AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I stand at the corner of the pool table with my cue stick in hand, drinking on a beer and waiting for Konnor to take his shot. Presley just came out and got Kylar fifteen minutes ago to go feed her. She slept for three hours after I got her to sleep. Konnor picked her up to change her right before Presley walked outside, dazed and confused about how an hour turned into three and a half. At least she looked better.
Maddox is sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone and not paying any attention to what’s on the television. He’ll play the next winner. We’ve been at this for a while. If we weren’t slow paced drinkers we’d be drunk by now. I do have a good buzz. “Uh, have you talked to Paxtyn? Or Riggan?” he asks.
I whip my head toward him. His thumb is hovering over the phone screen. “I was told not to ask questions, or have you forgotten?” I think better of being a smartass. My brain homes in on why Riggan would be in the same sentence as Paxtyn. “Why?”
He stares at me for a bump too long. Memories of similar scenarios flood my mind. “Hand it here.”
He’s hesitant to hand me the motherfucking phone. “I didn’t even know, bro.”
My blood feels like it’s boiling beneath the surface. Bad memories come forward to the point that I can’t even think logically. Based on that past Instagram account, only God knows what I’m about to see, and because I fucking love that bitch, it’s not a good place to be.
I nearly rip it out of his hand. When my eyes focus on the screen, all I see is a bare torso with two hands all over the side wrapped in black latex, one holding a tattoo gun and the other holding a paper towel. Her shirt is tucked under her bra, accentuating her tits just right. I can barely breathe by the time I get to the caption.
Paxtyn_Celeste:Big shout-out to @BlackheartTattooMiami for my first tattoo. Ink credit goes to Riggan. If you’re ever in #TheMagicCity come check them out.
I toss his phone on the couch and sling my cue stick on the pool table, then down my beer and toss it in the large trash can. I’m already walking toward the house when he calls out, “Where are you going?”
“Switching to whiskey,” I tell him, ignoring the “fuck” said just behind my answer, because he knows if I’m on whiskey, I’m mad as hell, and it doesn’t usually end well. The hot bitch wants a tattoo, fine, she can have a tattoo. I have them, just not as many as my friends. I’d prefer Riggan to do it over anyone else. I know he’d do it right, and he’s my best friend. He deserves the pay.
But I have two motherfucking problems. One, she’s seventeen, and her parents aren’t here to give consent. If she’s at Riggan’s shop, that’s not a henna tattoo—a tourist fad. It can’t be washed off. It was made very clear by her parents and my dad that when she’s inmycare, I’m responsible. I’m the grown-ass man. Her ass is not showing up in California with a tattoo and me getting pinned for it. I’m not trying to go to jail by disrespecting them. Her mother knows the law. And two—the most important—I want to fucking know about itbeforea guy’s hands are all over her, best friend or not. I deserve a warning. I respect them enough not to touch their shit.
Maddox and Riggan may have some weird bond where they’re game to share pussy once and a while, but that’s not me. What’s mine is mine and is not to be messed with. Sometimes I want to force her to delete that goddamn Instagram account, but I’m not that guy.
I storm through the sliding glass door, making my way to the kitchen. Sayler watches me walk to the liquor cabinet from the island where she’s fixing a bottle. Guess she’s back from seeing her parents. I jerk it open, straining the hinges. “Are you okay?”
Because she’s polite, unlike herfuckinghusband.
I grab the full bottle of whiskey and a glass, slamming the cabinet door back. I turn around and step up beside her, setting the glass down to break the seal on the bottle. “Nope,” I tell her as I pour two fingers full and pour it back. “Respect goes a long way in my book. Tell your husband to come pull the knife out of my back when he gets here. And in the future, not to fucking touch my shit without a head’s-up.”
I grab the whiskey and the glass, leaving her to go back outside, because she’s not the one that deserves my wrath.
SIXTEEN
PAXTYN
Ipull into the driveway to the house, Riggan behind us. I kill the engine and lock the doors, knowing he wants an explanation. I’ve stalled as long as I can, but games are more fun. “What are you doing?” Gabby asks.
“Giving myself a few more minutes,” I tell her as I grab my phone out of my lap and pull up Instagram. I switch to the band account and go to make a new post. When I tap my photo icon instead of using my camera within the app, I choose the one I took of the bar’s exterior sign on Ocean Drive—one I made sure was known for their live music, and then start typing out my caption.
A knuckle tap raps on my window. I hold up my index finger.
SavageSaintsOfficial:Coming back with a bang. Next up, Miami. If you’re close to #TheMagicCity come check us out on Ocean Drive next Friday night at 10pm. Show up and we’ll show out.
I make sure to tag all the guys’ individual accounts before posting, and then tap to comment with nothing but hashtags related to Miami and music for interaction. “It’s done,” I tell her, trying to keep the butterflies at bay. It feels good to post meaningful stuff versus superficial shit. I exhale. “Time to face the music.”
I unlock the doors, Riggan stepping back as my door opens, his phone in his hand. He has an expression I can’t quite place. “This real? Ocean Drive? We’re playing?”
“I posted it, didn’t I?”
His jaw falls. “How did you pull this off?”
“She’s your manager,” Gabby throws in on a laugh, but then it stops when he looks her way. “Seriously, though, the girl has skill. I’ve never seen anything like that. The way she handled the manager of the club and sold the group for a spot, I’d have never known she was lying, let alone in high school.”
Out of nowhere, he comes forward and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “Thank you,” he says low in my ear. “The job is yours if you want it. For real.”
I return the hug, trying not to get overly emotional, and slip the manager’s business card with the club logo on it in his pocket. I’ve held onto it the entire ride home, scared I was going to lose it. “Right pocket. We’re going to discuss a cut if I make you guys famous.”
He chuckles in my ear. “You have my word.”
