The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5)

by Krista Sandor

  He glanced from the girl to a sad string of shops behind her. A pizza joint with a torn awning flashed a fluorescent open sign. He reached for his wallet, pulled out a twenty, then passed the bill through the crack in the window. “Go get something to eat and then go home.”

  She took a drag off her smoke and stared at the money. “That’s it? You don’t want to—”

  “You look like a smart girl,” he said, cutting her off. “Get some pizza then get the hell out of here. It’s not safe.”

  She plucked the twenty and tucked it into her bra. “Are you with the DJ and that girl?”

  His pulse quickened. “Maybe, why?”

  She took another drag and chuckled as she exhaled a stream of smoke. “They weren’t hard to miss. Those two reeked of money. The guy was wearing a Ralph Lauren polo with a giant fucking horse on it, and the chick was all-the-way yuppy-retro with those pink tips. Probably cost her a fortune at the salon.”

  Sam’s jaw tightened. Jesus, Michael! The kid had to learn to dress the part if he wanted to hang on the wrong side of the tracks. But that’s what you get when your dad’s one of the city’s top attorneys. At least his cousin could handle himself. The guy was only eighteen, and while he wasn’t as built as he was, Michael was tall and sturdy. He’d played center for his high school basketball team and nobody with half a brain would try to mess with him.

  But Zoe was another story.

  Five foot three on a good day, it wouldn’t take much to mess her up. Yeah, she’d fight like hell, but even a puny guy could wrestle her to the ground. A primal impulse to storm inside the bar surged through him, and it had nothing to do with the promise he’d made to Ben.

  He caught the girl’s gaze and gestured with his chin toward the restaurant. “Pizza. You. Now.”

  She stubbed out her smoke. “All right, all right! I got it!”

  “And while you’re there, keep an eye on my truck and the Range Rover.” The last thing he needed was to get his car stolen, and he knew his uncle would rain down holy hell on Michael if he were to find out where the next generation of the MacCarron Law Firm was spending his evening.

  The girl waved over her shoulder as she opened the door to the pizza place.

  Once she was safely inside and he saw her hand over the money to pay for her meal, he got out, locked his truck, and jogged across the street. As he hit the sidewalk, a man exited the bar, and a techno beat followed him out onto the street. Sam caught the door before it closed and entered the darkened lounge.

  The bar was bigger than he’d expected and somehow, even more of a shithole. It was probably scarier to see the place with the lights on. Holes dotted the shabby plaster covering the walls—surely, mementos of past bar fights—as a rat darted along the dented baseboards before disappearing into a crack. In the dim haze of red light diffused with smoke, he nodded to a bouncer who barely glanced his way, the man’s gaze trained on the perfect little ass of a petite woman surrounded by three guys.

  Zoe.

  They were down at the end of the bar. Her back was to him, but he’d know her anywhere. She wore black studded combat boots and a pair of jean shorts. He knew her parents—and Ben for that matter—would shit themselves over if they saw her in this get-up. Tiny. Way too fucking tiny. She leaned over to take another shot from the bartender, and the hint of her ass peeked out beneath the fringed denim.

  Jesus! She had to be wearing a G-string or—God help him—no panties at all. Heat stirred in his belly. A possessive need to palm those perfect globes of flesh and dig his fingertips into her sweet, supple ass rushed through him. He gripped the side of the bar and willed the impulse to pass. This was Ben’s little sister. This was the girl he’d pushed on the swings and had dunked in the swimming pool. His cock had no business forming an opinion of Zoe Stein.

  He glanced across the bar where Michael had set up his DJ equipment. The music sounded good, and several people were moving to the techno beat on the dance floor. But with his headphones on and his gaze trained on the turntables, there was no way he could keep an eye on Zoe. Sam could have dropped a bomb on this place, and Michael would have kept mixing, lost to the music, formulating his next set.

  He raked his gaze back to Zoe and her trio of suitors. One of the guys passed her another shot, and the group knocked back the liquor. Zoe slammed the glass on the bar, and the men cheered. One brazen fucker had the nerve to reach around her and rest his hand on her hip. Zoe swayed a bit. Barely a hundred pounds wet, he had a good feeling that shot wasn’t her second of the night.

  “What’ll you have?”

  Sam eyed the bartender. The guy couldn’t be much older than he was. And while he tried to look the part of retro-grunge, the dude’s Pearl Jam T-shirt had creases in the sleeves as if it had been ironed.

  “Boulevard Pale Ale, if you’ve got it.”

  The guy nodded and reached below the bar to the cooler. “Never seen you around,” he said, popping the top and sliding the beer across the sticky wood.

  Sam took a sip. “Neighborhood’s a little too classy for me.”

  The bartender leaned forward with a grin. “This area’s turning around. Young people are moving in every day. In a couple of years, they’ll be building condos and charging a fortune. I figured I’d take my trust fund and get in early on the action.”

  Fucking Kansas City! This kid was probably a Mission Springs rich boy. These asshats popped up everywhere. “You own the place?” he asked, careful to keep Zoe in his sights.

  The guy nodded. “Yeah, my dad’s a developer.”

  Of course, he was.

  Sam tilted his head toward Zoe and the guys. “What’s their story?”

  “That sweet piece of ass came with the DJ, but from what I can tell, they’re not together. I’ve been serving her Long Island Iced Teas on the house, and my buddies have been doing shots with her. Somebody’s going to get their rocks off with that tasty bit tonight.”

  Sam took another pull of his beer then released a tight breath. This trust fund baby was about to get schooled. “That sweet piece of ass you’ve been eyeballing all night.”

  The guy’s grin widened.

  “She’s eighteen.”

  The bartender’s eyebrows shot up, and his shit-eating grin disappeared. “How do you know?”

  “She’s my friend’s little sister.”

  The guy’s hands went up defensively. He was smart enough to know he’d be in a world of hurt if he got slapped with an underaged drinking citation. “Dude, she came with the DJ.”

  “You didn’t think to check her ID?”

  Flustered, the bartender reached for a rag and wiped at the bar in nervous jerks. “I just figured…”

  “Buddy, I’ve never worked in a bar a day in my life, and I could tell you the first rule would probably be to make sure you weren’t serving minors.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” There was an edge to the guy’s voice.

  “I’m not here to fuck with you or your business. I will, however, be dragging her sweet ass out of here in about thirty seconds.”

  “Fine by me. I don’t need the trouble.”

  Sam gave the guy his signature easy grin. He wasn’t there to make an enemy. “I was hoping you’d say that. What do I owe you for the beer and her drinks?”

  “On the house.”

  Sam nodded. “Thanks, man. I need you to do me one more favor.”

  The bartender relaxed a fraction, his shoulders no longer touching his ears. “Sure, what do you need?”

  “You tell the DJ his cousin, me, Sam Sinclair, took Zoe home. And make sure he gets out of here with all his equipment. He’s only eighteen, too, just like the girl.”

  The guy stared at a worn spot on the counter and shook his head.

  Sam tapped the bar and Trust Fund met his gaze. “Count your blessings that I’m not a cop, and make sure the kid gets out of here in one piece.”

  “I can do that,” he answered, holding Sam’s gaze.

  Sam hel
d out his hand and the bartender shook it.

  “By the way, the girl’s not going to be happy to see me. And she sure as shit won’t like it when I drag her out of here.”

  The bartender glanced at Zoe. “Do what you have to do. I can’t have underage kids drinking in my bar.”

  “Good man,” Sam replied and gave him a wink.

  He drained his beer then set his gaze on Zoe. A muscle ticked in his jaw as the brazen fuck of the trio slid his hand to rest on Zoe’s ass. She shifted, turning away from the handsy guy. But he wasn’t having it and gripped her buttocks hard. Zoe turned again. This time, she looked across the dance floor toward Michael. Business had picked up, and there was no way he could have seen her through the mass of bodies.

  “Hey, butt slug, hands off my ass,” Zoe slurred.

  The men broke out into laughter.

  Brazen Fuck’s hand didn’t budge. “Butt slug? Jesus, you’re full of these! Let’s hear another.”

  Zoe twisted into him. “You want more? All right, you knuckle-dragging bag of dicks, let go of my ass!”

  More laughter.

  Sam moved in. “I’ve got one for you.”

  Brazen Fuck glanced back.

  Sam easily had six inches and fifty pounds on the guy. Spending hours upon hours building homes and schools in impoverished areas all over the world had left him ripped. He bent down, lips inches from Brazen Fuck’s ear. “It goes like this. You get your hand off the lady’s ass, or I’ll fucking rip off your arm, cut it up into little pieces, and feed it to you like sushi. You Mission Springs boys like all that fancy cuisine, don’t you?”

  A beat passed, and he made eye contact with each member of the douche squad. He knew what they were thinking—three against one. While the odds may have been in their favor, these boys were not fighters. They may have attempted to look street smart and edgy in their retro-esque T-shirts, but they all shared the same creased ironed marks as the bartender had. None of these guys had ever thrown a punch, done a load of laundry, or hammered a nail a day in their life.

  Brazen Fuck removed his hand, and Zoe edged away from him.

  Sam crossed his arms. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

  “Whatever,” Brazen Fuck muttered.

  The trio left the bar and headed for a sorry-ass dart board.

  “Well, well,” he said, meeting Zoe’s gaze.

  A flicker of relief glimmered in her gray-blue eyes before it was replaced with irritation. She steadied herself against the bar. “My brother sent you, didn’t he?”

  “This isn’t your scene, Z.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “I cousin your came, and I’m not leaving.”

  He bit back a laugh. “Want to try that again?”

  She released a tight breath. “I came with your cousin, and I’m not leaving.”

  He met her narrowed gaze with one of his own. “That’s all you’ve got?”

  The corner of her mouth turned up. “I came with your cousin, you cock muppet, and I’m not leaving.”

  “There’s my girl.”

  Before Zoe could utter another fucking endearing insult, he leaned down, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder.

  “What the…” she exclaimed, pounding on his back with her tiny fists.

  Sam leaned back in the booth. “Are you about finished, Z?”

  Zoe’s drunken, woozy gaze met his over her plate of french fries, onion rings, and a banana split with strawberry ice cream, whipped cream, sprinkles, and the seven cherries she’d demanded when ordering. Carrying her out of the bar had been relatively easy. Getting her to stay put in the car was another matter. He’d dug deep and remembered one of her childhood favorites—Winstead’s burger joint. Kansas City may have been known for its world-famous barbecue, but any local worth their salt knew a Winstead’s burger and milkshake could easily be classified as the eighth Wonder of the World.

  She bent the straw in her limeade and took a long pull.

  “The place closes at midnight, Zoe. We can’t stay here all night.”

  “We need one of these in Langley Park,” she mused, picking up an onion ring, peering through it as if she was looking at him through a breaded monocle.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, there’s nowhere good to eat in DTLP.”

  “DT…what?”

  “Downtown Langley Park, duh!” she answered then bit into the onion ring with the kind of gusto reserved for carnival cuisine.

  He held back a laugh. Christ, she was adorable! All that fucking sass. Those twinkling eyes, and she was beautiful. So beautiful! How had he never noticed? She was always the silly one, the bold one. Her personality burned so brightly, it was easy to miss that she was also an absolute knockout. Even with that crazy pink hair and combat boots, her petite body and killer curves could not be missed.

  “That’s your job, Sam,” she said, abandoning the onion ring and holding one of the seven cherries by its stem.

  “What’s my job, Z?”

  “After you’re done saving the world, you’re going to open a restaurant in Langley Park, and I’ll eat there every day.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, yeah? What about Des Moines and Gwyer College?”

  She plucked the stem and popped the cherry into her mouth. “First, I’ll go to college. Then, I’ll become an award-winning journalist.” She thrust her shoulders back and schooled her features. “And the Pulitzer Prize goes to…Zoe Christine Stein.”

  He leaned forward. “What about eating at my restaurant every day?”

  That twinkle was back. She licked her lips. “It takes a lot of work to be famous. I’ll just have to drop in whenever I have the time.”

  He nodded, completely entranced with the girl who had become a woman right under his nose.

  She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “What are you going to do next? Another semester abroad building schools in outer-Mongolia?”

  “I haven’t been to Mongolia yet, but I like exploring the world, knowing it’s bigger than this little slice of Kansas. I’ll be doing my next semester in New Zealand.”

  She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual wry grin. This smile was contemplative, and her gaze softened. “Are you running from your dad or from the memory of your mom?”

  The breath caught in his throat. “Don’t go there, Z.”

  “She wasn’t well. I was just a little kid, and I could see that. That’s why you and Gabe were always at Michael’s. After she left, your dad wasn’t sure what to do with you both.” She leaned over the table and twisted her fingers in his hair. “And this is why your dad was always so mean to you.”

  Her fingertips grazed his scalp, and he forced himself to breathe. “He was never unkind to Michael and Em. They have red hair, too.”

  She twisted another copper curl. “Not like yours. Yours is exactly like your mother’s. Gabe has your father’s dark hair and coloring. But you, you may be big like your dad, but you’ve got her exact shade of dark auburn. I always loved when the sun would catch your hair just right. It was like the golden-red of a sunset, that second right before the light disappeared.”

  He held her gaze, and she trailed her fingers down his cheek. “Sometimes bad things happen, and it’s nobody’s fault.”

  Electricity traveled through her touch. His skin buzzed with the contact. She saw everything. Every dark corner. Every whispered regret. “Where’d you hear that, Z?” he managed.

  That twinkle was back. Seeing the spark in her eye was like winning the lottery.

  She rubbed circles with her thumb into the scuff on his cheek. “I read it in a greeting card. I could also send you my sincerest condolences on the death of your Chihuahua, but since you don’t have a dead Chihuahua, I thought the other thing made more sense under the current circumstances.”

  He smiled. This was her magic. She could take something so raw and so tender and with just a few words, a smile, or a wink, she’d turn all that pain into something bearable.

  “
What about you, Z? What are you running from?”

  She sat back in the booth and stared up at the light fixture. “Nothing. My life’s perfect. Perfect parents. Perfect brother. Perfect little town. What could I complain about?”

  “Nobody’s life is perfect. There’s always something you want that you can’t have.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” She glanced around the empty restaurant. “You want to get out of here? I’m still a little tipsy, but at least I’m only seeing one of you now.”

  He threw a few bills on the table, and Zoe wriggled out of the booth. She gripped the edge of the table, still a bit unsteady. He wrapped his hand around her elbow. The electric buzz of skin on skin was back. It was like all he had to do was touch her, and her energy, her spirit would consume him, revive him. Only hours ago, he’d broken it off with Kara. He’d felt empty, but not from the loss of her. He’d felt empty because he didn’t miss her. They’d been practically attached at the hip for months, and he couldn’t even begin to describe her smile or her laugh. But with Zoe, he knew them all.

  They left the restaurant, and he helped her into his truck. He got in, and she scooted next to him on the bench.

  “I’m tired,” she said with a wide yawn.

  “It’s probably just a diabetic coma. You ate enough ice cream to incapacitate an elephant.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think elephants like ice cream.”

  He lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Have you ever asked one?”

  She hummed her amusement.

  He started the truck and headed toward Langley Park. The streets were quiet, and lampposts dotted the darkness with warm pools of light. As he turned into town, he passed the familiar streets named after Kansas plant life. Zoe nestled into him, whispering something in her sleep as he turned down Michael’s street, Foxglove Lane. He slowed as he passed by his Aunt and Uncle’s house. Michael’s Range Rover was parked on the gravel drive. Thank Christ, he’d made it home.

  “Are we there yet?” Zoe asked in a dreamy sigh.

  He looked from Michael’s house to Em’s next door. He could see the whole gang: Ben, Zoe, Em, Michael, Gabe, and himself, playing flashlight tag—Zoe twirling with the beam of light dancing in the darkness. “We’re just passing by Michael and Em’s. We’ll be at your place in a few minutes.”