Page 70 of Mischievous Lies

It’s a fucking miracle. I slept peacefully all night. Aside from when Ivy woke up and, I eased her back to sleep the most natural way I know how—in every position I can possibly bend her into.

I didn’t plan to open up to her about murdering that woman; a small part of me expected to be judged for it. To be shamed. To be hated. I didn’t realize Ivy’s opinion was the one I cared for the most. But she held me, consoled me. Told me I was heroic.

I don’t know how or why hearing that shifted a weight in me, but it’s as if I’ve been waiting to hear her say that to set me free. To give me something or someone to look forward to when I feel lost.

We arrive at the private landing strip and prepare ourselves for the hour flight to Boston. The atmosphere in the car is tense, as we’re all most likely thinking the same thing. We don’t want Waylon to be a part of this underhanded drug distribution in our area. But if he is… He’ll meet the same fate as anyone else who’s tried to cross Eli Monti.

But to lighten the mood on the plane, I ask them, “Have you guys watchedPretty Woman?” And then I begin to explain to them why they should watch it.

CHAPTER 43

Hawke

“Shut the fuck up aboutPretty Woman, or I’ll shoot you myself,” Eli growls, irritated, as we park outside a bar on the outskirts of Boston.

Outside, two men are standing near the entrance, and a long row of motorcycles lines the curb. I almost drool at the sight of them. Dutton is the only one who has a bike himself. I was strictly warned off owning one because, well, as my mother says, I’m reckless. So when she found out I’d bought one when I was twenty, she set it on fire. I didn’t bother buying another one because nothing stays secret from her.

The two men size us up as we stride toward them. Ford pockets the keys, and I’m so up Eli’s ass that if anything were to happen, I can push him out of the way.

“Boys,” Eli says, and I can tell the way he’s addressed them has already pissed them off. Under normal circumstances, it would make me very excited and have me grabbing for my gloves that are half hanging out of my back pocket. But we don’t want to go to war with Waylon Striker’s motorcycle gang. “We’re here to see Waylon.”

“Pretty boys from New York finally make an appearance, eh?” one of them says.

“Thank you for noticing our good looks,” I can’t help but reply, and their attention snaps to me.

“Oh fuck off, Clint. Let them in,” a woman with long brunette hair says as she appears from around the side of the bar. She has the same brown eyes as Waylon and is almost as intimidating as the club president.

“I’m Hayley, Waylon’s sister.” She introduces herself to Eli, holding out her hand. He takes it.

I vaguely remember Dutton mentioning that Waylon had two sisters. And apparently, Hayley is as crazy as her brother and rules with a fair but iron fist. The youngest sister, Lola, however, is known to be more eccentric in her methods.

Hayley adjusts her leather jacket, pushing back her hair as she looks me up and down with a smirk. Eli glances at me with a strict don’t-you-fucking-go-there expression. Which he’s done in the past, but I’m a kept man now. I’m not even tempted in the slightest when I have the most beautiful woman waiting for me at home.

She leads us inside. My understanding is that this is one of many bars the Boston Delinquents own, but Waylon’s most likely brought us to this one—basically in the middle of nowhere—just in case this meeting goes bad. Especially considering he has quite a delicious round-up of rough-looking men and women in here.

Two men are playing pool toward the back of the room, one breaking the balls as we walk in. Women stand from their men’s laps, and some of them even go into another room.

But the person who grabs our attention is the man himself, sitting at a table on his own like a king overseeing his empire.

Waylon is young for being the club president, and from what I’ve heard, he’s had to make examples of some men who weren’t happy about following him after he killed their previous leader.

I don’t give a shit; it’s above my pay grade.

If the jackass weren’t in leathers and wearing a stern expression, he’d probably break many women’s hearts. Fuck, he probably does that anyway.

“That’s it?” a woman asks from across the bar. We all turn in her direction. She has light brown eyes and pink hair rolled into two buns on top of her head. “You three think you can take all of us on?”

“No one is taking anyone on, Lola,” Hayley says as she moves to stand by Waylon’s side.

“Excuse my sister,” Waylon says, glaring at Lola. “She doesn’t seem to understand that this meeting is under friendly circumstances. Right, boys?”

I look around the room at the men who show the guns at their waists and the chains dangling from their hands. Ford is doing the same, quickly measuring how many we’d have to take out. Eli looks at none of these things; he’s probably already figured out his next three moves. He’s here for answers.

“Good to see you’re doing well,” Eli says, and he and Waylon both smile like the devils they are. My blood hums with anticipation.

“We’ve recently had an influx of date rape drugs and the like in our area. It’s not something we tend to circulate ourselves, let alone allow someone else to do so, specifically not under my management.”

Waylon’s eyebrows knit together. “We have a good working relationship, but if the issue isn’t on my turf, I have no interest in dragging my boys into something that doesn’t concern them.”

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