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No one else approaches me, so I’m left to nurse my vodka and shoot glares at Joey, hoping she will finally cave – annoyed into submission by my presence – and come to the wake with me. I sit here on my barstool, with my drink, in a little bubble. Well, I’m not alone. D. Martin is still leaning against the bar next to me. His eyes brush over me every once in a while, but he doesn’t speak again and doesn’t leave.
As time passes, I realize the wake is over, but this has become a matter of principle. I also recognize that my solitary bubble isbecauseof D. Martin. I think he’s warning people off with his eyes. Gratitude surges through me. I don’t want to make small talk. I want to sit here until Joey finally capitulates.
It takes almost two hours, but I’m finally rewarded. Joey breaks away from her gaggle of groupies, stumbling across the room to me. She’s a little bit tipsy, courtesy of the drinks constantly being ferried to her by other groupies.
“Why are you still here?” she spits, her eyes promising pain. But I’m not a little kid anymore. I can’t be pushed around and pinched and shoved. I’m all grown up, and I can stand my ground.
I shrug, taking what I hope is a nonchalant sip of my vodka. “Because you are.”
My blond companion snorts, drawing Joey’s attention to his lingering presence.
“Make her leave,” she bleats, pouting and batting her lashes at him. He stares her down, his lips twitching. Finally, he shrugs, rapping his knuckles on the bar.
“Not my place. You take it up with the Shaws.”
I have no idea what that means, but Joey does. As we watch, she wrinkles her nose, rolls her eyes, and marches over to a tall, broad, darkly handsome guy with a foreboding frown. He crosses his arm over his chest, staring impassively down at her as she says something, jabbing her finger wildly across the room at me. Uh oh.
VIPER
Joey is still complaining to Aric Shaw, her gestures toward Naomi becoming wilder. Aric looks pissed. Lifting his head, he sighs, rolling his eyes as they land on Naomi, flickering over her outfit. Probably wondering if she raided his wife’s wardrobe.
Aric’s eyes find mine, and he jerks his head at the door. I guess Naomi is done. Draining my whiskey, I close the small distance between us in one step, my fingers closing around her upper arm.
“Time to go, Peaches.”
She glances up at me in surprise but doesn’t cling to the bar or anything to make a scene.
“But Joey isn’t leaving,” she protests, her head swiveling, trying to look at her sister, standing beside Aric, her arms over her chest, smirking smugly.
I shake my head at her. She had her moment to protest. This is a direct order from the VP. She’s out.
“I don’t make the rules, Peaches, but I have to make you follow them.”
Her shoulders slump in resignation, and she doesn’t fight me as I lead her outside, my fingers still clamped around her slender upper arm.
As we step out into the evening air, the sun is setting over the forest to the west. It’s spring now, so the scents floating in off the desert are strong. They are no match for the smell of peaches enveloping me.
She still hasn’t tried to shake off my hand, digging around in her purse and pulling out her phone.
“Do taxis know where this is, or do I have to give an address?”
I frown at her phone, reaching over and plucking it out of her hand. Naomi blinks up at me in surprise as I tuck it back into her purse. Keeping my grip on her arm, I walk her around to the parking lot, releasing her as we get to my rig.
Slinging my leg over it, I jerk my head at her. “Get on, Peaches.”
Naomi’s eyes widen, darting between my rig and my face. She shakes her head, taking a step back.
“No, thank you. I can get a cab.”
“Get on, Peaches.” This time, my words are less of a suggestion. She catches the hint of order in my tone and swallows, her eyes wide behind her glasses.
Hesitantly, she takes a step forward. After a deep breath, her small hand lands on my shoulder, steadying her as she carefully lifts a leg over my rig.
Her warm body slides down my back as she settles on the bitch seat. She tucks her purse between her stomach and my back, one of the handles digging into me. I can feel her shaking when her hands slide around my stomach and grip my T-shirt.
“Need an address, Peaches.”
“S-sixteen twenty B-brittlebush.” Her voice is shaking as much as her hands.
