Chapter NINE
SIX WEEKS LATER
COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO
EM
I considered the playlist I’d put together on my phone, and smiled.
Then I hit play on the stereo system’s control app.
Bass filled the front of the house, rattling the windows. Dad’s room was in the addition off the back, so it wouldn’t be too loud in there. Just loud enough to make a hangover much, much worse, if you were unfortunate enough to have one.
Odds were whoever came home with him last night—giggling hysterically, because the endless sex noises weren’t quite annoying enough—had a hangover and a half. It’d been the club’s Halloween party. I’d gone for a classic, the Playboy Bunny (in honor of Bridget Jones), which had been rather satisfying. Painter was all over me, something I would’ve killed for six months ago. Now? F*ck him.
F*ck all of ’em.
Men, I mean. I was done with people who had penises, especially bikers. Liam (he’d disappeared off the face of the earth after his late-night visit, so far as I could tell). Painter (who only wanted me when he couldn’t have me). My dad (ugghh).
I’d decided to start campaigning for a woman’s right to marry her vibrator. So far I’d collected signatures from . . . well, mostly just Maggs. Her old man, Bolt, was coming up for parole soon, but she didn’t think he’d get out. He wouldn’t admit he’d done anything wrong. We all knew he was innocent. Hell, we even knew the DNA would exonerate him.
Convincing the state to actually get off their asses and test it, though? Good luck.
Maggs had dressed up like a prisoner in an orange jumpsuit, declaring it was her current version of slutty. Said she’d started associating prison jumpsuits with sex, seeing how the only time she got laid was during the very occasional conjugal visit.
I considered the music volume levels, then turned them up just a notch. I wasn’t blasting the back bedroom too loud—but listening to perky dance songs is a great way to wake up and get moving, right? Not only that, it seemed only civil to make a nice brunch for them.
A new song started, and I heard stirrings from the back of the house. Guessing who would come out of Dad’s bedroom any given morning was a real crapshoot. I kept fantasizing that he’d bring home someone over the age of thirty, but no joy so far. Knowing my luck, it was yet another chick I’d been in high school with.
I should start carding them to make sure they were legal.
It hadn’t always been this way. When Mom died, my dad went dark on us for a while, an angry lion who prowled around the house and occasionally swatted at things that got in his way. That first year I hadn’t seen him with a woman, not even once.
After that? It’s like a switch went off, and now he screwed around more than Ruger did before Sophie, which was saying something. But I might as well make Dad’s “friend” feel welcome, I told myself piously. After a long, hard night she would be hungry. I started whipping up pancakes, singing loudly as songs cycled through.
By the third song, the griddle was hot and the batter ready.
By the sixth I had a dozen pancakes cooked and ready. I’d also heard some thudding from the back of the house, and a high-pitched squeal. His latest party favor sounded just like a baby pig, I decided uncharitably.
Sure enough, when the girl marched into the kitchen, I recognized her. Yet another one I’d gone to school with. Officially icky. I eyed her as I took a sip of coffee. Then I raised my cup, wordlessly offering her some. She shook her head, wincing from the motion. I took another sip of sweet caffeine, hiding my smirk.
I set the cup down and poured a measuring bowl of whipped eggs into the frying pan. I heard a gagging noise behind me as she took off running for the bathroom. A few minutes later, Dad wandered into the kitchen. He wore nothing but flannel pajama pants, leaning against the counter as I passed him a cup of coffee without comment.
He took a sip, then spoke.
“You have plans for today?” he asked.
He didn’t ask about the girl or complain about the loud music.
He never did.
I had a secret theory that he liked how I chased off his women first thing in the morning. Sort of like letting out the dog, or hauling the trash to the curb. It was just one of the many small things I did to make his life more pleasant. In return he made it impossible for me to date and tried to micromanage my life.
Didn’t seem quite fair, something I needed to discuss with him. I took a deep breath, figuring there was no time like the present.
“Actually, I’ve got a project today,” I told him.
“What’s that?” he asked. A loud barfing noise came from the bathroom, and we both winced.
“Classy, Dad.”
A pained look crossed his face.
“Yeah, you got me there. So what’s this project?”
“Well, you know I’ve been looking into getting my aesthetician’s certification? I found a program and they’ve accepted me. You know I love doing nails, but I think this would be a great step forward.”
“That’s nice,” he said, then smiled. “I got no idea what that is, but if it makes you happy, go for it.”
“Here’s the thing,” I said, taking a deep breath. “The program’s in Portland.”
I braced myself, expecting him to explode. He didn’t disappoint.
“What the f*ck are you thinking?”
“Cookie and I were talking at the wedding,” I said. “She’s got space and could use a little rental income. She’s lonely since Bagger died. She loves Portland, but having a friend around would help.”
“Don’t bullshit me, little girl,” he muttered. “This has to be about Hunter. What the f*ck did he do to you? You gotta talk to me.”
I shook my head. He’d been after me to give him details of my time alone with Liam, but I wasn’t ready for that. I might never be ready. It seemed like my feelings changed daily, but I knew one thing for sure.
Dad wasn’t the person I’d be talking to when and if I felt the need.
“No, this is about me,” I told him firmly. “It’s time for me to strike out on my own. I love Portland, I love Cookie, and I need to get out of Coeur d’Alene.”
He looked away, face hardening.
“If it’s not Hunter, is it Painter? You need to get away from him? I know he was all over you last night, but I can make him back the f*ck off, baby.”
“No,” I repeated. “That’s part of the problem. Everyone thinks it’s about the men in my life, or the club. It’s not. This is about me. I love you, but I’m almost twenty-three years old. I want my own space—it’s time.”
“I want you to be happy,” he said slowly. “And I can even understand moving out on your own. But Portland is the wrong city.”
“Don’t give me that,” I told him. “The truce with the Devil’s Jacks is solid. Deke and the brothers will be there for me. You have to accept the fact that I’m an adult and I can take care of myself. I promise you—if I need help, I’ll ask for it. But you can’t just tie me up in bubble wrap and store me in the basement. Kit’s on her own and she’s doing fine. It’s my turn.”
“Well, if that’s what you really want . . .” he said finally. He shook his head. “I don’t like it. For the record, I don’t like her being out there, either.”
I smiled, because I knew I had him.
“I’ll be fine, Dad. I love—”
“Oh, I can’t believe how much my head hurts,” moaned my former classmate as she stumbled into the kitchen, her face faintly green.
Kind of like the inside of a cucumber.
The wave of warmth I’d been feeling toward Dad chilled. Why the hell did he keep f*cking around with women like this? Mom would kill him dead if she saw him pulling this shit. Not out of jealousy. Nope. Straight-up mercy shot.
“You think you could turn that music down?” she whimpered.
I shook my head in mock sorrow, then shouted, “Can’t find the remote!”
Her entire body shuddered and then I felt sort of guilty. I might be disgusted by the situation, but now she was turning all pitiful on me, ruining a perfectly good self-righteous snit.
“Oh, here it is,” I muttered. I grabbed the phone and turned the music off, wishing I could remember her name.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked, and I bit back a sigh. At least I wasn’t the only one with a shitty memory.
“We went to school together,” I said. “Unfortunately, you f*cked my dad last night, so I thought I’d make you breakfast. Consider it your consolation prize.”
Confusion filled her face, and I let the last of my snit go. Who cared if Dad screwed twenty-year-olds? At least he wasn’t marrying them.
“You want some coffee?”
“No thanks,” she said. She looked over at the silent man watching us and frowned. “She really your kid?”
He nodded, and I saw a hint of humor in his eyes.
“That’s kind of creepy,” she said, glancing between us. He shrugged.
“You ready for a ride home?”
She pondered, the wheels in her head obviously a little rusty.
“Um, yeah,” she said. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Vanessa!” I blurted out, feeling proud I remembered her name. She winced, and I realized I’d shouted. “Sorry—I couldn’t remember what it was, and then when I did . . .”
She just looked at me with big, postparty raccoon eyes. That’s when I noticed her “costume.” It was a super short, super tight little dress that had something weird and orange on the front. There was a fluff of green covering each boob.
“What the hell is that?” I asked. “I mean, what are you supposed to be dressed like?”
“I’m a sexy carrot.”
I looked at Dad and shook my head slowly. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I’m just gonna go get my things,” Vanessa said nervously. “This is too weird for me.”
“Good idea,” Dad told her. “We’ll leave in five.”
She stumbled back out of the room.
“Seriously? Sexy carrot?”
He shrugged.
“I didn’t realize how young she was. She looked older last night.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Are you sure about this Portland shit?” he asked, clearly uninterested in discussing his carrot fetish, which wasn’t a huge surprise. He didn’t take women too seriously. In fact, that was his excuse every time he ran off one of my boyfriends.
He didn’t want me hooking up with someone like him. Too late for that. F*cking Liam.
“I’m sure. I’ve made all the arrangements. I’ll finish out my notice this week at the salon, and I’m moving on Saturday. I’d like it if you’d drive down with the truck, help me get my things settled.”
He sighed, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck.
“You’re an adult,” he said finally. “You can do what you want. But what about Painter? You totally sure that’s over? Boy’s got it bad for you.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Painter turned me down and then screwed some slut in the bathroom not five minutes later,” I said dryly. “I’m done with Painter. Been done with him for a while. This isn’t a secret, no matter how much he’s been following me around lately. He just wants what he can’t have.”
His eyes darkened.
“It wasn’t the right night, baby girl.”
“It never is,” I snapped. “I think I can do better.”
Dad nodded thoughtfully.
“Okay,” he replied. “Hey, Emmy?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re making the right choice,” he told me. “About Painter, I mean.”
I froze. Didn’t see that coming.
“What? I thought you wanted me with a Reaper?”
“I do,” he replied. “But Painter never fought for you. He never stood up to me, never asked if he could date you, nothing. You deserve a man who’ll fight for you, baby girl. You remember that, all right?”
Wow. Didn’t see that coming. I felt sudden tears well up, and I lurched forward into his arms. He wrapped them tight around me, resting his chin on my head and rubbing my back softly.
“Just remember,” he said. “You and Kit—you can always come home. I don’t want you to leave. It’s perfect with you here, but I guess you’ll do fine in Portland. Just don’t sell yourself short. You find what your mom and I had, and don’t settle for less.”
“Painter is definitely less,” I murmured.
“Yup,” Dad said. “He’s my brother now and I’ll stand by him. But I never cheated on your mom. Never wanted to. You need a man who feels the same way, and don’t stop until you find him.”
“I love you, Daddy,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“Hey, you got any Febreze or air freshener?” Vanessa asked, her voice a shrill whine. “I got beer shits. Your bathroom reeks.”
Damn. I wasn’t the only one who could do better.
“This is a new low, Dad,” I whispered. His chest rose in silent laughter.
“Yeah, I’ll give you that. Shit. What the f*ck was I thinking?”
“Something to consider . . .” I said, pulling away to look up into his face. He smiled down at me, the blue eyes he’d given me crinkling just a little around the edges. “Moving forward? There is no such thing as sexy produce. Words to live by.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
TWO WEEKS LATER
PORTLAND, OREGON
“ID?” the bouncer asked. Kit rolled her eyes and pulled out the little plastic rectangle. He studied it carefully before handing it back. Then he checked mine and let us go down the stairs and into the bar.
This was my first full weekend in Portland, and Kit had driven down from Olympia to celebrate my new freedom with me. We’d started out by having dinner with Cookie and her daughter, Silvie, at the Kennedy School. Cookie headed home after that. We moved our party across the river to the Pearl District in search of the perfect dive bar.
Looking around the darkened, underground room, I was pretty sure we’d found it. The music was loud, the crowd was mixed, and the pool table was surrounded by a group of guys I’d rank at about a seven or eight on the “I’d hit that” scale, Liam being a perfect ten.
Bastard.
How dare he be all sweet and nice in the moonlight, and then take off and never talk to me again? Of course, I did kick him in the balls . . . The memory always gave me a smile.
“Dad know you have a fake ID?” I asked as we moved toward the bar. Kit smirked.
“Of course,” Kit replied. “He gave it to me.”
I stopped dead.
“No f*cking way.”
“Yup,” she replied. “Right after I got caught with a bad fake during high school. Told me that he didn’t want me getting arrested or in trouble, so I needed quality.”
“That is so unfair,” I muttered. “He never gave me one.”
“Did you ask?”
I shook my head.
“No, I guess it never occurred to me that I could . . . I mean, after a certain point he let me drink sometimes at the club and home, but I just didn’t think about bars.”
“Well, that’s the difference between you and me,” she said. “I’m always looking for new ways to get in trouble. You’re always looking to slide by without anyone noticing.”
She had a point. Hell, you could even see it in our clothing. I wore a simple black top. It showed a little cleavage and outlined my curves, but in terms of club wear it was designed to blend in.
Kit, though . . . Not so much.
She’d gone full vintage for the night, a look she’d been developing for a while. Her hair was dyed dark black and arranged in an elaborate style that screamed Bettie Page. She wore a fitted, off-the-shoulder red blouse that matched her bright red lipstick and showed off her tattoos. She’d paired it with ultra tight capri pants that somehow looked old-fashioned and slutty at the same time. The entire outfit was eye-catching and unique, and completely above any particular fad or momentary fashion trend.
Kit had always been that—ruthlessly making her own path, oblivious to other opinions. I loved it.
I loved her, too.
“I love you,” I told her, catching her up in a hug. She giggled.
“You’re drunk.”
“So are you!”
“Not drunk enough,” she countered. “Get me a vodka Red Bull, okay? I’m going to hit the powder room.”
I waited for our drinks, musing about my sister and her unique view of life. Powder room, for f*ck’s sake? Who says that? Somehow it was all part of that vintage persona, and on her it didn’t seem artificial at all.
Quite the accomplishment, really.
I got the drinks and found a table in the back. The top was a little sticky, as was the padded bench against the wall. I couldn’t see much in the dim light, though, and that was probably a good thing. When it comes to sticky in a bar, spilled drinks are sort of the best-case scenario.
My phone buzzed.
PAINTER: How’s Portland?
Yeah, right. Like I wanted to talk to f*cking Painter. I picked up my drink and chugged it down fast.
Kit slid in next to me, eyes wide.
“Are we not a happy camper?” she asked. I slid my phone over to her and she picked it up, studying the message. “Ah, the amazing Painter.”
Then she started typing. It took me a minute to realize what she was doing. I lunged for the phone and she laughed, hitting send.
“You bitch!” I yelled. She laughed and gave it back to me.
ME: Figure it out, dumbass. You blew it, and now I’ll never blow you.
“Wow, that’s cold,” I said, impressed. “He’s gonna be really pissed at me.”
“You found him f*cking a girl in the bathroom right after he turned you down,” she said bluntly. “He doesn’t get to be pissed. Ever. And what do you care? You’re done with him.”
“Yeah, but I still have to see him around when I go home.”
“So what?” she asked. “It’s like your head is still in Coeur d’Alene. You live in Portland now, babe. Bottoms up!”
She passed her drink over to me, and I chugged that one, too.
“I think I’m drunk,” I said after a couple minutes. She leaned forward, looking deep into my eyes like a fortune-teller.
“Really drunk, or just mostly?”
“Mostly,” I replied. “But definitely not sober.”
“Excellent,” she declared. “Now we’re going to talk about Liam.”
I swayed.
“I never should have told you about him.”
“Probably,” she agreed. “But you did, so that’s a done deal. Have you heard from him at all since that night?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t know if that pisses me off or not. I mean, it was all lies. I know that. But I still sort of miss him. How f*cked up is that?”
She cocked her head, thinking.
“Pretty f*cked up. But that’s how it is when you break up with someone.”
“You have to be with someone before you can break up with them.”
Kit started laughing.
“What?”
“You and Liam—Hunter—whatever we want to call him . . . You guys definitely had a relationship. You talked every day for weeks. You had phone sex with him and you pretty much had real sex with him, even if he didn’t literally stick his dick in you. He screwed you over and then he came to visit you and let you know you were safe. That’s more of a relationship than I had with that dumbass I got engaged to. Well, except for the sex part. We had more of that. But my point is, you broke up with someone. Of course you’re gonna be thinking about him.”
I considered her words. She had a good point.
“You know, that actually makes me feel a little better,” I said. “Less like I’m crazy.”
“So have you stalked him online since it happened?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said. Duh. “I mean, I looked at his house and stuff on Google. Went through his wallet. I already told you about the panties and shit. But there’s not much to find. His profile is gone and I can’t find anything else on him. I have no idea how much of what I knew of him was real.”
“This is going to take more alcohol,” she said, surveying our empty glasses.
I considered her statement, then nodded gravely.
“I have to pee.”
“You go do that,” Kit said, equally serious. “Try not to get lost. I’m gonna go replace these drinks. It’s my duty as a sister to make sure you don’t sober up any time in the near future.”
I stood, swaying, and realized there was no real danger of me sobering up any time soon. I made my way to the bathroom, passing the guys playing pool. One of them made eye contact, and I smiled. Yeah, being away from the club was pretty cool. I could flirt with him and not have to worry about him suddenly disappearing because some prospect started growling.
It took a long time to get to the bathroom and back. I can’t quite remember why, but I think I might have gotten lost near the pool table. Kit sat waiting for me, my phone in front of her, fingers flying.
Shit, why hadn’t I taken it with me?
Oh yeah. Drunk.
“Okay, two things,” she said when I got back. “I changed his name from Liam to Hunter in your contacts. It’s confusing me to keep track of both. Also, he said this.”
She handed it over to me. I looked at her blankly.
“Read it already,” she said. “Here, I got you a drink.”
She pushed a glass toward me, then glanced at the phone pointedly.
I looked down.
ME: Hey. Wht r you doing?
HUNTER: Em? Holy shit. How are you? I’m not doing anything. Can’t believe your messaging me
ME: I just wondred how you were, maybe if you think about me?
I looked up and gave Kit a death glare. Why hadn’t I drowned her when we were both still small, and I could’ve gotten away with it?
“What the hell were you doing?”
“Starting a conversation,” she said brightly. “I feel like we’ve got unfinished business here. Let’s get it out and over with, and then we’ll find someone to punch your V Card and move on.”
She said this last part way too loud, because the guy at the next table turned his head to eye us. He gave me a smile, and one of those chin lifts guys do.
“You need to stop talking,” I hissed at her. My phone vibrated, and I glanced down.
HUNTER: I think about you all the time
My heart skipped a beat. Well. That was interesting.
Kit tried to grab the phone again, but I stuffed it down the front of my pants. Ha! I smirked at her triumphantly until she whipped out her own cell. She hit a button and suddenly mine started vibrating.
Oh, wow.
There was something really, really wrong about how good that felt.
“I’ve had way too much alcohol,” I said. “I think I’m turning into a sex fiend.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” asked the guy next to us.
“No!” I grabbed Kit’s arm and started dragging her away.
“What are you doing?”
“We need to get the hell out of here,” I muttered. “Go dancing or something.”
This shit was out of control. Typical night out with my sister.
? ? ?
Two hours later I found myself in a cab headed toward Hunter’s house.
How we got from me dragging Kit out of a bar to stalking my former kidnapper, I wasn’t quite sure. I’m usually a pretty sensible person.
But in my defense, she bought me shots.
Anyway, because Kit is a sneaky bitch, she had the cabbie drop us not quite a block from Hunter’s address, so we could creep up on him. (I swear, in the moment it made sense. Shots!) We tiptoed along the sidewalk like two cat burglars, which would’ve been far more effective if we hadn’t been giggling hysterically and stumbling around. About two houses away we realized there was a party going on at his place.
Even during a party he took the time to answer “my” text!
Some part of me deep inside—the part that’s too stupid to live—thought this was sweet. That’s when I had to bitch-slap myself mentally, because seriously? Kidnapper. Naked photos.
Endless orgasms . . .
No. Don’t think about those.
We stopped behind a giant rhododendron and peered through the leaves at the house. People flowed through the front door, and loud music filled the air. Hunter stood in the corner of the old-fashioned porch, leaning against the rail and looking down over the yard. It was one of those old houses that defines Portland—tall and skinny on a narrow lot. Almost Victorian, but just a little more raw, as if the builders couldn’t quite afford the gingerbread. The porch slanted forward and steep stairs led to a narrow walk. Tree-sized shrubs surrounded it, many of them still flowering despite how late it was in the year.
Hunter watched impassively as a group of girls staggered up to the house. A tall chick with giant boobs tried to talk to him and I felt myself tense, but he ignored her and after a minute she followed the others inside.
“Wow, he’s hot,” Kit whispered. “No wonder you’re obsessed with him.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
“Whatever,” she said. “But damn . . . That chick looked like she was ready to drop to her knees on the spot if he gave the word. Not many guys would turn that down. Text him!”
“And say what?”
“Ask him what he’s doing,” she hissed.
“You already asked him that!”
“Oh yeah. I forgot. Ask him if he’s got anything interesting planned.”
I dug my phone out of my jeans and started typing, which was harder than you’d think, since my thumbs kept hitting the wrong spots.
ME: So you have anthing intrsting plnned? I’m out wth my sister
Seconds later Hunter reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, glancing down at it. He smiled and I melted, because he really was gorgeous. He started to type something back, but then a beautiful girl with bright red hair came out and wrapped her arms around his waist.
I waited for him to push her away or freeze her out like he’d done with Big Boobs.
Instead he hugged her back. She said something to him and he laughed, the expression on his face so tender I could have thrown up. Bastard. Motherf*cking cocksucking bastard. Hunter leaned over and whispered in her ear. She smacked his stomach playfully.
“I think we should kill him,” Kit hissed. “He doesn’t look nearly as cute with that bitch wrapped around him.”
I nodded.
He kissed the top of the girl’s head and she laughed again, then pulled away and went back into the house. Hunter turned back to his phone and I got a text from him.
HUNTER: Nope nothing planned. Just hanging out with the roommates. Shit it’s good to hear from you Em. Miss you. How are you?
I showed the message to Kit, and she growled.
“That takes balls,” she muttered. “You saw how they were together? That’s not some new thing, they’re a couple. He’s f*cking with you. Either that, or he’s f*cking her while thinking about you. Not sure which one sucks worse.”
“I know,” I said, my voice grim. God, why had I wasted so much energy on this guy? Why the hell was I surprised to see him hanging on some bitch right after he texted me?
Hunter wasn’t a nice guy.
We’d covered this.
I should just slink away. Just go home before I embarrassed myself even more. Then I pictured him naked with that redheaded twat and my head exploded.
I stepped out from behind the shrub and started marching across the lawn. I’m sure he noticed me right away, because Hunter had been doing that same watching thing my dad always does. He liked to keep an eye on everyone, always looking for potential threats. Considering what a giant dickhead Hunter was, I’d bet tons of people wanted him dead.
I was the new queen of their special club.
Pushing through the group at the foot of the stairs, I headed straight toward him. The surprised shock on Hunter’s face was satisfying as all f*ck.
“Em, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked, glancing around the yard quickly. Maybe he expected an army of Reapers behind me? Well, I might not have the brothers with me, but I had Kit. Under the right circumstances, she could be scarier than a dozen angry bikers.
“So, you miss me?”
“Um, yeah,” he said, studying me like I was some sort of alien creature. “Where did you come from? I thought you were in Coeur d’Alene.”
“Just because you leave me somewhere doesn’t mean I’ll stay,” I hissed. “I’m not a dog, Hunter. I don’t do what I’m told.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“You’re pretty f*ckin’ drunk, aren’t you?”
“And that would be your business because . . . ?”
“Shit, let’s get out of here,” he muttered. “Get you some water or something. Figure out the rest of this later.”
“Why, are you trying to hide me?” I sniped. “Afraid I might run into someone, make things awkward for you?”
He shook his head slowly.
“No, I just figured tomorrow you’ll wish there were fewer witnesses who saw this,” he said. “I’ll bet you’re gonna have a hell of a headache, too. Let’s get some water, maybe some Advil. Then we can talk, okay?”
“F*ck talking. I saw her, dickwad.”
“Who?”
I cocked my head and sneered. Did he really think he could fool me?
“I saw you with your girlfriend like two minutes ago, Liam. You kissed her, for f*ck’s sake. Don’t pretend you’re trying to do anything more than use me.”
“Jealous?” he asked, a slow, sexy grin stealing across his face.
“Don’t smile at her, a*shole,” Kit said from behind me. Like always, she had my back and I felt a rush of love for her. At least one person would always be on my side.
“Babe, that girl was my sister,” Liam said carefully, his voice almost gentle. “Kelsey. Trust me, she’s not interested in me like that.”
I froze.
“Your sister?” I asked, the fog in my head clearing enough to realize that I might have stepped over the line . . . “You told me you didn’t have any family, that you grew up in foster care.”
“She’s my foster sister,” he said. Shit. I felt like a complete bitch. “We’ve been together for more than ten years, I practically raised her.”
“I saw how she looked at you,” Kit snarled. “That’s not a sisterly kind of look.”
“You want to say that a little louder?” a new voice demanded, and I looked over to find the redhead in question glaring at us, hands on her hips. “Because it sounds like you were saying I want to f*ck my brother. That’s pretty nasty, even coming from a skank like you.”
Kit bristled like a porcupine, and for a second I thought she might launch herself across the porch, hissing and spitting.
“Drop it, Kels,” Hunter said, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “This is Em, and that’s her sister. Trust me, I’m happy she’s jealous of you. Means she still gives a shit.”
“I do not give a shit,” I muttered, and Hunter laughed.
“This bitch tied you in knots—” Kelsey started to say, but Hunter cut her off.
“Drop it. Put away your claws, because I’m just thankful she’s here.”
Kit snarled, and I stepped quickly between her and Kelsey. Wait. Wasn’t this supposed to be my dramatic scene? Ughh . . .
“This is between me and Hunter,” I told Kit. “I appreciate the support, but you need to back off.”
“Christ,” Kit muttered, turning away and running a hand through her hair. “I need a beer.”
Kelsey narrowed her eyes at her. Hunter put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed just a little tighter than what looked comfortable.
“Play. Nice.”
“You can come out back, we have a keg,” she choked after a long pause, her tone still hostile. “Let dumbass talk to his precious Em, maybe he’ll stop moping around. I’m seriously tired of his shit.”
She turned and stalked back into the house. Kit caught my eye.
You okay? she mouthed. I shrugged, which she took as a yes. I wasn’t sure if I was okay or not, but I figured I wouldn’t make any progress fighting on the porch with this Kelsey chick.
“Look, let’s go get some coffee or something,” Hunter said. “There’s a diner a few blocks from here. Then I’ll take you home.”
“No, let’s stay. I need another drink.”
I turned toward the house, but he caught my arm.
“I don’t want you inside.”
“Why not?” I asked. “You can’t tell me it isn’t safe. You let your sister go inside.”
“It’s safe enough,” he replied reasonably. “But there’s shit in there I don’t want you exposed to.”
“My dad is the president of an MC,” I snapped. “Or have you forgotten? Because if I remember correctly, it’s why you got in touch with me in the first place. I’ve been exposed to plenty in my life.”
Hunter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It’d gotten longer since I’d seen him. Unfortunately, I remembered exactly what it felt like to run my fingers through that hair.
Lust hit me, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Goddammit. Why did he have to be so beautiful?
“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten who you are,” he said. “Would make my life a hell of a lot easier if you were nobody. I’d just f*ck you and get it over with.”