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One hundred dollars.
For a cupcake.
What the actual fuck?
KING
Holy fuck.
That cupcake was the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth. Ever. The girl behind the counter was just as fucking sweet as the icing on that cake, too. But then the realization about the bar being gone and the club being stuck with three kegs hits me all over again.
Annoyance.
It’s fucking annoying.
Not only that my mom and stepdad have lost their bar, but they didn’t bother to call and cancel the delivery service. Though, that doesn’t surprise me. They’ve never been the kind of people who were responsible in any way, shape, or form for anything. Seems as though twenty years have not changed that aspect about them.
I find the landlord’s number, which I saved in my phone, touch the call icon, and hold it to my ear. It rings twice before he answers.
“Elvis Stanley, is that you?” he asks.
It doesn’t surprise me that he still has my number saved. I laugh, not having heard my actual name in at least ten years. I find it an odd sound, but I like it.
“It’s me, and I’m standing in front of my mom and stepdad’s bar, except?—”
“It’s not a bar anymore,” he says, interrupting me. “Cute little place, isn’t it?”
“Where are they?” I ask, trying not to be a demanding asshole. Because it’s not Arthur’s fault that they didn’t tell me where they were going or that they were even going anywhere, but I want to know.
Arthur hums, then grunts, and I can tell he’s shifting around in his seat before he continues. “Don’t know where they are. Haven’t talked to them in months, but I let them slide on the rent for six months straight.
“They gave me excuse after excuse, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. They weren’t paying me. I know they’d been there forever, but I got bills to pay, too. Besides, the city wants the downtown area cleaned up. They want it to be more of an old town square theme, and a bar doesn’t fit with that.”
“It doesn’t,” I agree. “Thanks, Arthur. And good luck. You need anything, you know where to find me.”
He agrees and ends the call. I’ve known Arthur for as long as I’ve known my own parents. He was a fixture in my life, not just because he was a regular at my mom and stepdad’s bar but also because he was one of the ones who encouraged me to leave and never look back. He encouraged me to go to my father, a man he knew even when my mother wouldn’t tell me who he was.
And I did just that.
Climbing back into the delivery truck, I look over my shoulder at the building. It's brighter now. Hot-pink paint against a white building, the name scrawled across that white paint.
Sweet Filthy Treats.
I love the name.
Though, I bet there’s absolutely nothing filthy about that sweet little thing behind the counter.
As much as I would love to fuck her right there on the pastry glass, I don’t think she would be someone who could handle that. Plus, she doesn’t seem like a girl I could hit and quit. She seems like she’d want me to stick around. Play house a bit. And that is definitely not me.
I can’t help but wonder what exactly she’s doing in that shop. Clearly, she’s too young to own it. She must just work there. I wonder where the owner is and if she can possibly help me figure out what happened. I think about calling Arthur back and asking him exactly who she is, but decide against it.
Heading straight for the clubhouse, I shake thoughts of that sexy little thing behind the bakery counter out of my head. I need to talk to Gnaw and see if he’s got somewhere else he wants me to take these goddamn kegs.
Fucking hell, this fucks with our money.
The keg delivery business is just a front for everything else we do. It’s our way of proving our legitimacy. And even one keg fuckup screws our monthly bottom line. Three would look really fucking bad.
When the clubhouse comes into view, I pull up to the warehouse and shift the truck into Park, then jump out and head straight for the door. Gnaw steps outside just as I approach. He’s wearing a frown, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.
