Sugar (The Henchmen MC Book 12) Read online

  So it left us with those three options.

  We could hit up Famiglia for some upscale drinking, but we had to toe the line there, keep it classy. We weren't always in the mood for that. Okay, full disclosure, I was very rarely in the mood for that.

  The dive bar was simply somewhere I hadn't been a fan of because there was little appeal to cheap drinks, no mixers, and gross old men who would grab my ass.

  So we usually ended up at Chaz's if we were staying in town.

  On a Saturday night, the place was always hopping - a mix of the just turned twenty-one-year-olds, chicks out for a girls night, married guys avoiding going home, and the occasional groups of guys who pretended to be watching whatever sports game was on the TV when all they were really doing is looking for a halfway fuckable girl to take home.

  "Uh-oh, here comes trouble," Brodie, the bartender, called as we walked up to the long dark wood bar that I knew, because I was in the know about such things, that Hunter had built for the place. Along with the tables and chairs that ran along the walls, leaving a wide space for people to mill around or dance if they wished.

  Brodie was hot.

  Six-three, dark-haired, tattooed, deep blue eyed, strong but not bulky, with a piercing through his tongue that I had had naughty thoughts about more than once. He also had a faint, just-barely-there Boston accent that made panties melt anywhere in earshot.

  But Brodie was also off limits.

  I had been lectured by Charlie himself when he was hired.

  He is the first bartender since Old Ed died that knows what he's doing. If you two get involved, and he hurts you, I'd have to fire him.

  I didn't bother to tell him that there was no way Brodie would hurt me, but because I really liked Charlie, and he asked almost nothing of me, I had agreed to keep my distance.

  "Your ass is not getting tequila again," he informed me, lips tipped up at one side, arms spreading wide on the bar.

  "What? I livened the place up!" I insisted with a smile, finally feeling my sour mood starting to lift.

  "You danced on the bar."

  "To Something In Your Mouth," I agreed. "Which everyone knows is a fantastic dancing on the bar song."

  "Fuckin' torturing me down here. I could see right up your skirt."

  "Luckily I wore panties that night." I wore underwear every night, but what fun was it to admit that when I could make his eyes go all hooded at the idea of me not wearing anything under my skirt.

  "Red lace. I fuckin' remember," he agreed, exhaling out a breath. "And my heart can't take it again, angel. So no tequila tonight."

  "Fine. Then we're going for gin."

  "Which means she is going to get flirty instead of dancy," Jamie informed him as he handed her the beer she didn't need to order since her preferences never changed. Pops handed me my first beer at fifteen after helping him work on his Mustang. I've never looked back.

  "Flirty might kill me too," Brodie agreed, reaching for the Bombay since he knew Charlie wouldn't like it if he served me well drinks. "What are you having with it? Ginger ale or vermouth?"

  "Let's make it a vermouth kinda night. But dirty. With two olives," I told him, watching a bit hungrily as his muscles moved as he worked, wondering how mad Charlie would be if we just had a one-night thing where no one got hurt.

  "And for you, gorgeous?" he asked Savvy whose cheeks - on cue - went the slightest bit pink.

  "Can she have tequila?" I asked, knowing it broke her out of her shell a bit.

  "Can't figure she'll be on the bar, so I can whip her up a margarita or two."

  "Perfect," I agreed, reaching for the toothpick in my martini glass, carefully lifting it, and maybe making a bit of a sexual show of sucking each olive into my mouth. What can I say, my mood was lifting, and I was ready to get my flirt on.

  Now I just needed someone to do said flirting with who was an option for me. Unlike Brodie. As much as my heart - and my lady bits - hurt a bit knowing that.

  "Alright, so who can Savvy fuck?" I asked, leaning back against the bar, smiling at Jamie when Savvs choked a bit on her drink.

  "That was not part of the deal," she insisted. "We are just supposed to be coming out and having fun."

  "Right. And what is more fun than fucking? And, more importantly, coming?"

  "I know you are, Peyt, but I am not comfortable with casual sex," she said, looking around at the bar. "It just..."

  "It just what?" I asked, brows furrowing at the way she was refusing to look at me.

  "I can't have an orgasm if there isn't a connection," she admitted in a small whisper. "I know that is backward of me, but-"

  "I'm not judging you," I cut her off, suddenly upset that she would think I would. I figured she knew I was only ever teasing her. But Savvs was sometimes more sensitive... in silence. She didn't always let you know when you got to her in some small - or even big - way, just held it to her chest, cradled it like a baby, before one day she couldn't stifle the crying anymore, and she finally broke and told you. Too late for you to really make amends for it anyway.

  "I know..."

  "Listen to me, missy," I said, using my dad's condescending tone, making her give me a wobbly smile. "You do what your lady bits tell you to do. Your vagina is a vagenous. Only it can decide what is right and what isn't. Not me. Or Jamie. Or Hottie Mc Prison Tattoos over there," I said, nodding my chin at a guy leaning up against the wall giving her a once-over. "So we can focus less on getting you laid, and focus more on getting me laid."

  Two hours and three martinis later, I was feeling fuzzy and light, finally out of my funky mood. Jamie was still nursing her first beer even though we had taken an Uber so we could all get our drink on. She took her taking care of her girls role seriously. Maybe especially so when Savvs was around. She knew I could handle myself. Savvy was a little softer, sweeter, too kind to stand up for herself at times.

  And speaking of Savea, she was on her third margarita. Three margaritas with Brodie's heavy hand and Savv's low tolerance meant she was currently half-leaning into Jamie and gushing about how she trained a Green Cheek Conure how to roll over on command.

  It was right about then that it happened.

  A duo of middle-aged men walked past. You knew the type when you passed them by with their out of fashion mustaches, beer bellies, and fragile egos attached to loose lips. They were always good for a little backwardness.

  These ones did not disappoint.

  "Fucking dykes taking all the hot young things."

  I never turned on a heel so fast in my life.

  "Peyton, don't," Jamie scolded, shaking her head at me. Maybe because Jamie came out when she was hardly even in middle school, had dealt with comments about being a tomboy as a little girl, then a butch lesbian as an adult, she took it all with a laid-back nonchalance.

  I guess if you chose to actually fight those battles, you would be at war your whole life.

  I got that.

  I really did.

  But that didn't mean I agreed with it.

  It didn't mean I would stand by and let it happen.

  No one would ever accuse me of being the 'turn the other cheek' sort.

  I was more of an eye-for-an-eye kinda girl.

  "What the fuck did you just say?" I asked, moving into the fuck's space, glad for the fact that I wore skyscrapers on my feet because it put me at his height.

  "Wasn't talking to you, sweetheart," he said, eyes doing an up and down that made my skin feel slimy in the aftermath.

  "No, you were talking about my best friend actually. What's the matter? Jealous that she knows how to eat a pussy, and you never learned?"

  "That's no language for a lady to use," he chided in a way my father would have. The way he still would if I called.

  "Well, I don't see any ladies present," I said, looking around. "But since we're on the topic of inappropriate language, it seems you have missed a software update. We don't use the 'd' word anymore. Or, in case this wasn't obvious, the 'f' one either.
"

  "Look, girlie, fuck off. It's a free country," he said, taking a step closer, his voice going up a decibel. I could, at the very corner of my vision, see Jamie gently pushing Savvs away and moving to stand up straight, ready to step in. Though I couldn't see him, I knew Brodie was within arm's reach of the bat that Charlie had kept under the bar since he opened the joint.

  But it wasn't Jamie or Brodie who spoke next.

  No.

  That was someone else.

  Someone I had literally just managed to forget about. You know, after three stiff drinks to help with the memory loss.

  "Got a problem?" Sugar's voice asked, calm, but there was an edge to it.

  The man's head went over to him, eyes going down to his chest, gaze resting on the one-percent badge sitting there, letting him know exactly who he was looking at.

  "With you? No, man. This bitch here-"

  "This bitch?" Sugar asked, arm raising, then dropping down heavy across my shoulders. I actually went down an inch or two under the weight. "My bitch?" he asked, making the man literally shock backward, eyes going huge, lips opening and closing like a fish for a second, likely wondering if he was going to make it home to his incredibly unsatisfied wife and embarrassed-by-him kids.

  "Look, man," he said, holding up his hands defensively. "I didn't know. I didn't mean no disrespect."

  "Disrespect?" Sugar asked, that edge a little stronger in his voice as his head shifted, those brilliant gray eyes pinning me. "He disrespected you?" he asked pointedly.

  "Actually," I said, dragging out the silence for a second, enjoying the hell out of the way the guy was going red, his upper lip sweating. Maybe that made me a terrible person, to enjoy his fear like I was, but I never claimed to be good. Or even decent. "He disrespected my friend," I said, jerking my chin to Jamie who was watching the interaction with a look that said she was going to have something to say to me later. "He called her a word that decent people would never think to use."

  "Did he now?" he asked, glancing at Jamie, likely picking up on exactly what that word was before looking back at the man who looked like he needed a new pair of underwear. "Well, it sounds like you owe her an apology then, doesn't it?" he asked in a way that was no question at all. It was a demand actually.

  And, ah, yeah, it was sexy as fuck, I won't lie.

  Almost as sexy as the way his arm had tightened and curled me closer to his body until I had little choice put to press my cheek against his shoulder, my hand raising to rest on his stomach that absolutely did have incredible indentations between his muscles. Of course. Because he was a freaking monument to bad boy perfection.

  This close, I could tell other things too. Like he had a nasty scar on his neck. And he smelled like leather and open air and sweat, and it was possibly the most erotic fragrance known to womankind.

  The man turned, stammering, barely able to get his quivering lips to give Jamie an apology she didn't bother to accept seeing as it was only given during duress.

  "Now I think it is time for you to go home and give your disappointing three inches to your poor wife," Sugar said, making me snort a laugh into his shoulder, not able to help myself. "You see these women again," he added as the man nodded at him, "you show them some motherfucking respect, got it?"

  "Got it. Got it. Sorry," he mumbled, turning, and rushing out of the crowded bar.

  "That's a nifty trick," I said, tipping my head to look up at him, finding him already looking down at me.

  "It's amazing what having access to endless amounts of firearms will do for the fear you can put into another person."

  "I could have handled him myself, you know," I told him, not moving out from under his arm even though I knew I should. Being so close to him was doing things to me. Getting my head fuzzy in a non-alcohol-induced way. Getting my lady bits all awake and shit. Damnit.

  "Sure you could have. But then I couldn't swoop in all knight-in-shining-armor and impress you with making a grown man piss himself."

  "Trying to impress me, huh?"

  "It's the least I can do for my number one stalker."

  "I am not stalking you. I think a case could be made for you stalking me at this point."

  "Baby, Virgin and I saw your pretty ass come in here, slobbering all over the bartender."

  "Slobbering?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "I was saying hello to an old friend."

  "I wish all my old female friends said hello to me with fuck-me eyes."

  "Somehow, I imagine they all do."

  "Are you flirtin' with me, baby?" he asked, arm sliding down to just under my shoulders, curling me tighter to him.

  Craaaaap.

  I needed to get a hold of this.

  I was half-ready to fuck him right here in the middle of the bar.

  "If I was flirting with you, baby," I said, slowly sliding out from under his arm, "you wouldn't have to ask if I was."

  "Friend of yours, Peyton?" Brodie's voice piped back in, his accent picking up on the 'yours' the o-sound suddenly becoming a thick aw-sound instead.

  Between the two of these guys with their dialects, I didn't know who I wanted to talk dirty to me more.

  "Just a Good Samaritan, Brodie," I said, moving to lean on the bar. "I need another," I told him, suddenly feeling sober as a judge.

  "Henchmen being a Good Samaritan?" he asked, voice low so just the two of us could hear as he put a fresh martini glass on the bar in front of me. "Finding that hard to believe, angel. It's not my place, but I feel like I need to tell you that is not a smart move. I've seen him and his buddies in here a lot. Always going home with someone. Never the same woman twice."

  "You're right," I agreed as he carefully mixed my martini. I had once asked why he didn't James Bond it, to which he informed me that it 'bruised the juniper berry' and no real bartender ever shook a gin martini. "It isn't your place," I chided softly. "Though I can appreciate you looking out for me. How many times have you seen me in here over the years?"

  "I dunno," he admitted, shrugging.

  "How many times have you seen me leave with a man?"

  To that, the seen-it-all barkeep actually looked a little uncomfortable. "A few."

  "And how many of those men were repeats?"

  "Got your point," he agreed, stabbing two olives onto a toothpick and dropping them into my drink. "Just saying."

  "What are you just saying?"

  "That you deserve better than a gun-slinging playboy, Peyt. That's all."

  "Are you gonna tattle on me?"

  "Aw, angel face, think so lowly of me? Your secrets are safe with me. Though Ryan does keep an eye on the cameras on busy nights. Just so you know."

  "Got it," I agreed, knowing Ryan was the least likely to be on my case about a two-minute interaction in the bar. If he watched on busy nights, then he knew I got crazy. He had likely even seen the bar-dancing scene. But Ryan was just chill like that. If you saw him, you might think uptight. That was what I thought at first too. But it wasn't accurate. He was simply reserved, had seen it all, and was, therefore, a bit jaded about it too. He wouldn't begrudge me a good time unless I got so sloppy that it was looking like I wasn't being safe. Even then, he would keep it between the two of us.

  "Go have fun with your girls," he suggested, giving me a wink that shouldn't have been, but because he was hot, was completely sexy.

  Taking his advice, I turned back around, finding Jamie with her arm around a Savvy who was looking like she was getting to the point where the tequila was making her knees stop working.

  "It snuck up on her, huh?" I asked, smiling at the way Savvs gave me a glass-eyed grin.

  "I miss Hannibal," she informed me. "He's home all alone."

  "You gave him a pile of bones to hold him over until we get back," I reminded her, tucking her dark hair behind her ear.

  "Where's your hot biker man?" she went on, words getting slow and sleepy.

  If you were looking for an all-night drinking partner, Savea was not your girl.

 
; "I'll take her home," Jamie offered, meaning Savea's home. Where she would crash. Because Jamie possibly knew me better than anyone else. And because she knew me, she knew that I wasn't going home alone tonight.

  "Good idea. She's gonna want her own bed for the hangover she's gonna have tomorrow."

  "You good here?" she asked, taking a look around the bar.

  "I'm good anywhere. Don't worry about me. I will text you before I go to sleep."

  "I'll wait up," she agreed as she led Savvy away.

  And she would.

  She wouldn't sleep if I didn't text.

  And if it got late enough without word from me, she would drive over to check on me.

  Good friends, I had them.

  "I owe you a night at your lady-on-lady club," I told her. "I will be a great wing woman, I promise."

  "Be safe," she told me, half-carrying a half-asleep Savea out the door.

  "Well, now you can't be drinking alone," Sugar's voice said from right behind me, close enough that I could feel his body heat through my thin dress.

  "Oh no? Who do you suggest I drink with?" I asked, turning, but not to face him, just so that he wasn't behind me anymore. "How about that one?" I asked, raising my drink to indicate a guy at the end of the bar, head tilted up to watch the TV.

  "With a backward baseball cap? What, is he eight? He'll give you a ten-pump disappointment, and claim he rocked your world."

  I smiled at that because, well, he was probably right.

  "Alright, how about him?" I asked, nodding toward a back corner where a group of mechanics, still in their blues, but with the tops folded down around their waists were having some drinks.

  "Colt?" he asked, making my head turn to him.

  "Yes, Colton. He fixes my car. He's sexy. And don't try to tell me he won't get the job done. His pores seep sexual satisfaction."

  Sugar smirked at that. "Got it on good authority that Colt isn't exactly as free as he has always been in the past."