23

Joes

The neon sign outside the bar down the road read ‘Joes.’ They hadn’t bothered with an apostrophe. In fact, they hadn’t bothered with a lot of things, like decor or menus. Why Angel had wanted to meet here was a mystery.

He parked as close to the entrance as he could, glancing warily at the row of motorbikes parked in their allocated spots. Thirteen of them. Was that ominous enough to validate him leaving without even going inside?

But he had to have this out. Right now. And even here, in the middle of this shitty bar. Because he was done having Angel ruin his life. Bryce, he could do nothing about — the man out-maneuvered him before he even knew they were at war — but Angel was just a girl.

And that girl sat at the bar, idly swinging her legs under her as she leaned across to speak to the bartender baring ninety-percent of her thighs and the curve of her ass to the entire room and seeming oblivious to the fact.

It was the pink of thoroughly chewed bubblegum, that tiny skirt. She wore thigh-high socks or stockings — white — and a pair of military boots whose ankles were several sizes too large for her.

That he noticed from the door. The bartender glanced up when he walked closer, gave a small nod of his chin, and stepped back.

“He’s here, darling.” And with that portentous comment, the man sidled to the far right of the bar to pour a beer for one of his patrons.

Angel, still leaning on her elbows on the bar, peeked at him over her shoulder. Then she had the audacity to wink at him as she slowly lowered herself back onto her seat — almost as if she was giving him enough time to ogle her.

Almost as if she hadn’t just fucked his brother. And, according to Bryce, enjoyed it.

He nearly didn’t have the strength of will to take a seat beside her. As it was, he moved stiffly and awkwardly onto the bar stool, meshing his hands and keeping them in a white-knuckled grip as he forced himself not to look at Angel.

“You even play tennis, Mr. Sugar?” she asked, sweet as melting sugar.

He caught the barman’s eye and stared intently at the man as he ambled closer.

“What’ll be?”

“Gin and tonic.”

The barman shrugged, as if he’d do his best to try and locate a bottle of gin, but that he wasn’t making any promises with the tonic.

“You said we had to talk.” Drew turned to her then, his neck muscles as tight as his jaw. “So talk.”

Angel watched him silently for a few seconds, running a pink-painted fingernail around the rim of her glass. Something milky had been in there; the foamy bubbles of what might have been a milkshake clung to the bottom.

“I got a visitor today.” She dipped her head and made a hellish noise with her straw until Drew yanked the glass away from her. Licking her lips, Angel pressed against the bar with both hands and crossed her legs at him. “You never told me you had a twin.”

“Yeah?” Drew kept one elbow on the table and meshed his fingers again, turning to face her. “If I had, then you would’ve have fucked him?”

There was the tiniest flinch in her eyes, but she covered it up by fidgeting with the end of her ponytail. Her short-sleeved blouse was barely buttoned up to the point of decency. When she leaned forward, he could see between the slopes of her breasts and the lacy trim of her bra.

“Whatever he told you, it isn’t true.”

“Really?” Drew blinked hard at her, affecting surprise. “So he didn’t pay you to have sex with him?”

She looked away then, toyed with the straw she retrieved from her empty glass. “He’s out to get you, Mr. Sugar.”

He grabbed the back of her chair and leaned close. “Christ, you think?” Drew threw a sidelong glance at the other people inside the bar — only a handful had bothered to glance up at the sound of his raised voice. He bumped the side of his hand against Angel’s shoulder until she was looking at him. “Can we get out of here?”

“So you can shout at me? Thanks, but no thanks.” Her eyes slid past him, and she broke into a wide smile. “Plus, I get free drinks here.”

Drew’s elbow slid from the counter as he turned to accept the gin and tonic from the bartender. The man coasted another milkshake over to Angel and then held out his hand to Drew. “Eighteen bucks.”

“For a gin and tonic?” Drew cleared his throat, gave a small laugh. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“For three shakes, and a gin and tonic.”

Drew glared at Angel, but she ignored him as she bent over her new glass and began kicking out her leg in time to whatever beat played inside her twisted head. He yanked out his wallet and tossed a twenty at the bartender. “Keep the change,” he mumbled.

“Was planning to,” the man said with a small, sharklike grin before he strode away again.

“Thought you drank for free,” he said as he wrestled his cigarettes from his jacket and lit one.

“I do.” Angel fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Daddy always pays.”

Drew threw another glance around — Jesus, it felt like every low-life in the place was staring a hole through his head — and leaned closer to the girl. “Don’t call me that.”

“You’d prefer Sir? Master?”

Drew straightened, gave her another glare as he tugged hard at his cigarette. Not that she seemed in the least affected by them. “I’d prefer it if you weren’t in my house.” Smoke jettisoned from his mouth with each heated word. “I’d prefer it if I never even fucking met you. I’d prefer it if you never knew I existed.”

She watched him for a long moment, sucking silently at her straw. Then she pushed away the drink with her fingertips and leaned toward him. He sat back in a rush, thinking she was going to kiss him, and her lips twitched as if she wanted to smile. But then her expression became serious and she beckoned him with quick fingertips.

When he didn’t move, she frowned. “You want everyone to hear?”

He flicked ash from the tip of his cigarette. From the corner of his eye, Drew saw the bartender pausing in the act of drying a beer mug. So he inhaled a poor excuse for a calming breath and bent forward sliding his hand around the back of her chair for balance.

Angel put her mouth to his ear. “He made a video of us screwing. Asked me to call him Drew. I don’t know why, but it seemed harmless so—”

A chuckle vibrated from the pit of his stomach. He dipped his head and squeezed his eyes shut with a hand, resting his elbow on the back of her chair as he did. That laugh transformed into something ugly and deep and loud.

He cut it off just before it became hysterical.

Angel’s eyes were wide and frightened when he glanced up at her again. He took a long, slow pull at his cigarette and blew out a pale stream toward the bar floor. That laugh — stemmed from the incredulity of this moment, this girl’s naivety — had stoked a choking-hot anger fathoms deep inside him.

“Want to know where I just came from, Angel?” He laid his hand on her shoulder, on the curve of her neck. She tensed under his fingers, but so briefly he could have imagined it. “Go on.” With his other hand, he took his gin and put it to his mouth.

Angel’s blue eyes flashed to that drink, watching intently as he downed it. Watching it go back on the bar counter. Watching him tap his nail against it to summon the bartender.

“Your… house?”

“Correct.” He turned his attention away from her so he could slowly crush his cigarette into the ashtray. “But before that? Go on… I’ll give you three guesses, sweetheart.”

She licked her lips and took a small sip from her milkshake, lowering her eyes.

“The neighbor?”

He flinched at that, gave Angel a sidelong look as he slid his glass off the counter.

She looked up at him, licked her lips again. Shook her head.

“No? Nothing?” Drew turned his attention to the bartender, giving the man a grim smile as he topped up his drink.

He took a few long swallows of his gin, grimacing at the sourness, and then put his glass down again. He tightened his grip on her neck, drawing her close enough that she would feel his words brushing her lips when he spoke.

“Trent & Morgan. My office, sweetheart. I’ve just been fired.”