by Violet Blaze
A quick glance at my phone says it's not quite nine in the morning. I send a quick text to Royal, telling him to check in with me before the shoot, and then set it aside. This time right here, this is just for me, my coffee, and my blueberry scone. Oh, and that guy, Sketch, the young kid with the dark hair and yellow eyes.
I ignore him, letting my eyes travel down the quiet street toward the ocean. The Trinidad Head Lighthouse is directly in front of me, a red and white splotch against the gray-blue of the early morning sky. Far below, down a winding trail and dozens of old wooden steps, is the beach. As usual, it's a little chilly for a beach day, but at least I can hear the waves from here. And from Royal's place.
I purse my lips.
I am so not moving in with the guy. I mean, who does that? Who moves in with an outlaw two weeks into their … well, two weeks after meeting him for the first time?
It's so not a logical thing to do. So not a Lyric Lenore Rentz sort of a thing to do.
I yank a pen from my purse and pull my coffee stained napkin out from under my cup.
On one side, I write Royal in gentle, flowing script. On the other, State Senate. Now, I've never really let myself dream beyond that, like maybe to a US Senate seat, but the fantasy's always been there. As I look at the two things on my list, I feel sick to my stomach. The wild, whimsical, romantic side of me wants to ride off into the sunset on the back of Royal's back. The other, more practical side says that love doesn't always last, that if I join his club, I can't be anything more than I already am. This is it. At best, I keep working for my father. At worst, I end up getting fired and working at the Alpha Wolves Compound with the other 'old ladies'.
I set the pen down and put my face in my hands.
Fuck.
There's my word again, coming back to haunt me in its single syllable of glory.
“Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself,” I say aloud as I crumple the napkin in my fist and shove it back in my purse. If Sketch notices that I'm talking to myself from his position two tables down, he's polite enough to pretend not to. I watch as he sips a small, black cup of coffee that I somehow missed seeing him buy. I'm too up in my head. That's the problem.
Royal says we can't take this slow, but I think at this point that's all I can really do. Anyway, doesn't the club have more to worry about than little old me? FBI agents and drug cartels could fill anybody's to-do list pretty quick.
I suck in a deep breath as the wind lifts off the ocean with a salty sting and pokes at my bare arms, encouraging me to slip on the jacket I draped over the back of my chair. It's as I'm turning to put my right arm in that I notice Glinda—the blonde with the property patch—walking towards me at a brisk pace.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble, pretending not to notice her as I whip back around and use my remaining napkin to wrap up my scone, shoving it in my purse so I can get the hell out of here if she decides to stop by my table. I'll just say I was on my way out.
“Well, if it isn't the deputy mayor,” Glinda says in her warm, buttery little southern belle voice. I force myself to smile as she takes the seat opposite me without even asking. I should've gotten my coffee to go, I think as I glare at the chipped white mug in front of me.
“Glinda,” I say as cheerfully as I can, watching her watch me. I don't miss the way her blue eyes trace the nearly invisible lines on my cheeks. “What a coincidence that we'd run into each other here.”
She smiles at me with big, white teeth and perfect pink lipstick that matches her leather jacket. She's even wearing cowboy boots with glitter on them. They look strangely out of place in the dewy wet green and blue-gray of the Pac Northwest.
“There are no coincidences, sugar, only opportunities.”
“Is that so?” I ask, lifting the bitter blackness of the coffee to my mouth. “Well then, what opportunity brings you this way?”
“Believe it or not, I live right across the street.” Glinda points over at a single story beach bungalow that I've seen a million times and never thought twice about. Great. Now my favorite coffee place feels tainted. “I saw you sittin' over here, and I decided I'd come down so we could have a little chitchat.” She reaches over and pats my conservative French manicure with her long pink acrylics.
“If it's about having Mia jump me, don't worry, I've already dealt with that.” I smile sweetly at her and continue to sip down the delicious perfection that is caffeine. Glinda goes silent, her pearly pink lips popping into a small O before she shakes it off and runs her fingers through her blond hair.
“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talkin' about,” she says as she slides her palms down the thighs of her jeans. Clearly, I've made her nervous by taking the first strike, but I'm not done yet.
“Oh, you haven't heard about the way she had her three friends hold me down, so she could cut up my face?” I slide a finger along the nearly invisible line of the wound on my right cheek. “Or the way she chopped off my hair?” I point to the new do I'm sporting. “Or maybe about the way she did it in plain sight of my father's security cameras?”
“Listen up, Miss Rentz, I don't think—”
I cut Glinda off with a wave of my right hand, dismissing her words like they were never there. This is my conversation, my time to talk.
“No, you don't think. Because if you did, if your friend did, you'd both realize how close you came to bringing hell down on the club. Mayor's Daughter Assaulted Outside her Father's Office by Alpha Wolves Groupies. How does that headline sound to you, Glinda?” I watch her face as it pales and then turns a funny shade of red. “Did you ever think about why the club might need this agreement with the city? Or does your husband not tell you shit?”
“Welcome to the life, Miss Rentz. Club business is boys' business. The quicker you learn that little fact, the quicker you can make yourself scarce. Sweetheart, this just isn't the right place for you right now. You gotta know that better than anybody else.”
I let my smile smolder, slow and easy, cooking into a simmering boil that I know Glinda is going to hate.
“So your husband approved of the attack? I wonder because, you know, Royal didn't. Good thing I know that girls' business should stay girls' business, right? You tell Mia that last time, I kept my Glock in my purse out of respect. Next time, I'm going to shoot her in the foot to teach her a lesson. And Glinda, I'm a very good shot; I won't miss.”
I set my coffee down and stand, running my hands down the front of my black jumpsuit.
“See you at the barbecue tomorrow,” I tell her as I hitch my purse up my shoulder and watch as Sketch gets to his feet and heads toward his bike. As I'm walking away, Glinda reaches out and grabs me by the arm, her nails digging into my skin.
“When Royal asks you to marry him tomorrow, you gonna say yes, sugar?”
I blink three times at her before I can gather myself together. What. The. FUCK?!
“You probably should, you know, since a wife can't testify against her husband during a criminal trial.” Glinda lets go of me as I stand there stupidly and stare at her. “The boys discussed it during church and decided that was the best way to deal with a loose end like you.” Glinda rises up and stares down at me, making me very suddenly aware of my height. I want to punch her right in the tit. “Guess your old man doesn't tell you everything,” she says, sweeping blond hair over one shoulder as she starts to move away.
“Must be difficult,” I say quietly, but I know she can hear the sweet menace of my words. “To be so insecure in your position that you see everyone and everything as a threat. Get it together, Glinda, or you might not be seeing Mia in the clubhouse anymore.” She pauses, but doesn't glance over her shoulder at me. “I might be the new chick on the block, but I don't take crap—from anyone.”
I turn and open the driver's side door of my car, climbing in before Glinda gets it together enough to keep moving, her pink cowboy boots clomping down the sidewalk.
The engine turns over and I get two full blocks away before what she said really hi
ts me.
Royal McBride's going to ask me to marry him.
And I'm going to say no.
This is not going to go over very well.
I make it back in time to catch Royal before the newspaper shoot.
He's waiting in the parking lot, still straddling his bike and smoking a cigarette. Even in the ugly gray light from above, his tattoos gleam, arm muscles standing at sharp attention. It's criminal the way his leather vest drapes over those broad shoulders, the way his jeans stretch tight against his heavily muscled thighs.
I stifle a tidal wave of lust and pause for a moment to gather myself, surveying the parking lot for the FBI agents' rental car. Thankfully, it isn't there. Across the pavement from Royal a reporter and a woman with a camera figure out the best angle to catch what little sunlight there is while still managing to get the ocean in the shot. I wish them luck.
“How did it go?” The words burst from my mouth as I click across the cement in my cream colored suede booties. They're about a million times more comfortable than those heels from yesterday and a far cry from the conservative kitten heels I usually wear.
I get close to Royal to keep us from being overheard, but it ends up being too close because I can smell him now, the way he's this intriguing mixture of wild earth and urban decay, like oil and leather and denim. I can feel the heat from his body, too, cutting right through the thin cotton fabric of the front of my jumpsuit. My nipples pebble and harden and my thighs clench tight to fight back a wash of warmth.
Royal knows it and grins, but the expression doesn't reach the dark brown of his eyes.
“Those agents, they're not just wet behind the ears extras dispatched to check on the suicide. They're the leads on the FBI's investigation into the Saldaña Cartel.” Royal sighs and for a second there, he looks tired, stretched thin. His grin fades away as he runs a hand over his face. “I'll tell you the rest later,” he adds, lifting his chin up and waving at someone behind me. A quick glance over my shoulder shows me it's Sketch, moving away from his bike to sit on a bench next to the front doors of the office. “But first, we've got to get through this crap. I hate to say it, Pint-Size, but your little agreement between the Wolves and the city, it might just keep our asses afloat, at least until we figure this out.”
“My dad knows,” I tell him, biting back the urge to blurt out what Glinda told me. Here, now, in the parking lot outside my father's office, is not the time or place for that. “When Royal asks you to marry him tomorrow, you gonna say yes, sugar?” A shiver traces down my spine as I recall her words. “About us. Sully told him.”
“Fuck, I really do hate your brother, you know that?” I make myself smile as Royal and I stare at each other, and I take in the clean lines of his face, freshly shaved and ready to go for the shoot. His hair is slightly damp, making me think he must've stopped at home after the police station to shower. The rose tattoo on his neck is just barely visible against the white of his t-shirt, the words Alpha Wolves MC, Trinidad CA on the front in red. It makes the black leather of his cut stand out, the clean design on the shirt like a backdrop to highlight the patch above his pocket that says President.
Good lord, the man is hot.
I make myself take a deep breath.
“My dad is nothing if not a professional, but I just thought I would warn you. At some point, he's going to tell my mother and then everything's going to go to shit.” I take a deep breath and slide my fingers through my hair, still a little weirded out by the length. “Oh, and I saw Glinda while I was getting coffee this morning.”
“The Good Witch?” Royal asks, and I laugh since I had the exact same thought.
“She really does look like Billie Burke, doesn't she?”
“Who the bloody hell is that?” Royal asks as he drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it with his black leather boots. When he swings his left leg over the bike and rises to his full height in from of me, I have a little trouble catching my breath. This morning, even though I was still pissed at him, we almost had sex. I can't resist the man. Seriously. It's like a physical compulsion or maybe an evil British spell, cast by the sound of his accent.
I force myself to swallow past the dryness in my throat, and act nonchalant.
“Billie Burke. The actress that played Glinda in the original movie, The Wizard of Oz.”
Royal smiles at me and I notice his tattooed hands curling into fists at his sides. He wants to touch me as much as I want to touch him.
I take a step back and he frowns.
“What did Glinda want?” he asks, feigning casual. But his muscles are too tight, shoulders too stiff. This is important.
“I basically implied she was a moron for instigating that attack on me. She fired back some zingers, and then I threatened to shoot Mia in the foot and make her disappear from the compound permanently.”
Royal tosses his head back and laughs, this sexy, throaty laugh that draws the Times-Standard photographer's attention swinging over to us. I think I even see her biting her lip.
“Oh, hell, Pint-Size. And I was worried about how you'd handle the other women. Piece of cake for you, right?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“I try not to make a habit of fighting with other women—it only reinforces the heavy hand of the patriarchy—but … the bitch had it coming.” I refuse to let myself think about the engagement as Royal's eyes search my face and he grins again. The expression stays even when the door behind me opens and I hear the heavy sound of my father's footsteps; there's no mistaking them. The man walks like he owns the world.
“Mr. McBride,” Philip says as I turn and find Kailey peering at me with wide green eyes, an iPad clutched to her chest as she scurries after my father. When our gazes meet, she mouths are you insane and then snaps her lips shut when my dad glances over his shoulder at her. When he turns back to us, I step aside and watch as he shakes Royal's hand with a firm grip. In the distance, I can hear the sound of motorcycles. “Thank you for coming today.”
“Not a problem at all,” Royal purrs, enjoying the way my father's eyes track the movement of his thick arms, the muscles liquid with tattoos. I feel like my knees are going to give out just looking at them. “I'm more than happy to get into bed with the mayor's …” There's a long, intentional pause that makes me clench my jaw tight. My dad's eyes practically bulge out of his head. “Office,” Royal adds finally, right at about the point where I feel like my hands are going to wrap around his neck of their own accord. “This should be good for both of us.”
“Would you like some coffee?” Philip asks, his voice cool and calm, dark hair slicked back and features stoic. Before Royal can even answer, he snaps his fingers in that way I've always hated. “Kailey, why don't you go inside and make a fresh pot.”
Kailey opens her mouth to say something, but decides against it, turning away and disappearing behind the first set of glass doors.
“Clearly there are some things we need to discuss,” Philip continues, still refusing to look at me. I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes. “If you'd like to come up to my office after—”
“Not necessary,” Royal interrupts, casting that dark brown gaze over to me. “As far as a liaison between your office and the club, I think we can both agree that Lyric's perfect for the job. If there's something you need to talk about—say, your son's cooperation with the FBI—then you can discuss it with her.” There's a long pause as my dad sputters and tries to find the right words to weasel his way out of this one. Royal leans in close, his grin turning decidedly darker. “But I highly suggest you cooperate with her suggestions. Things could get ugly if you don't.”
“Are you threatening me?” Philip snarls, taking a step closer to Royal. He looks ridiculous in his black suit and brown loafers next to Royal's skull studded belt and boots. It's pretty clear here who could kick who's ass if something were to go down.
“No, I'm telling you that unless you want a Mexican drug cartel to move in and start selling their
product to the good people of Trinidad, that you'll welcome the Wolves with open arms. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't. I think we can both agree on that.”
Royal smirks as Fauna's husband, Jack, and the prospect boy, Sketch, appear at his side.
“Mr. Rentz?” It's the photographer, her eyes flicking over to Royal and his boys with an interesting mixture of fear and awe. “We're ready for you.”
I watch as Royal and Philip exchange one, long lingering look before my dad relents and glances away first. In the language of wolves, looking away from a direct stare is akin to admitting defeat.
I think it's safe to say that the mayor lost this one.
When I pull up to my place, I find Lyric waiting for me on the front porch with the dogs. It's a welcome fucking sight compared to the crap I've been dealing with all day. It's been hours since I last saw Lyric in her father's parking lot, but it feels like days. Weeks. Possibly months.
“I'm bloody knackered,” I groan as I slide down to the bench opposite her. Lake's taking up the space between us, her lithe dark body speckled with hints of gray, the fur thick and full. As soon as spring hits though, it'll start to shed in thick clumps. Damn stuff gets everywhere. “What a fucking nightmare.”
I wave at Sketch as he revs his engine and disappears down the street. Dober thinks I should have an extra guy around in case shit goes down, but I can handle myself—Saldaña Cartel included. Besides, at this point, it looks like they're using Mile Wide and paid local thugs for all the dirty work.
“I can only imagine,” Lyric says, but she sounds thoughtful, her gaze focused across the yard and towards the ocean. It's getting dark out, but the fading evening light plays with orange and pink fingers across the frothing waves, highlighting the massive rocks that dot the horizon. “It's certainly been an … interesting day.”
“Not that I'm complaining, love, but I didn't expect you to be here. What changed your mind?” I watch her profile, the gentle slope of her nose, the thick curve of her lashes. And then there's that jumpsuit, diving down her chest so that the sides of her breasts are tantalizingly visible in the center. I drop a hand to Alloy's gray head and ruffle his ears in an effort to keep my hands to myself.
