My office door slams open again, making me sigh as I lean back. Why doesn’t anyone knock? Kenzo prowls my way, his thumbs gliding deftly across his phone for such a big man. “Just sent you the info on the girl, I gathered as much as I could. Also asked around a bit,” he murmurs as he looks up.
My phone dings, but I ignore it for now. “And?”
“It seems Rob’s daughter is quite the legend. Name’s Roxy, owns that dive joint across town like he said. Lot of bastards even seem scared of the girl, others respect her. She ain’t going to be an easy take.”
“Nothing worth having ever is.” I sigh as I pick up my phone and scroll through the information. Twenty-four, five foot six. Grey hair, brown eyes. Credit history is shocking, and there are some sealed documents from when she was seventeen. I’ll have to ask Garrett about them. I look over her bank information and everything else he’s gathered, thumbing through until I hit the end where her picture is.
My heart slams in my chest, my blood roaring straight to my cock, which twitches in my slacks. “Exactly.” Kenzo snorts. “Why do you think I didn’t just text it? I wanted to see your face. I’m betting you weren’t expecting Rob’s daughter to be so hot.”
“Not at all,” I mutter distractedly. Hot is an understatement. She’s fucking breathtaking. Dark eyes lined and smoky. Big, plump, red lips. High, arched cheekbones and eyebrows. Short, shoulder-length, unnatural silver hair, which suits her pale complexion. Her cleavage catches my eye in the AC/DC tank top she’s wearing when this was taken.
Stunning.
I actually can’t speak as I stare at the picture, but then I push it away. This makes it easier, since she’s easy to look at. Blinking, I meet Kenzo’s laughing eyes to see him discreetly rearranging himself. “I know, bro, first dibs.”
I narrow my gaze on him. “Eyes on the prize, baby brother.”
“Oh, they are, don’t you fucking worry, and Roxy is that prize,” he snaps, making me sigh. Whenever Kenzo sets his mind to something, he gets it. No need to bet on the odds on what he plans to do to Roxxane.
But she’s a means to an end, a message not to fuck with us. Some of us have to remain smart about this, and as usual, it’s me. “Tomorrow, Kenzo. Think with your head, not your dick, until we have her back here.”
“And then?” He snorts.
“Then you can do whatever you want with her. She’s ours, after all. Though I would suggest you try to keep her away from Diesel.” I laugh.
He grins too, not a nice one. “For sure, she’s exactly his type. Poor girl would be burnt to a crisp before she stepped through the door.”
I nod. “He would, though I suspect he might have his fun with her first.”
“I wonder if Garrett will,” Kenzo muses, darkening the mood.
“Maybe, if she has that damsel in distress act down. He’s a fool for them. Only this time, he might not let her almost ruin him.” I sigh.
Kenzo nods, his fists clenching at the reminder of how we had nearly lost our brother. It won’t happen again, that’s why I’ll remain smart even while the others think with their dicks. She might be attractive, but it’s not worth losing my family over. I can get pretty pussy anywhere, and I don’t have to buy it to get it in my bed.
“I’ll keep my eye on him,” I offer to mollify my brother. “Now, we have a meeting with the Triad in the morning about the treaty issues. I need you and Garrett with me.”
“Not Diesel?” Kenzo questions seriously.
“Not yet, I want to scare them, not kill them. I’m hoping we can resolve this quickly. They’re stopping our shipments at the moment, and it’s causing a ripple through the business. One I don’t like.”
“Got it, boss man.” Kenzo nods. “Don’t forget to try and get some sleep. You’re starting to look your age, old man,” he teases as he turns to leave.
“Watch your mouth, baby brother. I can still kick your ass,” I warn, only making him laugh.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the picture on my phone, my thumb caught just below her mouth. She’s going to be trouble, I can feel it. But a Viper never goes back on a deal, Roxxane is ours now. Let’s just hope she doesn’t cause too many issues, it would be a shame to kill such a beautiful woman.
Dropping my phone to my desk, I get up and stretch. Kenzo is right. I need sleep. It’s been two days, and I want to be sharp for tomorrow’s meeting. With business plans whirring in my head, I pocket my phone and leave my office. The pounding of Diesel’s music hits me out in the hallway, so I head to my bedroom instead of the living area.
Tomorrow is a new day. We’re coming for you, Roxxane.
Chapter Four
ROXY
It’s too fucking early. My head pounds as my alarm goes off again. Flinging the stupid old clock across the room, I bury my face in the pillow, seeing the smudges of my makeup there that I couldn’t be bothered to take off last night when I crawled into bed after a shot of Jack.
But the alarm goes off again, and thanks to my half-asleep brain, it’s now across the room. Sliding from the bed, I crawl over to it and smash it into the floor, groaning when it shatters. But at least the noise stops. I flop to my back in nothing but my panties and a tank top, then I debate calling Travis in to set up today and cover the dinner shift.
But he struggles by himself, so me it is. Defeated, I climb to my feet and flick on the radio, rock pounding out as I head to the shower. Stripping as I go, I turn on the spray and wait for it to warm up. I frown and look at the tangled mess which is my hair, shrugging before throwing it up in a bun. No way am I washing that rat’s nest, it takes too long. That’s why dry shampoo is a girl’s best friend.
I have a quick shower, scrubbing my tattoo-covered skin. That reminds me, I’ve got another one booked next week with Zeke to finish off the roses across my thigh and the mandala pattern. The sleeve on my left arm is done and took four whole, eight hour sittings. But it was worth it, not that the pain bothers me. In fact, I can admit to myself I even like it. Especially at the hands of the hunk who’s doing it.
Flicking off the water, I climb from the shower and wrap a fluffy towel around my body before brushing my teeth and moisturizing. I manage to get a brush through my hair, and it decides to lie nicely for once and hang straight after I dry shampoo it to hell. I take more time with my makeup, applying my signature red lipstick, dark liner, and eyeshadow, making my brown eyes pop. Some call me a typical rocker chick, fuck, I even have the piercings to go along with the tats and makeup.
It started out as a form of rebellion, a way to piss off my asshole father before I ran away. Then I grew to love this look and, well, now? Now it’s just me. But that’s enough dredging up ghosts from my past before breakfast. Letting the towel drop to the floor, I head into my bedroom again and get dressed. I slip into matching red, front closing bra and panties. My one vice...well, that and band merch.
I add a signed tour shirt from The Killers and tie it at the side before slipping into some tattered black shorts and my trusty high-heeled biker boots. Checking myself out in the mirror once more, I grab my keys and head out, locking up behind me. I trudge down the stairs and flick on the lights in the bar.
I saunter through the kitchen and check the alley, but it seems the assholes from last night got picked up. It makes me wonder who they were, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone has jumped me. Nor the last, I’m betting. I leave the back door unlocked for Cook and return to the front.
I turn on the jukebox and get to restocking and tidying up, mad as hell when I have to throw the broken stool out back. One goddamn rule. Jumping me I can understand, but breaking my furniture? Not fucking cool.
Right on time, I hear the telltale rumble of Cook’s bike as he pulls up out back, and it makes me smile, least I know he’ll feed me…unlike Truck, who works weekends, bastard is colder than a snake, even to me, who pays his bills and employs his ex-con ass.
I meet Cook at the back door, smiling sweetly at him as he swings off his Harley. He groans. “Let me guess, sausage with ketchup?”
“You’re a doll.” I blow him a kiss, but he stops dead when he sees the broken stool lying on the ground.
His head comes up slowly, his eyes widening. “Fuck, is he dead?”
“What?” I ask, way too tired for this.
“The man who broke the stool?” he queries seriously, making me laugh.
“He wishes he was, don’t worry.”
Cook chuckles and claps me on the shoulder. “Rich would be proud, kid. Go on, get started out front, I’ll make you some food.”
My heart cracks at the mention of Rich, but I brush it off, and with a now cheery smile at Cook, I head to the front. By the time the smell of sizzling meat wafts to me, I’m set up and ready, so when Cook pushes through the door, juggling two plates, I almost fall to my knees and worship him.