Pop Goes The Biker: Turf Wars #3 Page 3
“What the fuck? Get it out.”
I begin laughing, because, well, fuck him anyway.
“Why are you just standing there?” he growls, grabbing a nearby towel and using it to squeeze the bleach from his hair.
“That won’t stop it from processing,” I laugh, trying to smother it with no luck.
“Then what the fuck will stop it?”
“Wash it.” I giggle.
“Fuck. Where is your shampoo?”
I laugh harder.
“This isn’t fuckin’ funny, where is it?”
“I don’t have any.”
“What the fuck do you mean you don’t have any?”
“You dicks won’t take me shopping, I only very basic essentials and someone forgot shampoo was one of them.”
“Quit fuckin’ laughin’ and do somethin’.”
My body is shaking with laughter as I grab his arm and drag him toward the kitchen.
“Put your head over the sink.”
He does as I ask, and I take the clump of hair and start washing it with dish soap.
“What the actual fuck?” he growls, watching as I lather it up.
“It’s all we’ve got, deal with it.”
“That’ll kill my hair.”
I laugh louder. “You’re a biker, you shouldn’t even have hair.”
“Fuck you.”
“Princess.”
He growls something under his breath, but I lather up his hair a few more times and rinse it out. Regardless of my excellent effort in rinsing his hair, that bleach mix is strong and I can already see he’s going to have a pretty dramatic color change in the area that it touched. I bite my lip as I dry it off.
“How do you feel about a haircut?” I ask.
His eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do to my hair?”
I raise a finger. “I did nothing to your hair. You did that yourself. I tried to help, but that mix is strong and it’ll change color even though we rinsed it.”
“Fuck,” he growls. “Fuck this. I can’t do this with you.”
I roll my eyes. “Then send someone else, or better yet, let me go on my way and do it yourselves.”
“You owe us.”
“You owe us,” I mock in a baby voice. “Stop whining about it. I helped you.”
“You’ve got the fuckin’ cartel after you.”
Right.
There is that.
“Well, I’ll change my appearance, name, and start again somewhere else.”
His eyes lock onto mine. “You think that’s enough to get them off your back?”
“Nope.”
He shakes his head. “I’m done here today.”
Of course he’s done.
He gets whatever he wants.
I don’t get a damned choice.
Asshole.
“HIT ME AGAIN, SISTER,” I say, holding my glass out to Eve who has the bottle of vodka in her hand. “It’s not every day a girl gets to drink freely.”
“That bad being held against your will, huh?” Ramona asks. “Maybe you should make it sexy. Start having sex with Beckett, that’ll pass the time.”
I grunt. “Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind. I am in desperate need of sex, but he’s just so angry. I’m not sure I’d like it.”
“That could make it better,” Eve suggests. “Just imagine all the tugging and pulling, the rough handling ...”
“Is this my fantasy or yours?” I laugh.
She grins. “I think you should consider it, it’ll pass the time quicker and Beckett might just get happier.”
“What are you girls yabberin’ about?”
One of the club members, Remy, walks over and sits down beside Eve. He’s super good looking and the only one of them at this stage that seems super easy going. He’s funny, too.
“We’re trying to convince our girl Poppy to jump on the Beckett train,” Ramona tells Remy. “What do you think?”
“Fuckin’ do it, girl, that man hasn’t fucked in a while, far as I know.”
My brows go up. “Seriously? Why?”
Remy shrugs. “Fucks me. He was seein’ some chick for a while, never introduced her, it was all on the side. Somethin’ happened and he’s been an angry wanker ever since.”
“Ohhh,” I say, wiggling my brows. “That’s juicy.”
“Don’t go shit stirrin’,” Remy warns.
I grin and look to Eve. “What are your thoughts on this?”
“Heartbreak?”
“Oh, an affair!” Ramona claps.
“That could be it.” I grin. “We should find out.”
Remy exhales. “You girls are fucked. Leave the man alone. Give him some pussy and get him through it, that’s as far as you should go.”
“My pussy isn’t heartbreak recovery, thank you very much,” I say to Remy.
He grins. “Then what is it, honey?”
“It’s pure fucking gold.”
He chuckles and stands. “That’s my cue. Behave, you three.”
He disappears, and I turn back to the girls. “Let’s do some digging!”
It would be nice to know a little juice on Beckett. It might help me understand why he’s such a huge dick.
“He’s VP of the club, he’s pretty high up in the ranks. Maybe he’s dealing with that sort of crap.” Ramona shrugs. “Maybe it has nothing to do with a woman.”
“Well, he did go on a date the other day,” I say.
“Really?” Eve says, eyes wide. “With who?”
“No idea, he was just going out.”
“Oh, Captain is in love.”
“Captain?” I ask.
“That’s what the guys call him,” Eve tells me.
I snort. “Oh, he’s not living that one down.”
“Yo.”
I look over to see a handsome guy sitting next to Eve. He looks a great deal like her, and I have to wonder if they’re related somehow.
“Well, who is this handsome devil?” I ask with a grin.
“This is my brother, Stefano,” Eve tells me. “He’s just joined the club. He’s still their little bitch.”
She nudges him with her shoulder and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t fuckin’ remind me.”
“You should have behaved yourself and you wouldn’t have had to worry about it,” Eve tells him, wiggling her finger.
“Yeah, yeah.”
I laugh and pour another drink, swallowing it down and loving how it warms my body.
Yes.
This is exactly what I needed.
The drinks, and the information.
3
“Is it wise to be leaving the club alone?”
I squeal at the sound of a man’s voice coming from near the cars in the parking lot. I came out here to get some fresh air because I’m drunk as hell. Eve told me I can stay with her tonight so nobody has to take me back to the warehouse, and her café and apartment is right next to the garage slash clubhouse that the bikers run. In between is a massive parking lot and that parking lot is where I’m currently trying to sober up a touch.
I manage to steady myself to see hot cop leaning against a car that looks a lot like it could be a cop car but without all the bits and bobs. Like an undercover car. Sneaky.
“Stalking,” I point out, “is a crime.”
He grins.
God, he would melt a few panties off. No doubt.
“I’m just here because of a noise complaint.”
“Really,” I say, crossing my arms and using some random stranger’s car to lean against so I don’t fall on my face. “And what noise complaint would that be?”
“That one.”
He points toward the clubhouse where the booming music is coming from.
“Oh.”
“I thought you didn’t know those guys?” he asks me.
“I don’t. I didn’t come from that party.”
God, I’m a terrible liar.
“Really, where did you come from then?”
I
grunt and point to Eve’s apartment. “There.”
“So you’re friends with Eve, the President’s woman?”
God.
“I told you this. Listen, buddy,” I say, wiggling a finger, “I haven’t done anything wrong here. I was having a few drinks with friends, it’s not my problem what she does in her spare time.”
“I think you might be interested in helping me out, there are benefits in it for you,” he goes on, as if I haven’t spoken.
“I don’t need benefits,” I mutter.
“You have some bad people after you, Poppy. Isn’t that correct?”
Fuck.
Why does he know so much?
“How do you know so much about me?”
He gives me that stupid sexy half grin. “I’m a detective, it’s my job.”
“Well, I don’t need your help. I’m doing just fine on my own, thank you very much. I’m not helping you with whatever it is you want.”
“Even if I promised your safety and freedom?”
I mean, it’s tempting. But I’m not snitch.
“No, thanks.” I smile, giving him a thumbs up.
“I can get you away from all of this, so you are free to do whatever you like in life with no one hurting you or hunting you.”
“At the expense of what?” I shake my head. “Other people’s lives?”
“Those people are criminals.”
“And? How do you know I’m not?”
“I know you are, but I’m willing to do you a deal.”
Jesus.
“What exactly is it you want, hot cop?”
He crosses his arms. “I want information on that biker club, they’re doing illegal business and I want proof. You give me that and the cartel that’s after you disappears, as well as the man you call a husband.”
“Firstly,” I say as I wave a finger, “you can’t make a cartel ‘disappear’ and, secondly, my husband isn’t really a problem.”
“I can make you disappear, Poppy. You disappear, they forget about you and you start again.”
I roll my eyes. “I can start my own life thank you very much, I know how to change my name and move ...”
“Poppy!”
Eve’s voice trails over the parking lot.
“Thought you said you weren’t at that party?” Hot cop says.
I blow him a kiss.
I turn to look at Eve; she’s running toward me. I wave, and by the time I turn around, hot cop is in his car and driving away.
God, he’s like a slippery snake.
And one that doesn’t seem like he’s going to go away anytime soon.
Awesome.
I STUMBLE THROUGH THE clubhouse, through the sea of people, looking for Eve so I can get her key and go the hell to sleep. I’m way too drunk, and I need to get out of here and find some water and food. Considering I’m a prisoner, they’re not doing a great job at holding me. I shove past people and finally run into Beckett, who is standing against the bar, a woman in front of him, her hand shoved into his jeans as she whispers something into his ear.
He looks like he’s right about to throw her across the room. It’s very clear he isn’t interested and was likely about to stop her before I came in.
“God, lady, have some class,” I say, stopping in front of them.
She turns and glares at me. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m his woman, can you take your hand off his cock, please?”
Her eyes widen and she jerks her hand out of his pants.
“Shoo,” I say to her. She turns and scurries away.
“That’s gross, you don’t know where her hands have been,” I say to Beckett.
“What do you want?” he mutters, and it’s clear he’s as drunk as I am.
Should be fun.
“I’m looking for Eve.”
“She’s gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone?” I squeak.
“She left with Riggs, ‘bout an hour ago.”
I shake my head. He’s clearly got it wrong. “You’re mistaken, I am staying at her house tonight. She wouldn’t have left without me.”
“Hate to break it to ya,” he murmurs, leaning down close, “but you’re sleepin’ here tonight.”
God dammit.
I try to call Eve, but she doesn’t answer. I try to call Ramona, but she left with Adan apparently. This is why I don’t make friends, they always leave me behind. There is no way I’m staying at this club. I need a bed. Stat. I’m so damned drunk. I grab Beckett’s arm as he goes to walk away.
“What?” he growls.
“Where are you staying?”
“I’m goin’ home, right now.”
“Take me with you,” I plead.
“No fuckin’ way.”
“Please,” I beg. “You’re supposed to be watching me. If you don’t take me, I’ll run. I’ll run and you’ll have to explain yourself tomorrow.”
He glares at me. “You’re a fuckin’ pain in my ass.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch, you won’t hear from me.”
He mutters something, then snaps, “Hurry up then.”
I follow him outside, stumbling more than once as I go. God, I swear, I’m going to pass out if I don’t lie down soon. The second I hit the fresh air, my head spins and I find myself pausing so I can fight off the sickness swirling around in my stomach, threatening to come up.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” Beckett asks, pausing and watching me as I stand, stupidly, trying not to move.
“I feel sick.”
“Fuck me.”
“No, thank you,” I moan and then lean forward and puke into the bushes that are thankfully quite close beside me.
Horrified, I stand when I’m done and look guiltily over at Beckett who is watching me with his arms crossed. He is probably disgusted right now, wondering why the hell he agreed to let me come home with him.
“I’m sorry,” I squeak.
“Let’s go.”
No sympathy. I expected as much.
We get into a cab and the drive seems to take forever. Eve tries to call a few times, but I can’t be bothered reaching into my purse to get my phone. So, I ignore it. We arrive at Beckett’s apartment and pay the cab driver.
I wish I could say I am paying attention as we walk inside the large, two-story apartment but I’m not. I want a shower, food, and a bed. Beckett flicks the light on in the kitchen and turns to me. “Hungry?”
“Yes, oh god yes.”
“Shower is upstairs to your right, I’ll make something.”
“Thank you.”
I stumble up the stairs, tripping over more than once and laughing hysterically at myself. I finally make it to the large bathroom and find myself a towel, before clumsily stripping out of my clothes and getting into the warm, beautiful water. I stand in there for a while and finally feel a little more human. I get out, dry off, and put my clothes back on, horrified to be wearing them again. I stare at myself in the mirror, and I look like a hot mess. My hair is tangled, and I look like I haven’t slept in a week. Ugh, girl, get it together.
I wash my face, properly this time, and borrow Beckett’s brush for my hair. Then I laugh because I’m borrowing a man’s brush. As I go to put it back in the drawer, I decide to do a little snooping and open the cabinets. I find a whole section full of women’s products and my eyes widen. Hello, there. Why would Beckett have this many women’s products if he doesn’t have a woman?
I will uncover what’s going on here. I pull out some, and they’re definitely fresh and not old. The face cream looks like it has been well used and the perfumes are all at least half empty. Someone is using these frequently. I close the cupboard and walk back out, heading down the stairs and into the kitchen where I can smell the delicious scent of pizza.
I round the corner and see Beckett sitting at the table, a whole plate of delicious pizza in front of him. I rush over and sit down, picking up a piece.
“I don’t know how you did it, b
ut I’m thankful,” I moan, biting into a piece.
“It’s reheated, don’t bust a load.”
I snort and look at him, daring to ask the question. “So, is there a missus Beckett who will be very, very angry with me being here?”
I mean, I know he went on a date so I know he’s not in a committed relationship, but I have no doubt in my mind Beckett has something juicy going on.
“No,” he says, quickly.
“No one?” I push. “Didn’t you go on a date?”
“Didn’t work out.”
“Right.” I grin. “So if I were to jump on your lap right now and fuck you, it wouldn’t be a problem?”
My statement is bold, but I did it for a reason. Shock value, being one, and to see his reaction. I’m a pretty girl, and a man like Beckett wouldn’t say no to some easy offerings if he was single. He stares at me, eyes scanning my face before dropping to my boobs. “You’re not my type.”
“You’re telling me every woman you fuck is your type?”
“Nope.”
“So you wouldn’t fuck me?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“You piss me off too much, that’s why.”
“I’m wild in bed, Captain,” I purr. “You wouldn’t regret it.”
“Quit tryin’ to fuck me, Pop-Tart.”
I blink.
He did not just call me Pop-Tart.
My most hated name.
A childhood torment.
“Do not call me that,” I snap. “It’s the most unoriginal nickname in the history of nicknames.”
“You call me Captain, I’ll call you Pop-Tart.”
“Fuck you, Captain.”
He grins, taking a bite of his pizza. “Not tonight, Pop-Tart.”
“Ugh, you make me sick. Where am I sleeping?”
“In my bed.”
I blink. “I thought we weren’t fucking.”
“Don’t have a sofa.”
I stare around the living room. There are only two very large recliners that look to be electric, but no sofa. “I’ll sleep on them.”
“They don’t work, they stay upright.”
Jesus.
“You don’t have a spare mattress, an air bed, something?”
“Nope.”
“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you,” I huff, crossing my arms.