KENNICK: A Bad Boy Romance Novel (4 page)

Shit,
Kim thought
as he stood up.

Phil and Ed each grabbed for the larger man, but were
too late. He was already crossing the bar, swaying slightly. Kim knew he was
drunk, but she hoped that all those years of drinking kept him from getting too
out of control. It was clear, from the look on his face, that he meant to start
something that night; Kim wondered who would finish it.

Chapter
Six

 
“Yeah,
yeah,
man,” Junior, the bartender, said
as he pushed three shots across the bar, saving one for himself. “I can drink
to that, buddy.”

Cristov grinned, grabbing his glass and lifting it to
the air, followed shortly by his brothers.

“To new friendships,” Cristov said.

“And greener pastures,” Junior volleyed, downing his
whiskey in tandem with his new favorite customers.

Kennick wasn’t sure whether or not Cristov and Damon
had noticed the girl from the Mayor’s office sitting at a table when they
entered, but he certainly had. And as the shot burned its way down his throat,
it took all his focus not to turn around and stare at her. She was like a burr
stuck in the denim of his jeans. She was damn cute.
Damn
cute.

And the fact that their paths had crossed twice that
day already made him wonder. Luck was important to him. To all Rom, luck was
nearly sacred. To call anything a coincidence was lazy, a way to avoid seeing
the bigger picture.

But she was sitting at a table with four other people
– all men. One of them might be her boyfriend. Even if none of them were her
boyfriend, he knew that there was a time and a place for everything, and this
was not the time to approach her. Though, if he managed to catch her alone that
night, it might be the place.

But, more importantly, he had bigger fish to fry than
exploring her cute, compact body with his eyes. The Volanis brothers had
already visited the town’s two other bars, both of which had been just about as
deserted for a Friday night as this one. Even the streets were quiet. Kingdom
was not doing well. Kennick smiled to himself, thinking that, if this was a
movie or a novel, the town’s downward plunge could be blamed on a gypsy curse,
punishment for what had happened to his father.

Their mission that night was simple: start making
connections for their less-than-legal business ventures. Specifically, the pot
business. Bartenders were always a good place to start when looking for people
who’d be interested in getting a little extra green in their hands. Green as in
money
and
as in herb. Bartenders knew
the drunks, and most drunks were stoners, or knew stoners, or could be
convinced to turn into stoners when the hangovers got bad. Bartenders knew
dealers. Bartenders liked to double as dealers.

They’d gotten the two other bartenders they spoke to
that night on board, trading numbers and agreeing to some basic rates, slipping
dime-bag samples across the bar to verify the quality of the product. And now
Junior here was damn near salivating at the opportunity. Apparently, Kingdom
had been going through something of a marijuana drought, and the Volanis
brothers were like angels descending on fragrant, purple-veined wings.

Just as Junior was getting set to pour out another
round – now that business was basically done for the night, Kennick had no
problem with getting good and drunk, especially when the shots were free, paid
for by a very grateful bartender – Kennick felt a hand landing heavy on his
shoulder. It made his spine stiffen.

“You boys here on business or pleasure,” said the man
attached to the hand. Kennick turned slowly, having to look up to meet the
man’s gaze. He didn’t like looking up at anyone.

“What business is it of yours?” he responded, staying
cool despite the daggers being thrown his way from the clearly-drunk man’s
eyes. He shrugged the lingering hand off his shoulder. Behind him, he heard
Damon and Cristov rise to stand and flank him.

“This is my town,” the man said, the sour smell of
beer on his breath. He was old, chubby from too much booze, his face red,
cheeks puffy. He looked like he could be a nice guy in a different circumstance.

“Kennick Volanis,” Kennick said, taking the high road,
sticking his hand out. The man’s eyes narrowed and he didn’t move to shake the
offered hand. “Pleasure.”

“Volanis,” the man said, shaking his head slowly from
side to side. “Volanis. Volanis! You have some fuckin’ nerve! What’s your
goddam angle, boy? What the
fuck
did
you come back here for?”

Kennick’s hand crumpled into a fist. The way the man
had spit his name out was like a serpent spitting venom.
Boy.
He’d called him
boy.

“Goddam gypsy bastards,” the man continued, his face
getting redder and redder, voice getting louder and louder. Damon and Cristov
bunched closer.

“Listen, buddy, you should just get back to your
seat,” Cristov said, and the man broke his stare with Kennick to look at the
younger brother.

“Ain’t
your
buddy.
I’m the goddamn Mayor, and I don’t want no fuckin’ asshole
gypsies
in my town,” he said, now lifting a finger, pointing it
straight at Cristov, so close he almost poked him in the chest. Cristov swatted
the hand away in a single fluid motion, and the man’s eyes widened as though
the touch was electric. Seeing that things were not going to get any better,
two of the men who’d been sitting at the table with him rose and came to his
side, each taking an arm.

“C’mon, Tom, let’s not do this,” one said, his voice
high and effeminate.

“You don’t want to cause trouble at Sammy’s, friend,”
said the other. “They’re not worth it.”

The Mayor looked at his friends, rage clearly bubbling
beneath his skin, but seemed to see the virtue in what they were saying. As he
stepped backwards, pulled with the two men at his sides, he made eye contact
with Kennick one final time.

“You hear me, boy,” he spat. “Think good and hard
about how long you want to stay here. I can make things
very
hard for you.”

“Woah, bro,” Junior said behind the bar, the bottle of
whiskey still in his hand, not having moved since the beginning of the
altercation. “That was some fucked up shit.”

Damon was the first to turn back to the bar, but none
of the men sat down.

“Some shit is right,” Cristov hissed, grabbing the
refilled shot glass and pouring it back before anyone else.

“Bad luck to drink before toasting,” Damon said, eyes
on his reckless younger brother.

“Bad luck already found us,” Kennick grumbled, his
eyes still following the man, who’d sloppily taken his seat at the table.
Beside him, Kim was turned towards the bar, her eyes on him. When he met her
gaze, she seemed to straighten, as though electrocuted. Kennick didn’t release
her as he reached out, grabbing his shot. Tipping it towards her, he saw the
wide-eyed stares of the men behind her.

Fuck them,
Kennick
thought.
Fuck all of them.

To his surprise, just as he lifted the glass to his
mouth, she had grabbed her beer and, so slightly as to be nearly imperceptible,
tipped it towards him. They drank together, her taking a long gulp of her beer
while he shot the whiskey back into his throat. No sooner did she put her glass
back on the table than the Mayor turned back, his eyes all turpentine and fire,
his mouth in a sneer.

“Let’s go,” Kennick said, tearing his gaze away from
the woman and her comrades. Junior was still holding the damn whiskey bottle.
“You still in?”

The bartender was really no more than a kid – couldn’t
be 22, even. But after a hard swallow, he nodded.

“Yeah, dude,” he said. “Mayor don’t scare me.”

From the look in his eyes, the kid was lying through
his teeth.

“Good,” Kennick said, sliding his shot glass across
the bar. “Because he doesn’t scare us, either. And don’t be afraid to spread
the word.”

Chapter
Seven

Kim drove home slowly. Slower than she really
understood. She hadn’t drank that much, but it seemed no matter how hard she
pushed her foot against the pedal, the car wouldn’t move any faster.

Fog had descended, heavy, on the road. Still, she
could make out a figure on the side of the road, its form large and masculine,
one hand raised, thumb out.

I don’t
pick up hitchhikers,
she thought. But it seemed the car had a mind of its
own, and she pulled over as the figure became clearer.

Oh,
she
thought, the fog seeming to enter her brain.
Him.

As the tall, long-haired gypsy crawled in beside her,
she felt her heart pounding. His eyes on her were demanding.

“Take me,” he said.

“Where?” she asked, feeling her stomach churning as
she pulled away. He filled the car with his scent – leather and sandalwood. She
hadn’t noticed that before. At least, not consciously. But now it filled her
nostrils and seemed to funnel right down to her heart – no, not her heart.
Somewhere deeper. And darker.

“Wherever,” he said, his hand coming out to grip her
thigh. She was wearing shorts – had she put those shorts on? She thought she’d
been wearing jeans, but the way she could feel every swirl of his fingerprints
against her flesh said differently. She didn’t dare look down. She drove on.
She didn’t recognize this street. This wasn’t where her home was.

“I don’t know where we are,” she said, hearing the
fright in her voice. He leaned in, his slight stubble raising goosebumps along
her sides as it grazed her neck.

“Does it matter?” he asked, his voice a hot tornado
against her ear, making her moan even as his lips fell to the soft, warm skin
behind her earlobe, his tongue darting out to caress her. Her hands were white
knuckled around the steering wheel. His fingers danced upwards across her
thigh.

She felt a single drip of arousal escape her sex, and
with a sudden flush of shame realized she wasn’t wearing shorts. She wasn’t
wearing anything. His lips closed over the flesh of her neck, sucking gently
inward. Her nipples hardened to points as his fingers traced the lips of her
pussy, trailing slightly, wet from her arousal. Without thinking, she opened
for him, and felt as his fingers grazed her clit.

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asked, his lips warm
against her flesh. She tried to look at the road, but it was all mist and fog.
Like her mind. Like her body as he played it, slipping his fingers up and down
her wet sex, just barely touching her swollen clit with each stroke. She tried
to answer but couldn’t.

“I said,” he growled, his fingers hovering over her
opening now. “Do you want to fuck me?”

With those words, he pressed inside her, and she
bucked, her hips thrusting upwards in a frenzied desire.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes…”

“Good,” he growled against her, nipping gently at her
neck with his teeth. “Then do it. Fuck me. Fuck my fingers until you come.”

His thumb came to her clit, circling it, and she felt
her body taking over, thrusting herself against his fingers as they curled
inside her. She felt a rising tide inside her, sweet arousal turning hard and
needy as he plunged his fingers deeper inside her, his thumb increasing its
pace around her clit.

“Take me, take me, take me,” she moaned, someone
else’s voice, someone else’s words, her foot still pressed hard against the
pedal, the car running faster now, too fast, her hips moving out of pure animal
lust, driving his fingers deep inside her, the rushing tide growing to a wave,
pleasure filling her muscles, tension snapping at her nerves.

“I will,” he growled, biting her hard now. “You’re
going to be mine. I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to be mine, mine, all
mine…”

And then the car swerved, off the road, as her slit
gushed, fire sparking in her skin as she came, his fingers curling against her
g-spot and pressing, his thumb abusing her clit until her thighs snapped shut
around his hand, bliss radiating through her mind, intoxicating and delirious,
and then the crash as the car crumpled around them, the tree she’d driven into
snapping as it crashed down, death swallowing them, her stomach plunging even
as her heart filled…

Kim woke up with a gasp. Her hand was buried into her
panties, her wetness coating her fingers, slick and slippery. Her heart was
racing, flesh on fire.

And her phone was buzzing. Cursing, she grabbed it,
only meaning to see who was calling but accidentally answering it.

“Sis?” Ricky’s voice came in over the line and Kim
heard herself grunt in frustration, her brain still addled.

“What?” Kim asked, gruffer than she meant to be.
“Sorry…you woke me up.”

Her heart was still beating a million miles a minute,
and the last thing she wanted to do was talk to anyone. She felt like she’d
just run a marathon in her sleep. And waking up to an orgasm wasn’t exactly a
normal thing for Kim. Although she had to admit it hadn’t been entirely
unpleasant.

“Word,” Ricky said, oblivious to the state her sister
was in. “I heard there was some fresh stock at the rumor mill. What you got for
me?”

Kim groaned. Ricky worked for the town’s newspaper,
which seemed to get thinner and thinner every week as advertisers dropped off
and the classifieds shrank.

“What time is it?” Kim asked, throwing her arm across
her eyes.

“It’s gossip o’clock,” Ricky urged. Like a dog with a
bone, that girl. But that’s why she was a reporter, Kim supposed.

“Ricky,” Kim groaned. “C'mon, I have a hangover fit to
kill and...”

“Okay,” Ricky interrupted, the sound on the other end
of the phone indicating that the younger woman was hurtling herself through her
house at breakneck speed. What on earth she was doing, Kim could only guess.
“I'm coming with an egg sandwich, cheese and bacon, coffee. And you're gonna
dish.”

“Ugh,” Kim groaned again, but there was silence on the
other end of the line.

Thirty minutes later, Kim's doorbell rang. Ricky
stood, nearly hopping from one foot to the other, holding a brown paper bag and
two cups of coffee. When Kim let her in, she rushed by in a whirlwind. From the
faint smell of rum on Ricky's breath and the bags under her eyes, Kim guessed
that Ricky had been celebrating a bit of TGIF, as well. But at 24, four years
Kim's junior, Ricky still had a year or two of consequence-less partying in
front of her.

For two sisters, Kim and Ricky didn't look much alike.
Kim's soft, supple body was nothing like Ricky's tall, thin frame. Ricky had
their father's gray eyes and ultralight blonde hair, both of which were
multiple shades lighter than Kim 's blue eyes and ruddy blonde locks. And when
it came to personality, there was an ocean's difference between them. Ricky was
overwhelmingly bubbly, sometimes tactless, demanding and confident. She never
took no for an answer, and was an incorrigible gossip. No secret – not even a
sacred, sisterhood secret – was safe with Ricky James.

“So,” she said, emptying the bag onto the kitchen
table. “I talked to Junior last night – well, I mean, we texted. Don't really
remember
texting him, but anyway, I woke
up and there they all were.”

“You don't remember?” Kim asked, furrowing her brow
and picking up one of the fragrant, foil-wrapped sandwiches.

“Save it,” Ricky said, putting up an open palm.
“Remember that time you woke up wearing Tom Livingston's tie around your neck
like a leash?”

Kim grimaced. She
did
remember that morning. She'd been Kim's age. Sighing, she knew that she was
in no position to lecture.

“Anyway, Junior told me that Mayor Gunderson just
about flipped his
lid
over some dudes
who came in? Said they were gypsies? And he said
you
were there. So, spill, sis.”

Ricky took a huge bite of her sandwich while Kim
turned her own around in her hand, looking for the perfect place to begin
nibbling. As the sisters ate, Kim told Ricky everything – except, that is, for
the dream, and the fact that the three brothers were hot as hell, particularly
the eldest brother. But everything else was fair game for her sister, who
nodded and seemed to be taking mental notes. Kim knew that Ricky was looking
for an angle in the story, something worth pitching to her editor.

“You might want to write something about the new
businesses,” Kim offered and Ricky nodded distractedly.

“Weird about Mayor Gunderson freaking out,” Ricky
said, taking a long sip of her coffee before turning to raid Kim's fridge;
Ricky was like a garbage disposal, she could eat an easy 3,000 calories a day
without gaining an inch of flab around her stomach.

“He was drunk,” Kim said with a shrug, feeling
defensive of the man even though she certainly hadn't liked his behavior the
night before. “And he was a cop thirty years ago, you know? When that woman was
murdered. I guess he took it hard.”

“Sure,” Ricky said. “A lot of people did. I read all
those articles from the Times, back from when it happened. It was the only
thing news-worthy to happen in Kingdom since a fire in 1946. It really tore the
town up.”

Kim nodded slowly, finishing the last bites of her own
sandwich. Her hangover was demanding more food to placate it, but she settled
for downing the last of her coffee and brewing some more.

“Anyway, I think I might go over there tomorrow,” she
said, not even knowing she'd planned to do it until the words left her mouth.
“To apologize and kind of give them a nicer welcome.”

“Is that so?” Ricky asked, looking over her shoulder
at her older sister. Ricky closed the fridge door, having found some leftover
salmon with rice pilaf to eat. “Well, see if you can get me an interview or
something about those stores and stuff. It
is
worth a story, I guess. Can't even remember the last time a business
opened
in this town. I'm getting tired
of writing farewell articles whenever someplace goes broke.”

“Amen,” Kim agreed, thinking of the real reason she’d
come up with the idea to go see the Volanis brothers. She couldn't shake that
dream. She couldn't shake those green eyes. And, what's more, she didn't want
to shake them.