by Joanna Wylde
He needed to be part of the solution.
“I won’t be able to fire her,” I told him. “Because I’m not buying the bar. Not unless you hear her out. You need to listen to her, and then you need to explain why you’re selling to me in a way that satisfies her. Then I’ll sign.”
Gus’s face flushed, and I heard a few mutters.
“He can’t share club business,” Gage said. “You know better than that, Eli.”
“Then I guess Gus can’t retire yet after all,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Gonna be a real bitch, running this place without me or Peaches. Good luck with that.”
“I took you in when you had nothing,” Gus said, his voice rising.
“And I went to prison for a crime you committed.” Everyone went silent. The words were true, but I’d never spoken them out loud before. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a relief. But then I took a deep breath and focused on the only father I’d ever known. “I love you, Gus, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I already gave you five years. This time, you need to clean up your own mess.”
Chapter Eight
Six years ago
~Peaches~
“You know,” I said, speaking very slowly so the words wouldn’t slur. “I think I like the drinking alcohol better than I like serving it.”
McKayla nodded, her face serious.
“Way better,” she replied, handing me her liquor bottle. “And that’s not the only thing we’ve been doing wrong.”
I took a deep swig. Tequila. Wasn’t sure how much I’d had, but it was enough that it didn’t burn going down anymore.
“Doing what wrong?” I asked.
“Working,” she said, swaying to the side. I caught her arm so she wouldn’t fall over. Not that it’d hurt her much. We were already sitting on the floor for reasons that’d made sense to me in the moment.
“We should stop working here,” McKayla continued. “And start drinking here. You know, instead of working. I just think that’d be better. Can I have the bottle again?”
I frowned, considering the idea as I handed over the tequila. Challenging, with all the party noise. The buzzing in my head didn’t help either. Every time I caught a thought, it tried to wiggle away.
“Drinking does seem way better than working,” I agreed. “But we also need money to buy the drinks. So, if we stop working here, we’ll probably have to work somewhere else. Otherwise, we’ll run out of money.”
“Oh,” she said, her smile fading. She fell silent. I took the opportunity to survey the room—well, as much of it as I could see from the floor—pleased with how many people had shown up. All the Reapers, of course. Not just the locals, but quite a few from other chapters. Most of our friendly regulars, too.
The only one I hadn’t seen yet was the birthday boy. Gus.
McKayla grabbed my arm, shaking it.
“What?” I asked.
“I’ve got the best idea! We don’t need our own money to buy drinks. We just need someone to buy them. Anyone, really. So, why couldn’t we just sleep with men to get alcohol? That’s way more efficient than working.”
“Tough call,” I said slowly. “Because that sounds a little like prostitution.”
“Nope. Prostitutes earn money. We wouldn’t be earning money, just booze. And we’d keep it classy, too. No well drinks.”
“Hard to argue with logic like that…”
“I know, right?” she said, giggling. McKayla was many things. Sweet and cute. Friendly.
Ultimately not much brighter than a chicken, though.
“So, assuming we decide to do this—and that’s a big if—then who do you want to sleep with first?”
“Eli,” she said with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’d really like to fuck Eli. But only once you’re done with him. I follow the code.”
I scrunched my nose at her. “I’m not interested in Eli. He smells like dirty feet.”
“Yeah, I don’t believe that,” she said, reaching for the bottle again. “If you weren’t interested, you wouldn’t hang out with him so much.”
“I hang out at Gus’s house, which is where Eli happens to live,” I corrected her. “Between that and work, I see him a lot. Doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Does that mean I can have him?” she asked, perking up.
I frowned. For some reason, I didn’t care for that idea. Don’t think about it. Thinking is almost always a bad thing.
“Okay, whatever,” I said. “Just be sure to use like, six condoms. Because he’s probably got all kinds of cooties.”
McKayla gave a high-pitched squeal.
“You’re amazing, Peaches. I love you!” she said gleefully, raising the bottle for a drink. But instead of swallowing, she lowered it, glee replaced by grief. “Oh, this is the worst. How could something so terrible happen in such a beautiful moment?”
“What?”
She tilted the bottle upside down between us. Nothing came out.
“The tequila disappeared.”
“How did that happen?”
“Someone must’ve grabbed it while I was distracted. Then they drank all of if before putting it back in my hand, all without me ever noticing…”
I pictured Indiana Jones swapping out a bag of sand for treasure, and a snorting laugh escaped. McKayla shot me a dirty look. “Don’t make fun of me. It could’ve happened.”
“Yeah. Definitely the most likely explanation.”
She sniffed. “Doesn’t matter what happened to the booze. We need to focus on what’s actually important—finding another bottle. Fast. Otherwise, we’re at risk of sobering up. That’s not okay.”
“Once again, very hard to argue with your logic.”
“Exactly,” she said, nodding slowly. “Let’s go get more tequila.”
Standing up turned out to be a lot harder than I’d expected. My left leg had fallen asleep, and I’d been sitting on something sticky. Not only that, but by the time I completed the process, I couldn’t quite remember why I’d needed to get up in the first place.
Fortunately, the music was good, and people were starting to dance. Not only that, I loved dancing. Always had. And now there was a dance floor right in front of me when I needed it most.
Clearly, God wanted me to go shake my ass for a while.
Who was I to argue with God?
An hour later, Gus still hadn’t arrived.
The party was fantastic—even without the birthday boy—and I was having a blast. I’d danced with all kinds of people. Well, mostly women, but some of the younger guys, too. It seemed like half the state knew Gus, and they’d all shown up to party with him.
This included at least forty members of the Reapers Motorcycle Club, plus their old ladies. They’d come roaring into town earlier that day in groups, meeting up at the state park campground before forming a convoy to the Starkwood. Others had joined in behind them, and now there had to be at least a hundred motorcycles parked outside.
My ears were still ringing from the noise they’d made when they pulled into the lot. Or maybe they were ringing from the music. It was slowing down now, and people had started coupling up on the dance floor.
Seemed like a sign to me—time to rehydrate. Only water, though. I’d worked up a sweat. Winding my way through the crowd, I made for the bar.
That’s when I spotted Eli.
He sat on one of the stools, surveying the party as if we existed for his entertainment. To his right sat Tinker, and just past her was her man, Gage. I’d always liked both of them. My appreciation for McKayla was fading, though. She’d squeezed herself into the space between the stools to Eli’s left, resting her hand on his chest possessively.
Did it bother me? Absolutely not…although I couldn’t see them together for more than a night.
Eli needed someone smarter than McKayla.
Someone who could keep him in line.
None of my business, really, but I still needed water, and the best spot for flagging down the ba
rtender was probably that gap between Eli and Gage’s old lady.
“Do you mind?” I asked Tinker, choosing not to acknowledge Eli’s presence.
“Not at all,” she said with a big smile, scooting over. “It’s a great party, Peaches. You did a good job planning it.”
Eli shifted, and his elbow caught me. Returning Tinker’s smile with one of my own, I elbowed him back.
“Thanks,” I said. “Although I didn’t actually do very much. Gus planned most of it himself. Said what he really wanted was to see the rest of us having fun. Although I did pick up the cake earlier today.”
Eli jostled me again, and I nearly fell into Tinker. Asshole.
“I’m getting some water,” I told her. “Do you want anything?”
“I’m good,” she said, raising her beer. Using my shoulder, I shoved Eli as I leaned into the bar, waving down the bartender, Ethan. I didn’t know him very well yet—he was new to the Starkwood—but he’d been doing an okay job so far.
“Hey! Can I get some water?”
He nodded, and I turned around again, catching Eli with my shoulder another time. He looked at me, then leaned in toward my ear.
“You trying to cock-block me?” he asked, jerking his head toward McKayla.
“Oh, I didn’t even notice you sitting there, Eli,” I said brightly. “And McKayla’s with you! Hi, McKayla!”
I gave her a little finger wave, and she finger-waved back, giggling. Then she stopped waving, and her hand dropped down to his stomach.
My eyes followed, noting how the faded jeans couldn’t quite hide his package. Easy to see, with his legs spread wide like that. Then her hand slipped lower, sliding down his hip to rest against his inner thigh.
Ewww.
“Got your water, Peaches!” Ethan said, his voice pitched loud enough to carry over the chaotic noise of the party. I turned back to him, thankful for the distraction.
The water tasted good. Almost unnaturally so. Guess I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d gotten. Enough to chug the whole thing in one gulp.
I set the glass down to discover that Eli had swiveled the stool to face me. McKayla had disappeared. Must be smarter than I gave her credit for…
“Don’t blame me just because she ditched you,” I said. “She probably heard that you’re a murderer. Nobody likes a murderer.”
That’s when I noticed Ethan standing in front of us. I think he’d been reaching for my empty water glass, but now he seemed frozen. Horrified, even. Well, fuck. If he couldn’t roll with a joke like that, he’d never make it at the Starkwood.
“She’s talking about a stuffed animal,” Eli told him. “It was when we were kids. She’s obsessed with it. I’ve told her to seek professional help, but she’s too proud. Sad, really.”
Ethan nodded, although the move was hesitant. Fair enough. Eli was a big guy with a tough reputation. Throw in the fact that he was a Reaper, and I could see why Ethan might be nervous.
“Eli’s right,” I said, catching Ethan’s eye. “I was teasing him about something that happened when we were kids. He’s just a big softie inside. Like a marshmallow, only less flammable.”
I nudged him with my shoulder playfully. He bumped me back—just a little harder—and then I slammed my shoulder into him, all the while holding Ethan’s gaze and smiling.
“So, where the hell is Gus?” Eli asked. “I thought he was supposed to be here by now.”
“Hell if I know,” I said, shrugging. “He’ll get here when he gets here. Think I’m gonna dance some more. If you’re very lucky, I’ll let you dance with me.”
“No dancing. McKayla’s out there, and I’m afraid she’ll jump me or something. I’d rather avoid that, all things considered.”
“I thought you were into her,” I said, thinking about her hand on his thigh. That might’ve been her idea, but he hadn’t seemed unhappy about the situation. “You said I was cock-blocking.”
“That was before I smelled her breath,” he said, winking at me. “Or maybe I just wanted to piss you off. Either way, she’s not my type.”
“And what would your type be?” I asked, curious. He’d always fucked around, but as far as I knew, he’d never had a serious girlfriend.
“I like ‘em with a little more spirit,” he said, catching and holding my eye. “McKayla’d be fun for about ten minutes. Then I’d get bored.”
“Really?” I asked, raising a brow. “Because I heard that you only need five. Seven, max.”
He laughed, and I caught Ethan eyeing us again. I leaned into Eli.
“I’m not so sure about the new bartender,” I said, pitching my tone low. “Seems like he spooks easily. Might not be tough enough for a place like this…”
“He wants to fuck you. And he doesn’t like me because he knows he doesn’t have a chance while I’m around.”
Now I laughed. “Yeah, right. Like I’d ever fuck you.”
“You’d fuck me before you fucked him,” he said, his voice dry. I had to agree. Ethan was skinny. Stringy, almost. Bad skin, and hair that never looked particularly clean.
“You won’t think I’m hitting on you if I agree, will you?”
“Nope. I can always tell when you’re hitting me because it hurts, and then I wake up with bruises the next day. Let’s go shoot darts.”
Catching my hand, Eli pushed off the stool and pulled me through the crowd toward the back hallway. Gus’s office was on the right. The storeroom was to the left.
I’d always seen it as a magical wonderland of pretty bottles and kegs to climb on, complete with a fort we’d built out of liquor boxes. The finishing touch had been a dart board that we’d stolen from the main bar. Most of the time, we’d been pretty good about throwing the darts at the target instead of at each other.
Well, maybe not most of the time, but at least half…
Astoundingly, neither of us had ever gotten hurt during those epic battles for storeroom supremacy. Okay, so I’d stabbed him in the butt once. But it’d been an accident. Mostly.
Eli pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. I reached for the light switch. He caught my hand.
“No, let’s play in the dark. Like when we were kids.”
“I’d sort of forgotten about that,” I whispered, stepping into the room. We’d always kept the lights off. It made it harder for the adults to track us.
Now, I was one of those adults, and the storeroom had long since lost its magic. The bottles weren’t treasures, and our fort had been broken down and recycled. But I knew for a fact that the dart board and darts were still here. So was the old wingback chair where I’d sat and read so many books. As my eyes adjusted, I saw the faint light shining through the two high-set windows on the far side of the room.
I couldn’t remember the last time we’d actually played here. It’d been a long time. The darts and the board were still here, though.
Eli reached to the top of the shelf and grabbed an old shoe box. He opened it and pulled out a dart, handing it to me.
“What are we playing for?” I asked, stepping up to the silver duct tape that marked our line on the floor. Raising my hand, I sighted carefully on the bullseye. This was going to be a tough game, I realized. There was just enough light to see the target clearly, but not quite enough to see it well…
Oh. And I was still fairly drunk.
That probably wasn’t going to help.
Eli hadn’t answered the question, so I decided to ignore him and focus on my game instead. I took a deep breath, pulled back my hand just the slightest, and—
“How about a kiss?” he asked, his voice loud in my ear. The dart flew off to the left, bouncing off the concrete wall next to the target with a clang.
Sabotaging motherfucker.
“That one shouldn’t count,” I protested.
“Of course, it counts,” Eli said. He used one of his big arms to sweep me to the side. Now, it was his turn to step up to the line.
“You know the rules,” he said, radia
ting smugness.
“The only rule is that we don’t tell on each other,” I said, trying to glare at him. Hard to glare when all you wanted to do was laugh, though. “Everything else is fair game.”
“There’s your answer,” he replied, shooting me a grin. He raised his hand to throw. On a wild impulse, I jumped at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and smashing my mouth into his.
Eli swayed, dropping the dart as he wrapped his arms around me. I ducked down, sliding out from under him, laughing. I staggered backward, nearly tripping over the chair in the process.
“What the fuck, Peaches?”
This struck me as incredibly funny, which made me laugh even harder. So hard that I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.
“I wish… I wish you could see the look…on your face,” I finally managed to gasp out, although it took a few tries. “And my dart is closer to the target than yours is. That means I’m first.”
“Never gonna happen,” he said, and while the words were angry, his tone was teasing. Eli was having a good time, I realized. Both of us were. “That doesn’t count as a throw. Nice try, but your timing was off.”
I raised a finger, wagging it at him while making little tch-tch-tch noises. “The dart was in your hand. You raised your hand to throw, and then you released the dart into the air. That’s a throw.”
“No,” he said. “You attacked me. Without provocation, I might add—” I snorted. “I dropped the dart as a direct result of that attack. That’s a foul. Doesn’t count.”
“Only if you’re following some set of rules,” I pointed out. “I’d like to remind you that our only rule is that we don’t tell on each other. Here’s the good news, I wasn’t planning to tell everyone about your shitty throw. But it definitely counts.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Okay. You can go first.”
I grabbed another dart, then stepped back to the line. Obviously, Eli was planning retaliation. I tried to watch him, but he moved behind me.
The back of my neck prickled like I was being stalked by a tiger.
“Don’t worry,” he said as I tried to aim.
