Sugar (The Henchmen MC Book 12) Read online

  But the other, oh, the other was a very newly familiar face in jeans, a black tee, and this time... his cut.

  His head had popped up from his phone to look over when the door chimed, seeming as shocked to see me as I was to see him there.

  "What? You stalking me now, baby?" he asked, lips curving up ever so slightly.

  "Don't flatter yourself Suga Suga; I have a hot date with Benny," I told him, keeping my tone unaffected even if my sleep-deprived body was maybe a bit in overdrive.

  "Hot I am," Benny agreed from behind the chair of a woman who had clearly just gotten fresh highlights. "Oh, is that for me, you beautiful thing you?" he asked, doing gimme-hands to the coffee I was holding. "So how do you know Mr. Hottie Mc Sexy Accent over here?" he asked, giving Sugar a smoldering look.

  "I gave him a ride home last night."

  "Oh, the rave! How was it?" he said, catching Sugar's attention.

  "A rave?" Sugar asked, smirk just a bit condescending. "What are you, eighteen?"

  "It was a gay rave to help my buddy get nailed," I specified, ignoring the faux shocked look some old lady shot me. If they were in this salon, they knew better than to expect talk about the weather.

  "Did you do it?" Benny cut in again.

  "Totally. I got a text this morning of them smiling at brunch. Your kind moves fast. I bet they'll be dating by the end of the day."

  "My kind," Benny snorted, rolling his eyes. "Honey, if you think gay men move fast, it is only because your weirdo ass has never had a relationship in, what, ever?"

  He was right.

  It was never.

  I was the mystical unicorn.

  I had never been in a serious relationship.

  Had I been on a few dates before sealing the deal? Sure.

  Had I maintained years-long fuck-buddy situations? Yep.

  But the whole... I'm your girlfriend, you're my boyfriend thing? God no. Why would I want to do that? So I could have someone to answer to? To tell me what I could or couldn't do? Hell fucking no. Not in a million years. It sounded like a prison. And not the good kind like Oz with all that yummy guy-on-guy fucking. I had spent all my youth under someone else's thumb. I wasn't going to volunteer for more of the same as an adult.

  "That's right. Never," I agreed with a nod as I dropped myself down. "Why would my fabulous ass want to do such a boring, normal thing?"

  I could feel Sugar's eyes on me as I spoke, but purposely kept my gaze on Benny - or the girls in the seats on my sides. I didn't need more reason to toss and turn at night.

  "To have someone to come home to," Benny suggested.

  "I have Hannibal to come home to," I said as he moved behind me to separate my hair, inspecting the new growth of blonde. "And my friends who are always crashing. And they make me breakfast... and don't tell me I can't have baby goats."

  "You want a baby goat?"

  "No, but more importantly, I don't want anyone telling me that I can't have one."

  "You're hopeless," Benny declared, spinning me to face the mirror. "So what are we doing? Just touching this up, or something different?"

  "Why don't we try half lilac and half a sea-foamy, turquoisey color?"

  "Really committing to the mermaid look," he said as he flicked open a cape, and draped it around my shoulders, reaching under to free my hair.

  "So did you give him a ride in that hearse of yours?" Kennedy asked, half-distracted by the blowout she was doing, and therefore clearly missing my 'don't go there' signals.

  "Well, since my horse-drawn carriage was in the shop..."

  "It came with a coffin when she got it," Benny informed everyone around us, smirking because if there was anything Benny liked, it was being in the know.

  "No shit," Sugar said, lips quirked up. And, damn it, I knew this because my eyes totally found his face in the mirror. I mean, not that anyone would blame me. It would take superhuman skills to avoid looking at that perfect freaking face of his. "Where is it now?"

  "Bet she sleeps in it," Benny said as he carefully parted my hair.

  "I do not," I objected, but only because I was a sleep roller. "I have it set up in my guest room as a dog bed."

  "In case anyone is not aware at this point," Benny announced to anyone within earshot, including the girl, Aven, leading someone into the back room for one of her specialty facials things she had finally talked Kennedy into letting her do instead of waxing. And after having to do my own wax at home, I really missed her ass. I mean, I don't know how familiar you are with pouring hot wax on your lady bits and ripping the little hairs out with a strip of paper. But let me tell you from personal experience, I am pretty sure I ripped half my labia off with it. It was truly a skill for which I did not have a hand at. "Peyton is a character."

  I couldn't be absolutely certain, mind you, but I was pretty sure I heard Suga Suga mumble Got that right under his breath. And if I wasn't mistaken - and I usually wasn't when it came to the hot-as-shit opposite sex - he said it in a way that sounded a bit, well, interested.

  Of course, I didn't want him to be interested. Or, more accurately, I knew I shouldn't want him to be interested. Because of all of the reasons I let roll around my head the night before while I was not sleeping. But there was no denying the little swirling sensation in my stomach that said I did want him to be interested... and that I liked it more than I should have.

  Why did all the hot guys have to be outlaw bikers? And hitmen? And hired muscle? And mob members?

  And why did my damn sister have to get herself shacked up with a man who had a loanshark family who didn't approve of me dating outlaw bikers, hitmen, hired muscle, and mob members?

  With a sigh that I hoped only I could hear, I forced my eyes closed as Benny went to work. I thought about what I was going to wear to go out later with Savvs. And what I could force her to wear that wasn't a roomy tee and jeans. And where we would go. What we would drink. If there would be some hottie there that could distract me from the man just a few feet behind me who - when I occasionally peeked - was either glued to his phone with a tight set to his jaw, or glancing over at me, not even bothering to look away when he saw me catching him looking.

  An hour and a half later, I was dyed, washed, dried, and styled, but didn't have the usual light and happy feeling I got when trying something new with my hair. I just felt sluggish and frustrated. Sexually. And otherwise.

  And since I was not someone who often suffered from down moods, it was weighing heavy on me as I paid, avoided Sugar's gaze, and left the salon, making my way to grab something to bring to the library with me for my short shift that I spent reading a snuff erotica that did manage to lift my mood for a few hours.

  As I drove home, though, it was still settled there, heavy and oppressive, something Jamie picked up on and kept casting drawn-together-brow looks at me as I moved around the apartment getting ready and waiting for Savea to show.

  "You coming tonight?" I asked after I finally got Savea into the sexiest outfit I could make her wear - super tight black skinny jeans and a wine-colored tank top that slipped up ever so slightly in the front to reveal a sliver of stomach. I had slipped into a deep purple club dress, heavy on the down-to-fuck vibe even if I knew I was forcing myself to feel that way rather than feeling so organically.

  Jamie looked down at her outfit - jeans and a purple and white plaid shirt, shrugged, and stood. "Someone has to keep an eye on you two looking like that," she offered. "Please tell me we are staying close," she pleaded, knowing that it wasn't completely uncommon for me to drag us forty-five minutes away to go to an 80's-themed club, or even an hour and change to get to the city for some bar hopping.

  "I was thinking Chaz's tonight. Keep it simple."

  So that was where we went.

  And that was when it all started.

  FOUR

  Sugar

  I had too fucking much on my mind to be distracted by thoughts of a hot, tatted, pierced, dyed, smart-ass chick who drove a hearse and worked in a library and
went to gay raves to get her buddies laid.

  But there I was, driving home from the salon with some dude from Hailstorm driving and Kennedy in the back seat to be dropped off into Pagan's care since she refused to stay stuck up at Hailstorm twenty-four-seven, only conceding into going when too many of the men would be out of town to handle business if something went down, and all I could think about was her.

  When my mind should have been focused on keeping my eyes peeled for a tail or any possible threats, knowing things had been quiet for far too long for someone as batshit crazy as V. She was going to make a move. It wasn't a matter of if; it was a matter of when. And while everyone was on high alert with Summer and her kids, there was no telling if maybe she would work her way up the ranks until they were decimated and there was no one to protect them.

  And, well, there was the matter of the text from a dead man.

  Which, to be honest, was a bigger problem.

  But that was a me problem.

  That was a me and Virgin problem.

  It didn't involve the club.

  Which was why, though it went against everything in me since I was raised in MCs and knew that keeping trouble to yourself was a huge no-no, we had chosen not to share this.

  If it were a prank, it would freak everyone out unnecessarily, put them even more on edge. They didn't need that. They needed to focus on V. And being able to have a life outside of that as well.

  And if it wasn't a prank, well, fuck, I didn't know. I guess we would have to make an excuse... and find a way to handle it.

  Which was why Virgin and I had a little day trip planned after I was off watchdog duty.

  We were heading up to the city to ferret out an old buddy of ours, see if he had similar texts, or had heard anything that we hadn't been privy to, or had simply been deaf to since we were so out of earshot down in Jersey now.

  "So, you and Peyton," Kennedy said after she seemed to hit her limit of tolerance to the silence in the car, likely having learned - as the rest of us had over the years of them being around all the time - that the guys and girls from Hailstorm were not a chatty bunch. In fact, it was like they were set to radio-silent at all times.

  "There is no me and Peyton," I corrected quickly. Maybe too quickly.

  "She's amazing."

  "So I hear."

  "No. Truly. I come across a lot of women in my business, but I don't think anyone has been as unique as she is."

  "Uh-huh."

  What was it with these Henchmen women, always trying to set the few single ones of us left up? Wasn't their girls club big enough as it was? But, I guess, the girls club was a bit more split in two these days than it used to be, the older members with their close bonds, the newest ones trying to forge ones of their own. Maybe she was just in the market for new friends, liked Peyton, and fancied the idea of the two of us shacking up.

  Though why she would ever think I'd be a settling down kind of guy was completely beyond me.

  That being said, people would have said the same thing about Pagan a few years back.

  I guess you never really knew.

  Lo was always making comments about me getting knocked on my ass by a woman.

  So far though, I managed to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. Where I intended to keep them.

  "For Christmas, she brought us in a sex toy basket," Kennedy went on, making my head turn slightly over my shoulder, not sure she was being serious. "Complete with straight and gay toys, so as not to exclude anyone. Her sister owns Phallus-opy. She temps there over the holiday season when things get crazy."

  "Sex toys are a common Christmas present?" I asked, wondering why I had spent my adulthood giving female friends gift cards to fucking Sephora when what they really wanted was a good bullet vibrator.

  "For couples who like to keep it interesting," she agreed. "Or girlfriends to give as gag gifts to each other I guess."

  "Keep that in mind," I said as we were let through the gates. I waited for Kennedy to get inside before I made my way around the building where I knew Virgin would be waiting for me next to our bikes.

  "What? They didn't talk you into a nice manicure?" he asked as I snatched my key out of the air when he threw it.

  I ignored that, reaching to check my phone, as I had been doing somewhat compulsively all day. Though there hadn't been anything new. "Have you gotten anything?" I asked, knowing that, so far, I was the only one with texts from a dead man in his inbox.

  "Nah. Guess whoever they are must figure we are together," he mused as he climbed on his bike.

  It wouldn't be a wrong assumption. Ever since we were biting ankles, we had been friends. Mostly because our old men had been buddies, and we had been the only two kids literally growing up inside outlaw MC clubs. The only times we ever were apart was when there was a big run that involved all the bikers... or if one of our old men got locked up. I got tossed on my mother's doorstep - whether she wanted me or not - and Virgin had been put on a train to go stay over with an old, only half-lucid grandmother for those time periods.

  And after most of our MC got pinched a few years back, anyone who knew us knew we didn't go our separate ways, that wherever we ended up, we would be together.

  "What did you tell Cash?" I asked, knowing he was the one in charge that particular morning as Reign, Wolf, and Repo were spending time with their women and kids.

  "Going to check out the bike store to see about you getting something that won't keep crapping out on you," he told me, even though Repo had managed to get my bike working before he headed out for the day.

  It was a believable enough excuse, and with that, we hit the road.

  We drove the hour or so up to Staten Island, parking our bikes in the lot, and taking the ferry over into lower Manhattan. In doing so, I squashed a small bit of guilt for being in the area and not checking in on my Ma and half-brother, but knew that if I bothered, it would be an all-day event, and we really didn't have time to spare right now. Especially when we were doing this shit without club permission.

  "Tish said something about him hanging out in a dive bar or tat shop down on Spring off of Bowery," Virgin supplied as the silence hung heavy around us, neither of us being big communicators almost as a rule.

  "Why Manhattan? Why not stay in Staten? Or head out like us?" I wondered out loud. A dive bar and tattoo shop in the city was not where you expected to find someone like him, someone whose road name was Heavy D and looked like - since he was - a lifelong biker.

  "Figure some of the guys decided to stay loyal."

  "Loyal to what? An organization that doesn't exist anymore? And even if they did, would have next to no pull on the streets these days?"

  It hadn't taken a lot of thought for us to decide to shrug off one cut for another. Especially after it was clear there was no chance for the club to be what it once was. We simply weren't meant for the civilian life. Our skill sets were deeply seated in crime and evading the law. That was how we were raised. It was the code we had learned to live by as men.

  Neither of us was keen to get a nine-to-five and ride on weekends.

  No fucking way.

  "D didn't know another MC," Virgin reasoned, eyes on the shoreline as it got closer. "Different than us."

  Again, true.

  We had always gone where our fathers had dragged us. Which meant from a heroin-slinging MC in upstate New York as kids to a cocaine-dealing one in Staten Island, then finally settling into an enforcing one on the cusp of Jersey and New York state. When you had been raised to know that loyalty was absolute, but only to the life of the organization itself. When the heroin-dealing MC fell apart among internal fighting and drug addiction among some devastating arrests to upper management, well, it was time to move on and give your loyalty to someone else.

  Until we arrived in Navesink Bank, we hadn't known a club that operated quite like The Henchmen did. It was always a brotherhood, sure, but never really a family. It was the first time I really understood why you might be a
lifer. Why The Henchmen cut might be the only - or the last - cut you would be willing to wear.

  Since our old club wasn't like that, I didn't get D's blind loyalty.

  "Been fucking forever since my feet touched these streets," Virgin commented as we moved down South.

  "Used to raise a lot of hell here on weekends," I agreed. We'd lived all over the tristate area, but the city was where we chose to go hog wild most weekends. From getting into fights in Queens to bar hopping in Brooklyn before it went all hipster, to picking up rich chicks who wanted to slum it with some outlaw bikers on Central Park South, we had seen and done it all.

  But it had been years since we had been back.

  It felt both familiar and foreign all at once.

  A year in New York time was like ten in any other city. You could blink, and all the old haunts you knew and loved were gone, replaced two times over by new places.

  "Been a rough couple months," Virgin said a block or so later, tone a bit heavy. Heavier than was his normal anyway. "Don't fucking even remember the last time I went home with a woman," he added.

  "Tell me about it," I agreed, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck.

  Since the whole V shit started, everything had been tense. We had to constantly watch our backs, protect not only one another, but the women and kids as well. You couldn't look away for a minute, let alone fuck around on the town at night.

  And not being able to get some pussy meant the frustration was tenfold.

  The older guys, they had their women. Even some of the newer members like Cy, Reeve, Pagan, Edison, and Laz. It really just left me, Virgin, Roderick, Adler, and Roan with our cocks in our hands. Literally. Roderick took this, as he seemed to take most things, with his usual jocular acceptance. Roan, fuck, dunno, figure that man was half-robot since I didn't remember the last time I saw him even look at a woman. Adler seemed to get his jollies by flirting with anyone with a snatch from legal age to death. It wasn't a fuck, but it got him by.

  I guess it was hitting us hardest seeing as since Cy and Pagan traded their game for commitment, we were the biggest dogs in the club.