Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

Narrowing my eyes, I lean towards Lance. “Enough.”

“Was she everything I dreamed she’d be?”

“Enough, Lance,” I growl.

“I don’t think he was everything she thought he’d be,” Peck says, eyeing me cautiously, “considering she never wants to see you again.”

Lance forgotten, my gaze switches to my cousin. His arms are crossed over his blue t-shirt, his hat twisted backwards on his head, as he gives me a look he’s never given me before—like it’s him calling me out on my shit.

Fuck that.

“She’s not quitting,” I say, although I’m not sure I believe me. “We talked about it.”

“Before or after you shot your wad?”

“Damn it, Peck,” I warn, my temples pulsing as I glare at him.

“This isn’t about her quitting, moron,” Peck fires back. “This is about you doing whatever you did and her never wanting to see you again.”

Lance places a hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me back into my chair. I don’t know who to be more pissed at—Peck, Lance, Sienna, or myself. All I know for sure is I’m ready to come out of my fucking skin, my blood boiling so hot I’m going to erupt.

Why am I surprised she’s leaving? Wasn’t it always in the cards? Didn’t she even tell me that originally? Isn’t this what women do?

“Don’t ‘damn it’ me,” Peck says. “You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at yourself. Or at the woman who caused all this.”

“He’s right,” my brother says, motioning to Nora for a beer. “Any of this bullshit you’re aiming at us, or Sienna, is misplaced.”

“I know where to fucking place it,” I seethe. “I don’t need you two telling me what to do.”

Peck stands, twisting his hat back around. “Then be my guest. Make a mess of everything and see who loses in the end because, I’ll tell you what, it’ll be you.”

“I’d rather it be me than Sienna,” I say, snatching the beer Nora brings for Lance. I down half of it before she gets it out of my hand.

“Machlan said no more for you,” she says, wrestling the bottle away. Holding it up in the air, she smirks. “I love telling you no.”

“You wouldn’t tell me no if your life depended on it.”

“Hey, Walker,” she says, bending forward. Her cleavage is on full display, her lips painted and ready to wrap around a cock. None of it does anything for me. “No.”

“Hey, Nora,” I say, watching her eyes grow wide. “Good.”

“I hate you tonight,” she says, storming off.

“I’ll add you to the list,” I mutter, slumping back into my seat. Peck’s gone when I look up. “Where’d he go?”

“Hell if I know,” Lance sighs. “Spoke too soon.”

As an eighties hit blares across the speakers, Peck jumps onto a table in the middle of the bar. Everyone cheers, bottles going up in the air, as he hooks his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and starts dancing. The song can barely be heard as the women catcall, the patrons urging him on as they do every time he pulls this non-Machlan-approved stunt. It’s a sideshow act, one that drives my brother insane.

“Get off the fuckin’ table,” Machlan shouts, his voice swamped by the crowd.

Lance and I kick back and watch the circus, knowing just how it’ll end.

Peck turns around, shakes his ass towards Machlan, and starts some pelvic thrust move that he’s known for and perfected over the last few years.

We watch as Machlan sorts through the crowd and leaps onto the table. Peck abruptly hops off. The crowd boos while Lance and I laugh, Peck making his way to the front. He stops at the front door, bows to his adoring fans, and walks out the door like a soldier, complete with a one-fingered salute to Machlan.

A girl springs onto the table with Machlan, digging her hands onto the crotch of his pants. He winks, turning his head to the side and kisses the fuck out of her as she grinds into him from behind. The crowd goes insane, beer sloshing as the bottles are raised at the scene in the middle of the room.

Machlan breaks the kiss, smirks at the crowd, then hops down and heads back to the bar.

“Do you think Peck does that just to get kicked out?” Lance asks, taking a fresh bottle from Nora, who pointedly ignores me.

“Sometimes. It’s his calling card or something,” I say, ending the sentence with a yawn. “Like if he doesn’t get kicked out of here at least once a month, people will forget about him.”

“Is that what you’re trying to do?”

“What?”

Lance takes a long drink before answering me. “Make sure Sienna doesn’t forget about you. That’s why you did whatever fucked up shit you did tonight. You figured she’d leave anyway.”

The pit of my stomach quivers, the tell-tale sign I’ve drunk entirely too much. I focus on his face, his features swirling together in one colorful mess. It’s the moment you wait for when you drink to forget—the moment when you feel all the problems finally give in to the alcohol.