Hendrix (Caldwell Brothers #1) (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

Hendrix

I have already decided that Livi isn’t the kind of girl I can have hanging around. She is half crazy, indecisive, and now with all this making love shit talk, I’m not about to keep her around. To top it off, watching her in my clothes, in my place, telling me what to do is agitating.

I sit the plate with toast and a glass of water in front of her as I grab my own and take a bite. She’s looking at me while I’m looking at her, and I swear to God, I’m ready to tell her to step. I don’t want her damn money. I want her around longer.

“You work off your car debt Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Tuesday nights. Shouldn’t take long—”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you that I need either Friday or Saturdays off.” She reaches behind her again and rubs her ass. What the hell is up with that shit? “I will keep Thursday nights, but I really would like to have time for my social life.”

“You mean, going to functions and getting fuck—”

She holds a hand up, stopping me. “It was a one night thing. A step to becoming.” She stops and shakes her head then pushes her toast back. “I’m not hungry, thank you. I will see you tonight.”

“Hold up, Livi.” I follow behind her as she runs down the stairs.

Once in the garage, she looks down at her hands.

“You forgot your keys.” I hand them to her then hit the garage door opener.

Keys in hand, she gets in her car, fires her up, rolls down the window, and then thanks me before backing out of the garage.

I think to myself,
don’t thank me yet, Livi, I’ve got plans for you.

*.*.*.*

I walk into the bar and turn on the lights. The place is clean and doesn’t smell. I think back to only a couple weeks ago and what I walked in on. I hate that bastard. There’s no reason to look back, but today, I am in a mood. I guess we could say I’m finally hitting that fourth step in the grieving process. Depression. I’m not depressed; I hate that word. So, again I am ‘in a mood.’

How could a man do that to a woman? How could my father do that to a woman who gave him three children? Fucking cheating on ‘his girl” all these years and while she was in the hospital dying. Fucking piece of shit asshole.

Jagger walks in. “Hey what’s up?” he asks, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“You been out all night?” I hand him a cup of coffee.

“Yep, I need to hit the gym and get some sleep,” he says before he takes a sip. “How’d our girl do last night? She was fucking tanked, man.”

“Yeah, not cool, Jagger. She’s young—”

“Old enough to go to the store, old enough to get bread, man.” He chuckles.

“She’s an employee,” I warn.

“Old enough to flirt, she’s old enough to squirt.”

“Bro, you’re to leave her the fuck alone.”

“Are you for real? Since when is ass off limits?”

I look at him, clamping my jaw shut, trying my damndest not to say a fucking word. But hell if I don’t want him to know she’s been had. He and Morrison may have shared a broad before, but the Caldwell rule is, if one of us has tapped in, the others don’t unless we tap out. I haven’t tapped out just yet. I need to, but I haven’t. Therefore, he sure as shit isn’t tagging in.

“Holy shit,” he gasps as my warning settles in on him. “You fucked Livi last night.”

“No, I certainly did not fuck Livi last night.”

“Oh, man, I know that look. You better fucking dish. Is she a virgin?”

I say nothing, merely look at him.

“Oh, man, she’s a virgin, and what, twenty-four, twenty-five? That’s fucked up. She needs to get laid. Unfair to her, man.”

“She’s not a virgin, and you better just leave it alone.”

“Fuck that. Since when do we leave shit like this alone?”

“I’m gonna say this once, and that’s it. Then, it’s dropped.”

“Do tell.” He leans in like a kid waiting on his mom to read the next chapter in a story book.

“You’re to blame. That fucking fundraiser is where we hooked up. We had masks on, so I had no fucking clue who she was, and she had no clue who I was.”

“Well, shit, I guess a fucking thank you is in order. How the hell did you figure that out?”

I don’t say shit.

“Did you rape her?” He snickers, knowing damn well I didn’t nor would I, but he wants to rile me.

“Are you out of your fucking—”

“Or”—he holds up his hand—“was consent fucking given?”

I shake my head and try not to smile.

“Holy shit, man, so that little panty tug-of-war was when the proverbial unmasking took place?”

“Not a word, Jagger. If she didn’t owe me for fixing up her car, she’d be done here.”

He laughs again. “Oh, really? Is that the
mask
you’re gonna hide behind?”

“I’m not hiding shit. True story.”

“So tag out.” He is challenging me, testing me, and I know it.

“This isn’t a game. I don’t do charity work. She gets square with me, and she can do whatever the hell she wants to do. Until then, back off.”

“Was she good?”

I look him in the eye. “I’m good, and that’s all that matters. Now go home and get some sleep. I need you back at the bar tonight.”

“Avoiding?” he jokes as he stands up to leave.

“No. I cook on Friday’s, asshole, and the crowds are getting bigger, so I need you to back her up.”

“Sure thing. Tomorrow night I have a fight, so she’ll have to be backed up against you,” he says over his shoulder as he strolls out the door like the kid who got a stocking full of candy for Christmas. I’m so glad one of us can find humor and happiness in all of this.

Livi, crazy ass Livi, does not need to be backed up against me again. No matter how much I’d like to revisit that pussy right now, I won’t.

*.*.*.*

I’m in the back when Livi walks in. “I came early.”

I glance up at the clock and nod as I rub the second prime rib down with the Caldwell rub. “It’ll be dead for an hour, so it wasn’t necessary to come early.” I flip the beef over and toss some more rub on it.

“Don’t worry; I’m not stepping on Sally’s shifts. I know she needs the money for her kids. I told her when I walked in I wasn’t here for that.”

“Well, what are you here for?”

“Well, I just…” As she stops and rubs her ass, I can’t help looking at her.

She is sexy as fuck, smells like heaven, and looks all put together, but the girl is fucking quirky as hell.

She looks up, and I look away. “I’m dedicated and determined to pay off my debt.”

“I didn’t doubt that, Olivia. I just don’t want awkward.”

“That makes two of us,” she says, blowing her hair out of her eyes. “Thank God your brothers don’t know. I mean, I was trying for a week to figure out if it was Jagger that I, umm, I—”

“You thought it was Jagger you fucked?”

She holds up her hand again, like a fucking traffic cop stopping me. For some reason, I let that shit go. “Sex. Had sex,” she retorts, and I shrug. “What, is there a problem with that, too?”

“Livi…” I put the roast in the pan and wipe my hands off on a bar towel. “You can say it anyway you want to.”

“But you prefer to say it in such a crude way,” she half-whispers, but I can tell she is trying to be assertive. I heard my mom use the same tone when she was talking to my old man.

“Not trying to be crude, Livi.” I put the roast in the oven then turn around. “No disrespect, all right? No judgment, either. You and I were both there. You and I both let go. The only difference between you and I is that I obviously have more experience.” I pause, trying to choose my words right, not something I am used to doing. I look up at her and lean casually against the counter. “I think fucking is better than having sex.”

Her eyes widen. “So you think…” She stops and starts chewing on a finger nail. Fuck if I don’t wish it was my lip she was chewing on.

“Go ahead; don’t hold back on me. If this little arrangement is gonna work out, we need to look it in the eye and own it.” I sure as fuck want to own that hot, little ass at least one more time before she is done working for me.

“Did you think I was…?” She covers her face and doesn’t continue.

“Okay, look, Livi, I enjoyed myself, you enjoyed yourself. It was fucking hot. We’re adults and, Livi?”

“Yes?”

I reach over and pull her hand away from her face. “Consent was fucking given.”

She looks mortified. I laugh, and then the cutest shit happens. She laughs, too. Thank fuck.

“So, we’ll be okay? You and I working together will be okay?”

“You tell me.”

“Well, if I’m reading you right, you don’t think I’m some, um…” A blush creeps over her face. “I’m not a whore.”

“Neither am I.” I give her a wink then turn to grab the third prime rib out of the fridge. “It’s gonna be dead around here for an hour; you don’t need to stick around. I think you got the answers you were looking for.”

“Yeah, thanks. But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hang out. I brought a book, so I could just read.”

“You like this place that much?” I laugh.

“It’s warm.” She snorts, covers her mouth, blushes, then reaches in her bag and grabs a book.

“Your place not warm?”

She shrugs and doesn’t respond. She simply sits and reads.

I try to ignore the fact that she is in the room, but I find myself looking at her way too often. Although I notice the book reads
Grief
on the cover, I make it a point not to engage in a conversation about that topic. Fuck that.

I’m throwing together the mix as she yawns and stands up off the stool in the corner. “Need help?”

“No, I’m good.”

She pulls herself up on the stainless island to sit and watch me. “You don’t use a measuring cup or recipe?”

“Don’t need to. It’s all up here.” I tap my temple. “Family recipe.”

“Caldwell secret sauce.” The way she says my name fucks with my brain and makes my dick twitch. Now all I can think is Caldwell secret sauce and how much I want my sauce all over her crazy, pouty, little lips.

“It’s a rub.”

“So, you just use your hands? No gloves or anything?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck
, I think to myself. “Yeah.”

“I’d like to help.”

I’d like to drag you in the fucking closet, you crazy-ass, sexy, little thing. I think that would help us both.
I keep that to myself.

“Wash your hands and come on over here.”

She hops down as I stir up the spices, and then she stands beside me.

“Just grab a handful and rub it around like this.” I show her and she tries, making me laugh. “A little harder than that.” She does it again. “Give me your hand.” I take her hand, turn it over, and sprinkle the dry rub in it. I pull her closer and stand behind her. Then, I turn her hand over and show her how to properly rub beef.

She looks over her shoulder, holds up her other hand, and smiles. “Both hands like you did?”

I nod, and then she starts rubbing the beef with her other hand, as well, but she is not doing it hard enough again. So, taking both of her hands in mine, I help her rub down the beef.

The grit of the rub between our hands only adds to the sensation of my body pressed to hers, her hands in mine, and a table keeping her firmly in place. I am close enough to smell lavender and her clean, natural scent, and now I am half-mast.

I try to steady my heartbeat and close my eyes. When I open them, she’s staring at me from over her shoulder, her mouth slightly open. She leans against me a little as her head tips up more, and I can’t take it anymore. I lean in, ready to give her what she’s asking for.

Just as I am about to give in to both our desires, I freeze, hearing before seeing Jagger laughing his ass off from the kitchen doorway.

Fuck!

Chapter Twelve

~Olivia~

I jump back against Hendrix and swear I feel it.
It
! His thingy poking me in the back. It makes me laugh, which makes Jagger laugh even harder. I decide an explanation is necessary.

“Hendrix is teaching me how to do the rub.”

“I see that,” he says, wiping his eyes. “He told me how to rub meat, too, but never showed me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jagger; what’re you doing here?” Hendrix growls from behind me. I look back as he steps away from me to adjust his … thingy.

“You said you wanted me to back her up tonight. Guess you got that all under control. And while you two are back here rubbing and shit, you have a bar full of people and Sally needs a hand—”

“Oh, dear Lord,” I say, pulling the bar rag out of Hendrix’s hands. His eyes squint a bit as I wipe off my hands and toss it back to him before heading to the bar where I see a usual customer who I have guessed is Hendrix’s friend.

“You’re early, Jared,” I say as I put his draft down in front of him.

“Hendrix not around?”

“He’s cooking,” I answer, pouring his shot.

He looks a little disoriented. He’s used to Hendrix or Sally taking care of him. They interact so well with him. He’s a bit standoffish.

“Do you have a joke for me?” I ask with a smile.

“That’s not how it works,” he groans and takes a drink.

“What is Bruce Lee’s favorite drink?”

He looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Wataaah,” I say while doing a fake karate chop.

He takes another drink and sits back silently, reminding me I am a terrible joke teller.

While he stares at me, I begin to feel pretty dang stupid. I am ready to apologize when he laughs so loud everyone in the bar looks at him. I immediately start laughing along, because his laugh is so over the top that I can’t help myself.

“Is everything all right?” Hendrix walks out from the back to stand beside me.

“She’s a keeper,” Jared says with a chuckle as he wipes tears away.

Morrison and Jagger come up beside us, too.

“Well, shit, Livi,” Mr. Slick laughs. “What did you say to him?”

“Our secret,” Jared deadpans as he looks at Morrison.

“You gonna spill it, Livi? I can’t get this son-of-a-bitch to laugh for nothing.”

“Like he said”—I wink at Jared—“it’s a secret.”

*.*.*.*

Two hours later, the bar is packed, and I am actually enjoying myself. With Jared now making me feel comfortable, along with two of the locals who come in every Friday night smiling when they see me, I feel like this place is part of my home now, too, exactly like Hendrix said they all feel.

I know their drinks before they can even sit down—High Life on tap. I mean, technically most of the regulars order the same thing, but these two always have their first round with a shot of vodka and a wedge of lime.

“The cheap stuff, doll,” old Burt greets.

The dinners are rolling out, and I have no idea how Hendrix is keeping up, yet he is.

I run to the back to give him a bar order to find Morrison in the kitchen with Hendrix and the two girls from last week. I didn’t see them come in. Now I know how he is keeping up.

The blonde kisses Hendrix on the cheek, and I turn away. I have heard all these woman talk about the Caldwell brothers, I didn’t like it then. I see her kiss Hendrix, and I definitely don’t like it now.

“Everything okay out there?” Hendrix pulls away from the blonde bimbo and walks to me, stopping right in front of me.

“Sure is.”

I look around him, and sure enough, bimbo is smirking at me. Yep, she sure is.

I rub my butt. ‘Classy and Fabulous.’ Then, I step back and pull myself together, while he looks at me in the way he always does—like he is trying to figure me out.

“Just have some orders. People are eating at the bar. Must be your special rub.” I say it a little louder so the bimbo hears me. Though, I am shocked I said it out loud, much less to rile blondie.

His eyebrows shoot up, letting me know I have surprised him again. A slow smirk creeps up in the corner of his lip as he shakes his head and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“You gonna give me the orders or keep them for yourself?”

“Maybe I should give them to her,” I whisper.

Now he is full-on grinning. I never noticed how white his teeth are, and I like them.

“Sadi,” he says loudly, “Livi has some orders she needs filled.”

“Since when do I fill orders for your temporary help?” she sneers as she walks around him and shoves her hand in front of my face.

“Since now.” I hand them to her and glare. “And I’m not temporary help; I’ve been here two weeks and one day.”

She huffs and Hendrix chuckles.

“Sadi, you want to keep this little Friday night gig—”

“And Thursdays,” she says tauntingly.

“Fill the orders.” Hendrix continues smirking at me as I scowl and turn my back to walk away, rubbing my butt for my daily reminder.

I am almost behind the bar when he catches my elbow. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

I look back at him, rub my butt again, and shake my head.

“Look, you come get the food, the tips are yours. She brings it out, they’re hers. The faster we settle this debt, the faster you can—”

I feel my stomach flip.

I brush past him and grab the plates of food off the counter before she does.

She whispers, “Watch it, bitch.”

“Excuse me?” I whisper back, honestly not thinking she could have possibly said that to me.

“He has no interest in you.” She snickers as she looks me up and down.

“My interest is in my job,” I say back with as much confidence as I can gather up.

I need this job in order to pay off my debt to Hendrix. Then, I can move on, put all this behind me, and he can go back to whatever he has with her or whoever else.

My chest burns in annoyance. I want to rub my butt again. ‘Classy and fabulous,’ that is going to be me tonight. Always work this fabulous backside with nothing but class. I got this.
I run this mother
.

Pushing past her, plates in hand, I focus on my job.

When dinner is over, Jagger comes up behind me and starts rubbing my shoulders. “Rush is over, coolers are stocked. Go take fifteen minutes and chill. You’re pretty damn tense, Livi.”

“No, you go ahead,” I say, regretfully stepping away from the shoulder massage.

“I insist.”

I’m about to refuse again when I see Hendrix glaring in my direction and decide to take the break I need.

Once I step outside, I let out a loud sigh.

“You really think you have a chance?” I look over as Sadi blows smoke out of her mouth in my direction.

“I’m here to work, not keep anyone’s attention.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” She throws her cigarette on the ground and stomps on it with her leather boot. “After he fucks you, he’ll let you go, just like everyone else.”

“Well, I will assume this is your way of marking your territory, and I can assure you—”

“Why do you think he doesn’t want you here on Thursday nights anymore? After he gets all worked up, do you really think he wants you cramping his style? I mean, you can’t even keep your shit straight behind the bar. You depend on him for everything. A man like Hendrix doesn’t need a needy, little troll like you holding him back. He took care of his mother for years and finally—”

“Sadi!” I look away from her as Morrison storms toward us.

“You keep your fucking mouth shut,” she whispers.

As I turn to walk away, Morrison stops me. “You all right?”

“Of course.” I rub my backside as I walk around him. Classy.

*.*.*.*

It’s closing time, and everyone is gone, except Hendrix and me. He is ready to take the cashbox upstairs as I grab my things.

“See you tomorrow.”

He stops for a minute like he wants to say something important. Instead, he nods. “Drive safe.”

“Of course.”

Once home, I get out of my car and cross the street when women’s intuition, sixth sense, call it whatever, kicks in. I feel eyes on me. A noise draws my attention, and I turn to look around me. I swear I see a man with cold eyes in a hooded sweatshirt meet my stare before he ducks into the alley and disappears. Cold eyes.

There was a time in my life when I watched the light of life dance in a boy’s eyes turn to darkness as black as death over time. Feelings, gone. Conscious, non-existent. Cold … blank … unfeeling … unmoving.

Bryce.

A shiver runs through me, and it is more than the cold, Detroit winter. My stepbrother. My step-monster’s oldest son. The boy who could do no wrong in his mother’s eyes.

“Come on, Livi. Let me see them. I’ll make sure there’s nothing wrong with you. Daddy dearest doesn’t want a broken child,” he whispers to me in the darkened night of my bedroom, his teenage hands roughly groping my budding breasts.

His weight presses over me, pushing me farther into the softness of my overpriced mattress at my father’s house. The mattress that is nothing like my mattress at ‘home,’ my mom’s house.

He is suffocating me between his words, his actions, and the mere feeling of him over me. He pulls at my nightgown as I simply lie still, unsure what I should do.

“My mom may be a bitch to you Livi, but I like you. Feel how much I like you,” Bryce whispers in the dark.

When I don’t lift up, he wraps the long shirt over my head, exposing my developing body to him. My panties are all that is covering my body from him as my face is now hidden inside my shirt. I feel safe hidden by my shirt. I am lost inside my shirt.

He’s on top of me, his hands are touching me. It doesn’t feel bad. And, he likes me even though his mom doesn’t.

Mom.

My mom bought me silk panties when I ‘became a woman.’ After my first period, she said I was too old for days of the week panties. Now, my silk panties for womanhood are there for Bryce to see.

Bryce likes me even though his mom doesn’t.

His hands are down my panties. His fingers run through my folds. I shake my head back and forth.

“I like you. I wanna make you feel good. You like me, too, Livi, don’t you? You wanna make me feel good, too, don’t you?”

I’m frozen. The sensations are overwhelming me. I whimper, but can’t make the words come out.

“Shhh, Livi. I’m gonna make you feel good. I’m gonna make you feel like a grown up. Lay still now.”

“No, Bryce. Please, no,” I beg him in a whisper from behind my shirt.

His fingers are there, rubbing, sliding, moving on me there, at my special place.

It doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t hurt, per se. It shouldn’t feel good, though. Nothing feels good when I’m here, but this sensation.

My body is in control, and I’m at a loss. What’s wrong with me? My body is responding, while my brain screams for him to stop, but I can’t make the words come past my lips again. Why do I want him to touch me more now? Stop it. Don’t stop it. What is wrong with me?

I am going to puke.

I am going to puke. I drop to my knees in the snow, breathing raggedly, until reality finally washes over me. No more. He can’t touch me anymore. I now know the word ‘no.’ I now know that it was wrong. I now know that I am in control.

I push away the memories of how my nightmare began, and where my world stopped and tilted on its axis. I have always wondered if life would be all right again.

I get up to my feet and go inside.

*.*.*.*

Saturday night goes by quickly. There is an acoustic guitar player singing and playing, and everyone is having a great time. What’s more, for the first time, I am truly able to keep up.

When Hendrix closes up the kitchen, he comes out and looks around. “I’m gonna fill the coolers. Then you can take a break.”

“I’m fine—”

“Livi.” There is a warning in his tone.

“Fine.”

I’m standing outside in the cold when I get that feeling again, the one from last night. There is a tingle on the back of my neck like someone is staring at me, the tingle of someone drinking me in.

When I hear what sounds like a trashcan being tipped over, I quickly make my way inside to the safety of Hooligans. I hate that I feel like part of something here when, in fact, I am only an employee.

I rub my butt for security. ‘I got my own back,’ and that is a reality that I was completely all right with until two days ago. My past has come barreling back into the forefront of my mind, and now I’m skittish, to say the least.