to take off.
There had been major problems, of course. When friends and business associates of the Red Rebels started getting hassled by outside criminal elements, it was hard to keep a contractor on the site. But the hard, specialized work had been done, and the club had pitched in for the finishing work. Tiny had grouted all the tile in the bathrooms, kitchen, and staff shower stalls himself. It was confirmation he was too old for so much fucking manual labor.
And with Mazaris and Dirty Rats running rampant over their turf, kicking up dust, it might have been insane to consider opening the place. But the club was unanimously of a mind that hiding and cowering in the basement would only invite more trouble.
They wouldn’t be cowed. Not in their own fucking town.
Chapter Five
It was dark, Firefly reruns were on her TV, and those two facts almost stopped Mallory from answering the door when the bell rang at quarter past ten on a Thursday night.
She knew who was at the door, but she answered anyway.
Hal leaned on her door jamb, hands in his front jeans pockets, thumbs through the belt loops. His jacket was open, the Henley underneath unbuttoned a little bit to show the leather cords around his neck with various dangling metal pendants.
She sighed, crossed her arms, and didn’t invite him in. “It’s kinda late, Hal. What do you want?”
“Mallory,” he drawled, smiling slow. The handsome fucker had a great smile and even as tired as she was it still made her stomach quiver to see it.
“No,” she said, firmly. “Not tonight. Where’s Gail?”
“On her rag and bitching me out every ten seconds,” came the irritated reply.
“Poor thing. Goodnight, Hal.” She moved to close the door but his hand came up to stop it.
“Mallory, come on. It’s been a while. I brought some pot.” The second part was added on like a bribe.
“Hal, this is dumb. Go be with your girlfriend. Bring her chocolate.”
“Come on. I know you’re missing me, I can tell. You’ve been a little wired lately. Tense. You need some loosening up.”
She swallowed. It was true; a good fuck mellowed her out. But she’d decided this was the day she was making a change, and that included not screwing around with a band mate who was pretty much half her age, who also had a girlfriend besides. “You’re right. I need to relax. Leave the pot.”
“That wounds me, Cherry.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He chuckled and reached in his back pocket, pulling out a Ziploc. She ignored how the shirt strained across his chest. Lean, nowhere near husky and big, but there was still a lot of lovely to him that she could plainly remember, even with his shirt and jacket on. “Just got this. It’s good shit. Then we can fuck. I know you like it when you’re high.”
She did. She really did. Inhibitions were gone, brain was off. There was just sensation and release. It was a glorious thing, and with Hal it was really, really good.
Shit. Her resolve slipped. Just a bit.
“I’m missing you. A lot. Let me in. We can both feel a hell of a lot better.”
She huffed. “Fine.” She stepped away from the door and stalked back to her sofa. She heard the door close and lock as he came into her small apartment, and she flopped back in the same spot she’d been watching TV in. “Just the pot. We’re not fucking.”
“Of course not.” He knew she was full of shit and his smile was annoying. He dropped the bag on the coffee table and shrugged out of his coat. Her eyes ran up his lanky form, and as much as she hated him most of the time she knew that was part of the attraction. Hate and love were the most heightened of all emotions. She hated him to the point of wanting him. How fucked up was that?
He moved past her to the kitchen, going for where the bong was hidden. Traitors that they were, her eyes were locked on his ass in those beat to shit jeans, his stride confident and cool. He came back with the glass bong in hand and ready, sitting
There had been major problems, of course. When friends and business associates of the Red Rebels started getting hassled by outside criminal elements, it was hard to keep a contractor on the site. But the hard, specialized work had been done, and the club had pitched in for the finishing work. Tiny had grouted all the tile in the bathrooms, kitchen, and staff shower stalls himself. It was confirmation he was too old for so much fucking manual labor.
And with Mazaris and Dirty Rats running rampant over their turf, kicking up dust, it might have been insane to consider opening the place. But the club was unanimously of a mind that hiding and cowering in the basement would only invite more trouble.
They wouldn’t be cowed. Not in their own fucking town.
Chapter Five
It was dark, Firefly reruns were on her TV, and those two facts almost stopped Mallory from answering the door when the bell rang at quarter past ten on a Thursday night.
She knew who was at the door, but she answered anyway.
Hal leaned on her door jamb, hands in his front jeans pockets, thumbs through the belt loops. His jacket was open, the Henley underneath unbuttoned a little bit to show the leather cords around his neck with various dangling metal pendants.
She sighed, crossed her arms, and didn’t invite him in. “It’s kinda late, Hal. What do you want?”
“Mallory,” he drawled, smiling slow. The handsome fucker had a great smile and even as tired as she was it still made her stomach quiver to see it.
“No,” she said, firmly. “Not tonight. Where’s Gail?”
“On her rag and bitching me out every ten seconds,” came the irritated reply.
“Poor thing. Goodnight, Hal.” She moved to close the door but his hand came up to stop it.
“Mallory, come on. It’s been a while. I brought some pot.” The second part was added on like a bribe.
“Hal, this is dumb. Go be with your girlfriend. Bring her chocolate.”
“Come on. I know you’re missing me, I can tell. You’ve been a little wired lately. Tense. You need some loosening up.”
She swallowed. It was true; a good fuck mellowed her out. But she’d decided this was the day she was making a change, and that included not screwing around with a band mate who was pretty much half her age, who also had a girlfriend besides. “You’re right. I need to relax. Leave the pot.”
“That wounds me, Cherry.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He chuckled and reached in his back pocket, pulling out a Ziploc. She ignored how the shirt strained across his chest. Lean, nowhere near husky and big, but there was still a lot of lovely to him that she could plainly remember, even with his shirt and jacket on. “Just got this. It’s good shit. Then we can fuck. I know you like it when you’re high.”
She did. She really did. Inhibitions were gone, brain was off. There was just sensation and release. It was a glorious thing, and with Hal it was really, really good.
Shit. Her resolve slipped. Just a bit.
“I’m missing you. A lot. Let me in. We can both feel a hell of a lot better.”
She huffed. “Fine.” She stepped away from the door and stalked back to her sofa. She heard the door close and lock as he came into her small apartment, and she flopped back in the same spot she’d been watching TV in. “Just the pot. We’re not fucking.”
“Of course not.” He knew she was full of shit and his smile was annoying. He dropped the bag on the coffee table and shrugged out of his coat. Her eyes ran up his lanky form, and as much as she hated him most of the time she knew that was part of the attraction. Hate and love were the most heightened of all emotions. She hated him to the point of wanting him. How fucked up was that?
He moved past her to the kitchen, going for where the bong was hidden. Traitors that they were, her eyes were locked on his ass in those beat to shit jeans, his stride confident and cool. He came back with the glass bong in hand and ready, sitting
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