three
Patching in members was an event. One Moose enjoyed a little too much. The scent of alcohol clung to his skin as he reclined back on the old sofa propped against the back wall of his garage and watched one of their newest members, Wayne, getting the final details put on his brand new center patch.
He couldn’t help thinking that his nephew, Tanner, should have been occupying that space tonight, but the little bastard who had turned against his family was no more. He’d made sure of that.
Moose kicked back the last of his beer and washed that thought right out of his mind. There was no sense giving that little shit another second of his time. After the way he’d turned on him and his brothers, bringing their worst enemy right to their doorstep and practically handing over the key to the front door, he didn’t deserve the energy expended on him.
Tonight, Cricket was playing ink slinger. And why not. The man loved his ink, was covered in it straight down to his fingertips. He’d been practicing the art in his free-time lately, from his understanding.
It was cool to have that kind of talent in-house. Meant Moose could demand the family discount, he thought with a sly smirk.
“You’re looking a little pale there, bro,” Moose observed, and Wayne glanced from his seat to catch his eye. “You’re not gonna pass out on us, are ya?”
“Man, fuck you,” Wayne said with a laugh.
It wasn’t Wayne’s first tatt, but unless he had some hiding somewhere, the only ones Moose had ever noticed were no bigger than his thumb. Going from that to a full-back tatt was a big leap, no matter who the hell you were.
“I’m stopping after I finish some of this shading,” Cricket informed them, his focus intent on his work. “Try not to keel over before then. Makes me look bad.”
Wayne shook his head, looking all exasperated. Couldn’t blame the guy. They’d all taken their fair share of turns jabbing at him tonight. Wouldn’t be a proper patch party if they didn’t.
“I, for one, hope he faints so I can call him Scarlet,” Country remarked from across the room where he was playing a friendly game of ping-pong shots with their president, Quick.
“Why do we have to wait for him to pass out to call him that?” Quick asked. “He still needs a handle. I vote we roll with it.”
“Would you all stop busting my balls? Damn,” Wayne complained. “And I will have you know that Scarlet was a fine-ass woman with some serious cajones, okay? I could do worse.”
Everyone laughed then. Moose just grinned and took stock of his family. A man couldn’t ask for a better one, blood related or not. These men were absolutely the best people to surround yourself with. They knew how to have a good time and have your back forward and sideways. As much as he sometimes wanted to beat their asses, he wouldn’t trade ‘em. And wasn’t that what family was all about?
“What are you doing over there anyway?” Country asked Moose. “You’ve been all contemplative looking since that little girl walked out of here earlier. You got the feels or somethin’?”
Moose curled his lip and shifted to reach his phone tucked in his butt pocket. “Ain’t no feels involved, unless you’re talkin’ about the physical kind.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Then I got a whole lot of ‘em if you know what I mean.”
Country glanced around at the rest of the brothers, including them in the conversation. “Moose has been sporting some serious wood lately. I can’t even walk into a room without feeling violated.”
“Gotta be the girl, then,” Taco said, then tipped his head back to drink his beer, his playful gaze still set on Moose.
Moose raised his hand and slowly lifted his middle finger. “Y’all just mind your business. What I do or don’t do with my dick is private.”
“Not when it’s waving hello to everyone,” Quick chimed in, then plucked a ball into one of the plastic cups.
“No fuckin’ way!” Country shouted. “I swear, you’re cheating! No one drinks as much as you have tonight and keeps winning.”
Quick shrugged. “Don’t hate the player. Hate the game. Now shut your yap and drink up, brother.”
Grumbling, Country got down to it.
Moose checked the time on his phone. It was well after midnight, and he remembered how he’d told Mouse he’d be by later. It was probably well past “later” in her book, but he was just getting the night started.
He considered shooting off a quick text, maybe calling her to tell her to get ready for him, but then he figured why bother? If she wanted him like he thought she did, then she should be ready for him any hour of the day or night.
“Any of you bastards feel like driving me somewhere?”
“Business or pleasure?” Taco asked.
“Definitely pleasure.”
Taco vacated his fold-out chair as Moose lumbered to his feet. Slinging on his leather jacket, Taco jerked his head to the side. “I gotta head home anyway. I’ll give ya a lift.”
“Aw, you guys are seriously ditching us? The night is still young!” Country shouted.
Moose ignored the uttered complaints and fell into step behind Taco as they headed for the side door. “You assholes can crash inside if you need to. But y’all better make sure to clean this shit up before you leave.”
“Yes, Mommy,” he heard as he stepped out into the night. He didn’t need to look back to know what jerk-off had said it. The Southern accent tipped him off just fine.
He had some itching powder from last April fool’s that should clear that attitude right up.
Taco got into the little IROC first, then reached over to pop the lock on the passenger door. As Moose hunkered down into the cool leather seat, he said, “You ever think about upgrading? You know, power locks, windows, automatic tranny…”
Taco scoffed as if Moose had just said something truly offensive. “This baby is a fully-restored antique. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can trump her.”
“The new Camaros are pretty damn sweet is all I’m sayin’.” He loved old-fashioned muscle. As a mechanic, of course he did. It was practically a rite of passage, but he still had a healthy appreciation for the modern conveniences.
“And they’re all cheap plastic. Get in an accident? Totaled. This baby? She’s the one doing the totaling.”
Moose looked over the interior, considering his words. He’d known Taco was putting in some serious hours on the car, but he hadn’t really seen the befores, so he didn’t know much about the afters. All he knew were the stories, and according to the grapevine, Taco was skilled in automotive everything. They might have to trade notes sometime.
“She looks great,” he offered.
Taco chuckled. “You have no clue the amount of work I put into her. Hours, man. Some days, I thought I’d never get her done. She’s a beauty though. Maybe I’ll shoot you over some pictures later so you can see how far she’s come.”
“Do that,” Moose agreed.
“So where we headed?”
Up till now, they’d been driving blindly, but Moose hadn’t really been thinking about it because Taco had unknowingly headed in the right direction. Instead of trying to count the lights and point out turns, he put Angel’s address into his phone’s GPS and took the guesswork out of it for both of them.
“So you stuck on that girl, or what?” Taco asked as they took the last turnoff.
Moose stared out the window, unsure how to answer that particular question. He’d been asking himself the same lately. To be honest, he was sweet on her, but he was also thinking maybe they were getting a little too hot a little too fast.
He wanted to claim Angel in the worst way. Wanted to make shit official so no one else could come in and scoop her up, but that wasn’t good reasoning if you wanted a relationship to last…especially when he wasn’t even sure how far he wanted theirs to go. That was a lie though. He knew, but he was struggling with himself.
Short or long-term, that was the question.
To Taco, he said, “We’re just hanging out right now.”
“So nothing serious? Because it looked kind of serious when we rolled up on you two earlier.”
Moose didn’t bother trying to explain himself. “It’s the one on the corner with the flamingo.”
They didn’t live anywhere near Florida or natural flamingo habitats to warrant that kind of lawn ornament, but Angel’s twisted sense of humor or lack of decorating sense—whatever it was—made Moose smile. She was something else…
“That’s…interesting,” Taco commented with the hint of a smile in his voice.
As soon as the car rolled to a stop at the curb, Moose was up and out. “Thanks for the ride, bro,” he said before turning to march up the lawn. Was it rude of him to just cut and run? Sure the fuck was, but he had his sights and thoughts focused on one thing and one thing only. He’d be sure to tell Taco how much he appreciated his good deed another time.
Right now, he was going to make his little mouse squeak.
***
Rena had made a couple new friends. Male friends with starched, collared shirts and shiny pompadours and Converse paired with expensive, made-to-look-rugged jeans.
College boys.
She hated them.
But they had Daddy’s charge card and knew how to keep the booze flowing.
She liked that.
What she liked more was the attention of the man in the corner. He’d had his eye on her since the moment she walked through the door. She’d had hers on him too. He was laid back, dressed nicer than these wannabe loser frat boys and had that dark and dangerous vibe hanging over him. And he was exotic. She couldn’t place his origins, but it was definitely somewhere south of the border. Yum.
Several glances his way, she’d noted all that delicious caramel colored skin, that inky black hair, and those piercing eyes.
She’d always loved her brown boys.
In Rena’s experience, they were the ultra-flirts, the romantics, and the type to sweep a woman straight off her feet with just a few words and the ability to destroy her just as easily. They always knew what to say, how to say it, and no matter how big of a player they were, she never failed to fall for it.
That man had “player” written all over him.
Would that stop her from falling into his expertly-crafted web? Not a chance. She knew the instant she laid eyes on him that she was going to trip over both of her feet to get into bed with him.
If only he’d get up and come over.
She was giving him two more bad nineties songs before she went over to that table and introduced herself.
“Rena, do a shot with us!”
Matt or Max or Maddie, whatever his name was, was like a puppy begging for treats. Every time she tried to just sit and enjoy her drink, he called her over again. And Rena? Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and it would be wrong to look a gift horse in the mouth, yadda yadda.
With a put-upon smile, Rena left her barstool once again and joined the little group of barely legals. Before she could even accept a drink, though, she was grabbed around the waist and hoisted up onto the bar top.
Jack or Jake or whatever grinned down at her as he pressed a hand to the center of her chest, urging her to lie down. “You’re the centerpiece,” he said with a lascivious wink.
As they filled her bellybutton with booze, Rena sighed and rolled her eyes. Body shots. That was so college frat. And it was, ultimately, what made her decision for her.
After the boys all had their turn, Rena swung her legs over the side of the bar and hopped down, snagging the half-empty bottle of tequila on her way. “Thanks for the fun, gentlemen,” she said with a smile as she held it aloft. “But it’s time for me to grab a chair and chill. Don’t have too much fun without me.”
She didn’t entertain their half-hearted pleas for her to come back. She just kept walking.
In the direction of that dark and dangerous man in the corner whose eyes hadn’t left her for a second. How did she know that? Because she’d been watching him too.
Those eyes scanned her from head to toe and back again as she approached, and Rena couldn’t help adding a little extra oomph with each step. When she reached his table, she stood before him in all her confident glory and plunked the bottle of booze down on the wood top.
“You look like you could use a drink. Wanna help me finish this?”
“Are you lost, little girl?”
Rena. Nearly. Collapsed.
That accent was killer. Just like that cocky little half-smile that broadcasted he knew he was a badass and he wasn’t afraid to own it.
Close enough for intimate inspection, Rena noted that his suit was indeed expensive, probably tailor-made judging by how well it fit him. The shirt underneath, a blood-red silk left unbuttoned to reveal smooth, bronzed skin, was equally expensive. She’d bet even his haircut had cost him a pretty penny.
Everything about the guy screamed money. Power. And she wanted a piece of it.
With a sultry smile of her own, Rena took a chance, betting on her prowess and the way he’d been watching her all evening that he wasn’t going to shoot her down.
When she stepped to the side to slide into the booth, a man she hadn’t paid any mind to nor noticed before stepped out of nowhere, his intent clear. Rena hesitated, but Mr. Expensive lifted a casual hand to wave him off.
More cautiously than before, Rena eased down onto the vinyl and dared to edge a little closer than she probably should, testing that invisible boundary line.
Extending an arm across the back of the booth, he watched her as if she were some sort of science experiment, a curiosity he needed to satisfy.
That was okay. She needed some satisfaction too.
Up close, he was even more delicious than she’d realized. Rena felt the woman in her purr with delight and anticipation. She loved the thrill of the chase—loved to get her hands dirty and her adrenalin pumping. It’d landed her in her fair share of trouble over the years, but living life to the fullest was her goal at the end of the day. If she didn’t spend a night or two in jail now and then, she’d feel somewhat remiss.
This man beside her? He was trouble. She could feel it vibrating off him, a pulsing wave of energy aimed directly at her.
That got her heart racing.
The longer she sat there, the more Rena wanted to conquer him. Something inside her told her he was a man who was used to doing the conquering, used to dishing out the punishments, but she was determined to show him what it meant to submit.
“I’ve had my eye on you,” Rena admitted unabashedly.
Expressionless, he said, “As I have you.”
Rena’s mouth split into an uncontainable grin, and she held out her hand. “Rena Grace.”
Instead of shaking her hand, he stared at it long enough to make her uncomfortable, a feeling she wasn’t entirely used to. Just as Rena’s smile faltered and she decided to give up and retract her hand, he released the top of the booth and grabbed hold of it. Instead of shaking it, however, he cradled her fingers in his in a show of gentlemanly manners that Rena had only heard about in old romance novels and brought it to his full, lush lips.
Hovering just above her knuckles, he set those dark eyes on her and, with that sexy, accented voice said, “Manuel Contreras.”
The pause of anticipation between them seemed to suggest that he was waiting for something, maybe a specific reaction from her, but damned if Rena knew what that was. It certainly piqued her curiosity, though. Was he rich and famous? Well known around here or abroad?
Even more intrigued, Rena ran her teeth over her bottom lip and crossed her legs, angling herself toward him so her breasts played peak-a-boo. The ploy worked, and his gaze went to her cleavage before he revealed a perfect smile that did things to her body that made Rena struggle to hold back a moan.
I bet he’s amazing in bed.
“I am,” Manuel said with a cocky smile, and Rena suddenly realized she’d said that out loud.
Oopsies!
Clearing her throat, she recovered quickly and boldly said, “I can’t wait to experience it for myself.”