BITTER SWEET CRAVINGS (The Kingsmen MC Book 6) (5 page)

“It’s not much…” he quickly looks to explain, “but you’ve got to try the Belgian waffles.”

A sweet little old woman named Edna takes our order of the famous waffles and some bacon before setting us up with coffee and leaving us to ourselves.

“So…” I search for something to say. “Where are you from?”

I’d always gotten the impression that he wasn’t from around here.

“Rhode Island. I left home when I went to Medical School in Texas and haven’t really been back since,” he narrates.

I sip the coffee and do my best to seem interested. His explanation settles the question regarding his mixed accent.

Harris’s eyes raise to the front entrance he’s faced toward. “Excuse me, Charlie. I’ve got to take care of something.”

I nod to signal that I’m fine by myself for a moment. He pulls down his scrub top as he stands and disappears behind me. Maybe it’s my curiosity getting the best of me, but something makes me turn to watch as he walks away.

Immediately, my eyes settle on his ass, rating it and comparing it. It’s not bad… not by any means, but I can’t quite put my finger on why I’m not loving it. Maybe in some jeans, my mind begins to wander, dressing him. Maybe in some boots, some leather--

I mentally scream at myself, reprimanding myself for subconsciously biking him up.

A shady looking guy sitting alone near the door is also watching the doc. He seems to make eye contact with my impromptu date and I see the back of Harris’s head nod as he passes the tan-skinned young guy.

Once he’s cleared the other man’s booth without stopping, the sitting man stands and follows Harris down a side corridor toward the restrooms. Something’s odd about the interaction… off somehow. The darker-skinned man definitely moved to follow Harris, yet they didn’t even really acknowledge each other in passing.

The sound of dishes placed on the formica table breaks my attention.

“Here ya go, sweetheart. Enjoy.”

Edna sets a massive pile of golden deliciousness before me. I know it’s not polite, and I know it’s against everything my mom raised me to believe, but I don’t have the willpower to wait for my companion to return before stealing a bite.

One little slice of perfectly beautiful crispy bacon is all it takes to offer some distraction to the shitty morning I’m having. I haven’t allowed myself more than a second to deal with the emotions Clink’s return has stirred up.

I know I can’t go there… not now. So… I do what my mom would call ‘eating my feelings
’
, and I devour another piece of bacon.

CHAPTER FIVE

“After you,” Harris once again proves his debonair gentleman status by holding the metal-framed Waffle Hut door for me as I balance the doggy bag of waffles carefully.

True to his word, they were hands down the best I’ve ever had, though I notice he didn’t touch his much. They were cold by the time he eventually returned to the table.

I’ve never witnessed someone take as long in a restaurant restroom as he did, and I made sure to pay attention to when the other man returned to his table. Not only did Harris spend an obscenely long time in the men’s room, but so did his friend.

Also, the man didn’t even take his seat to finish his coffee. He just… left. Very, very weird.

I don’t know Dr. Walker well at all, and I can’t help but wonder if he, how do I say this? Plays for both teams? Could that have been what he was doing the whole time?

It’s not something I care to ask about, and despite my little performance earlier, I have no intention of getting close enough for it to even be a factor.

We nearly reach the car when I notice something just doesn’t look right. Harris stops short next to me.

“What. The. Fuck?” It’s odd hearing that language from such a gentleman, and I do a double take as I watch him storm past me to circle around his very expensive luxury car, wondering what the hell he’s talking about.

“My tires!” His explanation has me immediately searching the two tires I can see, but it takes me a moment before I notice.

They’re flat.

A sudden realization hits me like a ton of bricks and I begin to look around frantically. Left and right and left again until I see him.

Two blocks down the street, on the opposite side, is Clink… leaning against the same bike I saw him near earlier, and nonchalantly playing with his fingernail.

I begin to clench my teeth, tightening the muscles in my jaw, fighting against myself to stomp off and throw these waffles right in his face before kicking him--

“Charlie? Is that you?” I turn on my heel, my eyes still daggers.

I can see out of my periphery that Harris notices the man approaching me, although he’s very much preoccupied with the very flat tires.

Blue, one of the more, er, colorful, Kingsmen, clad in his leather and a white bandana tied around his forehead, walks toward me on the sidewalk. His bike is parked just a few spots behind us.

I stand in shock, but Blue seems to have expected it, with a hidden smile on his lips. He leans forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek. I growl in his cheek, low enough for Harris not to hear.

“You jackass! I know you had something to do with this!” I whisper through gritted teeth.

“Charlie? Do you…
know
this person?” Harris joins us, wary of the tough-ass biker. I’m guessing Blue’s not the type of company the good doctor is used to keeping.

“Blue,” the shmuck extends his hand. “I’m a friend of Charlie’s. Work for her pop, too.”

Harris cautiously takes the outlaw’s offer and I can’t help but notice the drastic difference in hand size between the skilled medical professional and the criminal as they shake.

“
Dr
. Walker,” Harris puts extra emphasis on his title, a stark contrast to his not liking when I myself use the term.

Blue is at least a head taller than the smaller doctor, and it’s obvious that he’s a hell of a lot stronger, too. And he’s not even the largest Kingsmen either! Clink could take Blue any day of the week--

Shit!

There I go again.

My momentary lack of resolve with my thoughts reminds me of the asshole down the street and I turn to watch his take on the scene playing out for him.

His arms are crossed, but he rubs his chin with the nearest hand, seeming to laugh as I wish massive diarrhea on him.

“You havin’ some trouble here, doc?” Blue walks around the car, bending down to inspect the nearest tire. I’m impressed with his own flawless acting skills as it seems as if he’s seeing the damage for the first time.

“You got a spare?” he asks.

Harris stands above the biker, both watching the rubber as if it’ll suddenly fix itself.

“I’d need
four
,” Harris point out.

Clink moves to take sight of another tire. “No shit?” He then nods.

He stands, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Well, doc. Let’s get you a tow.” Blue whips out his cell. “Just so happens, Charlie’s pop owns a garage. We’ll get you fixed up.”

Blue winks at me as he steps away with the phone to his ear to make his imaginary phone call.

“Well, this is convenient,” Harris notes, genuinely thankful.

I bite my lip. “You have
no
idea.”

“Tow truck’s on its way. Should be here in less than a half hour. The driver can give you a lift anywhere you need. But,” Blue nods to me, “no use in Charlie gettin’ stuck.”

He walks over to his bike and grabs the helmet from the handlebar. When he returns, he hands it to me.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safe and sound,” Blue volunteers.

Harris returns his attention to his imported car, hand pushing through his hair in utter astonishment. “Uh... uh, yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”

And just like that, the game has played out just the way its mastermind had intended. I’m less inclined to play along, so Blue buckles my helmet and steers me along back to his bike.

I have to hand my doggy bag to Blue seated in front of me, while I swing my leg over the tall Harley.

He lifts it to his nose, sniffing. “Smells good. You gonna eat this?”

“Choke on it, motherfucker.”

Blue hands it back to me when I’m situated and he laughs as he starts the engine. “
There’s
the Charlie I know.”

We leave Dr. Walker behind as the bike hightails it down the road. We pass Clink and Blue signals him with two fingers in a mini salute, although the bystander’s gaze isn’t fixed on him.

It’s set on me.

Anger wells up in me and I’m not proud of it, but I let instinct take over and I hurl the thin bag of syrupy waffles at him full force.

We pass quickly and I don’t get to benefit from the results, but it makes me feel just a wee bit better.

~*~

CLINK

I kick the Jaguar’s fender hard enough for my boot to dent it. I decide that the damage isn’t enough… so I kick it again.

“Whoa!” Dewey walks up behind me. “What’d it ever do to you?”

He claps his hand down on my shoulder, but I shrug it off, hard.

“Just see that it gets fixed,” I tell the head mechanic. “And put a tracker on it. I want to be able to see where this piece of shit is, whenever I want. Vince here?”

“He’s inside. Take it easy, though, brother.” Dewey begins to rub his hand over the indentation, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ shame. This here’s a beaut.”

I turn toward the clubhouse, leaving the car where the flatbed has left it.

“It’s a fucking tin can with an expensive price tag.” I rip off the driver’s side mirror in passing.

“Ah, fuck!” Dewey stands back as my violent rage plays itself out.

A few of the other brothers witness my tirade and clear a path for me, knowing that this is no time to get in my way. I’ll knock each and every one of them flat on their asses if they so much as say a word to me.

I find Vince soon enough nursing a beer at the clubhouse bar, sitting next to Jay. They both look up as the afternoon sun fills the dark room with me entering.

“Well, look what the fuckin’ cat dragged in,” Jay stands up and holds out his arm to give me a bro hug, but I sidestep him, still growling.

His eyebrows shoot up and he watches amused as I move behind the bar to grab a dishtowel and begin wiping at the drying maple syrup all over me.

“The fuck happened to you? You smell like Goddamned Aunt Jemima.”

Vince’s smart-ass comment earns a round of laughter from the nearby brothers. I shut each and every one of them up with nothing more than a look.

A look that lets them know just how dangerously close they are to a beat down.

A look that let’s them know I’m in no mood to be fucked with.

Many of them nervously busy themselves with sipping on bottles or averting eye contact.

I angrily take off my cut and throw it at the nearest prospect.

“Clean it,” I order. He obeys, disappearing with the vest.

“Well?” my president repeats his unanswered question.

I grab the nearby bottle of Jack and swig from it. “Your daughter. That’s what happened.”

Vince breathes deep, as Jay can’t help himself and busts out laughing, spraying his beer across the room.

“Let’s talk in private,” the older man suggests.

I take the bottle of Jack with me.

I’m gonna need it.

~*~

Vince leans back in his chair, balancing it on the two back legs, clasping his hands behind his head.

“I’m in a bad spot here, Clink,” he starts. “You know I think of you as a son, a brother. And I respect you. Now, I know shit between a brother and his Ol’ lady is for the two to work out between themselves… but this is a
unique
situation.”

I’ll say
.

I take a swig of the strong whiskey in my hand.

“You know her better than I do,” his face falls at his realization, “but, judging from…” he eyes the mess splattered on my shirt, “that… I’d say she’s very similar to me.”

I take another swig.

“I know that if I were in a position like her, I probably wouldn’t take very well to you throwin’ yourself in my face right now. So, I’m goin’ to ask you to use some better judgment. For
everybody’s
safety.”

Another swig.

“You left her in a bad way, brother. One that I’m not so sure she’s out of yet. If there’s one thing the Cauley’s are pretty good at… it’s self-destruction. I don’t need nothin’ pushin’ her over the edge, you get me?”

A slow, drawn-out sip.

“She fucked up, you fucked up… hell,
I’ve
fucked up. No one’s innocent in this here situation. But, cooler heads need to prevail. If she’s not capable of doin’ that right now, then I need you to step in and do it for the both of you.”

One more swig.

“She’s a grown woman. One that has proven she’s willing to go to any lengths to get what she wants. If that’s you… then she’ll come around.” He swallows hard. “If not… then I need to know that you’re gonna do the right thing and walk away.”

I tilt the almost emptied bottle once more and gulp deep.

“I know that’s not our code, not our way. But… I need to contain this shit as much as I can. I need to know you’re not gonna make this more difficult than it already has the potential to be. I have a lot to make up for with her… I’m not going to risk her bolting to get the hell away from you, losing the chance to do just that.”

I finish the bottle.

I feel the warmth trickle and spread outward from my throat and deep into the far recesses of my body. My lips, my tongue, begin to tingle and are curiously close to going numb.

My president watches me for a reaction. When he doesn’t get the exact one he’s looking for- an agreement- he settles instead for a lack of a
dis
agreement.

I feel my eyelids growing heavy, and closing, only to have me fight against it to try to focus on the old man.

“All right, then. Good talk.”

He claps the tabletop with his open palms lightly and stands. He’s almost out of the boardroom when I’m able to gather the strength and balance to stand. I can’t seem to command my hand to let go of the emptied glass bottle I’m clasping, and so I take it with me as I drag my feet down the hallway, bouncing into walls like a goddamned ping-pong ball until I reach the door to the first crash room I find.

I trip over my own foot and land in the middle of the thin, worn mattress, unable to adjust myself as most of my lower-half hangs over the bed’s edge. My mouth is slightly open, refusing to close, and so I make good use of it and breathe heavily through it.

The last thing I hear is the heavy thudding of the thick-bottomed bottle dropping to the wood floor.

But the last thing I see? The last thing I see is her face.