“It’s called a cut, not a vest. Take all the time you need. I’m not always so prim and proper, obviously.” I release a chuckle and scan my eyes over her and see a slight pigment in the coloring of her skin. It seems a bit off, but more than that, the right side of her cheekbone is swelling.
Without thinking about it, I reach out and take her sunglasses off. “What the fuck happened to you?” I don’t mean for my words to come out so sternly but fuck if it isn’t taking everything inside me to not get every damn answer and then leave her here with my brothers while I rip some fucker to shreds.
She sucks her dainty bottom lip in and looks to the ground in shame. I give her a moment and just as I’m about to speak she looks at me with tear-filled eyes. “Preston, please don’t. I—I can’t do this right now. I need some place safe, some place where I won’t . . . where I won’t be questioned. I need to think.”
I nod, understanding what she needs. It’s not like it takes a fucking genius to figure out who did this to her. I spot the two suitcases in the back of her car. She must’ve gone to her ex’s apartment to get some of her shit.
“Alright. Let’s get you some aspirin and some ice on that face of yours then.” Without thinking, I wrap my arm around her waist and walk her to the clubhouse. She paws at my hand for her sunglasses.
“Please, I don’t want your friends to see my . . . you know,” Scarlett mutters lowly.
“Scar’, you don’t need to worry about that shit. No one will say a damn thing to you. Trust me, alright?”
She sucks in a deep breath and nods, and with that I push open the door and walk inside. Bongo’s still behind the bar so I head over there. “Mind getting Scar’ here some aspirin and a Ziploc bag of ice?”
Bongo takes one look at her and smirks. “Yep. I bet the other guy looks fuckin’ wrecked.”
Scarlett lets out a laugh and I’m thankful for the old biker’s sense of humor. I’m sure she needed a laugh right about now. Bongo kneels down to the ice machine and scoops some into a plastic baggie, then hands it to me over the bar. I lean over and grab a microfiber cloth and wrap it so it’s not too cold on her cheek and press it to her face.
“Argh,” Scar’ groans and fuck if it doesn’t piss me off even more. How the fuck does a man do this shit to someone?
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, looking into her dark almond eyes.
“It’s okay. I . . . I appreciate you even doing this. I was just looking for a place to process, for quiet, maybe even distractions. I don’t know.”
“If you’re lookin’ for a distraction, I can have Neon get his ass up here and burp the alphabet. He can get all the way to Y in one breath but fuck if he doesn’t make his way past it,” Bongo interjects, causing Scar’ to bust out into a breathless laughter. “Here’s your meds, sweetie. Take it sooner rather than later. I’m sure you’re up for a cold, hard drink too. Huh?”
“That would be amazing,” Scarlett tells him with a half-smile, taking the pills from his hand she opens the water bottle he set down in front of her and takes the aspirin.
“Pick your poison, babycakes,” Bongo says with a smirk. He’s not normally this jovial, so I know he’s doing it ‘cause he knows what happened. He knows she got hit, as anyone would who walks near her, and he’s doing his damn best to make sure her mind isn’t on it. For that, I’ll be forever grateful.
“Tequila, please.” Scarlett surprises me by her choice, but she shouldn’t. She’s been best friends with Cam’ for as long as I can remember, and I’m sure Cam’ taught her to take it like a champ.
“Rail, or the shit we get for Filthy?” Bongo looks at Scarlett and then to me.
“Filthy?” Scarlett laughs out my road name.
“It’s my road name,” I remind her.
“Sorry, I still view you as Preston. Filthy is just . . .”
“Nasty, naughty, dirty. We know. Have you seen this son of a—” I shoot Bongo a warning glare and he stops, knowing not to ever finish that phrase. I have the utmost respect for my mother, and the man who ever calls her the b word will have my fist through his teeth before he can even finish. “Sorry, all I was tryin’ to say is the name fits. Now, how do you two know each other? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Filthy bring you around here,” Bongo says, and it causes me to laugh.
“Give her some of my stash, and I’ll let Scar’ tell you.” I tap the barstool for her to take a seat and she does, so I sit beside her and settle back, watching her finally relax since stepping foot in this place.
Chapter Seven
Scarlett
“There’s not much to tell. We’ve known each other for years, since I was a kid and he was a teenager.” I mutter while Bongo grabs the special tequila he gets for Preston, puts a shot glass down in front of me, and pours me a drink.
“You’ve known this guy since he was a teenager? Damn, I bet he was into some nefarious stuff.” Bongo chuckles, even ends up pouring himself a shot, but Preston grabs the drink and downs it before Bongo has the chance to pick it up.
“I said she could have some, not you old man, so don’t get it twisted.” Preston’s voice is a bit firm and it almost makes me laugh, so I grab my own shot glass and down it. The liquor burns the back of my throat as it slides down and settles in my stomach, but I know I’ll be feeling so much better very shortly.
“Don’t be blamin’ me for reachin’, man.” Bongo laughs, getting a sly smirk from Preston.
“You don’t know how not to reach. Hell, I bet Scar’ doesn’t even have one story about me goin’ too far. She was a kid playin’ with her Bratz dolls. She was too busy to pay attention to me, back then anyway.” Preston’s tone drops a bit and his eyes lock onto mine as he finishes what he’s saying.
I don’t know why, but I can’t pull my eyes away from his. What did he mean by the last part of his sentence? Back then anyway . . .
“She had a lingerin’ eye for you back in the day, hmm?” Bongo slaps his hands together and leans over the bar a bit, staring between Preston and me.
“I saw one, but I don’t know if she’ll fess up to it.” Preston chuckles casually while putting a hand behind his neck, he keeps his fixed gaze on me.
“Well, did ya, little lady?” Bongo asks, and I see he’s like the best wingman I’ve ever come into contact with. He’s so nosy that it looks like the conversation is naturally flowing, but I think there’s a bit more thought that’s going into this from Preston’s side right about now.
“I might’ve had the biggest crush on my best friend’s older brother when I was a teenager,” I confess, and with that Bongo fills my shot glass again and I down it.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” Preston says, smirking like the cat who just caught the canary.
“And you two ain’t never . . .” Bongo looks between Preston and me, eyeing us both up, his expression and smile saying everything it needs to.
“Nope, not ever. She’s eight years younger than me, so when she was eighteen, I was twenty-six. I, uh, thought she was too young still for me to be makin’ any moves, especially with our age difference.” Preston speaks up, speaking so matter-of-factly with Bongo.