“Yeah, so?” I’m not a huge fan of running weapons either, but there’s a cost to everything. Rattler knows that better than anyone. He’s not exactly green when it comes to the Sinners. He’s a legacy. His dad was a patch and his uncle was an enforcer back before my time.
Hell, even his mother started out as club candy. Not that I’d remind him of that fact right now. I’m not in the mood to be the one leaving with a broken nose and I actually like Sara Yates quite a bit. She made me brownies for my birthday last year. There was a fuck-ton of egg shells in them, but it was a friendly gesture just the same.
“So, I gotta ride in the back of the goddamn truck. Four hours in a windowless box with a baby patch that can’t shut his fucking mouth.”
I chuckle, ignoring the icy glare he gives me. “So, which part is bugging you? The close confines or the fact that you’re going to get motion sick and puke again.”
“You’re a fucking ass,” Rattler growls back.
“Come on, there’s no shame in taking a Dramamine for your sensitive inner ears.”
There’s a flash of silver as Rattler whips out a switchblade and stabs the tip into the wood bar top. The force of his anger leaves it standing straight up, vibrating audibly. I stare at it, bored.
“Ya gonna stab me next?” I chuckle, drying another glass. He wouldn’t. For one thing, he’d be on the hook for rent, and Iknowthat motherfucker doesn’t want that. For another, he could try, but I’d have his own knife pressed to his jugular before he could take a breath. So, yeah. He’ll keep that shit to himself.
The front door opens, letting in a wild fall breeze that carries crisp leaves across the bar floor. I don’t give a flying fuck about the leaves, but the figure crossing the threshold… that’s another matter.
She’s dressed all in black. Tight jeans hug hips that sway like a willow tree in a thunderstorm. She’s wearing a leather jacket, strikingly free of any patches layered over a black hoodie. Even with that hood pulled up, casting a shadow over her features, there’s no mistaking who just sauntered into the Dirty Sinner’s territory.
Goosebumps prick at my skin, sending chills down my spine. There’s one woman in this town that is one-hundred percent off-limits. One woman I’ve wanted from the first second I saw her. Cherry Rainer. Hardener of dicks. Walking wet dream. Sinner bait. She’s a death sentence—or at least a grievous bodily injury sentence—for any man that touches her. That goes twice for a patched member of the Dirty Sinners.
Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it though. Even from a distance, you can tell she’s pure fire and heat. Touching her might mean death, but I can’t say it wouldn’t be worth it. At least I’d die happy, right? That’s more than most can claim.
The end-of-week revelry dims, and in its place, the whispers rise. I’m not the only one who’s noticed her. I tense, ready to break shit up if things go sideways.
“Shit. Is that Mayhem’s sister?”
“The fuck is Cherry doing here?”
“Don’t even think about it, prospect. Mayhem shot a guy in the kneecap for trying to ride up on her.”
“Nah, it was the foot.”
“I thought he shattered the dude’s femur.”
“Don’t be stupid. He got turned into bear bait.”
You can’t even pass through Haven without getting a warning about Cherry Rainer. No one lays a finger on her, and anyone that tries is liable to get a bullet in a place they’d rather not have one. Someone needs to remind my dick, though. The eager fucker is one hundred percent ready to sacrifice an extremity as long as he gets a dip.
Wisps of strawberry-red hair sneak out from under the hood, and she quickly tucks them back inside as she slides onto the only empty bar stool. The one right in front of me. From the way she perches on the aged oak seat, it wouldn’t surprise me if she had a steel rod fused to her spine.
Rattler turns his entire body to stare at her, expression completely flat, but it’s an act. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would risk anything if she gave him half a chance to get a taste of her.
Cherry stares right at me, ignoring Rattler’s intense stare. Or at least she tries to, but the glance out of the corner of her eye proves she’s not as immune as she’d like him to think.
He licks his lips, and she quickly looks away, a blush staining her freckled cheeks. I know exactly what he’s thinking. I know because I’m thinking about it too. If I tasted her—ran my tongue along her neck until she shivered—would she live up to her nickname?
“Are you Beast?” she asks, her gaze flicking up at me even though she keeps her face angled down. I don’t know why she’s bothering. It’s pretty clear her disguise is a fail. Her voice catches me off guard, though. It isnothinglike I expected. It’s sultry. Throaty. It rolls over me like a thick fog of filthy need.
I lean a forearm on the bar, lowering my voice. “You need to get out of here. You’re going to get someone killed.”
“I’m not leaving,” she says stubbornly. “I need help.”
“Yeah? Well, favors don’t come free around here.”
“I could return the favor,” she says archly. “I’m pretty talented, you know.”
“Oh, yeah? You think so?” I scoff.