Blood & Bones: Deacon (Blood Fury MC 4)
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Maybe she was just waiting for him to explain. So, he did.
“My cousin, Judge, is our club’s Sergeant at Arms—”
“What’s that?”
“He enforces the club rules and by-laws. Also is in charge of makin’ sure we all don’t get our throats sliced in the middle of the night.”
“What?”
“Kiddin’.” But not really. He couldn’t tell her that and have her worry about her sister more than she already was. “Anyway, he wants one or two of my brothers—”
“You have brothers?”
“Yeah. A bunch. Not blood, but family just the same.”
“They belong to your club.”
“Yeah. Anyway, he wants one or two of our brothers with Reilly twenty-four seven.”
“I’m willing to pay them for their time, if necessary.”
“That ain’t what this is about, Reese. Let me get this shit out and then you can say whatever you gotta say.”
She stared at him. He stared back and tilted his head.
She blew out a loud breath and gave him a nod. He continued, “Got a brother who owns a garage. Got four other brothers, besides him, who work there, too. Judge gave Reilly the option to spend her days there helpin’ out. Believe me, the office needs a woman’s touch bad and hasn’t been organized since Dutch’s ol’ lady left him a couple decades ago. It’s a win-win situation. Reilly makes a little scratch helpin’ out and will have five of my brothers watchin’ her durin’ the day. One or two others will watch her at night at my place.”
“Are you sure she’ll be safe working there?”
“Nobody knows her in—” he caught himself before he mentioned Manning Grove, “the town we live in. Judge asked her to make sure she had no connections there. Not only that, she’s gonna use a fake name when she’s dealin’ with any customers. Ain’t gonna be a lot of money, but it’ll put somethin’ in her pocket. And somethin’s better than nothin’,” he quoted Trip’s favorite saying. “Somebody will be with her at all times, which is the most important part.”
He shut up and waited for her reaction.
She lifted and drained her wine glass. When she was done, she put it down on the table to her left and turned her head to where he sat at her right.
His eyebrows shot up when she pointed at the makeshift ashtray he’d formed out of a piece of used aluminum foil he found in the trash.
“Are you going to light that?”
He lifted his gaze from the fatty that balanced on the edge of the foil to her. “I can wait ‘til you go inside, if it’s gonna bother you.”
She shook her head. “Light it.”
He normally didn’t take orders from a woman. But that was one he’d willingly follow.
She must’ve had a really fucked up day.
He slipped his Zippo from the front pocket of his jeans, snagged the joint, tucked it between his lips and lit it.
Before he was even done taking his first full inhale, she leaned over, yanked it from his lips and did several little delicate puffs on the end of it.
He grinned. “You ever smoke before?”
“A long time ago,” she got out between a few coughs. Before she was even done choking, she was sucking on the end so hard, his dick began to pay attention. She fought the cough this time while holding it deep within her lungs before blowing it out so fast it was like she was trying to blow out birthday candles. She dropped her head and hacked a couple more times.
He did his best not to chuckle.
She pressed a hand to her chest, emphasizing the fact she wore no bra. “That stuff burns.”
“That shit’s smooth. High grade Kush. You’re just not used to smokin’. Smoke a bowl of stems and seeds, then tell me what fuckin’ burns.”
She took one more hit, managed not to cough at all, and handed it back to him before stretching out on the lounger. Looking a little more relaxed.
“Feel better?” he asked, releasing the smoke from his own lungs.
“Not yet.” She held out her hand.
“How long’s it been?”
“I don’t know. Since I was fifteen or sixteen, maybe? So, almost twenty years?” She was almost thirty-five, which was about three years older than him. If he hadn’t looked it up himself, he never would’ve guessed it.
“Before you hit the bud again, why don’t you wait to see how hard the bud hits you first.”
“Then save some for me.”
“Got plenty,” he said, amused, but pinched the end out and placed the joint back on his homemade ashtray.
She smacked her lips. “Now I need something to drink.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have downed that wine so fast.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you judging me?”
He lifted up a palm in surrender and shook his head. “Nope. You wanna get plastered, get plastered. I’ll make sure you get inside and to bed if you do.”