by Joanna Wylde
“Oh, I’m aware. She still hasn’t forgiven me for locking her in that closet. I was only twelve, for fuck’s sake.”
“You left her in there overnight.”
“At least there wasn’t a snake in there.”
“Tell yourself whatever you have to, son,” he replied, shaking his head. “Now, I’d best get this over with. Send her in, will you? Oh, and I was serious about covering things up if she murders me.”
“I know. I’ll go round up some bleach and a tarp while you tell her the news.”
* * * *
~Peaches~
“Excuse me?” I asked, the words sharp and precise.
Gus wore the same calm, steady expression he always wore. Normal. Like he hadn’t just smashed my world to pieces with one sentence.
“You heard me, sweetheart.”
“No…” I said slowly. “Because it sounded like you just told me that you’re selling the bar to Eli. And that can’t be right. Because I’m buying the bar. We talked about it two years ago, remember? We even ran the numbers. We’re supposed to do a contract for deed at the end of the year. That’s only six months from now, Gus.”
“Eli has cash,” he said flatly. “With you, I’d have to carry a contract. I’ll be dead before you pay it off, baby. He made the offer, and I accepted. The deal is done.”
“What?” I asked, stunned. “Eli has cash? That’s crazy. He doesn’t even have his own apartment! He doesn’t have a job history—nothing. There’s no way.”
“His dad died while he was in prison,” Gus replied.
“He’s never even met the guy. You’re the one who raised him.”
“True,” Gus said. “The man was shit, no question. But he got killed by a drunk driver, and the driver’s insurance offered a settlement. Eli was the only heir. It came in a lump sum, and it’s been sitting in the bank ever since. That’s a much better deal for me than a contract for deed.”
“But we had a deal,” I insisted. “Eli has no clue how to run this place. He’s only been back a few months, and half the time, he’s fucking off with your club brothers. He spent the whole afternoon drinking instead of working!”
“Peaches, honey—”
“Don’t honey me, Gus,” I snapped, a wave of fury welling up deep within my chest. “You promised me this place. Said you could count on me to run it right. Or did I hallucinate all those conversations?”
“I can count on Eli to run it right, too,” Gus said, holding my gaze. Funny how he managed to keep eye contact. You’d think it’d be logistically impossible, what with the giant-ass knife he’d just stabbed into my back. “You’re damned good at your job, Peaches. I’m proud of everything you’ve accomplished here. But Eli is my blood, and he’s part of my club. I know you don’t want to hear this, but the only reason I talked to you about taking over was because I thought he was gone. He was always my first choice. Even if it wasn’t for the cash.”
His words made me see red. Literally. Flashes of crimson danced at the edges of my vision, and the air in the room seemed too thick for me to inhale at all, let alone catch my breath.
Motherfucking Eli King had done it again.
First, he’d stolen half my bedroom.
Then he’d stolen Gus.
Now, he was stealing the Starkwood right out from under me, and I could tell from the expression on my boss’s face that he’d been telling the truth—this really had been his plan all along. Turning away from Gus, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to think. How could he do this to me?
I wanted to kill Gus. No. I wanted to kill Eli. I wanted to kill him dead and then stomp on his body and set it on fire. Because no matter what I did, it would never be enough.
Eli always won.
“I’d like a few minutes alone,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady and even, despite the fact that I could feel screams of rage fighting to escape. I heard the creak of Gus’s chair as he stood, and the sound of his feet as he came to stand behind me. He probably had that look on his face—the same one he always wore when I was sad. Soft and kind, as if he wanted to wrap me in his arms and protect me and keep me safe forever.
I’d trusted that look when I was a little girl. Believed it when I was a teenager, too, even after I’d learned the truth about why my mom had left him. And I’d trusted it two years ago when he’d first talked to me about buying the bar.
God, I was such an idiot.
“Gus just wasn’t the man I wanted him to be.” My mom’s words echoed through my head. “My only mistake was thinking I could change him, Peaches.”
Why the hell hadn’t I listened to her?
“Doesn’t feel right, leaving you like this.”
“I don’t really care how you feel, Gus,” I said, refusing to look at him. Instead, I fixed my gaze on the signed poster from Daytona Bike Week that I’d given him for Christmas a couple of years ago. Finding it hadn’t been easy. I’d had to hunt down the artist, a guy who worked at Harley Davidson.
“I’ll always be here for you, baby girl.”
His voice held pain, and a part of me wanted to push down the anger. Wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him it was okay. Just like I’d said it was okay when he canceled my tea party to work on his bike. Or all the times he’d asked me to help close the bar, even when I’d worked doubles all week. I’d never told him no. I loved him too much. Loved him and the fucking Starkwood.
My fury exploded, and I spun on him.
“Get out.”
Gus took a step back, and his eyes widened. He seemed almost afraid. Good. He should be frightened, because he’d just fucked up. Fucked up big time. Things would never be the same between us again, because Mom had been right about him.
I’d be damned if I’d give him another chance to hurt me.
He opened his mouth, but I raised my hand, holding it in front of his face like a stop sign.
“Get out!” I said, my voice rising. “Get the fuck out of here, you lying bastard!”
I stepped forward into his space, backing him toward the hallway with the force of my raw anger. His feet had barely cleared the threshold before I slammed the door in his face. I slid home the oversized barrel bolt with a satisfying thud, then turned to look at the poster again.
Rip it down, the rage hissed. Slice it to pieces. He doesn’t deserve it.
It was a solid idea, and I knew exactly how to do it, too. Stalking around the desk, I reached up and under the flat surface, fingers feeling for the survival knife Gus had kept hidden there for as long as I could remember. That would be in addition to the gun he’d taped up along the inner right side, and the baseball bat leaning against the battered file cabinet.
It only took a few seconds to find the knife, and one more to pop the snap holding it in the scabbard. The blade slipped free, ten inches of steel alloy that’d be more than enough to shred the pathetic reminder of how much of myself I’d given to Gus’s bar.
No.
It was Eli’s bar now.
I raised a finger to test the blade, mesmerized as a tiny bead of blood welled up from a cut so clean that I hardly registered the pain. The sight fed the rage burning deep within, and I thought about Eli’s smug face as he taunted me.
“You know, you’d be a lot prettier if you smiled.”
Oh, I could give him a smile. A truly lovely one. Right across his smug throat. Gus thought Eli should have the bar? Fine, Eli could have the fucking bar. Eli could have everything.
Good luck trying to enjoy it once I’m done with you, motherfucker.
Chapter Three
~Eli~
I prowled through the bar, unable to focus.
Gage, Rance, and the rest of my club brothers had cleared out by the time I left Gus’s office. Apparently, their business here was done, and socializing wasn’t on the agenda. Probably looking to avoid any drama.
Hard to blame them.
The night that Glory—Peaches’ mom—had walked in on Gus fucking one of the waitresses in t
he storeroom was something of a club legend. To say that she’d raised hell was a bit of an understatement… Only luck had saved the Starkwood from burning down.
Hopefully, history wouldn’t be repeating itself.
The thought carried me down the hallway, and I found myself outside the office door. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since Peaches and Gus had started talking, but it felt like hours. Nervous energy filled my body, pulling me in fifty different directions at once. Part of me wanted to go tell the staff who was in charge now.
Stake my claim and make it official.
Another part wanted to celebrate. Maybe get drunk. Getting laid would probably do some good, too. At the same time, I wanted to go through the books, start wrapping my head around the totality of the business. Gus would help with the transition, of course, and I’d grown up watching him. I knew the basics. Still, there was a big difference between being the boss’s nephew and being the boss.
Oh, and there’d be a metric fuck ton of legal paperwork to deal with, too.
Logistics. Money transfers.
Title companies were a thing, although I wasn’t quite sure what they did. Would I need one of those?
I had no fucking clue about stuff like this. As of this morning, I’d owned a motorcycle, three towels, a laundry basket of clothes, my leathers, a helmet, and my club colors. Oh, and that stuffed animal. Going from that to owning property and a business would be a hell of an adjustment.
This was going to take time. Time and hard work.
Celebrating probably shouldn’t be my highest priority.
Leaning back against the wall, I crossed my arms over my chest as I waited. There was a storm building in Gus’s office. I could all but smell Peaches’ anger and betrayal, and I actually felt a twinge of guilt.
No. Fuck that shit.
I’d earned this bar, paid for it with five long years in prison, holding my tongue and taking the punishment for a crime that wasn’t mine. Gus owed me for that alone. The fact that he’d get a cash payout was just a bonus at this point.
No reason for me to feel guilty. And that was the truth.
Still, I could see how much this sucked for Peaches. She’d put in time, too. Time and good faith. Riling her up was a blast, but I’d never wanted her hurt. Not for real. I cared about the girl. Cared about her a lot.
Too much.
Gus had been weak. I loved my uncle, but he’d fucked this one up big time. She deserved better from him—and from me. I should be in there with them. Decision made, I reached for the door.
“Get out! Get the fuck out of here, you lying bastard!”
The door burst open, and Gus stumbled out, walking backward. I caught his arm and steadied him as the slab slammed shut again. I heard the heavy bolt sliding shut, locking us out. My uncle looked at me, then sighed.
“Actually went better than I expected.”
“Glad I don’t have to deal with hiding a body.”
“Not yet,” he replied, then sighed again. “She’s not a happy camper. Probably should’ve warned her that our plans might change once you got out.”
“Why didn’t you? Would’ve been a lot easier on her.”
“Guess I didn’t want her turning on me,” my uncle admitted, surprising me with his honesty. “I knew she’d hate me for it. God, but I miss her mom. Saw her in town a couple weeks ago. It’s been twenty years, and Glory still won’t even look at me.”
Raw pain filled his eyes. I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. Fuck. I didn’t like this. Didn’t like my girl hurting, and didn’t like having to see my uncle like this.
Didn’t like knowing I was part of it.
A loud thump came from behind the door, breaking the moment. There was a crash, and then some kind of tearing noise. Shit.
Some women pouted when they got upset.
Others cried.
Peaches had always skipped that part, moving straight to revenge. Another crash. This one so hard that the door rattled. I pictured her all pissed off in there, those glorious tits of hers straining against the front of her low-cut black Starkwood Saloon shirt. My cock twitched. Christ, she was hot when she got angry.
Her cheeks would be flushed, and she’d run her fingers through that wild, dark hair of hers in frustration.
Total sex hair.
Now my dick was getting hard, thinking about grabbing onto the strands, pulling her head back while I fucked her from behind.
I am such an asshole. The only woman I really cared about—hell, probably loved on whatever level I was capable of feeling such things—had just lost her dream.
A decent guy wouldn’t be turned on right now.
Unfortunately, my sense of decency had died in prison, leaving behind a man who got off on the idea of sparring with Peaches. The door shook again, followed by a wordless scream of rage.
“Maybe I should—?”
“No,” I said, cutting Gus off. “I’ll handle this. You go out to the bar. Cover damage control. I’ll take care of Peaches.”
“I know that look on your face, boy,” he said, warning clear in his voice. “You don’t get to—”
“All due respect, Gus, but we’re not in high school anymore. This is my business, not yours.”
My uncle’s eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought he might challenge me. Then he looked away, nodding slowly.
“Guess you’re right,” he said.
Another crash rattled the door as he walked away, and I settled in to wait. Sooner or later, she’d run out of shit to break in there. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that’d be enough to exhaust her rage, so I’d best be ready.
In the distance, I heard Gus’s loud voice announcing that everyone needed to head outside for a break.
The door rattled again, then it burst open.
Peaches stepped out, and the first thing I saw was the way her eyes seemed to shoot pure fire.
Just like her mother’s.
The second thing was the giant fucking survival knife gripped tightly in her right hand. A sane man might’ve taken that as a bad sign, but I’d left my sanity behind me, right next to my decency.
This wasn’t a threat. This was an opportunity.
Someone had to take her down, and as her new boss, that definitely qualified as my job. Only responsible thing to do, really… Couldn’t let the customers see her like this.
If I got lucky, I’d get to wrestle with her a bit in the process.
“Still think I’d be prettier if I smiled?” she asked, the words intense and full of hate.
“Yeah,” I replied, licking my lips. A wave of heat surged down my spine, and I felt my hips shift restlessly as my cock throbbed. “But pretty is boring. I like you better when you’re pissed off. Makes me want to push you down over that desk and fuck you.”
* * * *
~Peaches~
“You always find a way to make it worse, don’t you?” I asked, fingers tightening around the knife’s grip.
Eli nodded, wearing the same sly, taunting smirk he’d worn when he’d held his BB gun to Lemur’s head all those years ago.
“You sure you want it to go down like this?” he asked, eyes flicking toward the knife. “That’s a very grown-up toy, and you’re not a very big girl. Hardly big enough to hold it.”
Fucking.
Bastard.
He wouldn’t stop until I snapped, of course. He got off on poking at me, and I knew it…but for once, I didn’t care. I’d stepped out of that office fully intending to slit his throat. This just confirmed the decision.
And once I finished with him? Well, then I’d go after Gus. Because fuck them. Fuck both of them and their stupid club.
Eli just stood there, gloating. Waiting for me to bitch him out? I didn’t bother. Shifting my feet for balance, I lowered the knife between us, then took a steadying breath. The blade was heavy, but I was strong from years of hauling big serving trays over my head.
I lunged.
He reacted instantly—Eli had
always been fast—his hand flashing out to catch my arm, jerking it high over my head as he stepped into my space. But this wasn’t our first fight, or even our first fight with a knife. I’d nearly taken his eye out at a second-grade picnic. I knew how he moved, and I knew how to use it to my advantage. The knife was just the bait. I ignored the pain of his fingers squeezing my wrist and brought my knee up toward his crotch with every ounce of strength I possessed.
It was random luck that saved his balls. He chose that exact moment to twist my arm down and around. That sent me lurching to the side, my knee smashing into his thigh instead of his nuts. Eli’s eyes narrowed, and the smirk disappeared.
Good. About time he remembered to take me seriously.
His grip on my wrist tightened, squeezing the bones together until they screamed in pain. I kept hold of the knife. He could break my wrist for all I cared.
Taking advantage of his distraction, I jabbed the fingers of my left hand toward the little hollow at the base of his throat. He managed to partially deflect that, too, loosening his grip on my knife hand in the process. I tried to jerk it free, my other hand dodging his as he tried to catch it. The man might be fast, but I was faster. Fast and determined.
This time, I went for his nipple.
I twisted it hard through his shirt, savoring the vivid red flush that came over his face. Eli’s nipples were sensitive as hell, always had been. It’d been a go-to for me all through elementary school. I hadn’t tried it since we were adults, but some things never changed.
Then he caught my wrist, wrenching my grip loose from the nipple in a move that must’ve been excruciating—I wouldn’t let him go easily. That’s where I had the advantage, I realized. Eli wouldn’t hurt me. I knew it on some deep level. Instinctively.
He had both my hands now.
That should’ve been enough to stop me, but I was just getting started. I bucked against him, then threw my weight backward. He followed me, pushing me through the office door.
