Easy’s gaze narrows, nostrils flaring as he cases me out. “Haven’t seen you here before. Who you with?”
“Horse.”
His top lip curls in a snarl. “That old man?”
“Got a problem with him?”
“Got a problem with the pretty picture he likes to wear on ’is back.”
Interesting. “How so?”
“None of ya business.”
I shake my head, pushing off the wall I’d been leaning on. “If I remember rightly, you came up to me and asked who I’m here with. Now you’re tellin’ me you have a problem with a friend of mine, and on top of that, you’re tellin’ me it’s none of my business?”
“’Cause it ain’t. You got a reason to be ’ere tonight?”
“Do I need one?”
He crosses his arms over his barrel chest, and snorts. “Only narks and thieves ’ave no reason to show up when they’re not invited. You a nark, boy? A thief?”
Both. “Just a guy looking for a place to score.”
Easy shifts between his feet, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans as he pulls his head back with an arrogant sneer. “You’ve come to the right place, then.”
“So I was told.” I thumb toward the house. “Horse, remember?”
“What you after? Gram? An ’alf?”
“Half.” I hold his stare, waiting for him to decide I’m genuine.
He grinds his jaw, left, and then right. “Trust you have the readies?”
“Flush as, brother.”
He jerks his head toward the front door. “Inside with ya, then. You can wait in the kitchen.”
I nod, holding out my hand to gesture for him to go first. We may have agreed on a deal, but I’m no fool—the guy would stab me in the back as fast as he dealt the goods, given half a reason. I’m not game to find out what kind of bullshit he counts as one.
Easy heads indoors, given a wide clearance by the bouncer at the door. The thick-necked asshole moves enough to give me a hard time passing, body blocking me so I’m forced to turn sideways to get in. I hesitate in front of him, jammed against the doorframe in the tight space, and run my tongue slowly along my top teeth. “I get the feelin’ you have a soft spot for me, sweetheart.”
He leans forward, crushing my back into the hard edge of the timber frame. Flashing him a grin, I slip out from between him and the door and step around the corner of the front hall into the kitchen. A group of women stop their conversation, eyeing me as I enter.
“Evening.”
They give me a sideways glance and scarper, leaving me to wait out Easy alone. Suits me just fine. Pulling a beer from the fridge, I lean back against the door and praise the fact somebody finally had enough brains to get twist-tops. The drink is cool on my throat, filling my need to do something with my hands while I wait.
What exactly were Tommy and Easy talking about? The same shit in the same place. Makes me think Easy gets the kid to do regular drops for him. Why the kid? Does he manage to get around relatively unnoticed? Or is it simply a case of passing the dirty work on to the lackeys?
My troublesome train of thought is derailed when the Nazi girl walks in to the room, completely oblivious she has company until she comes to a stop before me. Lifting those clear blue eyes, she frowns at my choice of leaning post.
“Excuse me.”
She’s even more breathtaking up close. A fucking inked rose amongst a bed of thorns. I eye the images etched into her flesh, all the way from her throat to her wrist. I make no show of hiding it, either. What the fuck a girl like her is doing mixed up with animals like these, I don’t know. But I hope like fuck it doesn’t mean the girl’s just as screwed up in the head as they are, believing in white supremacy, the superior race, and all that bullshit.
If a pretty face like hers hides an ugly soul like that, then I give up. There really is no hope for finding the perfect woman.
I take a step to the left, watching her as she opens the fridge door and pulls out two bourbon and cokes. She’s sexy in an understated way, most of her flesh covered by a pair of skin-tight jeans, with combat boots loosely laced over the top, and a shredded Slipknot T-shirt. In fact, the T-shirt’s about the sexiest thing she wears with how the slashes in the fabric allow me glimpses of her chest.
Her eyes glance up to mine again as she tucks the bottles inside her left arm, closing the fridge with her right hand. “Seen enough yet?”
I run my eyes down her face, memorizing how full her painted lips are. “You’re not blonde,” I say, gesturing to her hair with the neck of my bottle.
“No, I’m not,” she replies, taking a step back. “Sorry to burst your bubble if you have a preference.”
“I don’t.” Her gaze meets mine again. “Have a preference,” I explain. “Just thought you’d have to be the chosen race, all blonde and blue-eyed to hang with those fuckheads out there.”
Her gaze narrows, her brow pulling in. “You enjoying the hospitality of one of those fuckheads?” She points to my drink with her free hand.
I glance down at the beer, a smirk on my lips. “Thinking about hittin’ the road after this one. Things aren’t turnin’ out how I’d hoped.”
“Sounds like that would be a good idea . . . for you.” She presses her lips together in a tight smile and turns to leave.
“Is that meant to be a warnin’, darlin’?” I push off the wall and take a step towards her, right into the cloud of vanilla she left in her wake.
“I guess it is, yeah.”
“What’s a girl like you doin’ mixed up with the likes of them anyway?”
“A girl like me?” She turns, a smile on her face. “Who’s to say they’re not mixed up with me? What makes you think I’m the innocent party in all of this?” She plants the bottles in her grasp on the counter, and crosses her arms over her chest. Her forearms sit underneath her tits, pushing the damn things up and at me.
She has to be doing it on purpose—has to.
“Never said you were innocent,” I rasp, licking the corner of my lips.
“What were you saying then?” She steps forward, her head tipping back so she can hold my gaze this damn close.
Fucking vanilla, everywhere.
“They treat you real good?” I ask. “I know what ignorant assholes like that do with their women. Bet it’s a rare day if they let you think for yourself, huh, sweetheart?”
Anger flashes in her gaze, her brow furrowing for the briefest of seconds. “You shouldn’t assume,” she says.
“Because it makes an ass out of you and me,” I finish with a roll of my eyes.
“Yeah, it does.” Her small hand shoves me square in the breastbone. “And right now, you’re being an ass.”
“Darlin’, you’ll know when I’m bein’ an ass. I’m simply tryin’ to let you know I’d treat you like a fuckin’ princess if you were my girl.”
“Well, I’m not, am I?” She snatches the bottles up, scowling. “You’d be lucky to hold on to a girl like me, let alone get her in the first place.”
“Who’s bein’ an ass now?” I snap as she turns to leave.
Her shoulders drop. “Always the good-looking ones,” she murmurs, dropping her head back and staring up at the ceiling. “God, can you please just this once, send me a man who’s sexy as hell without his head jammed up his own ass?”
She called me ‘sexy as hell’. Hashtag winning.
“While you’re at it, God,” I chime in, “can you send me a hot-as-fuck woman who doesn’t already have some douchebag boyfriend?”
She turns, flashing me a cheeky smile. “You’re such a badass, aren’t you?” Her eyebrow cocks, teasing.
“Extremely badass.” My eyes narrow and I give her my best ‘give me a try’ smile.
The girl dips her chin, fidgeting with the drinks in her hand. “Look, friend to friend, watch who you’re insulting around here. You’re new, so I won’t say anything to those ‘fuckheads’ about your opinion tonight, but don’t expect me to cover your ass every time.”