Devil's Kiss: Widowmakers MC Part 11

"Hey, girl, I heard you were looking for me and Stick?" Stacy says, pushing the door open behind me. s.h.i.t. I quickly try to wipe my eyes. Too late. "Oh, no, what's wrong? What happened?" she asks, taking one look at my face.

"It's nothing," I say, but talking just releases a whole new wave of crying. She wraps her arm around me and grabs a tissue from her purse.

"Deep breaths," she instructs me. I nod and my crying eases a little. "What's going on?" she asks, a worried frown creasing her pretty face.

"I...I don't know how to talk about it," I reply, though I'm aching to.

"Is it...is it something to do with West?" she asks cautiously. I gape at her.

"How do you-? Oh no, does Stick know?" I whisper.

"I don't think so," she says, "I think he's a little suspicious. Hard to tell, because this week has been so crazy."

"Oh my G.o.d, I'm sorry," I groan, "I feel like such an a.s.shole. Tonight's supposed to be about you, and here I am making a scene."

"Forget it!" she says, "I've had enough attention for one night. So tell me, what happened?" She places her hands on my shoulder and examines my face carefully. I smile gratefully at her.

"Well, West and I have been...you know," I finally admit, "I actually always had a crush on him, to be honest. And I know he's a player, so I told him we were just gonna hook up while Stick was out of town on that run. And it was great, wonderful, really. But now that Stick's back, it's like the whole thing never happened, you know? I just feel like such an idiot, Stacy."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," Stacy says, wrapping her arms around me.

"I'm so stupid," I murmur into her shoulder.

"You're not," she says, pulling me back and wiping a tear away with her thumb. "West just maybe isn't the best guy to get attached to," she adds gently. I nod. She's right. "Stick and I are about to leave anyway because he says it's getting too crazy for me here, so let me just grab him and then we'll go home together, OK?"

"Hey, would you mind..." I begin.

"Don't worry, I won't tell him," she promises. "Just use that tissue, otherwise he's gonna know something's up."

Fifteen minutes later, Stick, Stacy, and I are driving home in the Tahoe. Well, we're actually being driven home by one of the prospects, because no way Stick was staying sober at his own G.o.dd.a.m.n party.

I'm able to stay unnoticed in the back because Stick got pretty wasted and is even more belligerent and talkative than usual. Definitely not the time to ask him about the "car trouble", even if I wanted to draw attention to myself right now. Stacy reaches over and quietly rubs my arm every once in a while. When we pull up to the house, she supports Stick, who's weaving back and forth, as they walk inside, and I pull up the rear.

As they head into the bedroom, Stacy laughing at Stick's drunken antics, I close my bedroom door behind me, grateful to be by myself. My body suddenly feels sore and exhausted, as though I've just come back from running a marathon. I pull my cute outfit off and pull my oversized t-shirt over my head.

I slip in between the covers, and turn the radio on my alarm clock on quietly. I need to listen to something other than the thoughts in my head right now.

Chapter Seventeen.

Olive I toss and turn in the morning, drifting out of sleep but willing myself back into unconsciousness. I can vaguely hear voices coming from the kitchen, and cabinets opening and closing. Finally, I stretch, unable to stay in bed any longer even though I don't really want to face the day quite yet.

Morning could not be less welcome to me right now. I slept badly, and don't feel at all rested. My dreams were filled with images of Richard and West, their faces blurring disturbingly together. I grab a pair of sweat pants and wrap a robe around myself. My muscles feel old and my joints feel creaky. I can't believe I have to work tonight-though I was lucky to have Franchise give me last night off to go to the party.

I reluctantly open the door to the hallway and pad into the kitchen. Stacy and Stick are sitting together on the couch, laughing at something on TV.

"Afternoon!" Stick calls out sarcastically.

"Yeah, yeah," I reply, rummaging around in the cabinet for some cereal. I hear the mail coming through the slot in the front door. Jeez, I really did sleep late. I pour myself a bowl and take it into the living room, curling up in the armchair. I can see Stacy glancing at me out of the corner of my eye.

"How much did you drink last night?" Stick asks. "You look like h.e.l.l."

"Stick!" Stacy protests, kicking him.

"Thanks, big brother," I say with a saccharine smile.

"I'm not trying to be rude or anything!" he laughs, standing up and walking over to the front door.

"Oh, OK, then. As long as you're not being rude," I say.

Stick grins, bending down to pick up the mail. "Jesus, Stacy, did you already subscribe to a bridal magazine?" he asks, holding up magazine with a blushing bride on the cover.

"Maybe," she replies, blushing herself.

I stare at the TV, trying to zone out. At least there's no sign of West yet. I wonder if he even slept here last night. The thought causes a little bile to rise in my throat and I drop my spoon in my bowl.

As if he's wondering the same thing, Stick asks, "Either of you know if West slept here last night?"

His voice is oddly quiet, and something in it makes me glance up. He's staring down at a manila envelope in his hands-which I realize are actually shaking.

"Yeah, I think he's still asleep," Stacy replies, then glances up at him. She tenses as she studies his expression. "Honey, what's wrong?"

He doesn't reply, just flips through the contents of the envelope.

"Stick?" I ask, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Something feels very wrong, here.

Suddenly, he looks up at me, his eyes dark and angry. He tosses the envelope and the papers with it into the air in my direction, then turns and storms away.

"What are you doing?" Stacy, asks, alarmed. I stand up, grabbing one of the papers that Stick threw down. They're photos, I realize, as I touch the closest one. I turn it over, and my heart feels like it's going to explode.

It's a picture of West and me in this very living room, having rather enthusiastic s.e.x. f.u.c.k.

I bolt after Stacy and Stick. I hear yelling, and make it into the hallway in time to see Stick practically rip West's door off its hinges and throw himself onto West, who's just sitting up in bed in surprise.

"You f.u.c.ker!" Stick screams as he grabs West and throws him out of bed. Stacy is covering her face by the doorway. Stick lands a wild punch and West's head snaps back.

"Stop!" I yell, bounding into the room. West quickly shakes off the blow, but Stick lands another. Before Stick can reset, West tackles him, driving him to the floor. They roll over in a blur of skin, each landing strikes. I throw myself on Stick, grabbing his arm as he tries to shake me off.

In his fury, he loses track of his strength. His hand flies up and smacks me across the face. I go flying back and hit the corner of the bed with a thud. I hear Stacy scream unintelligibly and all I can see are stars. I blink rapidly, trying to stand. I'm vaguely aware that the men aren't fighting anymore. I feel Stacy kneel at my side.

"Oh my G.o.d, Olive, are you OK?" she whispers.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I rea.s.sure her, and struggle to my feet.

West and Stick are glaring at each other across the room, their chests heaving.

"What the f.u.c.k, West?!" Stick spits out.

West glances at me, keeping his mouth closed tight.

"Stick, I'm an adult," I say, trying to calm my brother down. "It's got nothing to do with you."

"You told him? Are you f.u.c.king crazy?" West asks me, frowning.

"No!" I snap at him. "Someone sent him pictures of us." And I have a very bad feeling that I know who it was.

"Who the f.u.c.k would do that?" West asks.

"That's not the f.u.c.king point. I trusted you!" Stick yells at him. "I let you into my home and you go behind my back and f.u.c.k my f.u.c.king little sister?!"

"Stick, it doesn't matter, it's over anyway!" I break in.

"Yeah, no s.h.i.t it's over," Stick growls, "You've got three days to find a new place to live, West. We're done." Stick storms out of the room and down the hall, Stacy running after him.

West and I stand looking at each other, both exhausted and bleeding. It's strange to feel such a chasm between us when we were so close just a week ago.

I drop my eyes and head back into the living room. I'm just in time to see Stacy and Stick peeling out of the driveway in the Tahoe. The pictures are still all over the living room where Stick tossed them. I pick them up, wincing at each one, and stuff them back into the envelope. I take them back into my bedroom and shut the door behind me.

Turning the manila envelope over in my hands, I see that there's no return address. But this feels like something Richard would do. G.o.d, I can't believe he was watching us that whole time. Every intimate moment captured on camera. I feel so dirty, so violated.

A couple hours later, and I'm headed to my shift at the Black Rock in a taxi, since my ride stormed off. Tomorrow, I'll have to sit down with Stick and tell him about Richard Lees, but right now, neither he nor Stacy are answering their phones, and West is holed up in his bedroom with the door closed. Not that I want to talk to him anyway. I touch my split lip gently with my fingers. It's still swollen from where Stick accidentally cracked it open, but I was able to hide most of the redness with makeup.

If Richard has followed me here, I'll need to get in touch with the Nevada police. Maybe it would be a good idea to move out of the house first. I don't want to attract police attention to my brother's club. It would be best to separate myself first. Or maybe I should call Richard's lieutenant, see if there's anything he can do. I rub my temples. I feel a fierce headache coming on.

The taxi pulls up at the alley leading into the Black Rock and I look around cautiously as I enter. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. But what if there were other things besides the truck and the pictures? Things that Stick and West didn't tell me about because they attributed them to the Devils MC?

My headache is now quite real as I stash my bag behind the bar and get started on my side work. Colleen comes in a few minutes later and takes an alarmed look at my swollen face.

"Hey, don't worry about it. You can take some of my shifts if you need to," she rea.s.sures me.

"Sorry, what?" I ask.

"Oh. I just...Franchise took you off the schedule after next week," she tells me, "I thought you saw it. I mean, you look kind of upset or something."

"Oh, no, yeah, I just...thanks. That's really sweet of you." I grab an empty box and head down to the stock room to fill it up. s.h.i.t. I can't believe Franchise is firing me. I mean, I know I've been a little distracted, but I've really put in the extra effort around here. And this is the worst timing, right as I'm trying to save up for my own place. I take a deep breath as angry tears begin to pool in my eyes. It's all too much right now. I just can't let myself think about all of it tonight. Just get through the shift, I tell myself.

All night, it's like the male patrons can smell weakness, like I'm the wounded gazelle at the edge of the herd, because they will not stop hitting on me-aggressively, too. Those two friends, Nick and Brian, are back, and Nick won't take no for an answer now that I don't have a huge biker staking his claim on me.

"Come on, do another shot with us!" Nick cajoles me. I smile, trying to ride the weird line between being a hospitable bartender and encouraging him too much. I end up doing a couple shots with them, though I spit out the liquor in my fake chaser bottle.

The place is packed, and I don't see Franchise. Part of me just wants him to fire me now and get it over with, and the other part knows that I couldn't actually take that on top of everything else going on.

Around midnight, I walk into the back stairwell to call Stick. I know he doesn't want to talk to me right now, but I'm worried about Richard, and I need a ride home. No answer. I try him a couple more times, and then call Stacy. No answer from her, either. She's probably busy taking care of him. I decide to text both of them: Hey, sorry, I know it's bad timing, but could really use a ride home tonight.

I go back to tending bar, and surrept.i.tiously check my phone for the next couple hours. No contact from Stick or Stacy. f.u.c.k. Cabs definitely don't stay out this late in West Clayton. I sigh, and duck back into the stairwell to make one more call before Sharon ends her shift for the night. I really don't want to talk to West right now, especially to ask him for a favor, but he's my last option His phone rings a few times, and then goes to voicemail. I'm about to hang up, but just the familiarity of his voice saying "West. Leave a message," makes me unhinge a little. I end up spilling: "Hey, it's me. Olive, I mean. If you get this soon, could you come to pick me up at the bar? You know I wouldn't ask you, but...but there's this guy who's been following me around from Concord and I'm just-I'm pretty freaked out. Just...call me back, please?"

I hang up before I completely lose control of the tremor in my voice. I stuff my phone into my pocket and head back behind the bar. The crowd has really thinned out now, only a dozen or so patrons left. Sharon waves goodbye and heads toward the door. I briefly consider asking her to stay, but she's got her kid to get home to. I start putting gla.s.ses in the wash and cleaning the bar off with a rag as more patrons filter out.

Now there's just a couple making out in the corner and my old friend Nick. I sigh. I really don't want to deal with him right now. I walk a couple steps closer to him and take my phone out of my pocket and pretend to answer it.

"Oh, hey honey. Sure, yeah, see you soon. You're bringing my helmet with you right? Because I'm not riding on the back of your motorcycle without it!" I hang up and smile at Nick.

He smiles thinly back, tosses a few bucks on the bar, and walks out. The h.o.r.n.y couple glances around as the door slams behind him and they see that they're the only ones left. The woman giggles drunkenly, and they walk out with their hands stuffed into each other's back pockets.

I follow them to the door and lock it after them. I look back at the empty bar and sigh. I check my phone again. Nothing. Well, I guess I can always sleep here. Those couches look gross, but I'm sure as h.e.l.l not walking home alone. I cross behind the bar and grab my purse, eyeing the pool table-it might actually be cleaner to lie down on than the couches. I head back to it and run my hand across the green felt. It's hard, but not filthy.

My phone rings in my pocket. I quickly take it out. It's West. I swipe to answer.

"Hey. Thanks for calling me back," I say.

"You still at the bar?" he asks.

"Yeah," I answer, and take a deep breath. His voice takes my anxiety down a couple notches.

"OK, I'll be right there. Don't move," he replies, and hangs up. It'll feel good to finally tell someone about Richard. I didn't want to worry anyone about the whole thing, but now it's time to ask for help.

A creak behind me causes me to jump. I spin around and peer into the semi-darkness at the back of the bar. Someone pa.s.sed out in the bathroom?

"h.e.l.lo?" I call out cautiously, profoundly hoping it was just the wind. I wait, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

The men's bathroom door slowly opens. My breath catches in my throat.

"Who's there?" I call out, trying to sound as tough as I can.

A shadow steps out of the darkness.

"h.e.l.lo, Olive," says Richard Lees.

Chapter Eighteen.

Olive "What are you doing here?" I whisper, my mouth going dry. His eyes are unblinking and staring at me, and he's holding a pistol pointed at my stomach.

"You know what I'm doing here," he replies. "Take your purse," he orders, flicking his gun toward it.