The Darkest Flame Page 3

  “That’s messed up,” he said, storing the pitchers on the lower shelf. “Sorry to hear that.”

  The story of what happened in that bar one night was too horrible to speak out loud. How my dad was tied up and robbed before the building was set on fire. I had taken off with friends after midnight, and the guilt of not being there was almost too much to bear. The case still remained unsolved.

  My father might’ve made some enemies on the street in his youth because of his involvement in some petty crime. But he had built that bar with his own hands, even furnished our tiny upstairs apartment to his liking, and the neighborhood had accepted us with open arms. Something about how it all went down always niggled in the back of my brain.

  When I was with the Asylum club, trashed out of my mind one night, one dude had hinted that our president, Terrence, knew who’d done the dirty deed—but I could’ve been making that shit up in my own brain. Later, I’d asked one of the guys named Jake, but he had shrugged it off, telling me I’d been hallucinating.

  I realized that Vaughn was still staring at me, but he’d never ask me to elaborate. It wasn’t his place. That was one of the things I liked about him. He knew never to push too hard.

  “First things first. Let me get you a Hog’s Den shirt,” he said. “Should probably take off your cut while you’re working with me.”

  I nodded and pretended not to stare at his ass as he led me to the small storage room that doubled as Vaughn’s office to remove my leather vest. It was next to a larger room where the club met on this turf, and it seemed a shame that he got shafted.

  The Disciples owned controlling interest in the bar. But it was Vaughn who did all the work, and that was a hard feat. I remembered how much my dad had put into Mitsy’s. The long hours, simply trying to turn a profit. The Hog’s Den might as well have belonged to Vaughn.

  I wondered if Vaughn ever had those thoughts. About owning something outright, like I did sometimes. Hell, I was lucky to be alive and sober. But sometimes, I wondered how all of my hard work would pay off. Where it would get me besides being part of a brotherhood, which had its own rewards, sure.

  At least now I was in it for all the right reasons. Before I was completely lost and merely grateful to have a place to call a temporary home. I’d been manipulated, but I also didn’t have big enough balls back then to stand on my own two feet.

  I should’ve kept in touch with my uncle, who owned stake in my father’s bar. Instead, I watched numbly as he took off, too shocked and grief-stricken to talk about it any further. I attempted to reach him a couple of times over the years, but he never returned my calls, and eventually he got a new number. Since then, I had plenty of questions about what went down, but I always buried them while I attempted to make something of my life.

  Vaughn handed me the neatly folded cotton with the Hog’s Den insignia on the back. I took off my cut, and as my fingers reached up to peel my own shirt over my neck, he looked away.

  “I’ll, uh…” he said, his legs eating the distance toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  “It’s only a shirt,” I said, surprised at the roughness of my own voice. I had been naked in front of plenty of men and women, and I couldn’t handle having my shirt off in front of one dude?

  He stood rooted to his spot, scratching his head, and then his eyes darted up to mine. But not before snagging on my stomach and then sliding over my pecs. I knew I had a decent physique, not as muscled as Vaughn; still, I couldn’t help feeling somehow singed by his gaze.

  I nudged the material over my shoulders. “You act like you’ve never seen a naked guy’s chest before.”

  “Of course I have,” he snapped, and then he held my eyes.

  “So what’s the problem?” I asked as the shirt descended over my chest and he followed the material with his eyes.

  Vaughn said nothing for long moments as we stood staring at each other.

  I didn’t know what the hell compelled me to do it, but I took a stalking pace nearer. Pure adrenaline, I supposed. Mixed with longing. “Asked you a question.”

  Stepping backward, his shoulders hit the wall. Our eyes snagged and held. “No problem at all.”

  “You sure?” I said, swinging my head down and studying his lips. How the slash of plum color was a direct contrast to that white mark beneath. My dick was painfully hard against my zipper and I resisted adjusting myself. “Maybe I don’t believe you.”

  “No?” he said in the meekest voice as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, always slicking across that scar, as if soothing what was likely a childhood souvenir.

  A noise from the other room caused both of us to tense. It was a couple of the Disciples entering through the back door, and we could hear their dulled conversation through the wall.

  “Fuck,” I said, unwilling to draw my eyes or my body away from his. “You plan on making this difficult?”

  His gaze swung down to my unflagging erection. “Maybe.”

  “They can’t know,” I muttered as if he hadn’t already deduced that himself. He didn’t seem shocked or even resistant to my statement. As if we were finally acknowledging it. The elephant in the room. Our heart-pounding, searing attraction to each other.

  “No shit,” he grunted before he drew even closer. His breaths released in heavy gusts. Fuck, I wanted to eat his lips, swipe my tongue across that ridged scar, and drive my knee between his legs to feel his length.

  My palm landed on the wall beside him. “How many guys you been with?”

  “Enough,” he said as I caged him in. “You?”

  I huffed out a breath. “Same.”

  It was like we were speaking our own language. We’d both been around the block enough times to know what we wanted.

  “Vaughn,” the vice president, Jonas, barked from the hallway.

  “In here,” Vaughn said as he stepped around me to open the door. As he did so, his lips drew dangerously close to my face. His eyes remained planted on my mine as our mouths practically brushed.

  One last glance, his gaze fueled with molten heat. I nearly melted to the ground in a pile of my own come.

  Chapter Five

  Vaughn

  Man, we were only playing with fire. That was the closest I’d ever gotten to Smoke. When he backed me against that door, his hot breath fanned across my lips with the spice of cinnamon gum, and I could feel the heat from his warm skin. My heart played a crazy rendition of its own. Thump, thump, thump.

  “What’s up?’ I asked Jonas, trying to clear my throat. “Just getting Smoke set up.”

  “We need to keep the back area clear for some visitors arriving tonight.”

  “Visitors?” Smoke surfaced, adjusting his bar T-shirt and tucking it down into his pants.

  To anybody else right then, it might’ve looked like we’d been getting it on. But these guys, the Disciples, would never even give it a second thought. Two men together was probably the furthest thing from their minds.

  “A few top-level Scorpions, remember?” Jonas said, pushing aside his long bangs. “Just hanging out, celebrating a couple of things.”

  Without saying another word, I knew he was referring to the takedown of a drug cartel that had stolen from the Scorpions. Jude and Cory had been involved with the whole mess, along with the feds, but it had all worked out in the end.

  “Right,” Smoke said. “Except this time I’ll be helping behind the bar.”

  Jonas smirked. “I’m sure Vaughn could spare you for a few minutes to come say hello to the guys.”

  “Of course,” I said, clapping Jonas on the back. “I’ll rope off that back corner for you.”

  Sliding behind the bar, I finished slicing some lemons and limes that I had found in the back cooler, on the verge of losing their color. It was bound to get busy during the dinner rush, and the more preliminary effort I put in, the more sales I made on quickly prepared drinks.

  I saw that Lewis, my cook, was already an elbow deep in his own prep work. Our ba
r menu was small—we kept it that way on purpose—but Lewis’s wings were a favorite in this town.

  I used to snack on them a couple of times a week, which had become a nasty habit. No way I wanted to be walking around with a beer belly. Which is why I also laid off the beer. Keeping fit was important to me, not only because I had to remain on my toes behind this bar, but also with a family history of heart disease.

  I got busy stacking enough beer glasses down below for the draft drinkers who comprised the majority of our customers. We also supplied a couple of popular native brews that kept the locals coming back.

  I felt Smoke’s heat before he even spoke a word. “Okay, Boss, what do I need to know?”

  A smile tilted my lips. “Boss, is it?”

  “Whatever,” he mumbled, his cheeks staining a darker pink, matching the precise color of his lips.

  I liked throwing Smoke off balance. He always seemed so unruffled and composed. Except for that last five minutes in the back room. “Just the usual. Joe doubled as my bar back on busy nights. We got it all done with good teamwork. So keep an eye out to be sure beer, glasses, fruit, juices, and ice are well stocked.”

  His gaze traveled the length of the bar, taking note of the beverage well and service station. “Got it.”

  “You remember how to make your drinks?”

  “Probably all the typical ones,” he said, checking the back shelf of liquor. “Pretty sure no one who steps in here orders one of them fancy cosmopolitans.”

  I nearly argued his point, but he was mostly right. We served the usual blue-collar fare; this was no trendy bar, for sure.

  “Right,” I conceded. “But plenty of gin and tonics, black and tans, that kind of thing.”

  “Easy enough,” he said, chomping his gum while he eyed the drafts on tap.

  I placed the extra limes in a Tupperware container below the bar. “Then I’m sure you’re all set.”

  “If I have trouble remembering, I’ll ask,” he said. “And I’ll be sure to stay out of your way. My dad always complained about open ice hits.”

  I laughed at his hockey reference and figured I’d probably like his father. He smiled to himself almost wistfully, as if remembering a decent time in his life, and something tugged at my gut.

  Smoke definitely understood proper bar etiquette. Assistants knew to give the head bartender a wide berth. They helped out however they could, especially with keeping supplies properly stocked, and never got in the way of a direct sale with the customer.

  “Just help me figure out the cash drawer?”

  I dipped my head and walked to the register. He stood back and looked over my shoulder, but I could still feel his breath on my neck. If he stepped one foot closer, I might even feel his package right against my ass. I took a deep breath and pressed the key to open the drawer. But damn, the man smelled like cinnamon and sweat, and I wanted to lick the briny taste straight off his cock.

  I showed him what buttons to punch for certain drinks. “Pretty straightforward. You run into a problem, just give a holler. And no substitutions on the menu.”

  “What is this button for?” His hand reached over my shoulder, which briefly placed his chest flush against my back, and I was sure he could hear my intake of breath.

  He inched away. “Fuck.”

  I pretended like nothing at all had happened. Too bad I could feel how his cock stiffened instantly behind his zipper before he pulled way. This was going to be one hell of a long night. “Use that button to void any food or drink orders and then start from scratch.”

  “Got it,” he said in a rough voice.

  “Hey, Vaughn.” As the door swung open, my server stepped inside. Besides Lewis, she was my only full-time staff and was a godsend on my busiest nights. I used two other part-timers to help out during the week. They were all cool chicks, a bit rough around the edges, which was necessary in this establishment—but they worked hard and brought in good tips.

  “Hey Cherry,” I said, crooking my neck toward her. “Smoke’s going to be helping out on busy nights until we find a replacement for Joe.”

  She didn’t even bat an eyelash. Never did with any bar or club matters. She flirted a bit with the customers for larger tips, but she had an old man back home whom she was loyal to. She was a perfect employee to have. No drama. No questions. Besides, she knew better. She’d be out fast on her ass if she tried to dig around in anybody’s business.

  Customers began straggling through the door, the blue-collar after-work crowd. I looked over at Smoke, who seemed to have pulled himself back together. He was staring at the bottles of vodka as if memorizing them. “We don’t carry any of the fruity kind, in case somebody asks.”

  He arched his eyebrow and smirked. “Fruity kind?”

  “Yeah, you know, blueberry, vanilla…none of that shit.”

  “Didn’t even know there were so many types,” he said. “Mitsy’s never carried that stuff, either. Been a while since I tended bar, I guess.”

  “Hey, listen, handle these customers walking in,” I said, nodding toward the foursome wearing construction crew gear. I lifted my hand in a wave. They’d been in here a few times before. “Get your feet wet before we’re balls to the wall in here. Though that usually only happens on weekends.”

  He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Off he went to ask the guys down the bar for their order. Before I knew it he was filling up drafts expertly, with little foam off the top. Came back to him real quick. He looked like a natural, too, and I had to wonder if he ever missed it.

  Though he was probably barely legal when he helped out his dad. I steered clear of mentioning anything more about those rumors of his father dying in that fire, and his uncle moving out of town pronto, which meant Smoke had lost his family. Damn. He must’ve had a shit decade of his life, but hopefully his childhood had been happier.

  Right then my pop and his friend walked through the door, and I felt grateful that he was still alive and kicking. If only he’d taken better care of himself. I wished Leanne were still around to keep him in line. Even her grown children from a previous marriage hadn’t visited in a while. I made a mental note to give my stepsiblings a call and invite them into town over the next holiday weekend.

  “Good to see you.” Cherry made a beeline for my dad and kissed him on the cheek. “Got your favorite table reserved just for you.”

  “Sounds good, honey,” he said and then lifted his eyes to me.

  “Hey, Pop, I’ll be over in a bit,” I said and then greeted his friend with a wave.

  Suddenly Smoke was standing right beside me. “Your old man?”

  “Yeah, just had a hip replacement,” I said as I watched Cherry seat them in an empty center booth. “Encouraged him to get out more, especially since his ticker ain’t doing so well, either. He comes up from time to time when he’s not watching those antiques and pawn shop shows at all hours of the night.”

  He leaned over the bar. “Huh, guess I never noticed him in here before.”

  “Probably because you’re usually never here long enough to have a seat.”

  “True. Feels nice to stay put for awhile.” His jaw chomped a couple of times on his gum before a dimple indented his cheek. “Outside of running up and down the length of this bar.”

  The guys at the end of the bar howled with laughter over something and high-fived, while a party of three walked through the door and found a table.

  “Well, you know what I mean,” Smoke said.

  “You mean not living like a nomad out on the road?” I asked, bumping elbows with him.

  “Something like that,” he said. “Though I’d probably go stir-crazy being cooped up, as well.”

  “That how you felt working at Mitsy’s?”

  He took his time thinking about it, and something like nostalgia warmed his gaze. “Guess I don’t really know. I was only a kid back then.”

  “Yeah, I hear you. When you finally reach adulthood,” I said, thinking about how wild I’d
been in my younger days, “you still don’t know your ass from a hole in the wall.”

  He nodded. “You ever get out of here and do something fun?”

  “Depends what you consider fun.”

  He smirked. “At least I get to ride around. You’re stuck inside all night. Though it would be nice to have something solid to be proud of.”

  “Good thing I enjoy it.” I jerked my shoulder. “Let’s see…I like listening to good music—real rock music from the 70s, not that pop shit that began in the 80s. Fuck, I feel like I’m reciting one of those dating site applications.”

  He laughed. “Nice to get to know you better, at least.”

  I wasn’t even sure what more to tell him about myself. My life was so tied to this place. Maybe I did need to get out more.

  “Well, turnabout is fair play,” I said, feeling something warm slide around my chest. “I’ll be sure to drill you later. Gonna say hello to my pop. You got the bar for a few minutes?”

  “Yeah, of course.” He flicked the towel at my shoulder. “All set.”

  I walked over to greet my dad and his friend.

  “That your new hire?” my father asked.

  I almost snorted at that term, because it wasn’t like I was paying Smoke. He was on the club’s payroll, and they divided their money as they saw fit. But to simplify it for Pop, I nodded.

  When I looked over my shoulder, I saw that Smoke was watching us. Did he want to meet my father or something? Or maybe he was only thinking about our conversation. Going with the former, I tilted my head, beckoning him forward.

  He looked down the bar as if making sure he was free for a minute and then walked over.

  “This is my father,” I said to him. “Dad, meet Smoke. He’s the guy who made some of these pieces hanging on the wall, from old and new auto parts.”

  “Is that right?” My dad put his hand out for Smoke to shake. “I like the idea of that. I’m into vintage collectables myself. Where’d you learn to do that, from your old man?”

  “Shop class,” he said, surprising me. “In high school. Just put something together one day. Teacher let me stay after and use the soldering machine. Said I had something good going and encouraged me to do more.”