The two guys grinned at me, one giving me a peace sign before they roared away.

I stood in the exhaust trail behind them and shook my head. It was then that I realized how much I loved Channing Monroe, because while he was being all tortured and twisted, and growing into a dick, I still thought he was the hottest thing to walk this Earth.

I was messed up.

36

Heather

Present day

I sat on the porch, a bottle of bourbon next to me and a pack of cigarettes in my hand.

I hadn’t opened them yet, but I wanted to. Holy shit, I wanted to. Across from me, the back of Manny’s was full, but not with the high school crews. There was a ten-year Fallen Crest Academy reunion in town, and their after-party had moved to Manny’s.

Most times I didn’t care whether the rich and hoity-toity were here. I never preferred them over customers from Roussou, but right now, I was beyond thankful they had filled Manny’s tonight. Chances were good no massive brawl was going to break out, and Suki was in heaven. A few had come specially to request her fish meal, so she’d asked Katrina to take over for her, and she was putting on a show in the back.

She had a prep table set up, and white tablecloths over all the back picnic tables. There were flowers, candles, mason jars—the whole nine yards. She’d had Cruz hook up the grill before he went off shift. He was still there, but just as a drinking customer. It was his high school reunion.

“I didn’t know Cruz went to FCA.”

I heard the footsteps coming from inside, but I didn’t look back. The main door was propped open with the screen door in place, keeping the bugs from going inside. Channing had dropped me off earlier, then left to check on everyone else. He’d wanted to take me back to the warehouse, but considering my not-giving-a-shit, I’d opted for my place.

“I didn’t either. He must’ve been two years older than Sam.” I didn’t ask how Channing got in, because he hadn’t walked past me. He must’ve parked in the back and climbed through my bedroom window.

I could feel his gaze. He hadn’t opened the screen door, content to talk to me from inside. A part of me wondered if he didn’t want to be seen, if there was still blood all over him, but I knew that wasn’t likely. Who knew, though. It’d be like Channing to want to wait and shower with me, but I hadn’t waited. As soon as he’d dropped me off, I’d grabbed the bourbon on the way to the shower and started guzzling before the water was warm. Since then, I’d only dressed and made my way down here. The bottle hadn’t left my side, and I’d grabbed a thin blanket for my lap despite the sweltering heat outside. I had no bra on, and I knew there was a definite, hundred-percent chance my tits were nipping out.

It was ironic. I didn’t care if the rich folk could see my tits, but I still held that blanket over me like I needed to cover up, like the shoot-out had exposed something dark and dirty inside, and I didn’t fit in with the crowd a few yards away.

The rebellious side of me mixed with the half-shameful side.

And thinking of that, I shoved off the blanket. Screw them. This was my place. They were on my territory, not the other way around.

“You need anything before I come out?” Channing called.

I shook my head before he padded to the fridge and opened it. He came out, a beer in hand, and stepped over my legs since I’d stretched out my feet on the porch railing. Swiping the pack of cigarettes from my hand, he tossed them into the alley in front of us. They landed on the gravel.

“Hey!” I glared at him.

He shrugged, settling beside me and resting his legs on the porch railing too.

A group of three guys walked from the picnic area back to Manny’s through the side door. All three were holding drinks and dressed in polo shirts with baseball caps turned backward on their heads and trendy sandals under jeans. They stopped, saw the smokes, and glanced to us.

“Those yours?”

I didn’t even try. I knew what Channing would say.

“Take ’em. Smoke ’em,” he called.

They laughed.

One said, “Really?”

“Yeah. Take ‘em.”

“All right.” He shrugged and swooped down. He fished out a cigarette and handed the pack to the others. Someone produced a lighter.

I groaned. I was going to have to smell my own smokes. Shooting Channing another death look, I said to the guys, “Smoking’s on the other side of the building.”

“Oh yeah.” The first guy waved his cigarette toward us. “Sorry.”

They went around the front and disappeared.

“You’re an asshole.”

Channing laughed. “An asshole who loves you.” He lowered his voice. “You stopped for her, and you didn’t start back up for her. I don’t want to be the reason you start smoking again. You know I’m right.”

Yeah. Yeah. Didn’t help me, though.

“Whatever,” I grumbled, slinking farther down in my chair. I eyed the bourbon. If I couldn’t smoke… I grabbed it and took a long drink. There was no burn, which wasn’t a good sign.

I was beyond caring about that.

He’d brought Naly up.

She hadn’t been on my mind, not for a few days.

Now the burn was starting, just not from the booze.

“You want to talk?” he asked.

I moved my head from side to side.

Channing had filled me in earlier. Stalker and Congo had been tailing me. Traverse had finally called Channing and tipped him off what Richter was planning. Stalker called minutes after Traverse. And one thing more.

I’d shot a guy, but he wasn’t dead.

I hadn’t killed someone.

That was the real kicker of the whole shit day.

Thank God I wasn’t a murderer.

There was a whole host of other stuff I knew too. A whole bunch of guys had been shot, but only one guy was killed. I didn’t ask who it was, or who shot him, and Channing didn’t tell me. There’d been a tense exchange, but Channing had allowed Richter’s second-in-command to send their uninjured men back to pick up their wounded.

When they left, Traverse had been their leader. Somehow, behind the scenes, a whole other mutiny had occurred.

Richter was out of commission, completely.

I also knew I didn’t want to be told what that meant when Channing relayed the information. I didn’t want to know if that meant Richter was going to die, or if I’d see him walking back into Manny’s. The only thing I did want to know is what Channing told me: the war was done.

I didn’t want to know the politics, or how under the agreement with Channing, the Red Demons were only allowed to drink at Channing’s bar in Roussou— that was it. They weren’t even allowed to stop at Roussou’s gas station. If they ran out of gas, they were supposed to call one of the crews, who’d get the gas and bring it to them.

I’m sure they had other bars to frequent in Frisco, but they’d continue to come to Tuesday Tits to show good faith in the renewed relationship too.

Channing had offered that for Scratch, he said. His cousin always said when the Red Demons drank, they drank hard.

“You really think they’re going to continue to drink at your place?” I looked at Channing, who was staring down at his beer, his eyebrows pinched together.

He looked up. “I don’t know. They’re banned from Fallen Crest, and the only place they can go to in Roussou is my bar, so who knows. They’re Frisco’s problem now.” He shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. “They’ve been drinking there since my dad ran it. There’s sentiment attached to the place, but we’ve been getting a lot of college students lately, so they might stop. They don’t care for the outsiders. I think we’re getting your old customers.” He nodded to the Fallen Crest Academy reunion people. “Your base is becoming more high-end.”