“Ha. I don’t know where the little comes into it exactly,” I say, quirking my brow. And just to show how bitter I’m not, my lips curl into one of those roguish smiles she used to love so much.
“No, I don’t suppose that word can really be applied to you, now can it?”
“No, it can’t,” I say. My heart trips over a beat when I think about the days and nights following her graduation. But that was a lifetime ago. And we were different people back then.
“I have one question,” she says, swivelling in her seat and leaning into my personal space. Her eyes are dark under the low, hanging lights of the bar, but I can still make out the perfect shade of jade and the gold flecks within them. Or maybe I just remember them so perfectly that I don’t need light to see them by.
“Then you’d better ask it,” I say, my fingers flexing around my glass, numb from the cold condensation. Pepper drops her gaze. Her lashes are obscenely long and thick as they fan her cheek. When she gazes back up again, her eyes are smouldering. My hand shakes. The ice tinkles against the glass. A slow grin tips the corners of her mouth and my heart stops completely. At least, that’s how it feels. When in the fuck did Little—my Little—change and become this … this… fuck. I don’t even have words to describe the woman before me. A nymph? A siren? No. A goddess. Yeah, that’s more like it. Pepper Ryan-Harris-Rowe is a goddess and I’m the devastation she leaves in her wake. I always have been.
“Does it still veer to the right?” she asks, and then her ruby lips that I so desperately want wrapped around my cock slip over the rim of her glass, and she takes a steady sip of the amber liquid. It takes me a moment to even be able to decipher the words she just said, but when I do, I reclaim some of my wits about me and I try for a little seduction of my own.
“Why don’t you take that dainty little hand of yours resting on my thigh and slip it inside my jeans to find out?” I smirk. I can’t fucking help it. I have this insane need to prod her and push all her buttons, the way she pushes mine just by being near. “Just so you know for sure.”
She yanks her hand away as if she’s been burned, as if she had no idea it was even there. She was so close to my cock that if she’d moved only a fraction of an inch farther, she’d have touched it. Pepper finishes her drink and slams the glass down on the bar. “Good night, Sammy.”
“You don’t want me to walk you home?”
“Judging by the enormous hard-on in your pants, I’d say walking is the last thing on your mind right now, and in case it wasn’t obvious, it’s the last thing on mine. Besides, I’m not sure we can handle this. We are like brother and sister, after all.”
I know she’s just provoking me; she’s using the same sentence I threw at her all those years ago down by the lake. The one that cut her to the core. The one that sent her spiralling out of control and into the darkness that lives inside of her. The one that I regret every single day that’s passed since.
I throw back the rest of my Jack and Coke and watch her sashay to the door. She draws the eye of every man in the room, and some of the women too, and I’m sure they don’t all see what I see, but it pisses me off all the same. Pepper’s lived her whole life on the outs. She’s not always the easiest person to be around, and nine times out of ten I wanna throw her over my shoulder and put her in a time-out like a naughty kid. She’s impulsive, and hot, and annoying as all fucking hell, and holy mother of flaming pussies, did I mention hot?
No matter how much time passes, no matter how long she’s been gone, or how many lovers have come since, I can’t help it—I still see her as mine. And I am not okay with every piece-of-shit bar-fly in this place ogling her.
I wait a beat before heading to the door to follow her. Jake’s staring out the window, trailing Pepper with his eyes as she disappears into the darkness. I smack the back of his head as we watch her perfect little arse wander down the street.
“Dude, tell me you’re not going to do the redhead.”
“I don’t think you can really call her a redhead anymore, Jake.”
“It’s fucking Pepper, dude!”
“Yes, and she’s also the reason for the boner tenting your pants.”
“I’m so fucking confused right now, but I’m starting to see why you’ve been so pussy-whipped all these years.” He shakes his head and sighs. “That is one fine piece of ranga emo arse.”
“Don’t sweat it, Jakey, you’re never gonna get within a hundred metres of that pussy anyway, so there’s no need to worry.”
He laughs, and it makes me stop short in my tracks. “And you are? You didn’t learn your lesson last time? She’s like your fucking sister, man.”
“She’s not my sister,” I snap, and head out into the balmy night. It’s been just long enough for Pepper to get a head start; hopefully she won’t see me following her home. I know, it makes me sound like a complete creeper, but I honestly just want to make sure she gets home okay. Sugartown’s a reasonably safe place, and apart from all the shit my sister went through, our town rarely sees any violence. That doesn’t mean I want her out here walking all alone through the dark though.
I keep to the shadows as much as I can, because I know without a doubt that if she sees me following her home she’ll go ape-shit on my arse, and the last thing I need right now is another confrontation with her. Or maybe that’s exactly what I want, to confront her, in my bed, and my kitchen, on my coffee table, and in my shower, but I can’t ever cross that line with her again.
I SIT quietly at the table and try hard not to jab my plastic fork through my jugular. Some things just shouldn’t be done at a table full of your family. Then again, I did grow up with my name hyphenated. Twice. It would have been more if Aunt Ana had any say in it—she’s been trying to adopt me since Holly bartered me away to some creepy Siberian tourist in a poker game one night. I wish I could say I was kidding. Apparently she’d been imbibing with the green fairy and assaulting all Dave’s customers on one of their notorious girl’s nights out. Thank god Jack had been there when Mr Siberia came a-calling the next day before he flew out or I’d be knee deep in snow and ice, chasing my horde of tiny humans and answering to Ivana Beyoursexslave.
So, other than the obvious, why am I contemplating bleeding out in front of my family, and just how deep a flesh wound from this thing could really go? Because in their brilliant plan to throw me a welcome-home party some genius decided to invite Jake, and not only that, some other genius sat me next to him. At least if Sammy were here there’d be some way to keep Jake’s asinine, arsehole comments to a minimum, but Sam is decidedly absent. Lucky bastard. I have half a mind to drive on over to his loft and beat the hell outta him for leaving us all with his retarded friend. I suppose I could always just junk-punch Jake, but then my hands would need to be near his junk and well … yeah, that’s so not happening.
I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that despite being adults we still have our own kiddie table at family events like this? Or that because of this I get stuck next to Jake—okay yeah, there’s really no question here.
“So, Pep.” Jake pops the P on the end of my name, obnoxiously loud, and it makes me want to stab him in the jugular. “The little fangirl grew up into a wanton sex kitten.”
“Okay, for a start I was never a fangirl. And secondly, sex kitten? Really? Could you sound like more of a paedophile?”
“You tell me. Wanna go back behind the shed so I can introduce my meat whistle to your little cavern?”
I shudder. Violently. And then I turn and glance at poor little Lil—who I guess is not so little anymore, but instead is in that awkward teen stage. She looks just like Aunt Ana. And just like me, the urchin invading our table horrifies her.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m a carpet muncher now. I just couldn’t get on board with that whole penis thing.”
Lil laughs but quickly shuts up when Jake turns his attention to her.
“Christ.” Jake shifts in his seat, adjusting his crotch, and bites down on his lower lip.
It looks like it hurts. “That why you were throwing yourself at Sam last night?”
“I did not throw myself at him.” I may have casually implied that we should have hot, sweaty, messy, uncomplicated sex. But Pepper Ryan does not throw herself at anyone. Much less sparkly upstanding citizens of sunshine. I like ’em mean, and tattooed, and completely wrong for me. Or … more wrong for me than Sammy. At least that’s been my type for years now. Since I walked away from the only thing in my life that ever felt like it made sense.
“Oh, you threw yourself, alright. Just like old times, hey?”
“Why the hell are you even here? This is a family get-together, and since the whole family knows how I feel about you, and this is a welcome-home party for me. I still can’t work out who the fuck let you in.”
“Sam invited me, and relax, little ranga, I’m only here for the food, and to get a good hard, long look at your mum’s arse.”
“Well, since Sam’s not here and he’s the only one willing to tolerate your bullshit, why don’t you scurry off to whatever worm infested hole in the wall you came from, like a good boy?”
“You know that dirty mouth of yours would sound a hell of a lot better with my cock rammed in it.”
“Well sure, if you also like the sound of your own screams of terror.”
Jake places his hand over his mouth in mock horror. “Did you just threaten to bite off my penis?”
“Assuming you have one. Word in locker rooms was that Jake’s brain wasn’t the only thing that was teeny tiny.”
“Well, I guess you’d know. You spent every second that my man Sam was in there waiting outside so you could drop to your knees and suck his cock.”
“Could you not speak that way in front of Lil, please?”
“It’s okay, Pepper. I grew up with a mum and dad that think it’s cool to watch their ‘home movies’”—she says this with overly animated speech quotations—“every Saturday night. We’re way past the birds and the bees, and I’m well versed in Jake’s douchery.”
“Little Lil grew up while you were gone, Pep. She’s a woman now.” He waggles his eyebrows. From out of nowhere, Uncle Elijah’s muscled and heavily tattooed arm comes snaking around in front of Jake and wraps around his throat. He leans down and whispers into the space between Jake and me.
“Hey, dumbarse. Lil is not a woman. Lil is a fifteen-year-old girl whose father has ties to the Hell’s Angels, a man who’s been to prison, a man who’s taken lives, and one who is not afraid to take out a punk-arse kid if that stupid little fuck so much as mentions his daughter’s name again.”
Jake is full-out choking now, clawing at Uncle Elijah’s arm as it pins him in place, effectively cutting off his air supply.
“Dad,” Lil protests, but it’s half-arsed and it sounds as though she could give two fucks if Elijah finished him right there in front of our delicious meal.
“Caaaade,” Aunt Ana warns, pausing in her perusal of the buffet table’s contents. She runs a hand through her choppy blonde bob and lets out a sigh, then she pats him on the back condescendingly and says, “Honey, you can’t strangle every man she so much as has a conversation with.”
“I can try.” He grunts. “And I can start with this little bastard.”
“Let him go,” Aunt Ana states without pretence, and then, because it looks like Elijah’s going to fight her on this, she raises her brow, folds her arms over her chest and snaps, “Now.”
“But he’s this close to passing out. I can feel it,” he pleads. And he’s right. One look at Jake’s puffy, purple face and I know he’s bound for dreamy dream land.
“Let. Him. Go,” Ana demands. Her tone brooks absolutely no argument. Seriously, I kinda wanna run away from my aunt right now, and I haven’t done anything wrong. Uncle Elijah releases his hold on a purple-faced Jake and steps back from the table, holding his palms up to ward off his wife. Jake coughs and splutters next to me, sounding very much like he might actually hack up a lung, and I move my plate a little farther away to avoid cross cootie contamination. Ana gives him a condescending pat on the shoulder, the way she did with Elijah, and then says, “Jake, if you don’t quit being a douche to my girls, I will let him beat the shit out of you, and believe me when I tell you it’s a moment Elijah’s been waiting a lifetime for.”
Jake coughs, clears his throat and stutters, “Y…yes, ma’am.”
Ana’s smile vanishes. “Call me ma’am again, and I’ll beat the shit out of you myself.”
Jake’s eyes go wide and then he quickly nods his acquiescence, drops his gaze, and sips his drink as though he didn’t just have an ex-biker strangle him half to death.
“Hey Pepper, you brought your gun with you, right?” Uncle Elijah asks, and in my peripheral I see Jake stiffen. I know he’s talking about my tattoo gun, but I love that Uncle Elijah gets as much of a kick out of fucking with Jake as I do.
“Never leave home without it.” I stab a piece of unsuspecting, overcooked broccoli with my fork and smile.
“Feel like getting some practise in later today? I got a target that needs just a hint of a bleed.”
“Sure, sounds good.”
“It’s good to have you back, kiddo.” He pulls on a lock of pink hair and shakes his head with an indulgent smile. “We’ve really missed you around here.”
“Thanks,” I say. I don’t say that I wish I felt the same, or that I don’t know how long I’ll be home for, or that it doesn’t even really feel like home anymore. I just smile and go back to eating my food.
Like Jack and Coop, Elijah has always been someone I felt I could go to when I got myself into trouble. Which was often. He never got mad, or overly emotional like Holly or Aunt Ana, or even Bob. He’d just help me work out the fastest way to get out of the shit-storm and he’d harbour me like a fugitive until it cleared. He also taught me how to impede an attacker in three seconds flat. Jack could fight, but he couldn’t separate himself enough from the idea that I might one day need to employ those skills, and since Coop lived a twelve-hour drive away, and I saw him during holidays, and every other month that he wasn’t touring, recording, or flying to LA to meet with producers and record execs, well, having him teach me to throw a punch was sort of out of the question. You can’t really learn that shit on Skype.
He’s still a great dad, and he does what he can to help me out and be there for me whenever I need him, but you know how they say it takes a village to raise a child? Well, in my case, it was a village … and then some. And every adult in this room, with the exception of Jake—but then his status as an adult probably needs to be revoked—has had a hand in my raising. Sadly, that list doesn’t exclude Sammy Belle. Who seems to materialise out of thin air, hefting a carton of beer over his shoulder. He’s nowhere to be seen one second, and filling up the room—or the back deck, in this case—with his presence the next. Overrunning the space with Sam. Sweet, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth, hot-as-fuck Sam.
He kisses Aunt Ana and then my mother, apologising profusely for running late. Holly pats him on the cheek, and they look like they share a silent exchange before Sammy scoops Aunt Kristine up, laying several loud smacking kisses on her smiling face and setting her on her feet before Uncle Michael decides to beat a new Sam-sized hole in my mother’s floor.
Sammy fills a plate with food until it’s practically overflowing, grabs a beer, and takes a seat beside me.
“Hey, man.” He nods in Jake’s direction, and they share a weird boyish handshake they’ve used with every greeting since they were twelve.
“Nice outfit,” I say, taking in Sam’s pale green scrubs.
“I got blood on my uniform,” he explains.
“Wow. You know I think the aim of a lollipop man is to get the kiddies safely to school, not beat them to death with your giant stop sign, though … good for you. I can’t stand the little shits either.” I push the food all around my plate and ignore the drop of sweat running between my boobs. Damn my parents for being all ‘let’s have a barbie
in forty-degree heat and be all outdoorsy and shit.’ “Wait, why are you working on a Sunday, and I thought you had to wear that stylish fluoro-yellow vest thingy?”
“I do. This was my uniform from my other job.”
“Your other job? As what, an extra on Grey’s Anatomy?” Okay, let me just say here that I hadn’t been a fan of that show—it was a little too Hollywood for my tastes—but I caught reruns from time to time, and I wasn’t oblivious, or immune, to the steady stream of hot doctors traipsing on- and off-screen, and Sammy Belle filled out scrubs better than any of them.
“I work part time at Sugar Haven,” he says, as if that explains everything—and if I were honest and Sugar Haven was either an adult film distribution company, or an escort agency where all your fantasies come true for one night and a hefty two thousand dollar price tag, then Sammy should definitely be working there. And I should definitely be making a booking.
Wait, what?
“The nursing home?” Sammy prompts with an are-you-freaking-brain-dead glare directed at me.
“Sugartown has a nursing home?”
“Yes, Pepper.”
“And you work there?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yes. Pepper.”
Is he getting short with me? Okay, never mind, there are far more pressing questions at hand here like, “What the hell do you do? Play crabs with the olds?”
“It’s craps,” he says shovelling more food into his mouth. “And no, I work in the dementia ward. Most of them are too far gone to be able to remember their own name, much less play cards. Today, I had a resident in the hospital, and since she only settles with the male staff from the home, I had to be there. She fell, trying to climb out of bed after surgery. I got blood on my clothes, and had to borrow a set of scrubs.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. I am literally stunned into silence. I think this is a first for me. When I left Sugartown, Sammy had held down the same boring job in the Sugar Mill for more than four years. I go away for a few years and I return home to a saint? I mean, I guess it’s no real surprise. This is the same guy who held my hand and talked me out of the void of the constant panic attacks I had from the time I was old enough to understand what those two little words meant, but still.
Now Leaving Sugartown Page 3
