Snake Charmer (Rawkfist MC Book 2)

by Bijou Hunter

  “I’m not.”

  “The last time I saw Court, he showed me the scratches on his hand where one of your cats went after him. Unless it’s died since then, you’re lying.”

  “Don’t even joke about my cats dying.”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  When I give Journey my steely gaze, she studies me and asks, “You’re hard to read. Is this you being funny?”

  “No.”

  “Good to know.”

  “So why did you lie?”

  “I don’t want to talk about me.”

  “Well, that’s a curious thing considering I don’t want to talk about me either.”

  “So why are we here?”

  “I want to know you.”

  “Your version of knowing me has nothing to do with hearing about my favorite movies.”

  “I don’t know about that. I enjoy hearing you speak. I like when you do the growly thing with your voice. Is that enough for you to stick around for the rest of dinner?”

  “Oh, I’m not leaving. You’re paying, and I haven't eaten dinner.”

  Grinning, I watch her cross her arms and then uncross them when she realizes she’s inadvertently mimicked me. Journey’s behavior is awkward in a way I find fascinating.

  “Where did you learn to fight?” I ask, thinking of how she whooped Becca in a bar fight last spring.

  “I took a little karate years ago. I also joined a boxing gym, but I never spent enough time there to get any good.”

  “You handled Becca and her friends.”

  “Beating down three losers doesn’t make me Journey Kung Fu.”

  “Have you ever beaten down a man?”

  Journey shrugs, and I know the answer is yes. She isn’t sure what to show me. Everything she hides makes me hungry to know more. Nice move on her part, even if I sense she has no idea she’s playing a game.

  “Anyone nursing a broken heart back in Indianapolis about you moving here?”

  “No one worth mentioning. How come your cousin doesn’t know your dating history when everyone in this town knows everything about everyone?”

  “I’m not from this town.”

  “That isn’t much of an answer. I know about the dating habits of people from nearby towns that I’ve never met. People around here love to talk, but they don’t have anything to say about you.”

  “That’s how I like it. People in Tumbling Rock don’t look too fondly at the law. Anything they say about me is bound to be negative.”

  “Are your parents in law enforcement?”

  “My parents are dead.”

  Journey shifts in her chair, looking awkward again. “I’m sorry.”

  “The world didn’t weep for them, and I can’t say I shed too many tears over their deaths either.”

  Journey raises one of her thick, dark brows and gives me the once over. I don’t know what she’s thinking, and not knowing nearly sends me across the table to kiss her frowning lips.

  “I like my parents. Will this fact bother you?” she asks, deciding to challenge me again.

  “I’m not the bitter sort.”

  “I suspect that isn’t true.”

  “I’m as easygoing as they come.”

  “Now who’s lying?”

  Grinning, I lean forward and tap the table. “I know who and what your father is. I’m not looking to start trouble for a man who did right by Court. My cousin needed a man in his life, and your father stepped up like no one else would.”

  “I never suspected you of wanting to harm my family.”

  “Not even once,” I say, wagging a finger at her. “You’re a terrible liar, Journey Sheerer. I’d never have guessed that.”

  “Can you blame me for wondering about your sudden interest?”

  Her expression remains defiant, but her tone hints at a surprising insecurity. I can’t imagine men don’t chase her down daily.

  “Look at it this way. Your sister was the first person in years to snitch out someone in Tumbling Rock. She testified in court, which is something no one’s done in decades. Usually, if people call the cops, they end up dropping the charges. Now if I or anyone else in the department were to come down on your family, we’d look like assholes.”

  “Not disagreeing with you there, officer.”

  “Deputy actually. It’s a sheriff’s department, and I’m a deputy.”

  “I won’t remember that.”

  Smirking at her expression, I wait until we’ve ordered before I push her for more details.

  “Do you like your job?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What are your pets’ names?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  Laughing, I nearly reach across the table and take her hand. Knowing she won’t approve of touching yet, I control myself. For now.

  “I find it curious how my promise not to harm your family has actually made you crankier. Did you hope I was conning you?”

  “The fair was months ago,” Journey says, revealing her insecurity again.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “With a woman?”

  “No. I’ve been on suspension. I couldn’t exactly pull you over in my civilian vehicle.”

  Journey frowns at my answer. “Do you use that move a lot?”

  “Of course not. My grandfather is the sheriff, and he doesn’t play when it comes to proper procedures.”

  “Do you like working for him?”

  “Do you like your job?” I ask again, making clear how I’m a closed book until she gives me something in return.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I mostly deal with pregnant women. Often, they come in scared, and I enjoy being there when they first meet their babies.”

  Her tone unsettles me. I’ve spent months wondering about this woman. In my mind, Journey was a lot of things – tough, sarcastic, sexy - but sentimental wasn’t one of the qualities I assigned to her. The sight of such tenderness in her makes remaining in my chair nearly impossible.

  “I want to kiss you,” I blurt out.

  “Of course, you do,” she immediately replies and then adds, “Who could blame you?”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  Journey’s arrogance falters for only a moment before she covers with a disinterested shrug. “I want my free meal first. Just in case the kiss is awful, and you try to run. I’d hate to have to tackle you and lift your wallet to pay for dinner.”

  “I promise even if you’re the worst kisser in history, there’s no way I’m running away. Not when I can teach you how to improve your skills.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “I’ve never had any complaints.”

  “And people do talk smack around here, so you’d probably hear something.”

  “True.”

  Journey studies me. Based on her now unreadable expression, she’s either considering ditching me or throwing a punch. Or possibly she wants to pucker up and plant a kiss on me. Her lack of cues again enchants me.

  “We have two cats and a dog,” Journey says, relenting to date etiquette. “They’re dreadful animals, but I love them.”

  Smiling at her olive branch, I’m dying to get a taste of the mysterious Journey Sheerer. Once the food arrives, she eats agonizingly slowly as if knowing what I have planned. The woman refuses to make anything easy for me.

  6 Snake Charmers

  Journey

  Donovan possesses some serious devil-like qualities. His lazy smile tempts me to forget everything I’ve ever learned about men and their tricks. His amused gaze entices me to view myself as a weak, little girl bowing to the urges of a big, strong man.

  His brown hair is slicked back except for a stray lock resting against his forehead. My fingers fidget with the urge to reach across the circular table and press the hair into place. No doubt if I make such a move, Donovan will seize me into his grip and refuse to let go.

  When his gaze is on me, I feel alive in a way I’ve never e
xperienced. When he looks away, I’m naked and exposed. What kind of power does he have over me?

  Studying my drink, I wonder if it’s spiked. How else can I explain the heat in my gut? Or the twisting sensation disconnected from my brain’s better judgment? I need Donovan to like me. I ache for him to find me attractive. I’m nothing without his approval.

  What in the fricking hell is wrong with me?

  I make every effort to keep the conversation awkward and pointless. We spend a good twenty minutes discussing the naming choices of the small businesses in Tumbling Rock. Mia’s Muffins, Sal’s Signs, Mike’s Mufflers. Had people specifically picked their business ideas to match the first letters in their names?

  “Journey’s Jumpsuits,” he suggests.

  “Donovan’s Donuts.”

  “That one isn’t half bad.”

  We share a smile. Rather than relax, I’m frustrated. “Dating seems like a lot of work. What’s the point?”

  “I don’t know. I never date. If I had to guess the point, I’d suspect it’s a formality humans go through to get laid.”

  “Don’t you want to get laid?”

  “Of course, but I have a few lady friends who don’t expect me to talk to them first. This conversation thing is foreign to me.”

  “A few?” I ask, wanting to punch him.

  “Not all at once, of course.”

  Fighting the forming fist, I keep my right hand flat on my lap. “No, of course not.”

  “I don’t believe in relationships,” Donovan says as if being an asshole is part of his life philosophy rather than a character flaw.

  “If you think you’re getting lucky tonight, you’re fricking stupid. I don’t normally throw around IQ assessments, but for you, I’m making an exception.”

  Donovan laughs, which irritates me more than his “few lady friends” crap.

  “You are so beautiful when in a rage,” he says, taking a swig of his beer. “It makes me want to piss you off.”

  “You’re doing a bang-up job, dumb frick.”

  Bursting into laughter, Donovan literally wipes his eyes from chuckling so hard.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s a little funny,” he says, running his fingers over the battered wooden table top.

  I watch his hand and instantly imagine it touching me in the same way. Irritated by how stupid in heat I’ve become, I remind myself I’m on my period and likely hormonal.

  “I’m never fucking you,” I growl.

  Without missing a beat, Donovan gives me a sly smile. “We both know that isn’t true.”

  “Why would I want to be one of your standby hooches?”

  “Do you think I take those women out to dinner? They call me when they’re in the mood, or I call them. We don’t get pizza together in public places.”

  Rolling my eyes, I ball up a napkin and toss it at him. “They must feel so special.”

  “Cool your jets. Do you really think those girls wouldn’t ditch me in a heartbeat if they could find guys they wanted to keep? They’re not sitting by the phone, waiting for my call either. They have other guys they hook up with. I’m sorry I’m not the romantic sort, but this dating thing is new for me. Based on all of your frowning, I suspect you’re most definitely rusty at it too.”

  “I’m picky about who I spend my time with.”

  Ignoring my angry tone, Donovan gives me a sexy smile. “You’re close with your family.”

  “Yes.”

  “I saw the way you defended Justice at the fair. It was natural like you have to do it a lot.”

  “My sisters have big mouths and clumsy fists.”

  “Why don’t you teach them to fight?”

  His question calms a bit of my irritation at him by focusing my irritation on my sisters. “I did. They ended up slapping the shit out of each other and then whining about how the palms of their hands hurt and needed medical attention. I wouldn’t say it was a positive experience.”

  “I don’t have any siblings that I know of, so I can’t relate.”

  “You have Court.”

  “We aren’t that close.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s in the Rawkfist club. I’m in the sheriff’s department. People wouldn’t approve of us hanging out.”

  “Would they think you were a bad cop or Court was a snitch?”

  “Both.”

  “Do you really like your job or do you have to say you do because of your family?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Did you become a cop because of your family or because you wanted to?”

  “Family. Well, that and I didn’t have anything else I wanted to do. Figured this was the easiest route.”

  “Are you a lazy person?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. How about you?”

  “I admittedly enjoy sitting on my ass.”

  Donovan doesn’t seem all that interested in the pizza. My appetite can’t compete with my raging moods swings. One minute, I hate imagining Donovan with anyone else. The next minute, I’m pissed at the thought of him with me.

  “You said you were on suspension. What did you do?” I ask, wanting to start trouble.

  “Shot a guy.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “No, or I would have said I killed a guy.”

  Narrowing my gaze, I ask, “Why did you shoot him?”

  “He had a weapon. I’d warned him, and he didn’t put down his gun, so I shot him in the leg.”

  “The leg?”

  “I was aiming for his gut, but the sun shined off his kid’s skateboard and blinded me for a second. Ended up hitting him in the leg.”

  “And you were suspended?”

  “I have a history with him, so the shooting needed extra scrutiny. My grandfather is by the book.”

  “What kind of history?”

  “I’d arrested him before, and he claimed I was harassing him.”

  “Were you?”

  “No. He’s an asshole. That’s why he was arrested before and why I shot him. He does dumb shit.”

  “What kind of dumb shit?”

  Donovan shifts in his seat and chuckles awkwardly. “You’re tougher than the internal review.”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “No, you’re looking to point the finger at me and say I’m a bad guy so that you can blow me off.”

  “Well, there’s that, but I’m also curious.”

  Donovan doesn’t want to talk about the shooting. He falls silent for a few minutes before forcing himself to tell me the story. I admittedly enjoy his squirming.

  “It all got started because of a noise complaint. Someone bitched about his dogs barking day and night. I came to his place to give him a warning, but he blew a gasket and went out back and started kicking the dogs. That first arrest was for animal cruelty.”

  Donovan pauses to gulp down some of his beer. Around us, families enjoy their dinners. I see a few familiar faces but ignore them. I don’t want anything distracting me from the man fidgeting across the table.

  “The next time I arrested him was after he locked his teenage son out of the house. I showed up to find out what was going on after neighbors called in about fighting at the house. So the asshole comes running outside and punches the kid for calling the cops. That was arrest number two, and when he started claiming I was harassing him.”

  Donovan’s index finger circles the beer bottle’s opening, and I instantly imagine the same motions around my nipples. Before I can control myself, I fantasize about him touching my clit in the same way. Lost in a state of arousal, I can no longer pretend I have the upper hand with Donovan.

  “This last time, a neighbor claimed the asshole had her outdoor cat caged in his garage. When I showed up, he flew off the handle and pulled a gun.”

  “What about the cat?” I ask, trying to think of anything besides sex.

  “Returned to his owner.”

  “Well, then it all turned out okay.”

  Donovan smiles at me
, but his easygoing guy routine is a con. With the way he’d prefer to keep me at a distance rather than share private information, he’s the male equivalent of me.

  I can’t help worrying that two uptight, closed off, and relationship-doomed people have no chance to make this date end well.

  7 Snake Charmers

  Donovan

  Journey barely touches her food and eventually asks for a box. She can’t sit still and refuses to retain eye contact. Unable to look away, I don’t mind her weird mood. These last few months, I’ve endlessly daydreamed about the temperamental temptress from the fair. Journey hasn’t disappointed.

  Gentle women scare me. I don’t understand them. Weak women scare me even more. My mother was the epitome of a weak woman trying too hard to prove otherwise. She gave into every temptation. Her angry demeanor was only a ruse to keep people at bay. Inside, she was a broken child searching to fix a long forgotten hurt.

  That’s what my old therapist told me anyway.

  All I knew was my mother wasn’t someone I trusted with my safety, let alone my sanity. She changed from day to day. I often suspected she only had me because everyone pushed her to have an abortion. After all, the woman shaved the sides of her head simply to piss off her father.

  Arnold Mooney never learned reverse psychology or learned how his wild daughter instantly did things for no other reason except to upset him. She harmed herself in a million ways, only so she could harm others.

  Journey might seem similar with her mood swings, but she’s not like my mother. Underneath her anger and then silence, I sense this woman is a rock. No doubt Journey is the strong one in her family, keeping everyone else safe and sane.

  Knowing she’s unbreakable makes her moments of weakness even sexier.

  “Otto can eat my leftovers,” she says, adjusting in her chair for the millionth time since sitting down.

  “I heard you took in Becca’s kids. Not a lot of people would.”

  “No offense to their grandma who did her best, but she doesn’t have a stellar track record with raising kids. Becca is a turd sniffer, Otto was on his way to becoming a thug, and Matilda would have ended up in an abusive relationship by the time she was sixteen.”

  “Astrid’s ex-husband was abusive. Everyone knew he was, but she wouldn’t press charges.”