Vodka On The Rocks (The Uncertain Saints Book 3)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  Other titles by Lani Lynn Vale:

  The Freebirds

  Boomtown

  Highway Don’t Care

  Another One Bites the Dust

  Last Day of My Life

  Texas Tornado

  I Don’t Dance

  The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC

  Lights To My Siren

  Halligan To My Axe

  Kevlar To My Vest

  Keys To My Cuffs

  Life To My Flight

  Charge To My Line

  Counter To My Intelligence

  Right To My Wrong

  Code 11- KPD SWAT

  Center Mass

  Double Tap

  Bang Switch

  Execution Style

  Charlie Foxtrot

  Kill Shot

  Coup De Grace

  The Uncertain Saints

  Whiskey Neat

  Jack & Coke

  Vodka On The Rocks

  Bad Apple (9-2-16)

  The Kilgore Fire Series

  Shock Advised

  Flash Point

  Oxygen Deprived (8-4-16)

  Controlled Burn (10-5-16)

  I Like Big Dragons Series

  I like Big Dragons and I Cannot Lie (8-17-16)

  Text copyright ©2016 Lani Lynn Vale

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To the makers of Dr. Pepper, I love you. To the inventor of coffee and ice cream, you are the bomb. But no really, to my readers. Thank you so much for reading the books I write, without you, my writing wouldn’t be possible.

  To my husband, mom, and mother in law for watching my kids so I can write. This wouldn’t be possible without y’all, either. I love y’all to the freakin’ moon.

  Acknowledgements

  FuriousFotog: Thank you so much for taking these photos for me. They’re beautiful, and you have such incredible talent it’s unreal.

  Dylan Horsch- I knew the moment I saw you almost a year ago that you’d be perfect for this character. I’m so glad I could pop your cover cherry. You’re amazing!

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  There are rules to life that one just obeys in her attempt to stay on the right path. For example:

  You don’t wear dirty panties out of the house. You just never know who’s going to see them.

  A lady must always have chocolate at the ready—just in case the world as she knows it comes to an end.

  You don’t egg on a drunk woman who’s pissed off at life.

  Why, you ask? Because they start bar fights, that’s why.

  Casten Red, the unofficial enforcer of the Uncertain Saints MC, wasn’t necessarily trying to urge her into doing anything illegal, and he definitely wasn’t trying to get her into a fight with a group of men who were all twice her size.

  No, he only intended to give her the confidence to stand up for herself, just a little nudge in the right direction. How the hell was he supposed to know she’d go all Chuck Norris on them and put three of them in the hospital with concussions?

  He should’ve followed his gut instinct and turned around that first moment he saw her in the bar, but Casten has never liked following the rules. Why the hell would he start now?

  Prologue

  Sometimes you can’t help but be a fucker. When everyone else you deal with is a fucker, you have to outfuck the other fuckers.

  -Tasha’s secret thoughts

  Tasha

  I walked across the stage with a smile on my face.

  It totally contradicted what I was feeling on the inside.

  I’d met some wonderful friends throughout the two years I’d been in school.

  It’d been fun. It’d been challenging. It’d been exhausting.

  What it hadn’t done, though, was make me forget.

  “Congratulations,” my instructor smiled at me.

  I’d done it, and they were happy for me. What they didn’t know, though, was that this was my third degree in four years.

  And I didn’t use any of them but the one I’d gotten first: my degree in science.

  “Thank you,” I replied graciously.

  The Dean of Nursing Science smiled, offering me his hand, and I took it, pumping it twice before I moved to the next stop.

  This one was my mom.

  She was the one to place the pin on my lapels.

  My nursing pin.

  It was cool, sure.

  But I wasn’t excited about it like I should’ve been.

  This was all like any other day.

  Another day that I couldn’t forget.

  Another day that I questioned why I was still here, when it should’ve been me.

  Jet shouldn’t have died.

  It should’ve been me.

  ***

  I got home from my graduation, walked through the front door, and tossed my diploma on the counter.

  The piece of paper—rolled into a tight scroll from my fondling it as I made my way out of the stadium--rolled off the top of the table, slid past the edge, and teetered into the trash.

  I contemplated picking it up, but I had to pee.

  Then I forgot about it.

  Mostly because my sister came up to my door, slammed the thing open like she was a beastie creature, and glared daggers at me while I was still trying to yank my pants up.

  “What the fuck, Tash?” Annie yelled, waving her hands. “What the fucking fuck?”

  I blinked at her outburst.

  Not surprised by her ingenious use of the word ‘fuck’ but at the men that were at her back.

  Mostly because I still had my pants unbuttoned, and I was fairly sure the toilet paper was still on the floor somewhere in my haste to yank my pants up.

  “Jesus,” I squeaked, stepping back and slamming the door closed to the bathroom. “Don’t you knock, bitch?”

  “I knock, bitch, when my fucking sister doesn’t forget to tell her sister that she’s graduating today,” Annie yelled through the door, totally ignoring my privacy again, and flinging the door open.

  This time I, at least, had my pants up and buttoned.

  “You made it in time,” I told her. “And Mom knew.”

  “Yeah, but I almost didn’t! I didn’t know it was today until about twenty-five minutes before we were supposed to be there!” she snapped. “And that was because Mom asked on the way there where she needed to meet me!”

  I shrugged.

  “I couldn’t hel
p it,” I said. “I forgot, too.”

  “How do you forget something like graduating?” Annie challenged.

  I raised my brow at her.

  “I had a player hurt herself, my mind was on other matters—like my team’s morale,” I told her defensively.

  The team I coached at Jefferson High School; the varsity volleyball team, to be specific.

  “You’re shitting me! How do you not tell me that?” Annie pushed, waving her hands even more wildly.

  I ignored her, walking past her into my small living room.

  I lived over the top of a bar in an apartment they’d converted from an old attic space.

  It was huge and drafty and loud on the weekends.

  Despite all of those things, I liked it.

  Mostly because it felt like I was closer to Jet here. It was a place that we’d always wanted to live...our first place together. We’d spoken about finding a little hole in the wall place where rent was cheap and we could afford it and go to school together.

  The apartment itself was horrible. But that was the way it was. And I’d keep staying here until it didn’t feel right anymore, even though my mother, father and sister hated it.

  “So, why are you upset again?” I asked her, keeping my eyes on Mig.

  Mig was my sister’s husband.

  They’d gotten married a few months ago, and they were raising Mig’s son, Vitaly, together.

  They were awesome together and I was so happy for Annie.

  I wanted the world for my sister, because if it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t be where I was today. She’d pulled me through my darkest of times, and kept me moving forward instead of living in the past.

  She deserved the moon, the stars and damn near anything she could ever dream of.

  Mig held up his hands.

  I’d actually spoken to him last night, telling him what time they needed to be there.

  It wasn’t my fault that Mig hadn’t relayed that message.

  But I also wasn’t willing to get him into trouble.

  So I’d take the heat, because I didn’t care if she was mad at me one way or another.

  She’d get over it.

  She always did.

  Because she thought I was broken.

  Treated me like I was broken.

  And hell, maybe I was.

  Chapter 1

  I’m not bitchy. I’m just selective with my kindness.

  -Tasha’s secret thoughts

  Tasha

  “Why the long face?” A man’s deep voice jolted me out of my contemplation of the beer bottle in my hand.

  I looked up to find him there.

  Him being Casten Red, resident bad boy, biker dude.

  The one that took delight in giving me a hard time.

  I kind of liked it, though.

  He didn’t treat me with kid gloves.

  Not like everyone else did.

  “Nobody wished me a happy birthday,” I lied.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “Today is not your birthday,” Casten called me on my lie.

  I grinned.

  “I know. I was just trying to get you to buy my beer for the rest of the night,” I shrugged.

  He tossed me a semi-annoyed look over his shoulder.

  “Who bought you that one?” Casten pointed.

  I looked at the nearly empty bottle, then upended it to suck the last dregs down before I placed it on the bar in front of me.

  I wiggled my eyebrows at George.

  He held up a finger, and I nodded at him before I turned back to Casten.

  “It was free, on account of me winning the first game of the season,” I told him, pointing at George.

  George’s daughter was on my volleyball team, and she was quite possibly the best on the team.

  Next year she’d be playing for a college team and, most likely, would be getting a full ride.

  “Heard about that,” Casten said, offering George a twenty-dollar bill. “Congratulations.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. Are you paying after all?” I batted my eyelashes at him.

  I knew he wouldn’t.

  He didn’t want me to get the wrong idea, so he never did anything for me.

  Not even open a door.

  Or willingly give me a ride on his bike.

  Because that obviously signified a relationship in Casten Red’s world.

  Don’t offer to hold the door for a woman, she may expect you to deposit some sperm in her so she can have your baby. Then you’ll be tied down, married, with fifteen children, living in a commune with thirteen cats!

  I might have over dramatized that thought, but seriously.

  The man couldn’t even bring me a to-go box the last time he’d gone out to dinner with the whole Uncertain Saint crew.

  He’d been a dick.

  But, then again, I wasn’t the nicest lady, either.

  “No. I’m not paying for you, something that I’ve already explained to you,” he grumbled, taking a sip of his beer.

  I smiled at George, then offered him a five out of my purse as he handed Mr. Storm Cloud, at my side, his change.

  “Keep the change,” I told George.

  George smiled at me.

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  “I’ve finally figured it out,” Casten murmured.

  I looked over at him with a ‘well?’ expression on my face.

  He didn’t smile.

  In fact, I never saw him smile.

  It was rare that I even saw anything on his face other than a blank expression.

  “What’s that?” I asked him when he waited for me to acknowledge him.

  He turned back to the front, then lifted his hand and pointed at the mirror across the bar.

  I looked into it, studying the two reflections.

  Me, I was nothing special.

  Tall with long limbs, my hair was a slight mess due to the run I’d just finished.

  I had stray fly-away hairs surrounding the messy bun on top of my head.

  My nearly black eyes took in my face.

  I was still flushed, and I was sure the beer wasn’t what I was needing at that moment in time, but I drank the hell out of it anyway.

  I had on a black workout tank top that fit my small chest like a second skin.

  I couldn’t see my capri-length workout pants, but I knew if I could, they’d be just as tight as the top.

  I didn’t fit in at a bar.

  The man at my side, though, did.

  Casten was beautiful, in an ‘I’m going to kill you’ kind of way.

  He had dark brown hair that was the typical cop haircut, shaved at the sides and longer on the top.

  Gun metal gray eyes that pierced through your soul.

  Strong jaw, straight nose, beautiful lips.

  His chest was wide, and he was what I would describe as brawny.

  He was wearing a tight black t-shirt underneath a flannel long-sleeved, button-up shirt. He had his Uncertain Saints leather vest over the top of that, and a pair of sunglasses hanging from the neck of his t-shirt.

  His eyes watched me watch him.

  “Well?” I asked him.

  It was similar to poking a bear.

  I didn’t want to poke the bear, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I just couldn’t help myself.

  “Why you’re acting like you don’t give a fuck,” he rumbled, answering my question finally.

  I raised a brow at him.

  “Oh, well then, please, enlighten me,” I invited.

  He shrugged, then explained.

  “That guy over there was calling you a bitch,” Casten said. “You were putting on an ‘I don’t care’ face so he didn’t see how much it bothered you.”

  I had what they called ‘resting bitch face.’

  It was biological.

  I got it from my mother, and I had no control over it.

&nb
sp; But I was also pissed off.

  The man at my back had been talking about me not wearing underwear underneath my pants for over twenty minutes now, and it was getting on my nerves.

  The only way I wasn’t breaking my empty beer bottle over his head right then was if I acted like he didn’t affect me, then maybe he wouldn’t keep talking about it.

  “So, tell me,” I ignored his question and drank a large swig of my beer. “Why do you also work as a Private Dick?”

  I may or may not have, been a little buzzed.

  Then again, it didn’t take much.

  I was a lightweight.

  My body didn’t handle beer and alcohol like most.

  Some people could build up their tolerance over time, slowly taking in more each time they drank before they looked or acted drunk.

  Not me, though. It didn’t matter how much I drank or how often I did it, I always got the same result.

  One drink of anything, and my mind got fuzzy.

  But I’d not been sleeping well lately, so I decided it was time to come down here for a beer.

  “Used to be a cop. Got injured. Damaged my right side permanently. Sometimes my vision and hearing go out, and there’s no rhyme or reason to it. Couldn’t pass the physical to get back in,” he replied with absolutely no emotion.

  No annoyance.

  No indifference.

  No nothing.

  “I tried to get a job at the police station, right after I got my degree in biology,” I grimaced. “They said I was too timid.”

  “You are timid,” Casten countered, not missing a beat. “If I’d have heard those guys talking about me for twenty minutes, I would say something. Instead, you sit here getting more and more bitchy looking, but you haven’t once said a single word to the two of them to get them to stop, or to stand up for yourself.”

  “Why aren’t you telling them to stop?” I pushed him.

  He grunted.

  “Gotta take care of yourself in this life,” he mumbled. “You’re not always going to have someone protect you. Grow a thick skin and tell those fuckers to leave you the fuck alone.”

  I laughed humorlessly. “That’ll work.”

  He raised a brow at me.

  “Why do you think it won’t?” he challenged. “Most of the time, people say things like that when they don’t think the person they’re talking about can hear. If they know you hear them, then they’ll either shut up or try to talk quieter. Either way, that’s a win for you.”