by Ivy Riggs
secrets
In Sunset Beach
IVY RIGGS
Secrets in Sunset Beach
Book 2
Ivy Riggs
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Copyright © 2020 by Ivy Riggs - All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of Ivy Riggs.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Warning: This book contains sexual situations and other adult themes that may not be appropriate for readers under the age of 18.
You can find Ivy on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, or contact her by email at [email protected].
Summary
Derick and Heather are blissfully happy in the throes of their new relationship. As the tourist season in Sunset Beach ramps up, Derick is settling into his new job at Heather’s bar, and they are adjusting to working together and getting over the issues that had cropped up in their past.
After Derick turned in his cousin, Jimmy, for stealing Heather's father's Corvette, he thought that was the end of it. Money is tighter than ever, but he's getting by. That is until a new player appears – a man named Mike, one of Jimmy's crew, who seems intent on figuring out who turned in his boss and got him sent to prison.
Mike wants revenge, and Derick wants to keep Heather out of it. It's his problem and his fight. But when that fight comes to his home turf, how long can Derick keep his secrets?
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
D erick Fischer looked up, smiling in thanks as Marcos emerged from the back room with a fresh tray of clean glasses. The Hummingbird was packed to the gills, and Heather had told Derick he'd be working the bar alone tonight. It had been three months since Derick had his first pathetic night on the other side of this very bar, landing himself a job offer, steady income, and eventually Heather herself. Derick was confident enough and fast enough now to be able to work the bar on his own, even in the deepest trenches of Sunset Beach's tourist season, but he still appreciated Marcos bringing him up glasses so he didn't have to go in the back to get them.
God only knew what their patrons would do if left unsupervised. They were opportunistic at best and a lot of them were familiar enough with the Hummingbird, and Heather, to assume a familiarity that didn't fly with Derick.
"Thanks, man," Derick said.
Marcos grinned at him, teeth shining in the blacklight above the bar that made most of the liquids stacked along the shelves glow as though alien. He saluted Derick and took the full tray of dirty glasses Derick handed him, disappearing back into the relative haven of the washroom.
"Derick!"
Derick's head snapped up as he set the glasses down, smiling when he saw Jake waving him over from the far end of the bar. Since it was the height of tourist season, he and his brother were raking in good money, and Jake had begun to fill out and gain his normal seasonal tan from spending so much time on the water.
"Hey, man, can you spot me a twenty? I've found a mark to warm up."
Derick sighed. Jake's main job was giving surfing lessons and running one of the board and jet ski rentals on the beach, and he supplemented that with hustling pool, darts, or whatever he could convince some hapless innocent to play with him. Derick reached into his pocket, pulling out a roll of tips – he was allowed to keep all of them on solo nights – and handed his brother two tens.
People were generous in Sunset Beach. They could certainly afford to be.
"Be careful," he said, knowing the words were falling on deaf ears. Jake had been hustling since he was old enough to get away with a fake ID, and it was doubtful he'd slip up any time soon. He had a habit of getting overconfident and pushing a mark too far, but at least he was doing it somewhere Derick could keep an eye on him.
Jake grinned at him, lopsided and dimpled, and disappeared into the crowd again. Derick sighed, pocketing his money again, and plastered a charming smile on his face as a group of girls waved him over, giggling and falling over each other in the middle of the bar.
The night passed swiftly, as it often did when the bar was so packed. Derick lost himself to the swirl of Cosmos, daiquiris, mojitos, and Jack and Cokes that were requested of him, once again thankful for Marcos, who diligently kept his glassware stocked, cleared out full trays of dirty ones, and did the occasional sweep of empty bottles Derick had gone through, replacing the cocktail mixers and juices with fresh open ones with an easy-pour top whenever he noticed one was done.
A lull came around nine, which was fairly typical, and Marcos once again helped Derick wipe down the bar, empty and re-line the trash cans, and refill the bowls of peanuts and olives. Derick brought out a cutting board and a bowl of fresh limes, quartering them easily, one eye still on the door in anticipation of the next rush.
Beside him, Marcos sliced oranges into thin slices for beers and garnish on cocktails. "Thanks," Derick said, nodding gratefully to him. Marcos grinned. "How long you been working for Heather?"
Marcos hummed, head tilted, his eyes still on his sharp knife as he continued to cut without pause. "About three years now," he said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. Derick blinked, surprised and impressed. Marcos had the kind of face where he could be twelve or forty; it was hard to tell, though Derick knew from Heather that Marcos was working here to pay his way through school.
"So you hate it, then," Derick teased.
Marcos laughed. He was a man of few words, but his smile spoke a thousand. "Can't stand the place," he replied with a wink.
Derick's attention was drawn as Jake approached the bar again, a crisp twenty pinched between his fore and middle finger. "Here you go, man," he said brightly, and Derick took it, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans along with the rest of the tips he'd gotten so far.
"Good harvest?" Derick asked, finishing with the limes and setting the knife and cutting board on the back of the bar, out of reach of patrons.
Jake sighed, sliding into place on a bar stool. He tugged a bowl of peanuts to him, grabbing a handful and shoving them into his mouth. "Broke even," he said around his mouthful, and Derick frowned at him, surprised. It wasn't unheard of, but it was surprising. "They brought in a ringer last round."
"Damn," Derick muttered. Rent was due at the end of the week, and it was going to be tight. Since their cousin and roommate, Jimmy, had been caught stealing the wrong car and sent to jail, it was getting harder and harder to make ends meet. Jimmy made his money dealing drugs and stealing cars, and while Derick hadn't approved of it, he'd had to accept it for the privilege of things like being able to afford food.
Until he'd stolen Rod Montgomery's Corvette. Derick could forgive a lot of things, look the other way for a lot more, but going after Heather's family had been the last straw. He didn't know if Jimmy knew he'd been the one to turn him in, or at least point the finger, but Jimmy was smart, for all his flaws. There weren't a lot of people in paradise who
'd have rolled over on him. And Derick doubted that Jimmy would blame Jake.
Beside him, Marcos abruptly went still. "Heads up," he murmured, and Derick looked to the door, tension rolling down his shoulders as he saw the new trio who had entered. They were all men, huge and wearing wife-beaters tucked into ripped-up jeans. They had tribal tattoos all down their arms and on their necks. Tears tattooed on their cheeks to indicate hard time spent.
Derick pressed his lips together. "Jake," he said quietly, using his big-brother tone that brooked no argument; "Leave."
Jake glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening. He scrambled off the barstool and gave the trio a wide berth as they entered, spreading out like wolves ready to corral and hunt down their prey to the killing field. The leader, who was the tallest but the least muscled, grinned at Derick and sauntered over. Derick didn't see any weapon on him, and with what he was wearing, there wasn't much place to hide something like a gun, but the bruising on the guy's knuckles suggested he wasn't above using his fists as a weapon.
"Evening," the stranger purred, taking Jake's place as his lackeys continued around the perimeter. "I'm looking for Derick Fischer."
"Who's asking?" Derick replied.
"I am." The man grinned wide enough for Derick to see that his canines had been capped with gold and shaped to look like fangs. He held his hand out, tattoos along his knuckles reading the word HARD. On his other hand was the word TIME. "Name's Mike. I'm a friend of Jimmy's."
Derick's eyes narrowed. He shook Mike's hand. "Nice to meet you, Mike," he said with forced calm. "Can I get you a drink?"
"That depends," Mike said, eyes narrowing in mimic. "You Derick?"
"If you're a friend of Jimmy's, I'm sure you already know the answer to that."
Mike grinned widely. "I guess so." He rubbed his hand over his clean-shaven scalp. "You see, I haven't seen Jimmy around for a while. Wanted to know if anything happened to him."
"He was arrested," Derick said flatly.
Mike's eyes flashed black in the low light. He tilted his head. "That so?"
"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" Derick asked. Beside him, Marcos shifted closer. Marcos was a big guy too, though more of a gentle giant as far as Derick knew. His fingers flexed where they lay flat on the bar, and he lifted his eyes to see that Mike's henchmen had finished rounding the bar and had come, now, to flank their leader. Three against two weren't great odds, but they were in a public place, and Derick wasn't above reaching behind him to grab for the knife or smashing a goddamn bottle over one of their heads if that's what it took.
Mike eyed Derick and then looked Marcos up and down. His smile widened, and he hissed a pitchy laugh, shaking his head and standing. "No problem at all," he said with a wolfish grin, showing those ridiculous fang caps again.
"Good," Derick said, keeping his voice even but low enough to be registered as a warning.
"I'll be seeing you around, Derick," Mike said with a tip of an invisible cap. "You have a good night."
Derick glared at the trio's backs as they turned and left, and once the door shut behind them, he let out an explosive breath. He could feel Marcos' curious eyes on the side of his face and managed a weak smile, hoping to reassure him. "Comes with the territory, right?" he asked.
He thought of what might have happened if Heather had been working tonight, and a shudder ran down his spine. Heather took no shit, and she was the known owner and master of the Hummingbird, but she was also a woman and much smaller than Marcos and Mike and his friends. Jimmy's friends weren't exactly the kind of people you would trust with a woman alone.
Jake slunk back into view, his cell phone clasped in his hand. "Do I need to call someone?" he stage-whispered to Derick.
Derick shook his head. It had been a message – testing the waters, eyeing the herd for weakness. Jimmy's friends didn't enter new territory without scoping the place out first. They would be back, of that he was sure, but not tonight.
He drummed his fingers against the bar and sighed as the doors opened again, revealing the first of the evening rush. "No," he finally said, shaking his head. "We're good. But you're coming home with me, Jake. Don't leave yet."
Jake nodded, brow creased with concern, and hovered around the bar the rest of the night, where Derick could keep an eye on him.
Chapter Two
"D o my eyes deceive me? Is that none other than Heather Montgomery at my doorstep?"
Heather rolled her eyes, grinning as Chasity put the back of her hand to her forehead and slumped against the doorframe in a dramatic faint. "I can see you got started without me," she said, shouldering her way in past her friend and into Chasity's apartment. Chasity lived in one of those giant sprawling mansions that had been converted into smaller pieces of a larger pie to be rented off in chunks – overstuffed wardrobe notwithstanding, Chasity was not a particularly material girl. She favored good times over fancy stuff.
So she didn't have enough things to fill a house, certainly not one of the larger mansions on Sunset Beach, which hosted the rich and semi-famous who had tired of Los Angeles and moved up to the beautiful haven.
Chasity pouted, closing the door behind them both, and skipped down the narrow hallway behind Heather so that they both emerged into the living room at the same time. Chasity took Heather's overnight bag with a pointed look and threw it on her broad, deep-set, black leather couch, which gleamed dully under the halo of fairy lights Chasity used instead of normal overheads to light her apartment. The couch was an L-shape and dominated the room, sitting like a big shadowy smile in the soft-lit space. Chasity had a projector instead of a television, and a single blank wall opposite the couch onto which she could project her favorite movies and shows, which she streamed from her laptop. Right now, there was a live feed to MTV's Spring Break down in Florida.
Heather raised a brow and silently accepted Chasity's offering of an open beer. "What, did you catch up on your marathon of Drag Race?"
Chasity laughed, sprawling across her long, wide couch on her belly. Her tiny shorts rode up to show the tan line on her ass, pink tank top riding up to expose a slip of her back. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and blew a note on her open beer bottle. "I like watching this," she replied. Heather obeyed Chasity's inviting finger waggle, sitting down on the couch and crossing her legs. Chasity rolled onto her back, her head in Heather's lap, and blinked up at her with faux innocent eyes. "We should go down there one year."
"I'm not leaving the Hummingbird for essentially the same thing as what happens here," Heather replied with another indulgent smile, absently wrapping one of Chasity's loose curls around her finger. The Red Hummingbird was Heather's bar, and her pride and joy – as the owner and manager of it, she would never leave it for longer than a night. Even with Derick and Marcos helping her now. She'd go crazy if she didn't get a frontline view of what was going on in her own backyard.
Chasity's lips pursed in a pout, and she sat up, moving to sit in a mimic of Heather, her legs crossed, elbows on her knees as she nursed at her beer. "I guess," she relented and sighed, propping her head up on her hand as she gazed longingly at the camera shot of miles of sandy beaches covered in a hoard of young tourists in barely legal beach attire.
"You could go," Heather said, taking a long pull from her beer. She grimaced at the taste – she loved Chasity to death, but by God, the girl had never gotten a decent sense of taste in alcohol, and she likely never would. Chasity liked anything that tasted like candy with a high percentage of alcohol, and that extended to her beer. Heather wouldn't be surprised to find out that this particular brew came from one of the locals who figured themselves a philanthropist, brewing his shit in his bathroom or in a shed out in the woods. "Knowing you, you'd get by."
"But what good is going hunting without my wingman?" Chasity teased, throwing a wink Heather's way.
Heather rolled her eyes – Chasity had never needed help finding someone to give her their time and attention.
At her silence
, Chasity let out another exasperated sigh, leaning forward to set her beer down on her little glass coffee table. "Girl talk time!" she crowed, clapping her hands together. She turned and fixed Heather with her full attention. "How are things? I feel like I never see you anymore."
Heather arched a brow. "You see me every night at the bar," she replied with a laugh but set her beer down as well.
"Yeah, but now you're busy all other times sneaking around with your boy toy." Heather blinked at her, and Chasity grinned. "You thought I didn't know? Oh, honey, you practically stink of dick these days. It's Derick, isn't it?"
Heather blushed, and Chasity squealed. "I knew it! You both put out enough pheromones to start mating season! Tell me everything."
"I'm not going to have you objectifying my boyfriend."
"Honey, that ship has sailed," Chasity replied with a dismissive wave. Her hand froze in midair, and her eyes widened. "Wait. Boyfriend?"
Heather's blush deepened, and she nodded.
"Oh, my God, you absolute bitch, you've been holding out on me! Now, we have to talk about it," Chasity insisted, patting Heather's knee in a quick flutter. "When did it happen? How did it happen? No, actually, tell me first – is he good? I bet he's good. I bet he's all attentive and sweet." She sighed wistfully, biting her lower lip. "That boy is practically made to show a girl a good time."
Heather sighed. It was impossible to argue or dissuade Chasity when she got like this. She was like a dog with a bone when it came to intimate details of Heather's sex life. And, admittedly, before Derick, it had been a pretty long dry spell. She supposed she could indulge her friend a little.
"He's very good," she admitted, thinking of the first time they'd had sex and the many, many times after. Chasity wasn't wrong – Derick was definitely more than willing to let Heather take the lead, showing him what she liked, and he was a quick study, as quick as he'd been when learning the ropes at the bar. It was a rare night when he didn't have her shaking with pleasure before he even got inside her, and the way he held her, their eyes meeting in the dark…
