladies eagerly awaiting their next round. He scooted down to where Voo had elbowed up to the bar. "What can I get you?"
"Two hellfires and a sidecar of brimstone whiskey." Voo pounded his fist on the table. "Each."
Pretty Boy caught Shep's eyes for confirmation—that was enough to put both the seasoned drinkers on their ass. Shep nodded and Pretty Boy shrugged. "Your funerals."
"Yours soon, Pretty." Voo laughed. "Revelation is coming—you ready for Judgment Day?"
"Willing and able," he quipped, affably. Truthfully? Revelation had him quaking in his shit-kickers. What if he didn't make it? What if the MC didn't want him and sent him away? Shep would be so disappointed in him. Maybe that would be the end of their friendship. He couldn't remember a prospect ever not making it and still hanging with the club. Things just didn't work like that.
Sometimes, he'd picture Shep giving him his cut. The Four Horsemen were divided into families, based on the founders. During Revelation, a member from each family picked which—if any—prospect would join the family-tree. He had waited years to prospect for it to be Shep's turn to pick. He'd heard rumors about the hell that was Revelation, but it would all be worth it if he got his patch into Shep's family—Famine—they'd be officially connected.
Other times? He was sure he'd never get that far. Someday the club was going to look at him the same way his parents did. As a waste of time.
He grabbed two frosty pilsner glasses and scooped ice into them. Then he snagged some top shelf rum, twirling the bottle to give the citizens—non-club members—a show and pouring a healthy double in each glass. "So VP, I think I solved our entertainment problem."
"That so?" Shep gave him a skeptic stare.
"Yeah, I was thinking—let's put on a prize-fight. We might even make a little money off it, if you let Jag run the books."
"I love it!" Voo grinned. "Who's going to fight?"
Pretty Boy forced himself not to look at Shep. "I thought I would. We'll have to scare up an opponent—"
"Hang on, hang on." Voo laughed. "You? You any good?"
"Yes," Shep said softly. Pretty Boy grinned, liking the proud tone of his voice.
Voo straightened up, looking between him and Shep. "Is that so? He better than you, VP?"
"He trained me," Pretty Boy said before he thought about it. Shep was going to be pissed when he worked out he'd just been played in front of Voo.
"That doesn't mean I –" Shep cut himself off. "Shit."
"What's the problem, brother? A good old fashioned knockout in the ring is just what this party needed!" Voo clapped him on the back. "You trained the kid. You say he can fight. We all know it'll be a good time—and there's profit to be made. What's the down side?"
Shep's face shuttered. "No, you're right. We should do it."
"Awesome. I'll book it." Pretty Boy hid his grin by getting back to making drinks. He sliced some fresh lime wedges, squeezed a little in each glass and tossed in the scrunched extra, then added a couple shakes of hot sauce—two extra for Voo—and topped it off with half ginger beer and half lager. He poured their side cars and slid the set in front of the two with a mock salute. "Y'all want some pretzels with that?"
"Didn't come here to eat." Shep frowned. "Certainly not stale-ass bar pretzels."
"So Yo handled himself well tonight?" Voo asked.
"Shoulda seen him shit-talking like it weren't no thing." Shep grinned. "Like he didn't give a damn what would happen. Cap was so fucking proud, I thought his cut would burst."
"Good on him." Voo laughed. He took his sidecar shot in one swallow and washed it down with about half of his hellfire. "So, back to the topic at hand—"
Shep groaned. "Leave it alone, Voo."
"Look—you go around here, squaring everyone's love life away, vetting old ladies left and right, and I've never even seen you bed down a hellion. Every man deserves a break now and again, brother." Voo pushed Shep's sidecar towards him. "You've been hungover as shit every day this week and you're looking like hell warmed over. Take a vacay with a little pussy. You earned it."
"Thanks, but I'll pass." Shep downed his sidecar and took a swig of hellfire, but came up coughing and sputtering. He eyed Voo with accusation. "Holy fuck—you enjoy this molten shit?"
Pretty Boy hid a grin and scooted the bowl of pretzels toward Shep. "Too much hot sauce?"
Shep stuffed a handful in his mouth, glaring at Voo who laughed his ass off, dreadlocks dancing around his face.
"You alright, man?" Voo wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
"Who the hell thought of putting hot sauce in a drink? And where can I find the miserable bastard, so I can drag him out in the street and shoot him?" Shep demanded.
"It'll put hair on your chest, brother."
"Fuck that! I don't want hair on my chest. Or anymore of this." He pushed the drink back towards Pretty Boy. "Get me a beer. A nice, regular-ass, cold beer. Sans hot sauce, got it?"
"Yes, sir." Pretty Boy smirked. He held Shep's gaze the entire time he poured him a tall glass from the tap, and watched him gulp it down in a few hard swallows.
Voo glanced surreptitiously between the two of them and Pretty Boy raised a brow, but said nothing. What was that dread-locked mofo up to?
Voo put his hand on Shep's shoulder and gestured to Wendy, the new hellion they'd hired on as a b
ar-maid. She was wiping down tables in the shortest shorts WalMart ever made, her tied-on halter top covering very little of a seriously cut mid-riff. She didn't have a lot in the way of curves—small tits, straight hips. But she had an ass sexier than the rear bumper of a fresh off the line Ducati. Pretty Boy had given some thought to tapping that himself, but he was on a kind of low-hellion diet right now. On account of he didn’t want Shep looking at him with those sorrowful, hound-dog eyes.
There was a lithe kind of grace in her movements as she turned, tray of empties in hand, and headed for the bar. Her face was angular, pale and rich like cream. Her cat-like eyes wide and green, framed by a spiky black pixie cut. She wore a black headband with a jade skull and crossbones dangle that fell right below her widow's peak.
"How about that petite mignon? I'm sure she'd give you a hell of a ride, me." Voo grinned as she stopped, leaning past Shep to put her tray down.
"Hey, fellas—what's going on?" She had a smoky alto voice, which Pretty Boy had thought was kind of hot right up until the moment she started eyeballing the VP like he was prime A beefcake.
"Shep was about to step outside for a smoke," Voo said. "Care to keep him company? I'm going to stay here and finish my drink."
Shep frowned.
"Sure! I could use a break—" She cut off as she saw his expression. "I mean, if you'd rather be alone, it's no big deal. I can go out back."
Pretty Boy tried to hide his displeasure by wiping down the spotless bar, waiting to hear Shep dismiss her out of hand, as he always did with Hellions.
"You're barking up the wrong tree, baby." Steele stumbled over, half his beer sloshing out of his glass as he elbowed up to the bar. He clapped Shep on the back. "Our VP's practically a monk. But I'd be more than happy to show you out back if you're looking for an escort."
Steele was better than half-past handsome, especially when he took the time to shower off the oil and gunpowder. He shot her a pirate grin, giving her a once-over like she'd come to work naked.
Shep's eyes flashed and Pretty Boy bit back a curse.
"That's alright, brother. I got it." Shep stood, put his arm around the little barmaid and headed for the back door.
"Well, I'll be damned. Did we finally find a piece of tail Shep can't pass on?" Steele laughed. He turned to Voo. "I think you're about to owe me twenty bucks!"
Voo finished the rest of his hellfire. "We'll see."
Pretty Boy stared dumbfounded at the back door, half-certain he would wake up any second now. Had Shep just taken a hellion into a back alley?
Whiskey. Tango Foxtrot.
It was a good three minutes before Pretty Boy realized Voo was snapping his fingers in front of his face.
"What?"
"Watch your tone, prospect," Steele said, voice pointed as a blade.
"Sorry, man. Long night." He shook himself. "What do you need?
"Another drink, if it's not too much trouble?" Voo's sounded highly amused about something.
"Yeah, of course. Sorry," he said again. He began working on Voo's drink. What the hell was Shep doing?
"Everything okay, son?" Voo asked softly.
"Yeah, I'm all good." His eyes strayed to the back door to the alley.
He tried to tell himself they'd just have a friendly smoke and Shep would be back before Steele managed to spill any more of his drink. Shep never went for hellions. This would be no different.
Right?
Chapter Eight
First come, first serve with the ladies. No cock-blocking.
~Four Horsemen Charter
***
Shep lit his smoke, his buzz practically vibrating through his body. He really should know better than to go drinking with Voo. They'd met up at Inferno Firearms after he'd gotten back from the meet with the Raptors. He should've stuck to his instincts and gone back home with Yo for a Firefly marathon and a couple of pizzas. But Voo had baited him, calling him an old fart, telling him he wasn't no priest, and he could come have a few drinks.
Then they'd gone shot for shot in the parking lot until he could barely stand, before dragging him over to Perdition. And now he was in the alley with a half-dressed hellion trying to remember which fucking pocket his lighter was in, while she watched him with wolfish eyes.
He couldn't make a good decision anymore to save his life. Could have something to do with the way he was keeping his BAC higher than his IQ lately.
"You're the one they call Shepherd, right?" She asked as he patted himself down for a lighter for the umpteenth time.
"Yes, ma'am." He paused as she flicked a Zippo to life and cupped her hand around his smoke, lighting it for him. "Much obliged."
She nodded. "You're VP?"
"Last I checked." He blew a stream of smoke over her head and leaned against the cool brick wall to steady himself. "You're … Wendy, right?"
"Yeah." She leaned against the wall next to him. "It's my first night working at Perdition."
She’d been hangin’ round the club about a month now if Shep remembered right, angling for a job at the bar. "How'd you like it?"
"Not bad at all. A lot better than some other roadhouses I've worked at."
"Where you from, darlin'?" Shep wondered if this counted as flirting. He was pretty sure he was doing it all wrong and he was rusty as hell. Of course, he didn't really want to do this at all. But if he didn't start at least trying to hit on some hellions, the guys' good-natured teasing about his monk like tendencies was going to turn into some honest to God wondering about on which side his bread was buttered, as his grandma would've said.
He couldn’t have that.
"Austin. Arlington. Sweetwater, for a while." She shrugged. "I don't seem to stay in any one place to long."
"Why's that, sweetheart?"
She grinned. "Ain't found the place interesting enough to lay down roots, I guess."
He started to ask after her family and stopped himself. What would Steele do in this situation? Probably make some smart-ass comment about proving this place could be interesting enough for her to stick around. With his dick.
Shep couldn't quite bring himself to do that.
What about Voo? How would he handle this? Shep guessed Voo would stare soulfully into her eyes, reading her mind or some such, then scoop her up and take her home, so he could make her some kinda crazy wonderful scrambled eggs or some shit like that. Maybe whisper Frenchie sweet nothin's.
Well, he didn't really have the means to whip out a skillet and show off his egg scrambling skills, but he could look into her eyes. If not soulful, surely he could hit inscrutable? He could handle that. He tried it out, holding her gaze, reading her face as he smoked.
And hot damn, it seemed to be working. A rosy blush crept across her chest and her lips twitched into an awkward smile.
She hit her cigarette and looked up at him through a thick fan of black lashes. "You're staring."
"So I am."
"Like what you see?" She squared her shoulders. Something in the oddly brave and yet vulnerable movement tugged at his chest.
She wasn't as pushy as most of the other hellions. She wore bravado like her favorite pair of jeans, but there was a healthy layer of fear beneath it. He wondered where that came from, but resisted the urge to dig in. His brothers always called him a nosy mother fucker. Maybe this was one of those situations where he should mind his own business instead of dragging another set of skeletons outta someone's closet. He had enough to fill a boneyard as is.
"I do," he whispered.
She dropped her cigarette on the ground, grinding it out under the heel of her half-boots. "Gonna do something about it?"
Shep dropped his smoke and set his hand across her collarbone, the softness of her exposed skin odd against the warmth of his palm as he pressed her back against the wall. He hadn't kissed a girl since his long-gone fiancé. He pivoted, bracing an elbow next to her, leaving her plenty of room to escape on the other side if she wished.
She took a ragged breath, her ey
es darting towards his mouth.
"Do you want me to?" He asked softly.
She curled her little fingers in the collar of his cut, her touch reverent. She tugged him towards her, smiling wider when he didn't resist. "Yes," she whispered against his mouth.
Her mouth moved gently over his and he cautiously opened his lips. She kissed sweetly, lightly, as if testing the waters. She tasted of cigarettes and cherry cola, and the kiss was not unpleasant. It wasn't really doing a whole lot for him down below, but even if it was, he hardly intended to fuck her in an alley.
Maybe this would be enough to keep the brothers off his back?
He moved in closer, letting his hand slide into her hair. He had expected it to be spiky, full of sticky product, but it was soft like feathers and reminiscent of … something wonderful he couldn't put his finger on just now. He opened his eyes for a second, glimpsing the soft, black fringe as his other hand slid down to her hip.
Pretty Boy.
Her hair reminded him of Pretty Boy's. And now, that's all he could think about.
All of a sudden, his body was all kinds of interested in what was going on, blood surging to his cock. He deepened the kiss before shame at what had triggered his response could stop him.
She broke away from the kiss and he trailed his lips across her cheek to her neck, nuzzling his nose into her hair as he teased the rim of her ear with his breath. She made a low throaty moan, and hey—this was working out alright. He obviously wasn't making a total ass out of himself.
The sound of the bar's back door smacking against the wall as it opened echoed down the alley, followed by loud, exaggerated coughing noises.
Shep turned to glare at the intruder and realized the person he'd been picturing kissing was the cause of the disruption. His face heated as guilt sank to the bottom of his stomach. What the hell had he just been doing?
Taking advantage of some wayward waitress to try to convince the brothers he was as straight as they were? He flinched internally. Of course, he hadn’t kissed someone without an ulterior motive in nearly five years. That was just the sort of bastard he was in the bedroom.
