Keep It Sexy (KIS Series Book 3)

BOOK: Keep It Sexy (KIS Series Book 3)
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Keep It Sexy

 

KIS Series

 

 

Olivia Snow

 

Keep It Sexy

 

Copyright © 2015 by Olivia Snow.

All rights reserved.

First Print Edition: July 2015

 

 

Limitless Publishing, LLC

Kailua, HI 96734

www.limitlesspublishing.com

 

Formatting: Limitless Publishing

 

ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-204-8

ISBN-10: 1-68058-204-6

 

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

 

Dedication

 

To the real Christian Rodriguez who was the inspiration for this Christian. I hope you’re well, wherever you are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

 

Billie

 

Four years ago

Jade was helping me pack by folding my clothes, and then color-coding by season before arranging them in boxes. Her once perfect up-do was now falling apart, blonde strands stuck to the side of her face as she worked feverishly. She’d managed to fill one box, while the other two sat empty on my mattress. While Jade organized my clothes, I rummaged through my closet, hunting for decent clothes to take to college. With my hands on my hips, I stared down my clothing, wishing I had a better collection. Frustrated and a bit embarrassed by my lack of new and brand-name clothing, I huffed and pulled my short brown hair into a high ponytail.

“Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere local?” she asked.

“It’s time to break free from him, Jade,” I explained. “This is the best way to get out without Don trapping me with one of his guilt trips.” I yanked several shirts off the plastic hangers. Holding a red frilly blouse to my face, I inspected it then inhaled the fabric as I pushed it against my face. I winced before dropping it on the floor. “Is it me or do my clothes smell like cigars?” I asked, stepping over a pile of clothes before walking out of the closet. Jade glanced up, her hazel eyes sparkling with a knowing grin.

“I think all those times you spent in those casinos really fucked with your sense of smell.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, I’d say more than my sense of smell has gone to shit.” She chuckled, her face falling within seconds. “Don’t do this, Jade, please,” I begged her. She nodded, looking down as tears pooled inside her eyes. She sniffled.

“I’m really going to miss you.”

“Come here,” I said, pulling her in for a hug. Jade wrapped her arms around me, and rested her chin on my shoulder blade. “Hey,” I said, drawing back a little, “Lincoln will still be here. I’m sure he’ll keep you plenty busy. You know,
bowchickabowbow
,” I teased. Jade didn’t know that I could hear the noises she and my older brother made at night. Jade squirmed out of my hold, fighting a laugh.

“You’re disgusting. He’s your brother,” she chided.

“Yeah, like that stopped you from coming over and having him screw your brains out last night.”

Jade breathed in sharply before her eyes ballooned and her face burned a bright pink.

“Hon, we live in Harden,” I reminded her. “Cheap houses equal paper thin walls.”

She groaned, covering her face with her hands, which only made me laugh. I stopped teasing her long enough to finish packing up my room. What should have been a forty-five minute packing session turned into a couple of hours. Jade and I couldn’t help but sneak into my brothers’ bedrooms and snoop through their stuff. After being grossed out by the disgusting amount of porn we found, and stiff socks, we left their rooms and sanitized our hands and wished we could sanitize our eyes before we buckled down and finished. A few hundred Diet Cokes, and three bags of skittles later, we were done. With only two boxes full of clothes, we trotted across the lawn, both with a box in hand, over to Jade’s house. Jade stayed behind, taping up the boxes when we reached her house, while I ran back to my place to grab my backpack and duffle bag.

With a bag in each hand, I stood at the threshold of my bedroom door. I scrutinized the empty room with flashbacks of my childhood. The only two pieces of furniture were my bed and a beat-up dresser that had been passed down from Lincoln to Donnie and finally to me. Vacant of all my clothes and the comforter set on my bed, the room still looked the same. One would never know I was no longer living here. That I left. Growing up, I never taped up pictures of friends on my walls—my only friend was Jade—or posters of bands I liked, no string lights of stars or butterflies hung above my door frames. There were no stuffed animals on my bed or even a crazy lava lamp on my dresser.

This room was meant for sleeping in and housing my clothing. The memories of my childhood were stored in Jade’s house, primarily her bedroom. Even with her father being who he was, John still made an effort to try to keep her life as normal as possible. He went out of his way to buy Jade those posters and string lights. My dad, on the other hand, trained me to be just like him from the moment I learned to read. The apple fell where Don dropped it.

I thought of my brothers, and how different I was from them. I wondered if the boys and Don remembered I was leaving today. Don and my brothers had left at the beginning of last week for business. As I became aware of what my father did for a living, I quickly learned to stay in the dark. Not asking questions was better than knowing fully what criminal activities he was participating in. The McAllister kids were taught a different trade. My brothers’ skills coincided with each other’s. Mine, on the other hand, was singular. I was told not to interfere with what they did. So I had no idea where they went or how long they would be there for.

Closing the wooden door behind me, I felt nothing. I wasn’t like many freshmen, afraid of leaving their childhood home for somewhere unknown and unfamiliar. I felt…impartial, really. I didn’t care where I was going as long as I wasn’t staying
here
. Closing shut the shabby front door of my house, I glanced around my childhood neighborhood. A few lawns were manicured, green grass with even a rosebush or two. But overall, this place lacked color and soul. Maybe that’s why I’d begged Don to buy me the brightest sport-bike in the dealership. My green motorcycle—or Frog, as I liked to call it—shined back at me as I hiked through my father’s chartreuse colored lawn with a heavy bag on each shoulder. I set the bags next to my bike before I walked back into Jade’s house. She finished taping up the boxes and even managed to glue on the labels. She was also shipping them off to the University of Wyoming for me. There was no way I could take them on my bike. Merely at the look of me, she began to tear up. And this time I joined her. We hugged each other until the front door opened and closed behind us.

“Come on, Jade, she isn’t leaving forever. She’ll be back.” John, her father, laid his heavy hand on my shoulder. I broke away from Jade to hug his enormous frame.

“Don’t let her get into too much trouble without me,” I told him. His chortle was low and rough and it pulled on my heartstrings.

“I promise,” he replied. I hugged Jade once again before walking outside. She and John followed behind. John bent down to pick up my bag and strapped it on my bike as I pulled my helmet, gloves, and jacket from my backpack.

“You strapped?” John asked, glancing at the bands on my bag.

“Yeah, on my ankle,” I replied. I lifted the pant leg of my jeans, revealing the small pistol secured to my ankle. When John nodded, satisfied, I glanced over to my house while I pulled the leather gloves over my hands.

“Did they say goodbye at least?” Jade asked, noticing my mental withdrawal.

Grunting, I shook my head, breaking my hair free of its elastic before slipping on my helmet. My brown hair barely peeked through the solid plastic of my helmet. I preferred having short hair; it stayed out of the way while I rode. John stepped back, softly smacking my head.

“You’re good to go,” he said.

I smiled with tears in my eyes, knowing they couldn’t see my expression. With two thumbs up, I jumped on my bike, quickly starting it before I drove away. I didn’t want to linger; it was best to treat this as a band aid and strip it off quickly. From my mirrors, I saw Jade wave before Big John pulled her to his side. Hot tears ran down my cheek and a piece of my heart chipped away. I was going to miss the hell out of her, but it was time for me to leave Harden behind and find something for myself. It was time to start living like the rest of the population, and make my money doing something legit and honest. Not something that would end up getting me into trouble, or worse…dead.

The University of Wyoming was about two and a half hours away, but I knew the way I drove I’d be there in half the time. I passed along countless roads and after an hour they blended into one solid path. The only thing keeping me focused was the highway signs. The closer I got to Wyoming, the hungrier I got. My stomach began to gurgle, and I swore I could hear it through the wind and sounds of engines. I told myself I would stop at the next rest area.

Within minutes, I exited the highway and entered a gas station with a bar and grill to its right and a liquor store to its left. Parking the Frog, I hopped off and scrambled to set my gear inside my backpack. This spot was clearly meant for truckers. If the semis parked to the side didn’t give it away, then the grungy, grumpy men sitting at the tables would. Instantly, I noticed toward the back of the dimly lit restaurant a table of bikers eating their lunch. Which was odd, because the only bike parked outside was mine, unless I had missed a dozen Harleys somehow.

An older woman approached me as I neared the front counter. She wore a shabby black polo shirt with the bar’s emblem to the side and a pair of faded jean shorts. The blonde was chubby with a short mullet and bright pink lipstick. The deep lines on her face made it clear she’d lived a hard life.

“Dining in, baby?” she asked, grabbing a plastic menu.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Follow me.” Molly, from what I read on her nametag, sat me a few tables away from the bikers. From here, I could see the design of two skeletal hands gripping a long sword on the backs of their leather vests. Immediately, I remembered it from one of the biker gangs that were associated with Sinners Tribe, John’s crew. The Knights Of Vice, Dark Soul Catchers, Marksmen Mafia, and Sinners Tribe were part of the Four Corners. Four motorcycle gangs that resided in Colorado, New Mexico, Utah, and Arizona. They dealt with business in their own state, but also had a partnership. Last thing I heard, all four were trying to initiate a Nevada crew, but were having a hard time convincing them.

None of the bikers looked at me, but I knew they were watching. I set my backpack purposefully on the table so they could see the patch sewn onto it. Within seconds, Molly was summoned to their table. She returned to me and expressed how wonderful it was to have my business, and whatever I wanted was on the house. I ordered a steak, because if I wasn’t paying and they were, I was going to make sure I’d stay full for the rest of my trip. With a stomach full of steak and mashed potatoes, I stood, giving Molly a hefty tip before I stepped over to the table a few feet away from me.

“Thanks for the meal, gentlemen. I’ll be sure to let B.J. and Grifter know how welcoming you guys were.”

They smiled—or at least I think they did. I could never tell when they had such long, unkempt beards. The one with
President
printed on his cut-off lifted his beer while speaking.

“Safe travels.”

I nodded curtly before leaving. I thanked Molly once again, then pushed the rusty door open to the outside. The bright afternoon sun blinded me for a moment just as the smell of petroleum consumed my nostrils. Blinking away the sunshine, I regained my vision and was surprised to find two guys eyeing my bike. Next to them, a navy blue Ford Mustang was parked with some horrible rap music spewing through the open windows. The car had Wyoming license plates, and I wondered if they were on their way to the university as well. With the crunching sound of gravel under my boots, they looked up at me.

“This yours?” the one with dark hair asked as he circled around my bike.

“Nah, dude, it’s probably her man’s,” the asshole with the caramel colored hair said.

I jerked my head to the Mustang. “That yours or did your daddy pay for it?”

They hooted, amused, and I felt the sting on my skin as my key dug into the inside of my fingers.

“Damn, you’re feisty for being so little. But come on now, be serious, sweetheart. This isn’t your bike. I bet you can’t even reach the handles.”

Now, I wasn’t in a biker gang. I loved my bike, but not as much as the guys in those crews did.
However
, with these two running their mouths and looking at my Frog like they were ready to drive it away, my blood bubbled and my veins pulsed when Caramel Head straddled my bike.

My hand instantly flew to my ankle, and within milliseconds I had my pistol in my hands. I’d never used it on anyone before, but I still knew how to shoot. I’d known how since I was strong enough to hold it on my own.

“Get. The. Fuck. Off. My. Ride,” I seethed steadily.

Both looked surprised for a second but then laughed. I was so tempted to shoot one in the leg, but decided hurting their car would satisfy me more. Aiming the gun at their front window, I shot at it, shattering the glass to a million pieces. Both flew toward the car, then looked back at me with horror and gaping mouths.

“Now, why did y’all have to go and piss off Don McAllister’s daughter?” A low drawl came from behind me. I didn’t lower my gun. The smell of cigarette smoke hit me before I felt an oily hand sink down on my shoulder.

“You go on now. We’ll take it from here.”

I bent quickly, strapping the pistol back on my ankle.

“Send Don the tab,” I said.

The president smiled, shaking his head. “No, it’s on the house. We hate assholes like them.”

I smirked before slipping my helmet on, then I pulled out of the parking lot, ignoring the horrible scene on my mirrors behind me. This was a prime example of why I needed to leave this life behind, even if it gave me the best rush possible.

BOOK: Keep It Sexy (KIS Series Book 3)
9.1Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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