BITTER SWEET CRAVINGS (The Kingsmen MC Book 6) (2 page)

I roll over, turning my back to them, and listen closely for any sign of their leaving, of buying my story. Nothing. I try harder.

“We’ll get some dinner later. Wake me up in time and we’ll figure something out. Just a little nap… that’s all I need.”

Please, just leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone
.

My prayers are answered, and they quietly leave me to sleep it off.

CHAPTER TWO

DANA

I shut the door behind me quietly, although I’m sure she’s already passed out.

“I’ve never seen her like this,” I tell T.J.

He doesn’t know my older sister like I do, but he knows enough that this is completely out of character for her. I wring my hands in panic, not knowing what to do.

Do I call an ambulance? No, it’s true. If they suspect drugs then she could face repercussions with her job as a nurse.

Do I call our mom? That would instantly escalate this situation to DEFCON 5.

Do I call Clink? She’d never forgive me.

Or Vince?

I clench my eyes and silently beg for an answer to come.

“Where’re her pills?” T.J. asks, taking charge.

I shake my head. “I- I don’t know. She didn’t have any left.”

He rolls his eyes. “She’s got some. Somewhere. You check her purse, I’ll check her car. Then, make sure you get the medicine cabinet, the freezer, the cereal boxes… everywhere you wouldn’t think to find them.”

I listen to him rattling off possible hiding places and know that he’s being ridiculous. I’ll show him. He’s going to really feel like an ass when nothing turns up.

I watch his leather-clad back depart through the front door, feeling myself get lightheaded in that little flutter that happens every time I see those bad-ass patches that adorn his vest.

The closest thing to a bad boy I’ve ever had was Michael Keefe, senior year in high school. He cut class and convinced me to go with him, spending the afternoon at the beach. The thrill of possibly getting caught skipping school was a turn-on, one that helped me overlook his obvious character flaws. We got to second base behind the sand dunes before I realized that he was a complete ass and waste of my time.

I’d rather have been sitting in calculus than playing tongue hockey with him… that pretty much sealed the deal. To this day, that still remains my one bad-boy moment of weakness although I try like hell to top it with T.J., but he just won’t even take me seriously.

Sure, we flirt. We stare each other down until we’ve made the other blush and we came dangerously close to kissing once. But, he always seems to pull away, to keep me in the friend zone. A
flirty
friend zone, and it’s driving me freaking crazy.

I know I’m not as mysterious and vivacious as my older sister, or as beautiful as Lil’s. Hell, I don’t even have half the bod compared to Sunny… but I’m cute. I’m funny. I know for a fact I’m at least an eight. I just can’t figure out T.J.’s deal.

I mull over my best attributes some more as I go through the motions of rummaging through Charlie’s jacket, patting down the leather to feel for any medicinal contraband.

Nothing. Just like I thought.

She probably found the lone pill or two left behind from her prescription and decided to take them for that backache she mentioned. That must have been it. I know she hasn’t had much of an appetite since I brought her home from the hospital.

A broken heart will do that to you.

Either you go to one extreme and binge on fast food and Haagen Daz or you practically starve and can’t eat a bite. That’s what Charlie is doing. She’s already lost a few pounds that she can’t afford to lose, and any meds would just mess her up. Especially
two
pills.

That must have been it. That’s what she said happened, and my sister isn’t a liar.

Well… she
wasn’t
a liar. Not before she came to Chisolm, anyway. Since she’s been here, she’s done things that she never would have.

I move along to the small dark brown purse and unzip the center compartment. Sunglasses, wallet, keys, cellphone, lip gloss… pills.

Fuck.

“Her car’s clean,” T.J. announces as he re-enters the house. “You find anything, cupcake?”

I turn hastily and hide the plastic prescription pill container in my closed hand behind my back.

I shake my head, “Nope. Nothing. I told you.”

He scans the room like a detective, mentally searching out any missed hiding spot. “You sure you looked everywhere? How ‘bout the freezer, did you check?”

I roll my eyes. “Who the hell would stash a bottle of pills in a
freezer
, T.J.?”

He crosses the room into the alley kitchen in three large strides, taking hold of the freezer handle.

“My mom. It was her go-to place. Right behind the bottle of Vodka.”

I watch speechless as he pushes aside the bags of frozen vegetables and popsicles. His eyes are determined, set on his task as he hunts for his proof. The muted thudding of the rubber seal marks the end of his unsuccessful quest.

My hand closes tight around the cylinder I protect, waiting for him to turn his attention to the utensil drawer. With a second of opportunity, I step away.

“I’ll check the bathroom,” I hurry down the hall, setting the orange vial on the vanity behind closed doors as I pace back and forth in the tiny space.

What the hell do I do?

I take a deep breath and stare at the pharmacy label. Yesterday. It was filled yesterday. I was there right next to her when the doctors reviewed the post-op instructions. They weren’t even sure she’d need the pain meds and had recommended not using them at all if she could avoid it, but if it was absolutely necessary then she could use them sparingly for only five days.

It’s been
seven
.

I gave her the last of her original pills days ago. There were no refills, and I have no idea how she got this bottle. I take the cap in hand twisting quickly before I think too much about it and pour the dozen or so small, white, chalky, ovals down into the sink.

They clank and clatter against the smooth porcelain, echoing in the open basin before settling near the drain. I’m quick to turn the knob, starting the heavy stream of cool water that lifts them before carrying them off down the drain.

There. Done.

I take a breath of relief and finish my plan, carrying the empty bottle out into the living room area where T.J. is preoccupied with searching the bookcase for hidden contraband.

“Here,” I hold out the evidence. “I found it in the trashcan in the bathroom. Empty. I guess she took the last two.”

T.J. moves close to inspect but I’ve carefully hidden the label in the crook of my thumb to hide the date. He eyes it, his gorgeous brown eyes fixed on the plastic as if he’s trying to decipher its meaning.

“Huh,” he seems disappointed in a way. “Guess I was wrong.”

He attempts to take the bottle but I smile and signal that I’m going to toss it in the garbage.

“This isn’t like Charlie, T.J. My sister’s not a druggie.”

The lid of the kitchen trash can is barely closed as I realize how my words must sound to him in light of the recent revelations about his mom.

Fuck! There I go again, shoving my foot in my mouth.

I try to backstep, quickly.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with being a druggie. I mean, I’m sure tons of perfectly normal people take drugs. Maybe not the people in the news, or the crackheads on the street corner, but I mean, just because
I’ve
never done them doesn’t mean that--”

“Do you always do that?” he asks, in a light tone.

My eyes squint under the weight of his playful gaze. “Do
what
exactly? Search my sister’s home for narcotics?”

He rolls his eyes.

“No. Try to talk your way out of things.”

I shrug my shoulders, embarrassed. “Depends.” He laughs at my response, so I take advantage of his amusement to apologize. “I’m sorry about your mom. I didn’t mean to imply that she….”

He blows it off.

“She was. No use in trying to sugarcoat it. But, could’ve been worse.”

It strikes me as odd that he feels it could have been worse. My mom and I get along most of the time and she’s the closest thing to a real-life Donna Reed that I can imagine, so I have nothing to compare to his experiences, but I can’t imagine how it
could’ve been worse
.

“So I guess she’s better now?” I ask optimistically.

T.J. shakes his head, “Nah… OD’d when I was seventeen.”

For the briefest moment, his eyes are no longer the mischievous, playful ones I’ve come to know. They darken, showing flashes of pain and heartache.

“I’m so sorry, T.J.,” I whisper. “You were just a kid.”

Then, just as quickly as they changed before, his eyes change once more, back to their usual flirtatious and coy pools of liquid mystery that cause me to lock onto his stare.

“Don’t fool yourself, cupcake. Haven’t been a kid for a very, very long time.”

The innuendo and comes across loud and clear as I catch myself following his trail of visible tattoos hoping they’ll magically reveal the ones I have yet to see.

“I—is that how you got caught up with the Kingsmen? Grew up too fast and started to hang with the bad boys?”

I feel proud of myself, having figured out at least some small part of his story. Feeling self-conscious as the target of his attention, I move to distract myself, and hopefully him, as I catch him dipping his eyes low to my scoop-neck tee.

I grab the broom and begin to sweep up the dozens of pieces of broken glass or whatever this is on the floor.

“Not, exactly.” I lose sight of him as he disappears into the kitchen behind me. “Around the time my mom got hooked, there was a crazy drug problem in Chisolm. They were finding their way into the schools, the jails, everywhere you could think, brought into town by a rival MC, the Slayers.”

He reappears shortly with a dustpan, bending down to help scoop up the mess I’ve collected in a pile. My legs feel like they’ve turned to stone, caught in quicksand, unable to move as he crouches low nearly between them to gather the pieces.

I hear my heartbeat deep in my ears, thudding loudly and forcefully to the point I fear I may grow deaf. He begins to speak once more and somehow I manage to hear him, his smooth, sexy, voice stoking the flames his closeness has ignited.

“The Slayers were supplying the very dealers that sold to my mom, essentially killing her. No one had the balls to do anything about it, not even the police. No one except the Kingsmen, that is.”

He carefully takes the shallow shovelful of shards and rises, the crown of his head, his short and lustrous wavy hair growing closer until he stands tall, nearly ten inches taller, dwarfing me.

I feel vulnerable, defenseless to his - I don’t know...
magnetism
that keeps pulling me to him. That thing he oozes that makes me want to fall in his arms, hoping he’ll catch, and just
do
this already.

I swallow hard, hard enough to hear. I hope
he
didn’t. The little smirk at the corner of his lips makes me think he did.

“School wasn’t really for me… tried the whole community college route. The only thing I had was my bike and a part-time job delivering furniture. One day, I walk into the Kingsmen’s shop to make a delivery of some file cabinet, and I thank Vince in person for helping to get the dealers out of Chisolm. Told him about my mom and that I really admire what they were able to do.”

When I get to the point that I can’t take the closeness anymore, I step away, conveniently giving him a path to the trash for his dustpan but also giving me the breathing room I need. 

“So, Vince offers me a job doing tune-ups in the shop. Sure beat hauling furniture all day.” He rids himself of the now-empty plastic apparatus and rinses his hands under the tap while finishing. “After some time they begin to trust me. I finally got the courage to ask about prospecting after working there about a year. Vince sponsored me himself. Hardest two years of my life.”

Once his hands are clean, he bends low to splash some cool water on his face. Huh… it’s not hot in here. Small, clear beads begin to trickle down the sharp angles of his jaw, his neck, and finally collect at the collar. I follow the trail, fighting every urge in my body to lunge at him and lick it with my tongue.

He makes good use of the nearby dishtowel and swipes at the damp mess before tossing it aside.

“All clean?” I ask, mockingly, as I admire the slight glisten to the wet areas he missed.

He laughs, stepping closer. My stomach tightens.

“Babe, I’m as dirty as they come.”

My eyes widen, my breathing stops.

Holy Shit! What do I – what does anyone say to that
?

I’m running out of time, he’s almost reached me. What would Charlie say if Clink said that to her?

“Then maybe we need a shower?” I blurt out. “Clean you up
real
good?”

He licks his lips, and they instantly plump, begging me to touch them. His eyes pin me, forcing me to stumble back as he approaches. The broadness of his shoulders is like a perfect line of symmetry, bulging and growing larger, more intimidating,