Wild Ones (The Lane) (2 page)

“These violent delights have violent ends.”

—William Shakespeare

Chapter One

Five years ago

“My da—dad will be angry if I’m late, Michael.”

The quarterback of our high school’s football team—Go Trojans, snicker nudge wink—just grinned at me, dark wavy hair falling into his eyes, and I grew warm all over. I didn’t like Michael, not really. He was dumber than a box of rocks, arrogant and mostly a douche, but he was pretty to look at and a master of the backseat tango. He also had big arms, a glorious benefit to his father’s obsession with him eventually playing college ball, and I had a thing for arms.

“We’ll have you back before he even knows you’ve been gone,” he assured me with a wink, reaching over to squeeze my knee. “Your daddy will still think I’m a regular Prince Charming good enough to date his princess.”

I bit back the mocking reply threatening to escape. Michael was so full of himself, so convinced everyone adored him as much as he adored himself, it never dawned on him that my da called him “Charming” as an insult. He didn’t like anyone, my da, let alone some teenage boy with a head nearly too big for his football helmet.

These were the things I remembered clearly from that night. The smell of sweat and stale fast food that clung to the upholstery in Michael’s car. The feel of his hand on my bare leg and the warm summer air that ghosted over my own hand as it hung outside the window, surfing the wind as we flew through the darkness toward the rundown apartment where my drunken, mean black Irish da waited. The sharp bite of regret that I had to leave the party early.

It was unremarkable, that night, which might be the reason so much of it has been lost to me over the years. I made curfew. Ma was gone, off making money in ways we were all aware of but never acknowledged out loud. Da was only a few drinks in, deep enough that his voice took on that heavy Irish lilt I knew so well, but not quite enough that his Irish temper had made an appearance, something I also knew well. I’d played the game and won again. The chamber had been empty.

I was good, the best really, at this precarious dodge-and-dance number we’d established over the years. Better than my older brother, Christian, had been. He had fled two years before, taking the coward’s way out, unable to hack it. I should have felt sorry for him, maybe even missed him a little. But he had abandoned me to the game to fend for myself, and there was no loyalty in our family. It was every man for himself. He was gone and I remained and these were the facts, bare of any emotion behind them.

I took a shower and retreated to the room Christian and I had once shared. His bed was still across from mine and, while I never used it save to throw my ancient, tattered book bag on, I liked the reminder. That I was the stronger one, the survivor.

I fell asleep in my bra and underwear, both inherited from my ma, and maybe that contributed to what happened next. Or maybe it would have happened anyway. Maybe I had never won that round of Russian roulette. Maybe the chamber hadn’t been empty, the bullet had just been jammed for a minute. Maybe I had already been shot and I was just too stupid, too overly confident, a little too much like Michael, to notice.

Hands in places they should have never been woke me up out of a sound sleep. Hands that were supposed to pick me up to reach the moon and stars, not touch me where Michael’s hands had been only hours ago, erasing the memory of them. The smell of whiskey overwhelmed me, surrounded me and clouded my head, my ma’s name falling from his lips as coarse hair grazed my leg. I jerked upright with a yelp and fought like a wildcat. I struck out blindly, shoved and beat against the soft chest that loomed over me, desperate to force it away.

Dull recognition flared in too-close muddy eyes, followed by a curse, then a blinding pain rocked my head back, radiating in dizzying waves across my face. Minutes, hours, days later the fog cleared and the storm shifted, leaving bruises and blood and aching ribs in its wake. I could only just make out the blames that were shifted and shoved off on me, the voice they were spoken in thick and hateful as I curled into a ball of tender mushy skin and muscles. Another curse was yelled in a rough brogue, and glass shattered somewhere close by. The tornado that was my da wreaked category-five havoc in my room, breaking and destroying anything he could get his hands on. Hands that had been on me first, had broken me first.

Bile rose in my throat, violent and acidic, as he stalked from my room, rolling thunder in his steps, and took his rage out on the rest of the house, abusing furniture and decor too battered to fetch any kind of price in the local pawn shops. Sometimes I think I can still taste it choking me.

Hours later, or maybe not, I stumbled to my closet, grabbed a bag, throwing everything that I could fit into it, vaguely aware that at some point, my ma had come in and now she was taking the brunt of my da’s fury. I skipped over the bras as Ma’s voice rose an octave, responding to something I had been tuning out. I didn’t even glance at the small stack of underwear before I shoved the drawer that always stuck halfway shut, not even trying to be quiet about it. I didn’t have that many of either, only a few pairs, but I left them all behind. Left them in my place. Ma could have them back. He could have them. I didn’t care. Just so long as they never touched my body again.

Money was a scarce thing in our house, but I snatched up the measly stash I had been saving for years and, while my parents screamed at each other from their room—not about me, never about me—I muttered an apology to Christian’s ghost.

Then I ran.

“My only love sprung from my only hate!”

—William Shakespeare

Chapter Two

Present Day

I sauntered through a cloud of smoke as I made my way back to the bar, putting an extra sway in my step as I passed by a table full of boys with faces that no doubt still matched their IDs. I could feel their eyes following me and I glanced back over my shoulder, giving them a wink, catching them nudging each other, before I turned away. I was willing to let them think whatever they wanted, so long as they let their wallets do the talking for them when I got back. I wasn’t worried about it too much. The young ones usually did. They hadn’t learned any better yet.

Behind me a little ways, Chase Callahan was doing his best Tom Waits impression, crooning “I Hope That I Don’t Fall in Love With You” as he accompanied himself on one of the two baby grand pianos raised up on a platform above the tables in front of him. I liked Chase, he was an okay enough guy, but he was no Waits. Pretty good piano player though. We all have our strengths, I guess.

The bar was a lighthouse in the middle of the darkness, shining like a beacon of hope and sweet promises. The lights stayed on above the bartenders for practical purposes—no one would appreciate a watered-down Long Island—but the effect was still a little romantic, in a drunken, broken kind of way. It was fitting, symbolic even. Because that was the kind of people that tended to frequent Duke’s. Broken drunks.

I kept my eyes on the unruly blond head of Jax Young as I approached, ignoring the other bartender, Annie. As if he sensed my gaze, Jax glanced up and nodded at me, letting me know he’d be down in a minute. I stared at him for a second, my eyes squinting a little, watching the lights dance across his face as he mixed a drink and poured it into a larger-than-average teacup. He looked up and grinned at the man in front of him, all gleaming white teeth and crinkling blue eyes, and I caught myself wondering in an offhanded sort of way if the guy was gay before realizing it really didn’t matter. Jax would get a good tip either way. He just had that kind of an effect on people.

From the corner of my eye I saw Annie take a step in my direction and I cut my eyes at her, making her stop in her tracks. She turned away quickly and I smirked, pleased with myself and her reaction.
Good girl.
Remember your place.
Which is away from me.
I didn’t have anything against Annie personally. She was just one of those plastic girls who lived and breathed their physical perfection and liked to shove it in people’s faces. I couldn’t stand girls like that and I liked to remind them of it. Often.

A few seconds later, Jax appeared in front of me, his eyebrow quirked in a silent question.

“Two Bud Lights, one Miller Draft and a redheaded slut,” I recited, then leaned in close. “And if you want to throw in a shot of something that burns on the way down, I won’t tell.”

He laughed and it was a musical, infectious sound, something Chase could never hope to achieve on his best night.

“Tell you what, Martin. You cash out at two hundred tonight so we get the rent in on time, and I’ll swipe you an entire damn bottle of whatever you want.”

I eyed him suspiciously.

“Anything I want?”

“Anything not on the top shelf,” he clarified. “You know they keep track of those.”

“Deal.” I stuck my tray under my arm and held my hand out for him to shake. “Don’t wuss out on me now, Young,” I warned him after we did. “I know where you sleep.”

“And if you were a little prettier, you could be sleeping there with me,” he shot back as he typed my number into the small computer located under the bar. “Tab or receipt?”

“Receipt,” I told him, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “These are the fucks that always skip out on their tab.”

“Ah, yes.” He nodded. “Good catch.”

“I never forget a face that stiffs me.”

“I never forget a face that gives me a stiffy.”

I rolled my eyes, even though we both knew it was for show only. There was very little that came out of Jax’s mouth that surprised me anymore. In fact, I could usually predict what he was about to say before he even said it. An occupational hazard of living and working with someone for so long, I guess.

He went to fetch my beers and I turned around, leaning my elbows back against the bar and jutting my chest out slightly. Suzy and Miranda, the other two servers, moved through the maze of tables and chairs so smoothly it looked as though they were performing complicated dance moves. The room was hazy through the cigarette smoke, the conversation hushed and more reserved than you would have expected in a place that encouraged heavy drinking and bad decisions. It was probably the atmosphere of Duke’s, designed to resemble a 1920s speakeasy, that did it. You couldn’t help but feel like you’d been transported back in time when you came down the stairs into the basement where it was located. The sight of the servers in their flapper dresses, the bartenders in tight white T-shirts and suspenders, the bouncers both dressed like Capone, the mixed drinks served in teacups. They made it easy to forget you weren’t going to be arrested just for being there.

I winced as Chase moved on to an old Seger song.

On second thought, it was mostly easy to forget. As long as you didn’t pay attention to the music. The owner, Joshua King, a slightly balding, pasty-skinned man with a head for business and a face only his mother could love, wouldn’t hear anything against it, however. He claimed people liked music they could sing along to and not many knew the words to songs from the twenties. He was probably right but still, it took away from the authenticity of the place, if you asked me. Which people rarely did, mind, though it never stopped me from voicing what I thought anyway.

The previously empty table directly in front of Chase was now occupied by four mean-looking fuckers. These were no college boys out to have a good time or middle-aged men trying to relive a past they weren’t around for. The rough-looking quartet was as out of place at Duke’s as Seger was.

Something about their posture, in the way they sat eyeing those around them silently like predators assessing their prey, made me straighten up and take note. These boys were either trouble or looking for it. I could feel a grin overtake my face. I liked trouble. I liked trouble a lot.

Just then, just as I was grinning like a fool, the biggest of the group turned his head sharply as if he sensed my gaze, and his eyes locked on mine. I realized it was him I’d been watching all along, the others at the table mere shadows, vague shapes and little more, in my peripheral vision. His gaze was steel, a magnetic pull of intensity that drew me in and held me there. There was a challenge in them, and I wasn’t sure what that challenge was but I didn’t look away. Looking away signified backing down, and while I believed in a lot of things, backing down wasn’t one of them.

Slowly, his eyes moved down, and even though it was dark and the smoke of various lit cigarettes created a sheer curtain between us, I knew I was being sized up, assessed. I didn’t cower. I didn’t flinch. I gave him the same once-over, looking and not seeing, telling him I was neither intimidated nor impressed. My message was either received or I was dismissed, I wasn’t sure which, but he turned away and the moment between us, whatever it was, was over.

Feeling a tap on my shoulder, I whirled back around to find Jax waiting with my drinks. He glanced in the same direction I was just looking, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Think our quiet night just ended,” he muttered, his tone dark.

“Probably,” I replied brightly. He arched an eyebrow at me and I shrugged. “It’s been slow.”

He shook his head, not disagreeing with me, more like disapproving. It was a look I was all too familiar with. I knew what he was thinking without him even having to voice it. If a fight broke out, whatever men were working were expected to help the bouncers break it up, and he’d have to move fast to beat me to the fray. He was already calculating his route, trying to figure out which path would get him there the quickest, I could see it in his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, Young.” I loaded the drinks onto my tray. “We got both Mike and Jared tonight. You think anyone is going to start something when they realize they’d have to go up against those two?”

“True.” He nodded to a fussy-looking lady in a cringe-worthy shade of pink, waiting to have her order taken. “Remember. Two hundred bucks. You have half an hour before you’re cut.”

“Not a problem,” I assured him as he moved away. I didn’t bother telling him I was already up to $210, thanks to the double I’d pulled that day, working the afternoon shift upstairs in Bar 9 before moving down to Duke’s. Some cards were better kept close to the vest.

I took the drinks back to my table, bending lower than necessary to deposit them and giving the male occupants an eyeful of my cleavage. If my ma had taught me anything, it was to use your body to your advantage while you had it to use. It was about the only thing she had ever taught me, but it had served me pretty well over the past few years. Probably not as well as it served her, but not all of us could lie on our backs and take a dick for a living and still feel okay with ourselves the next day. Some of us chose to whore out in low-lit bars instead.

I hit up my table of college boys, making sure to flatter them with compliments and eyelash fluttering. Those types of boys always got off on that kinda stuff, that “you big strong man, me Jane,” shit. When I returned with their drinks, they proved it by tipping me a twenty. I gushed and complimented them some more, stroking my hand down the closest one’s arm as I took the cash. He lapped it up, his chest puffing out slightly, telling me that Suzy and Miranda would have a good night with them after I clocked out thanks to my efforts. Hopefully they remembered that and returned the favor at a later date.

I glanced around as I turned to walk away, doing a quick check to see if there were any new people in my haphazardly drawn section or anyone in need of a refill before my shift was over. One of the big fuckers, an ugly dude with a crew cut and a nasty scar, caught my eye and held up his bottle of Bud, using it to wave me over. I weaved my way through the chairs, coming up behind him and leaned close to his ear.

“Your friends need another round too?” I asked, pressing close, my chest intentionally brushing the back of his arm.

“Sure, darlin’,” he replied in a voice that took me by surprise. It was too soft for him somehow, too gentle, clashing with his scar and choice of company. I grinned at him and he smiled back, a dimple appearing in his cheek, a stark contrast to the jagged mark running from the corner of his eyebrow to his pockmarked chin.

“What’ll it be, boys?” I raised both my eyes and voice to address the other occupants at the table. Two of the others responded, but Dark and Brooding ignored me completely.

“And you, Prince Charming?” I asked him directly, my eyebrows raised as I waited for him to look at me. He didn’t, instead looking stubbornly just to the left of me while I continued to stare at him, hoping it was at least making him uncomfortable.

“He’ll take a Jack on the rocks,” Crew Cut said, taking hold of my elbow to get my attention.

“Well, as soon as he tells me that’s what he wants, I’ll make sure he gets it,” I replied sweetly, my eyes never leaving Dark and Brooding.

“Just bring him the Jack, darlin’. Trust me.”

“Sorry, sweets. I don’t wait on people who don’t acknowledge me. I’ll get you boys your beer but until Prince Charming speaks up, he’ll be thirsty.”

“You’re not my type, sugar,” a low voice all but growled at me. If I hadn’t still been looking right at him, I wouldn’t have known he had even spoken. His facial expression never changed, remaining a mask of cool indifference and maybe a little contempt.

I grinned wide and out of the corner of my eye I caught the startled expressions of the others at the table.

“I know I’m not, Charming. I have more than two brain cells. Don’t worry though, you’re not my type either.”

His head jerked in my direction and once again I was being assessed, measured. I stared steadily back, arranging my face to express my boredom.

“Yeah? And what’s your type?” he asked after a minute. I couldn’t tell if he was playing with me or genuinely curious.

“Not you,” I laughed, shaking my head. “Now, you gonna tell me what it is you want to drink?”

“Jack. On the rocks.”

I smiled at him. It was a patronizing smile, and judging by his reaction, he knew it. His nostrils flared and I could practically see the irritation oozing from his pores. It made me smile wider.

“I’ll be right back.”

I could tell that Jax had been keeping an eye on me while I waited on them by the way he had their drinks ready and waiting when I reached him.

“Are you antagonizing them?” he hissed, leaning across the bar so far that our noses practically touched. I snorted and rolled my eyes.

“You know me better than that.”

“I do. Which is why I’m telling you not to antagonize them. I don’t feel like breaking up a brawl tonight, Bri. I just want to finish this shift and find some pretty drunk girl to go home with.”

“You won’t have to break up any brawls,” I reassured him. “Just keep flipping those bottles and untwist your panties.”

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I heard a commotion behind me and Chase’s piano playing abruptly cut off. I knew before I turned around who was going to be involved, and my heart jumped with barely contained excitement, leaving me almost breathless. Jax only confirmed my suspicions when he leaned back, shoulders sagging with resignation. I tried and only just succeeded to hold back a giddy burst of laughter that wanted to escape.

Until I peeked over my shoulder, that is.

In the mere minutes since I left their table, the quartet of trouble had not only started a fight, but had cleared their entire section of the floor. Suzy and Miranda were backed up with the customers, watching with horrified fascination as three faced off against the biggest bouncers our boss employed and appeared to be holding their own with very little effort.

I searched for Dark and Brooding, finally spotting him with his back to me, the muscles there bunched under his white T-shirt. He was pinning someone against the platform and piano, and after a beat, I realized it was Chase that he had in his grasp.