Page 10 of Smoke

I roll my eyes and head for the cooler. To my disappointment, it’s full of beer. No matter how many times I’ve suggested adding some ciders or wine for those of us who don’t like the taste of hops, he never listens. Shocker.

I sigh and retrieve the flask out of my purse. I wince as the first sip of gin rolls down my throat.

Omen chuckles. “Classy.”

I shrug. “If that’s supposed to be an insult, you’re hanging out with the wrong family.”

Hawk finally turns his head to look at me, gracing me with an acknowledgement. His gaze travels the length of my body. He takes in my high-heeled boots, tight shredded jeans, and faded band tee. “There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge inside. It’s the pink one.”

My heart flutters. He remembered. I chuckle. “You mean the rosé. Thanks.”

Scarrow pops up. “I’ll get it, princess. You want a fancy glass for it too?”

Why are they being so nice all of a sudden? I shake my head. “We don’t do fancy around here. Anything is fine.”

Omen stalks closer, towering over me. “Interesting.”

“What?” I feel a blush coming over my cheeks even though I have no idea what I’m supposed to be embarrassed about.

He leans down a bit and murmurs, “You’re so used to being treated like trash that you don’t expect anyone to treat you any other way.”

I swallow hard, the blush now turning into full blown heat stroke.

He chuckles and gets closer to my ear. “Yeah, I got you pegged. You’re dirty. No bark, all bite. Loves it from behind. No gag reflex either I bet.”

My mouth gapes open, and I can tell by the sloppy grin on his face that I’m beet fucking red. “You’re an asshole.”

He licks his lips before taking a sip of his beer, his smirk deepening. “But I’m not wrong.”

By the time Scarrow returns with a glass of rosé for me, I’ve already downed half of the gin in my flask. Hawk eyes me like I’m a bomb about to explode.

My daddy hates the smoke so he always waits inside for us to bring the food to him. So now I’m stuck out here with their taunts and their insults until it’s time to eat. I know I deserve this. I literally got away with murder. I ain’t never paid a price for it. If anything, I’ve thrived.

I don’t bitch when I have a slow month at the bar. I don’t push back when my daddy forbids me to open on Sundays. So, I will not throw a tantrum now just because the three men who cleaned up my bloody mess want payback. I will let them punish me for it. Because if they don’t, who else will? Those who don’t repent their sins will only know damnation.

I strut over to Omen and hop up on the picnic table next to him. “You’re wrong,” I whisper. “I bark and bite.”

He arches an eyebrow and laughs into his beer. “Like I said. Interesting.”

I’m used to being the only woman in this room. Spent countless dinners being overlooked while Hawk and his friends rattled on about sports or video games. Even though not a single one of them could ever beat me at Street Fighter.

So many nights I sat in this very spot. In the center with Hawk across from me, staring me down, and my daddy on my right at the head of the table. But tonight is the first time they’re all looking at me like I’m some lit fuse at the end of a stick of dynamite.

“Amen.” We all collectively murmur after my daddy finishes saying grace.

“How’s the trash business treating ya, son?” Father Eli asks before taking a sip of his milk. At least he practices what he preaches. I’ve never seen my daddy drink even as much as a sip of alcohol. Guess my momma drank enough for the both of them.

Hawk nods but finishes chewing before answering. He’s always so polite when he wants to be. Some would think the man was actually civil. “It’s good. Usually runs itself. We’re about to be shorthanded soon though. That’s why we came back. To get things in order.”

My daddy nods as if he even has an inkling of what Hawk’s actually talking about. The man has spent his entire adult life preaching the good Lord’s word, collecting donations, and wearing the same three outfits. “Well, don’t you listen to any of the naysayers. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And it’s honest work at the end of the day.”

I nearly choke on my wine but catch myself. Although I can’t stop a little dribble of it from spilling down my chin. It’s ironic that out of the two of us, I’m the one actually making an honest living, but Hawk has my daddy so far up his ass, he can’t even see how much bullshit he’s swimming in.

Hawk glares at me. “You got something to say?”

I’m this fucking close, asshole. But I bite my tongue instead. It does no one at this table any good to shatter the illusion. As far as my daddy’s concerned, Hawk is a legitimate business owner, and I’m the harlot who slings drinks for a living.

I shake my head. “Sorry, went down the wrong pipe.”