by Cathryn Cade
“I know,” she snapped, head down as she thumbed her phone.
She could feel Pete’s gaze as he stopped at the end of his lane to wait for a semi-truck to pass, loaded with cattle from a nearby ranch. He nodded at her phone. “Let me hear it.”
Lesa put her phone on speaker, and replayed the message. Her father’s cigarette rough voice filled the cab. By the time his mini-rant was finished, her eyes were full of tears of affection and worry.
“He’s just looking out for me,” she told Pete, swiping at her face. “But when he sees I’m all right, he won’t call the cops. So don’t you even think about having your biker brothers show up to rough him up, or scare him.”
He put the truck in gear, and they pulled out onto the paved road. “There you go again, acting like we’re the problem. Told you, we don’t do that shit to civilians.”
Despite the warmth of her new coat, and the truck’s heater, Lesa shivered. So he was tacitly admitting they did do so to fellow outlaws? Oh, God. This was what she got for going to work for bikers. Now, her own and her father’s safety rested on her shoulders.
Ignoring Pete, she called her dad’s number and left her own message. “Daddy? Hi, sorry you were worried. I, um, misplaced my phone charger for a couple days. Modern technology, right? Anyway, I’m fine and I’m glad you’re coming to see me, but maybe next week would be better. 'Cause, you know, things have really settled down here. My boss realizes that I'm not the one who stole the money after all, and … and he's even giving me a bonus to make up for it. So ... uh, when you get here, you can meet him. And supper’s on him, he says. Isn’t that nice? So, ‘bye.”
Pete snorted. “Supper’s on me, huh? Guess that’s just a drop in the bucket, compared to all the money I’m payin’ you.”
Lesa could tell my his tone he was trying to get a rise out of her. But she was not in the mood. She shoved her phone into her purse, then gazed out the window at the frosty landscape. Despite the hour, it was getting no lighter outside. The sky was covered with a solid mass of clouds, darker to the northwest.
There was snow on the way, but it wouldn’t be any colder than chill inside her, or the heart of the man driving her to his pub. And to think, only weeks ago she’d daydreamed about sitting up here beside him as he drove into town.
What was that saying about being careful what you wished for? It could’ve been written especially for her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When they pulled up in front of The Hangar, Lesa reached for her door handle. Pete stayed her with a hand on her arm.
“Milaya, I can hear you thinkin’ over there,” Pete said. “Just … stop worrying and roll with it. You did fine talkin' to your dad, you'll do fine with the others, too.”
“’Just roll with it’,” she repeated. She turned on him, glaring up into his handsome face. “God. That is so easy for you to say. Does everyone in your brewpub still respect you? Yes. Conversely, do they think I’m a skank who’s taking advantage of you? Also, yes. But gosh, Pete, I’ll just roll with it.”
He gave her a look full of irritation and turmoil, then shook his head.
“Look, I’m sorry it has to be this way. But shit is in motion, and if I stop it now, I’ll lose the chance to set things straight. Also …'
He sighed. 'There’s gonna be brothers in the place all day and evening, just like yesterday, with eyes on everyone. And they may think you’re hot, but they’re still not gonna let you pull anything. I need you to stay in your role. You get me?”
“Oh, I get you,” she said bitterly. “You can be nice for five or ten minutes at a time, but when it comes right down to it, you’re a controlling, biker ass-hat, who seriously needs to get over himself. You got your way, so stop trying to handle me. Like I care if you’re sorry.”
He was such a jerk, thinking his half-assed apology was going to fix everything. Slamming the truck door behind her, she stalked across the parking lot to the pub’s front door, where her exit was ruined by the necessity to wait for him to unlock the doors and let her in.
“And you are never touching me again,” she told him. “Try it and I’ll—I’ll yank your big tool right off.”
He punched the numbers into the security keypad, but instead of pulling the door open, he stopped, his big arm holding the door handle and her in place. He leaned in, his breath warm on her cheek, and nuzzled her temple.
“Babe,” he crooned in her ear, “You seriously think, I get my hands on you again, you won’t let me touch you any damn way I please? You’re so hot for it, you go off like a firework when I touch you.”
Knowing he was right, at least so far, made her face and throat blaze with heat. “You jackass,” she choked. “Now I get why you go through so many women—once is all it takes to burn them, so you have to find another who doesn’t know what a bastard you are!”
“No, it’s ‘cause I like to fuck, but I don’t like putting up with bullshit like this,” he snarled, and yanked the door open. “Which is what women start spouting when a man spends more than one night with them.”
“Oh, for the life of a biker man-whore,” she said, watching him stride through the pub ahead of her. “Bimbos on tap, and no repeat flavors.”
His broad shoulders tensed, but he kept walking until he was out of sight in the office.
Hah. Well, at least she was putting a cramp in his style, hookup-wise. She’d been in his bed for two nights, and all they’d done was fool around. Serve him right if she put on the smallest size of his brewpub’s tees, and strutted around in front of him, then refused to let him touch her again.
Her movements automatic despite her dark mood, Lesa prepped the coffee machine and turned it on, then moved briskly to the other chores necessary to serve lunch.
When the front door opened at nearly noon, she looked up from rolling silverware in napkins, expecting to see Sylvie and wondering what emergency had her arriving so late. But it was Aysha who sauntered in, holding a lit cigarette in one hand and looking as if she’d just rolled out of bed—which she probably had. Judging from the number of hickies on her neck, she’d had a busy night.
The blonde sneered at Lesa. “What’re you lookin’ at, bitch?”
“Not much,” Lesa returned, and went back to her task.
Aysha stopped nearby, taking another drag on her cigarette and blowing smoke in Lesa’s direction. “Make sure you stay out of my way today—which’ll be on the bar side.”
Lesa set down a set of utensils with a thump, and gave the other woman back glare for glare. “No, it will not. It’s my turn to have bar side.”
“Right, like you get to choose—” Aysha began, then wiped the scowl from her face and tossed her hair coyly. “Hey, Pete.”
“Aysha, you’re late,” Pete boomed. Lesa jumped. He stood by the coffee machine, a steaming mug in his hand. At least his look of displeasure was not aimed her way, for once. “Get rid of that smoke, and get your ass to work. We open in ten minutes.”
“All right,” the blonde whined. “But if I hafta work with her, I should get bar side.”
“You’ll take your turn on the other side like Lesa and Sylvie do,” he growled. “And wash your hands before you touch anything.”
He stomped away, and Lesa turned back to wrapping utensils, head down, biting the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.
“You better not be laughing at me, cunt,” Aysha said spitefully, tossing her cigarette butt into the sink beside Lesa. “’Cause I’ll have the last laugh, you can bet on that.”
Before Lesa could formulate a reply scathing enough to match this, Aysha sauntered away, taking off her coat as she went. “Hey, Streak,” she cooed as she neared the bar. “How’re you, handsome?”
Streak grunted something without looking up from whatever he was doing, which gave Lesa a tiny bit of satisfaction. She took a deep breath and let it out. She could do this. Just stay on her side of the pub, and she and Aysha could ignore each other.
And so they did, until nearly
five o’clock. Unfortunately, Lesa couldn’t ignore Pete, not when he was behind the bar, pulling beer and mixing drinks with Streak.
* * *
Pete had gotten the cold shoulder from women before, after he fucked them and then refused to go back for seconds.
And God knew Marta had iced him for days, after he let her know they were done. She’d flounced around like an offended queen, when she wasn’t flirting with other guys in front of him. She’d finally figured out he didn’t give a flying fuck about either one, but course, that was when the bitch had decided to steal from him and threaten Lesa instead.
But Pete could honestly say this was the first time being ignored by a female pissed him off.
At first it was amusing when Lesa flounced up to the bar and gave him her drink order with a sour look like she been sucking on a lime and now couldn’t find the tequila. Since she was being a sweetheart with the customers, he shrugged off her sourness with him.
But when he was busy with an order for Aysha—who was a trial all on her own, since she fucked up any order tougher than two varieties of beer—Lesa gave her orders to Streak.
For him, she tossed her head and smiled, and thanked him for the order in a way that had Streak grinning like a fool. Pete ground his teeth. Uh, no. Did she seriously think she was gonna cry on his shoulder, cum on his hand ride in his truck and then pull this shit?
He waited until she approached the bar again, and jerked his head to Streak to back off. When Lesa stopped on the other side of the bar, Pete planted his hands on the bar and leaned in.
“Hey,” he said, close enough so she could not mistake he was talking to her. “Eyes, milaya.”
She stiffened, and he watched her soft mouth tighten, and her lashes lift slowly—very slowly—until she was glowering at him from under her curls.
He gave in to the impulse to laugh despite his annoyance, looking away, then back to her. “What the fuck, milaya moye? You got somethin’ you need to say to me, say it.”
Unfortunately, his amusement only pissed her off further. She came up on her tiptoes, slapped her drinks tray down on the bar and leaned over it as far as she could reach.
“You want me to talk now?” she demanded, just loud enough that he could hear. “Funny, last time I tried, you said you were sick of ‘bullshit like this’. Well, guess what? I’m sick of you and that slut you’re making me work with and your cooks all treating me like something you wanna scrape off the bottom of your boots. I hate this situation, and I hate you and I want my life back!”
What happened next was fucked, he knew that in a tiny corner of his brain. But he did it anyway. He listened to every furious word pouring out of her mouth, and then he just went with what his body was roaring for him to do. He grabbed her, leaned over the bar to meet her, and for the first time, he kissed her.
Her lips were silky soft, warm and damp under his, and she tasted like more, deeper, mine. He grasped her shoulders, holding her there as he savored her lips, sucked the bottom one into his mouth, and then licked into her mouth, claiming her sweetness and warmth as his.
Her soft tongue met his and played, and her lips parted wider, letting him in all the way, surrendering her mouth to him the way she would her body. And please God, let it be soon.
What finally penetrated his haze of pleasure and lust was the cacophony of howls, whistles and hoots echoing around them.
“Now we’re talkin’, Brews! Lay it on her”
“Yeah! Show ‘er what that mouth is good for—least one of the things, anyways.”
Fuck. Pete dragged his eyes open to find T-Bear and Rocker behind Lesa—which was a good thing, because they were keeping all the other assholes in the bar from what was likely a stellar view of her ass. They were both grinning at him like fools, though. And so were others.
Pete focused on her for one more second. He drank in the look in her big, brown eyes, dazed and soft, like her mouth. She was pretty, even when she was glaring at him like she wanted to gut him, but he was tired of that look. This look, he fuckin’ loved, and so did his cock.
He gave her one more swift peck, and then winked at her. “We can talk more later, moye. Now, what was that drink order?”
She tipped her head down and thumped her forehead on her drinks tray. Pete chuckled, and stroked his finger tips on her nape, the tender place where her up-swept hair curled over the pale skin. “C’mon, moye. Back to work. Gotta earn that bonus, yeah?”
That got her upright, giving him a last glare as she straightened her tee. “Oh, I’ll earn it, zhopa mudak. I need a hefe, two red wines, a light and a large tomato juice.”
“You got it.” Chuckling at her lousy Russian, he got to work, noting peripherally that Rocker leaned on the bar and jostled Lesa with his shoulder in a friendly way, then said something to her.
She took a few seconds, but nodded back, and even smiled at his friend. Well, Rocker had no shortage of pussy, women loved ‘his dark good looks and that smile’ as Sara put it.
Pete loaded up Lesa’s drinks tray, and she was off, graceful and strong. Without being asked, Pete pulled a stout for Rocker and an amber for T-Bear.
“She’s a nice gal,” Rocker said, saluting Pete with his beer in a way that said thanks and he understood Lesa was off-limits. "What'd she call you?"
Pete grinned. "An asshole ass." Kinda overkill, but she’d no doubt approve of that.
They chuckled together.
T-Bear brandished his phone. “I got that smooch on video with my new phone,” he told Pete with a huge grin. “You’re nice to me, I’ll send it to ya.”
“Don’t need to see it, I was there.” And his cock wished he still was. Fuck, he’d lay her back on the bar and eat her out till she screamed, then bend her over it and take her from behind, his hands full of those tits while he rammed deep in that tight little pussy.
He groaned and reached down to adjust himself in his jeans, which were uncomfortably tight. His big head needed to remind his little one that she was off-limits to him too.
“Damn straight you were there,” T-Bear approved. “I’ll just send it to her, then. Women love that shit.”
Rocker snickered, and Pete shook his head wryly. “Not sure this one will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
That kiss had been amazing, but it was time to get back to business.
“Going back to the brewery to get another keg,” Pete said.
Streak nodded, and Pete walked around the end of the bar, Rocker and T-Bear behind him.
He waited until they were in the brewery, the heavy doors shut behind them, to speak. “Don’t like the way things are going. Not gettin’ any movement from the Sokolovs.”
“They’re not taking the bait,” Rocker said, tipping his head in disgust. “Fuck, why not? It’s a perfect setup for them.”
“We baited the trap with everything they like,” T-Bear agreed. “Easy pickings, easy money. So why aren’t they biting? You sure they’re in town? I seen Marta yesterday, driving that orange Toyota of hers, but not the boys..”
Pete nodded shortly. “They’re around. Knife saw them in that pool hall on East Sprague last night, told Stick. ”
“Well, for damn sure they’re not going outta business,” Rocker said dryly. “So that means they have some other reason for shying away from the prize.”
Rocker leaned back on his heels, then straightened. “In my experience, thieves don’t take bait that’s dangled, means they know it’s bait, or suspect so.”
“Yeah, but how? Nobody knows, except us.”
“And Streak,” Rocker said, his voice neutral.
“Nah, the kid’s straight,” T-Bear said. “He wants to patch in so bad he can taste it. He’s not gonna narc on us.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Pete said. “Don’t know who that leaves, though.”
“Shit, maybe they’re surveilling us,” T-Bear said, looking around uneasily.
“Nope.” This time Rocker was the one shaking his head. “I’d know, my equi
pment would pick it up if they were. Although, maybe we need to go over the video for the last week, see if we spot anything that looks off.”
“For this place, or the shop?” T-Bear asked, waving vaguely in the direction of the upholstery shop.
“This place. I’ve had eyes on that place, no one’s been around.”
Pete sighed. “Shit, okay. Let me check how busy it is, I’ll meet you in my office.”
But back in the bar, Pete soon discovered they had more immediate concerns—such as the very men they’d been discussing. Streak stood at the bar, pulling beers, but his gaze was trained across the room toward the pool tables.
“Fuck,” Rocker said. “The Sokolovs, here. They come to gloat?”
“Bout to find out,” T-Bear answered, and surged forward. For such a big man, he could cover ground fast, his brawny legs carrying him through the high tops full of customers. He stopped by Bouncer, who stood by one of the pool tables, cue in hand, glowering.
“Bounce,” T-Bear boomed, over the music and chatter. “I’m up next against you, bro. You ready?”
Pete, only a few steps behind him, scanned the room for Lesa, and found her with another table, a smile on her face, although her gaze met his and then darted in the direction he was headed. He shook his head for her to stay away. Aysha was oblivious, doing her job half-ass as usual.
“Dmitri, Yvgeny and Mikhail Sokolov,” Pete said, stepping in beside T-Bear to eye the trio of slim, stylish brothers. “To what do we owe this great honor?”
Dimitri, the oldest and spokesperson for the trio, gave Pete a sly smile. “Vanko, I’m shocked. You don’t think we came just for your excellent food and drinks?”
His brothers smirked at Pete. “I don’t know, it’s not so good,” Mikhail said.
“Da, I had to puke after last time we were here,” Yvgeny added. He and Mikhail laughed uproariously, while Dimitri held Pete’s gaze, smirking.
