“Can we let it drop? I get my license back in a couple of months and my community service is almost over. Once all of that is done, Dewayne Lagger will just be a bad decision in a series of bad decisions.”
“I still think you’re letting him off easy,” Gabby mutters and we share a smile.
She’s the only person outside my brother Hawk who truly understands me. There are times that I think I would go insane without her. She and Hawk have always been in my corner when no one else was. Admittedly, a lot of those people I’ve pushed away, but I’ve tried pushing away Gabby, too.
She just refused to let me.
I’m damaged. I admit it freely. There’s something inside of me that just pushes and pushes. I don’t know how to stop it.
I never have.
“He’ll crash and burn one day,” I tell her, and I figure he will. Hopefully when he does, it won’t be because my father found out and killed him.
“Hey there.”
I look up to see this hot guy, staring down at Gabby and standing beside our table. He’s covered in tatts and wearing a plain white t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and jet-black hair with not exactly a beard, but definitely a day to two of stubble.
I could almost laugh. Gabby has that effect on guys. She always has. She got the best of both worlds. She somehow managed to get her mother’s blonde hair with her father’s dark coloring. She’s got her dad’s full lips and though my Aunt Beth is gorgeous, she doesn’t have Gabby’s curves. Gabby had to get all of those from her dad’s family and she works them.
The guy is sexy and definitely rocking a blue-collar vibe. He’s hot, I can admit that, but the guy standing behind him is the one that catches my eye. Maybe he does because he’s not staring at Gabby like she’s a juicy steak he wants to eat. No, he’s staring straight at me, his blue eyes boring into me. The other guy might be hot, but this guy? He is off the charts.
He’s got soft honey-brown hair that’s a little too long, but not so long that you can’t tell he gets it cut semi-regularly. Right now, the wind is blowing, and it floats around his face with the breeze. He has an army green Henley on that is long sleeved. His arms and hands are covered in tattoos. The ink disappear under his sleeves. He’s definitely hot and he’s trouble, especially with the way he keeps his gaze trained on me, smoldering intensity and all, makes me feel alive.
Which is bad.
The last guy to do that, was so bent on destroying my father, he nearly destroyed me. I’m done with guys in general.
“Hello?” Gabby says, and I hide my grin. She’s used to guys hitting on her and this one she’s apparently decided to play cool and indifferent with. It was probably a good call, because I can even see the surprise that flashes over the guys face.
“I saw you sitting over here, and I have to say you are a nine baby.”
“A nine?” she murmurs, as if she’s considering the number. “Just a nine? That’s disappointing. Maybe you’ll find someone better at a different table—or maybe even a different restaurant,” she tells him with a saccharine smile. I let out a snort, looking down at the table. When I look up tall, dark and broody is staring at me. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“Why baby? I’m the one that you need to make a perfect ten.”
“Oh Lord Jesus help us from corny pickup lines,” I mutter.
“You don’t like my lines?” the man asks.
“They’re overdone.” The guy that’s been staring a hole through me grunts in what, oddly enough, I think might be humor and even though I know I shouldn’t, I turn my attention back to him. “What’s your name?” I ask him. It doesn’t truly surprise me for some reason when he doesn’t answer. “What’s your friend’s damage?” I ask the guy with him.
“Grunt,” he answers. “He’s the quiet shy type.”
“Yeah, right,” I mutter.
“You don’t believe me?” he asks with a smirk. He has a nice smile, but he’s clearly a player. Gabby needs to get back out there, but not with this guy.
“I try never to trust a man who tries to pick up a woman with cheesy lines,” I respond shrugging helplessly.
“I should at least get an A for effort,” he reasons.
“Don’t know if you know this or not stud, but I’m not sure a man should strive to get an A in effort.”
“You’d rather he not even try?” the guy asks. I look at Mr. Broody as I consider his question.
“I’d rather he gets an A in delivery,” I finally respond. The man I’m staring at still doesn’t talk, but I catch the slight arc of his eyebrow with my answer and the way his lips twitch. Too bad I’ve sworn off men, because I get the feeling he’d be a fun bull to try and wrangle…
3
Grunt
“You better have a damn good reason as to why you didn’t bring the girl here, motherfuckers,” Ford rages.
“We made contact, Prez, man,” Jonesy mutters.
“Then why in the fuck isn’t she here?” Ford growls.
“I know you want this shit fixed soon, man, but we have to tread carefully here.”
“I want this fucker’s head on a pike. The best way to do that is to get this damn girl here—”
“Prez, the DC’s have never been about hurting women, despite our reputation. Do you truly think this is the best way to go here?” I try to reason. I know it’s not going to help when Ford just stares at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind.
“If you two lazy fucks can’t carry this out, I’ll get Hog and we’ll do it. Jesus I expect this shit from Jonesy, Grunt, but when did you get so damn soft?”
I snort at his insinuation. I’m not fucking soft. I’m being smart, which is something he’s not being and hasn’t since Lyla has been grieving this loser ex-boyfriend of hers.
“We’ll get her, Prez. Give us a week. We need to do it in a way that suspicions aren’t arose. You don’t want the whole fucking Blaze club on our ass, do you?”
“No, I don’t. I know you’re right. But, hell man, she’s grieving over this asshole. How did I miss the fact she had some worthless prick in her life?”
“You still don’t have any information on him?”
“No. Lyla refuses. She says he’s not worth her time, that he threw her aside for Gabby Cruz and she’s done with him.”
“This right here is why I’ve never had kids,” Jonesy growls.
“You’ve never had kids because there hasn’t been a woman desperate enough to let you breed her,” Ford mutters.
“It’s a wonder you had Lyla if you told Sherry that you were going to breed her,” I point out.
Ford shrugs, gives a resigned smile. “She was too mercenary to care,” he answers and boy do I know what he’s talking about.
“Fine, we’ll bide our time. I’ll let you try to find out who this fuckhead is that hurt my daughter first. You have a couple of weeks. You find him, you bring him to me. You don’t, you bring the girl and then he’ll come to us.”