Wyatt’s temper rages, hitting another level as he rushes me. I can’t dodge his attack, so I lean into it. Nailing him in the jaw with my elbow. Digging my boot into his inner ankle. Punching his lean, lady throat.
That last one gives Wyatt pause, forcing him to shove me off. I nearly topple into the drink table.
“Thunder cunt!” Mom yells from the other side of the room, where she’s wrestling on the ground with her sister.
“Fat bitch!” Bambi screams back.
Honestly, them throwing down is a monthly thing, so I don’t pay it much attention. I do glance at Monroe and find her crawling after DeAnna, like a predator stalking her prey.
Wyatt rubs his neck, maybe worried something will snap and put him in a wheelchair. He hears DeAnna cry out and turns to check on her. I use that moment to knock him on his ass with a solid right hook. Falling on top of Wyatt, I start swinging like when we were kids, and his bullying made me cry. Grown-up now, I use my big fists to break his lady face.
Hitting my groove, I pummel him until he’s a bloody mess under me. The world disappears except for my desire to keep Wyatt from ever annoying me again. I think of every fucking time he messed with me. Each snide comment he ever made. The smirk I caught him flashing during my dad’s funeral. The millions of times he mocked my mentally ill mom. I remember every damn insult until my mind focuses on him reaching for Monroe today. As much as I hate DeAnna, I’d never put my hands on her. But Wyatt was ready to cross that line with my woman. He ought to die for that alone.
“Enough,” Bronco says, suddenly yanking me off Wyatt while Rooster kneels down to check on his bloodied son.
“Are you fucking kidding?” I growl at my uncle. “Where were you when he was giving me a concussion?”
Bronco shrugs. “Over by the appetizers.” When I snarl at him, pissed that he ruined my chance to finish off Wyatt, he smiles. “Geez, kid, you can’t kill your cousin at a community function. Murders are strictly for family get-togethers. Now, back down and go check on your woman before she flashes her panties again.”
“Panties, you say?” I ask as horny pride overtakes my rage. “Did she win? Either of her tits pop out of her bra?”
Bronco guides me to where Monroe sits with Topanga, Lana, and Pixie. I smile at my honey as I drop into the seat next to hers.
“Using my head as a weapon might have been a mistake,” she says, holding a napkin filled with ice against her forehead. “Are you in pain?”
“Winning is worth the suffering,” I murmur before cupping her face and staring into her big brown eyes. “I applaud your triumph over two foes.”
“DeAnna barely put up a fight. I think Pixie breaking her nose turned the slut into a pansy,” Monroe says, flashing a smile at Anders’s hippie chick.
“Do you want to leave?”
“No way. This party ain’t over until I’m too full, drunk, and tired to move my ass. Then, you can drag me to the parking lot and find a way to relocate me back to the Overlook.”
“Better still. Why not sleep at my place?”
Monroe must see something on my face. She moves from her chair to my lap and places her makeshift ice pack against the back of my head.
“Only if we can have loud sex that echoes over to your mother’s side of the house,” she murmurs, smirking like a naughty little bitch.
“Deal.”
As if beckoned by a mere mention of her existence, Barbie plops down where Monroe once sat. She steals a sweaty beer bottle from the table and places it against her jaw.
“This is her fault,” Mom says, gesturing toward my honey.
“Bull-fucking-shit,” Monroe replies before I can defend her. “I just arrived in Elko a month ago. You had plenty of time to put these people in their place before I ever got here. Instead, you slacked off for decades and let these shitheads get away with their crap. However, you raised a wonderful son, so I’ll forgive your laziness in other matters.”
“Bitch,” Mom grumbles, smiling behind her beer bottle. “I wanted a sweet girl for Conor.”
Topanga bursts into laughter before switching to tears. Finally, she descends into a weird mix of both. Pixie frowns while Lana hugs the crying woman.
“I wanted today to be pleasant,” Topanga says, wiping tears from her cheek.
“But you knew Taryn wanted to upset Monroe,” Pixie says, refusing to edit herself. “And what Taryn wants, she gets.”
“Stupid little bitch,” Mom grumbles.
Pixie narrows her dark eyes and growls, “You’re stupid.”
“I meant Taryn,” Barbie explains.
“Oh, then you’re very smart.”
Accustomed to the hippie’s ways, Mom smiles. “What’s the point of them doing stupid shit? Taryn ain’t finding a man any faster by acting like a cunt at the community parties. Wyatt won’t be president even if he breaks your brain,” she mutters, reaching over to rub my head. “It’s just noise. That’s why I punched Bambi. She should have raised her kids better.”
Frowning, I suddenly become aware that Lowell and Anders are missing. Bronco returned to the bloody mess I made, but I don’t know where his sidekicks went.
“They took the women outside to cool down,” Pixie explains and waves toward Barbie. “They were making too many screeching noises.”
“I don’t screech,” Mom grumbles at Pixie.
Pixie looks ready to reenact my mother’s noises. Instead, she just smiles.
“I want people to treat you well,” Topanga says, reaching across the small round table and patting Monroe’s hand.
Without missing a beat, my honey replies, “Because it’s a sign of respect for you?”
“No, because your life was difficult before coming here. I wanted you to have more now.”
Monroe looks at me and frowns. Yeah, Topanga is good at laying on the guilt. Monroe sighs and glances at her step-mom.
“I appreciate that, but you have to understand that I don’t give a crap about these people. I didn’t care about Uncle Clive’s minions, either. My heart focuses on the people who mean everything to me while the rest of the world is just noise.”
“Can I be one of the special people?” Pixie asks, making Topanga frown. “I warned you about the vagina move not working.”
Monroe smiles wider. “Of course, you’re one of those special people. Everyone at this table and their immediate families are those people.”
I snort when she emphasizes “immediate” and glance back at where Wyatt once bled. The rift between Bambi and Mom widened after Lana arrived. The anger was always there, stemming from a rotten childhood and temperamental personalities.
Then, Mom freaked out on Lana, and Bambi took Bronco’s side. After Mom started her medication, Bronco and Lana made up with her. Yet, the sisters remained hostile toward each other. Just recently, I’ve accepted their lingering hostility comes from them having sons who want the same job.
I always assumed Bambi understood how Bronco would never hand over control of the club to Wyatt. Or that the other founding members wouldn’t follow my cousin. He’s too rude, and these men feel entitled to a certain level of respect. They fought and bled to offer us this comfortable community. A little ass-kissing is expected, but Wyatt owns an explosive temper and a big fat mouth. People thought his shit was adorable when he was little. During family or club functions, he’d start cursing and making threats. People laughed at his temper because he was small and powerless. Now, he’s all grown up, and it’s no longer funny.
But maybe I’ve read the club’s vibe wrong. Bronco and Rooster saved Wyatt’s ass when I was beating it, but they didn’t do shit when it looked like I would lose. Lowell and Anders are outside, babying Bambi rather than in here with their women and my mom. Has the tide turned against me? Was it always going that way, or did something change?
Suddenly, ditching Elko with Monroe no longer feels like such a wild choice.
MONROE
After the fight, Conor nurses more than a mild concussion
. I sense him working shit out, plotting maybe. Though he’s difficult to read, I get the feeling he wants to leave the party.
But I insist we stay. Not for the free food and booze or to shake our asses on the dance floor. We can’t leave because that’s what certain assholes want.
“Never give your enemies anything to celebrate,” Uncle Clive would tell his sons.
Sitting at another table are my enemies—Wyatt, Taryn, and DeAnna. They want to leave but refuse to back down to me. Wyatt’s face is all fucked up with his eyes nearly swollen shut. DeAnna whines about her broken nose. Taryn nurses her wounds by sucking on a beer bottle. Bambi and Rooster sit with them. There is a silent understanding that they deserve to be here while I don’t.
Well, fuck that shit! Lowell Sinema helped build this club. Conor’s father was a founding member, too. Barbie helps run the trucking business and gives Bronco plenty of input. I learn this last fact once the booze hits her system, and she tells me three times.
Barbie and Conor are Executioners royalty. No way should they back down. Besides, I have no interest in bowing to those assholes. Even in Minton, I hated backing down, which is why I had to run. If I stuck around, pushing and poking at Clive, he would have needed to end me.
Many of the people currently around me are probably dangerous, too. The kind of power the Executioners possess doesn’t come from asking nicely. They’re violent people, and I could die here just as easily as in Minton.
But I’m not afraid of them. Clive was a real, flesh-and-blood threat to me. These people feel like extras in a show I’m not sure I plan to finish.
“We should get back home,” Lowell says, appearing next to Topanga.
Instantly, I decide to dance. Sure, some of it is my need to play a teenager pissed at her daddy. However, I also like the song “Long Cool Woman (In a Black Dress)” playing over the speakers.
I ask a bored Pixie if she wants to dance. Conor is too busy pretending as if his head doesn’t hurt.
Anders smiles at the sight of his woman and me walking to the empty dance floor. Pixie sways—hippie-style—to the music. I shake my ass—stripper-style—next to her. We’re in our own worlds, and I’m fairly certain neither of us is actually moving to the beat.
Despite my terrible dancing, Conor wears a smile. His bedroom eyes remind me of how easily he’ll remove my dress soon.
Even with a pounding headache, he joins me on the dance floor. His hands go straight to my ass and remain there while we sway to “Is This Love.”
“Yes,” he says and carefully kisses my battered lips with his busted ones.
“All day long,” I murmur before our tongues make speaking impossible.
Nearby, Pixie climbs Anders, who doesn’t really dance as much as hold her like a kid and sway back and forth. Somehow, all this lovey-dovey stuff doesn’t get the rest of the party onto the dance floor. No one even dry humps in a corner. Then again, maybe the horny ones already left.
“Not to interrupt,” Topanga interrupts two songs later. “But we’re heading to Bronco’s house for a nightcap. Barbie is joining us. Are you two coming?”
Conor pries his gaze away from me and says, “We’ll be over when we finish making the room jealous.”
A grinning Topanga hurries to join her fleeing husband. Watching them go, I pout despite my pained lips.
“My father doesn’t like me,” I mutter.
“I’m not sure mine liked me, either,” Conor says, too buzzed on pain pills to lie. “He thought I was soft.”
“You are soft,” I say, sliding my fingers inside his shirt through the openings between the shirt buttons. “Hot too.”
“This party is dying. Even the giant and his hippie honey are bailing,” Conor says and tilts his head toward where the couple disappears out the door. “Why don’t we head to my house? We’ll grind out a few hard orgasms before joining the gang at Bronco’s. Then, we’ll return to my house and fuck more. Afterward, we’ll watch a movie and then fool around in the Jacuzzi tub. Finally, we’ll sleep.”
“I stopped listening at the ‘hard orgasms’ part, but, yeah, sure. I’ll go wherever you go.”
“Promise?” he asks, suddenly overly serious.
Conor’s intensity forces the music and people to fall away. There’s only him and me.
“When I find someone special,” I tell him, “they imprint on my heart. I love them so completely that I never feel right again without them. You imprinted on my heart right away. No other man exists. I’ll go wherever you want and live however you need to live.”
“The universe knew its shit when it whispered in my ear about you,” he says and smiles softly.
“The universe spoke to you, and you called dibs on me as if I was the last slice of pizza,” I mutter, giving him grief because he’s still hiding his feelings behind that cool-guy exterior.
“I like how you were going to bang all the guys in the club if I didn’t,” he says, sneering at me.
“I would have sucked so much cock,” I growl, trying hard to bug out my eyes, but my head hurts too much to make the look work.
“Stop,” he whines, giving up on his overly macho routine. “You’re making my dick sad.”
“Well, let’s go to your house and find a use for its tears.”
“That sounds gross,” he teases as I return to the table where my heels hide under a chair.
“Give me a break. I headbutted a shit weasel today. That’s gonna leave a mark.”
Conor slides an arm around my shoulders and guides me away from the now empty dance floor. Everyone except the staff has left. We’re the dipshits holding up their cleaning process.
“Are you safe to drive?” I ask Conor as we walk outside to his lone Harley in the parking lot.
“Fuck no. But you can’t walk three blocks in heels.”
“Can’t you push the motorcycle while carrying me on your back?” I ask and smack his fine ass.
“Sure, on an average day, I’m fucking Superman. But I got a brain owie and need to be babied.”
“Fine, I’ll drive,” I announce and climb on. “Which button does what?”
Despite grinning, Conor clearly has no intention of letting me drive his precious motorcycle. He slides in front of me on the bike before wrapping my arms around his waist. He quickly places my hands squarely between his legs, where his erection remains half-cocked.
After a slow drive from the community clubhouse to his house, we deal with his dick problem. I consider staying in bed with his warm body rather than heading next door to Bronco’s after-party. Why deal with people when the best person is right here with me?
“You’ve got a lump,” Conor says, stroking my forehead. “I know we were fucking around with the head injury talk, but maybe we ought to stay up until midnight just to make sure nothing shady happens.”
“Then, we need to get out of this bed. Might want to stop drinking the devil’s nectar, too. I can’t promise I won’t doze off if I remain this comfortable and boozed-up.”
“Well, if we hurry, we can spend time with your dad and my mom. That ought to make you awkward and sad.”
Wanting to keep Conor awake, I look through the bag of clothes I brought over earlier. A pair of comfy beige khakis and a tan T-shirt feel good on my bruised body. Conor dresses in a black tank and jeans. He looks so sexy with all his tats on display that I have to fight the urge to crawl back into bed.
Instead, we walk from his mother’s large two-story house to Bronco’s slightly bigger one. We head around to the side gate, where I hear Tim McGraw playing on the backyard’s speakers. The first person I see is Carina wearing a cowboy hat, dancing around like a drunk redneck. Bronco and Lana watch their youngest daughter with the kind of awe that I remember from my mom. Needy lost her fucking mind when I got on the honor roll, even for a single semester. A parent’s pride is an amazing kind of magic.
That’s why I don’t mind Barbie’s need to tug Conor away from me. She loves her boy so damn much that I must feel
like a threat. Well, Barbie can baby him all she wants, but she’s a fool to think her bossiness will scare me off. Conor’s a gift, complete with a giant red bow on top, and I have no intention of giving him up.
CONOR
The after-party goes well with our smaller group. Monroe gives me future mommy vibes when she plays with my cousin, Carina, along with Pixie’s eleven-month-old daughter, Chili, and her four-year-old brother, Future.
I notice how she doesn’t have much use for the older kids. Monroe tends to connect with certain people while zoning out others. When she’s in a room with all the bunnies, I can quickly tell which girls she likes and which ones don’t register. She isn’t rude, but her warmth toward some people is so much more powerful than with others. That’s why I knew she wanted me even back when she played coy.
Tonight, her father might as well be invisible. Lowell doesn’t help by ignoring Monroe. I don’t know how the fuck we’re supposed to play miniature golf in two days as a foursome. Topanga will likely talk the entire time while I distract Monroe with casual dry humping.
“I don’t like her,” Barbie tells me as we stand near the grill and away from Monroe and the kids. “She’s all wrong.”
“Who do you imagine me with?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because everyone will fall short in your eyes. Not only because you love me so damn much. But you’re also a dick about new people,” I mutter, and Mom gives me the stink-eye. “You were hostile toward Lana. You only liked Pixie because you got along with her mom. When Anders showed up, you thought he would kill everyone. New people are always the enemy.”
“She feels cold,” Barbie insists and bumps against me. “I don’t want you loving someone who can’t love you back.”
I smile down at my mother. “Monroe is cold to you because she doesn’t like you. When she likes a person, and she fucking adores my sexy self, she’s warmer than the sun.”
Mom flashes a frown at Monroe, who doesn’t notice. She’s bouncing Chili on her lap as Future tells her about his atrium. The little girl looks like her dad—tall, blonde, blue-eyed. If not for her clothes and pink hairband, Chili could be mistaken for a boy. Her four-year-old uncle is again sporting longish hair after an attempt at a short cut. Future’s a friendly kid while Chili isn’t, but they both like Monroe. With them, her warmth is on full display.
Frost (EEMC) Page 14
