by Zoe Hill
Out of everyone, she should know best why I stopped enjoying the seaside.
Living at Elmer’s Point wasn’t the same after the truth came out. My father left his job shortly after I confessed what was happening and we never saw our friends again. After my mom accepted money from the Greaves family, we were banished from our home at the beach. Ollie and Chester’s best friends disappeared overnight. The congregation at the church turned their back on us. Our school days were filled with cruel innuendo and spiteful rumors, and my parents never saw anyone from that time in our life again.
So many years later, it’s just another place ruined by Harrison’s evil ways.
I haven’t set foot in the ocean since then, even though I cherish the memory of playing with my brothers and their friends on the cliffs. That weekend is the last time I felt truly happy.
It’s also the final time I spoke freely about anything.
Shaking myself out of my internal pity party, I quickly survey the darker corners of the main bar of the MC, then hasten my pace. Chester is wrapped around one of the club girls, and that means that Seb won’t be too far away either since they’re good friends. Out of everyone, I need to avoid them the most. If they start, I’m on my own since Chester and Seb are ranked within the club, so none of the other members will challenge them because my mom and dad are tucked up in their beds. As Co-Founders of the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC, and President and Chaplain respectively, my parents are the only members who outrank my brother and ex-fiancé now that Ollie is gone.
Being trapped here, pretending not to notice how conversations dry up when I approach, is tearing open my scars. I refuse to flay myself alive for their morbid curiosity. I need a dose of normalcy to twist my head back on straight before I go back to work and beg for time off to bury my oldest brother. On top of work, I need something, anything, to take my mind off the revenge the MC is trying to talk me into participating in when I return to New Haven for the funeral.
I would love the opportunity to kill Harrison, but I won’t risk what’s left of my morals for a shot at him.
And that’s the crux of my need to get out of here for a few hours. Over the past seventy-two hours, I’ve done nothing but think about the man who stole my innocence... and it sucks. I’ve already wasted too much of my life dwelling on his evil, so when I decided to put him behind me two years ago, once and for all, I thought that was it. And, outside of a few inquiries through professional channels at work to see if anyone had a clue where Harrison Greaves might’ve gone to escape justice twenty-one years ago, I’m proud that those efforts have been largely successful.
The longer I’m here, the further I’m going to spiral backward. The panic attack I had when Mom dropped her news about Harrison is the first full-scale meltdown I’ve suffered in the two years since Seb and I broke up, and Renee talked me into attending group therapy with her.
“Listen here, squirt.” Chester pounces on me at the main exit. I ignore him, pushing my arms through the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC patched leather jacket Mom always has hanging in the coat room for me. It’s her way of letting me know that there’s a place for me in the motorcycle club should I ever change my mind. “You’re not leaving.”
“I’ll go with her,” Seb offers at the same time as I allow my rage at his use of Ollie’s nickname get the better of me. Breathing hard, I spin around and punch my brother in the mouth, then hiss, “Stop calling me squirt. That was Ollie’s thing.”
Of course, my brother acts like being hit is nothing. After he shakes his head and swipes at his barely bleeding lip, he jams his hands on his hips and scowls down at me. Seb tries to step between us, however, I push him back.
I do not need my ex-fiancé fighting my battles.
“Okay, Poppy,” my brother snarks. He snatches my pistol out of my waistband and holds it above my head when I try to take it back from him. “Leaving is stupid so it’s not happening.”
Trying my hardest not to stomp my foot, I retort, “I need to breathe air that’s not tainted by Ollie’s death and filled with whispers about my damage, so it is happening.”
At my out of character outburst, empathy flits across Chester’s face, before his expression hardens again. “I said no.”
“I hate to sound like a two-year-old, but you’re not the boss of me.” After motioning Seb to move out of the way, I yank the door open. Chester slaps his palm against the top and presses it shut. Facing him, I sneer, “Seriously? I’m about ready to kick your ass.”
“Try it.” He flicks his free hand in the universal “bring it” gesture. “I think I’d enjoy knocking Little Miss NYPD Detective on her uppity ass.”
Apparently, the verbal floodgates are open tonight. Imitating his hand movements, I taunt, “You could try, you dickless wonder.”
“I don’t try, I do, squirt.”
When my brother and I square off, Seb slings an arm over both our shoulders and strongarms us into a huddle with him. I glare up at him. It makes me laugh that my six-foot-one brother has to crane his neck as well. Seb is a brute of a man. Nearly seven-foot tall and built like a linebacker, his size intimidates until he opens his mouth and proves that he’s less beast and more teddy bear.
“Everyone needs to chill out before something is said that can’t be taken back.” The black look Seb gives me after glaring at Chester sends a sliver of misplaced desire shooting down my spine. When his big, brunette, bearlike self turns all gruff like this, I’m reminded of the reasons why I was initially attracted to him. Unfortunately, when it became obvious that he’d never be able to muster enough darkness to satisfy my need to submit, I realized that we were doomed.
“Listen, Sarge,” my ex addresses my brother, his Sergeant-at-Arms, with more respect than his overbearing ass deserves. “We both know that Poppy’s gonna do whatever Poppy wants to do and nothing you say is gonna change that. So, I propose that we cut out the dramatics, and you let me escort her and Bella...” Seb trails off long enough to tilt his head toward my best friend, who’s snuck up behind us, “...out to a nice, friendly Samaritan’s Soldiers-owned bar. I’ll even take a couple more brothers with me. What do you say?”
Chester shrugs as he looks toward Bella. “I still think it’s a dumb idea, but I’ll go with you. Ain’t having Dad riding my ass tomorrow because something happened to his favorite child.”
Smirking, I huff on my fingernails then buff them against my chest. “From your mouth to God’s ear, big brother.”
My silliness breaks the final vestiges of tension between us, and after quickly getting our things together, we ride away from the compound together. Bella is riding bitch with Chester and I have the pillion position behind Seb. Three enforcers follow on our tail. The poor men are yawning after their unceremonious wake-up call.
When we pull up to a set of traffic lights, I lean forward and say to Seb, “Thanks for having my back. I couldn’t breathe in the compound.”
He pats my thigh, then leaves his hand resting on my leg. “It’s all good. I know how you get.”
“You really do.” I place my hand on the back of his. When he threads our fingers together, I don’t object. Being with him again is like trying on an old pair of jeans and learning that they still fit like a second skin. They may make your ass look good, but they’re not your style anymore. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you until now.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” he vows. “You’ve always been it for me, flower girl.”
Lifting my hand to his lips, he lays a kiss on my knuckles before he lets go when the lights turn to green. I’m grateful for the reprieve. The spot where his lips touched my skin is burning. As much as I’m comfortable around him, it’s hard to shake off my gut feeling that going back down the relationship route with him again would be a mistake.
Seb might think that I’m the woman for him, but he doesn’t know how much I’ve changed in the two years we’ve been apart. At one time, he was my one and only sexual partner. Since he returned to New Haven, I�
�ve taunted dozens of men into giving me what he wouldn’t.
I’m not sure how he’d take that knowledge.
Not that it’s any of his business.
***
We park out front of the bar and are greeted like long lost friends once security spies the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC patches. The manager comes out of her office to personally welcome us once news that the MC’s Sergeant-at-Arms is on the premises. She leads us upstairs to the nightclub part of the bar and orders a table of college students to give up their space for us. We’re assigned our own waitress and provided with our first round of drinks. After a few minutes of small talk, where she makes it clear that she’s open to personally serving Chester, the manager heads back downstairs.
Our odd foursome lapses into silence once she’s gone and we all stare off in different directions around the bar. The interior is dark and jam packed with people. Bodies gyrate to the music provided by the female DJ in the booth on the raised platform opposite us, and I feel my anxiety beginning to lift. Chester leaves to grab more beers from the bar because the waitress is too busy trying to catch Seb’s attention. In his absence, my paternal uncle, David, the most senior enforcer with us after Seb, organizes the other men. Two of the enforcers face the crowd, and my uncle stands with his arms crossed over his chest at my back.
The fact he’s been assigned to me is blatant. It unsettles me, and the thought that my family is keeping something big from me rattles around my head once more. Their desperation to get me to come home, and the little remarks Mom and Dad have made every time I’ve mentioned that I need to be back in New York for work until they confirm the date for Ollie’s funeral, have set off my gut instinct. Watching Uncle David eye every person who wanders within a few feet of me has my instincts twanging like a banjo.
“Relax,” Bella nudges my shoulder with hers and leans in close. “Once we get home tomorrow, we can compare notes and dissect everything.” When Chester slides a full glass in front of us, she lifts hers in the air and proposes a toast. “Let’s get loose tonight in Ollie’s memory. Everything else can wait ‘til tomorrow.”
“To Ollie!” We echo Bella’s salute, and the rest of the nightclub joins in as we drain our glasses.
They wouldn’t understand the real reason why we’re cheering Ollie, since my parents have kept his untimely demise on the down-low for now, however, my brother is a local legend. The Samaritan’s have helped a ton of abused men, women, and children have their day in court to find justice. As Vice President and the official spokesperson for the MC, Ollie is a staple on local television and radio.
I allow my grief to weigh down my shoulders for a moment, then I lift my empty glass, and murmur in a voice that only the four of us can hear. “To the best damn man I’ve ever met. May he rest in peace. It’s nothing less than he deserves.”
Chester’s eyes are wet. I blink back my own tears and smile when he says, “Damn right, squirt.”
Instead of chastising him for using Ollie’s nickname, I incline my head and accept it for what it is.
A way to keep a cherished memory alive.
The mood significantly lightens when a remixed version of “Hard Act to Follow” by Grinspoon starts playing. One of Oliver’s favorite songs, it encourages us to get out on the dance floor and shake our asses in his memory. One song leads to another, and before I know it, over an hour has passed, and I’m laughing with Bella and teasing Chester for his awkward moves.
Drunk and danced out, we gather back around our table, and the enforcers form a wall to block us from view. My brother pulls the pistol he confiscated from me out of his shoulder holster and slides it across the table to me. I shove it down the back of my lace-up leather pants and pull my shirt down over it. With a sharp incline of my head, I acknowledge his peace offering. His corresponding smile is enough to make me cry with pride, but I shake off the urge and concentrate on my overly exuberate best friend.
“Hey, where’s mine?” Bella exclaims. She folds her hands into finger guns, then proceeds to shift into the various Charlie’s Angels’ poses in time with the beat of the music. “I’m a badass, too.”
“Yes, you are, Detective Sabella Archimedes.” I wrap my arms around her, then kiss her cheek before she can swat at me for using her full name like her mother does. “But, as badass as you are, you can’t hold your liquor. The last thing Mom and Dad need is Detective Badass shooting up their bar because someone pinched your fine gluteus maximus.”
My best friend plants a kiss on my lips then cranes her neck to look at her backside. “I do have a mighty fine ass, don’t I?”
“That you do,” Chester replies before I can. I shoot him a venomous look that warns him to not even think about it. All my brothers know that Bella is off-limits to them. He smirks, then raises his glass in the air. “Let’s give a cheer for Detective Badass’s fine rear end.”
As one, we toast my friend’s ass, before dissolving into a fit of laughter.
Over the next hour or so, our behavior devolves into chaos. My best friend is propped in the corner, kissing the face off my brother, and I’m hiding out on the dance floor so I can pretend I can’t see them.
That mess is something to deal with tomorrow.
I have a problem of my own, anyhow.
Seb is standing two feet in front of me with his arms crossed while I dance up a storm in the middle of the floor. I’ve managed to gain myself a group of admirers and spurred on by the disapproval on Seb’s face, I make a game of toying with them.
“Flower girl,” my angry ex shouts over the music. He lifts his arm to show one of my more ardent admirers the bulge of his handgun in his shoulder holster. “Come back here. You’ve had enough.”
In response, I move to touch the pistol Chester gave me, only to end up grasping air. Seb tilts his head and glares at me until I remember that he confiscated my weapon a little while ago. Shaking my head to block out his censure, I concentrate on the music, swaying my hips and running my fingertips up and down the side of my upper body. Quickly, the pounding bass takes hold of me. The flickering strobe lights illuminate my skin and dazzle my eyes while the alcohol surging in my veins quiets my grief over Ollie to a controllable level.
Harrison Greaves is nothing but a blip on my radar. I’ve pushed all thoughts of him out of my head. Hopefully, he’s too busy drowning in the quicksand trap I laid in the dark recesses of my mind for him to ever return to torture me.
As coping mechanisms go, it’s childish, but I can finally breathe.
“Flower girl, please.”
Seb’s begging pricks my conscience, so immature bitch that I am, I turn my back to him and concentrate on the men circling me. When one of the men grows bolder despite Seb’s blatant threats and moves in behind me, I back up until my ass is against his thighs. His sweaty hands land on the sliver of exposed skin above the waist of my pants, and he tries to move me to a beat that only he can hear. Irritated, I shove him away from me.
Drunkenly searching the group around me, I find myself disappointed when none of them appeal to me.
I’m a girl with particular tastes—tall, dark, and occasionally violent.
Poor Seb always ticked the first two boxes during our eight years together but, he never quite managed to fulfil the final requirement.
He tried, God love him, he really did.
It’s just that he loves me too much to hurt me without judgment, and I don’t want his conditional affection. It doesn’t help that broken, tainted girls like me can’t accept love because we’ll never believe that we deserve it.
No, I want Seb’s contempt. I want him to disrespect me. I want him to hurt me. Most of all, I want him to acknowledge that what I want from him is insane, at the same time as he promises that he’ll give it to me anyway.
A tall, dark-haired man with a killer physique propped in the corner of the bar catches my wandering gaze. I stop dancing and narrow my eyes to observe him as he nurses his glass of ice water and pretends that he’s not wat
ching me in return. A few inches shorter than Seb, he looks like trouble in an expensive suit. I bite my bottom lip as I wander over to him with a deliberate swing in my hips.
Once I’m in front of him, his hot gaze pins me to the spot for a long moment.
I shake myself free of his spell, then wobble to my tiptoes, and snatch his glass from his hand.
“Thank you,” I murmur. Tipping my head back, I empty the glass. The icy water quenches my thirst until I meet his eyes again, and my body is instantly hot once more. He takes the glass back from me when I offer it. Smiling up at him, I say, “I’m Poppy. I lock up bad guys. Who are you and what do you do?”
Part of me doesn’t truly want to know since it’s likely to disappoint me.
Right now, he looks like a businessman or a politician in his designer suit.
Knowing my luck, he’s probably a taxation accountant or a history professor, but I force myself not to care.
Because, in my imagination tonight, he’s a stone-cold killer... and I’m his next victim.
NINE
“Important encounters are planned by the souls, long before the bodies see each other.” ~Paulo Coelho~
SPENSER
When Poppy Tennyson introduces herself with a smile after swiping my glass of water from me, it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to turn on my heel and run. We shouldn’t be meeting like this. It goes against every rule I’ve ever been taught to open myself up to direct contact initiated by a mark. Our encounter is my fault, though. I hadn’t been able to resist moving closer to their group once I could see that the core foursome had let down their guard after sufficiently lubricating themselves with beer.
My family has been a mess for as long as I can remember, so I’ve always been intrigued by the way other families interact. If Chester and Poppy are any indication, the Tennyson’s are the type of family who’d fight to the death for each other. That’s strange on its own. It’s even weirder in a motorcycle club that traffics women and kids with enough efficiency to catch the Coalition’s attention.
