Page 1 of Massacre Monday
one
One of hisdimples deepens as he gives me a half-smile, and tingles erupt over every inch of my skin. Hehasto know what he’s doing to me, right?
“Hey, Pip-squeak. When did you get here?”
My back teeth grind at the nickname, but I let it go with a shallow inhale of engine fumes, hoping that his mocha-colored eyes will catch my breasts as they bob to the surface of my black leather corset.
With a casual shrug and a toss of my long brown hair to showcase my décolletage, I sidle up closer to him in my stiletto heels, but falter in my steps when one of the assholes revs his Kawasaki Vulcan until it barks.
A cacophony of laughter ensues while I pretend I’m unfazed, but my eyes shoot daggers over to where my brothers are smoking. Neither seemed to do it on purpose, but their presence is a constant reminder of who I am: Pip-squeak, the kid sister.
Nico pulls my shoulders under his rugged arm, tugging me into his chest. As usual, his stiff knuckles rub my headaffectionately before his pierced lips find the top of my scalp, and another wave of sparks shoots down my spine.
“About a minute ago. How long have you been here?” It’s a lie. I’ve been waiting around the corner on my Harley until I heard his Indian Scout approach with its custom pipes. The mini ape hangers he added make his ride noticeable from a mile away, even on a starless summer night like tonight.
Not that I would know. I’m nostalker. Only a bit obsessed with my brother’s best friend since the day I met him at thirteen.
He pulls back as I take a stance in front of him, my tight black jeans stretching across my thighs. In a slick motion, he slides a pack of cigarettes from his rolled-up shirt sleeve, taps one out, lights it, then takes a slow drag, his labret bar shifting on his lip as he does. The man issocool.
When he speaks, my ears strain to hear over the loud highways sitting above us at The Underpass. With motorcycles, cars, and radios blaring, it’s almost impossible to have a conversation unless you’re standing close.
So I inch in, gaining a sly whiff of his manly scent, which makes me tingle. It’s like motor oil and sweat. Maybe he didn’t shower after work at his family’s mechanic shop, but whatever natural cologne he wears, I’m very much into it. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
His lips purse with a smirk as he releases a puff of white cloud high above our heads, then taps the end of my nose with a finger. “I asked, how’d you get to be so cute, Pip-squeak? You showed up here in that grown-up get-up…” Butterflies dance in my belly as his eyes trail over my body. Until he says, “Has Adal seen you yet?”
At the mention of my oldest brother’s name, I grimace.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Without turning around, I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping my brother will leave me alone. “Pippi. I asked what you’re wearing. Dad wouldn’t let you outof the house looking like a stripper. No way. Nuh-uh.” A hot, steamy leather jacket is thrown over my shoulders, so heavy, I almost fall over in my tall heels. “Here. Cover yourself, for fuck’s sake. Nineteen and out inthat.”
Ire rages up to my cheeks until they’re inflamed. “I’mtwenty. Remember?”
“Only for, like, a month now.”
Nico leans back against his bike and grins, his teeth toying with his piercing while ignoring his best friend. Something I’ll be ever grateful for. “Happy belated birthday, Pip-squeak. I told Oz, but didn’t see you that day.”
I shrug, the momentary annoyance that is Adal Freidenberg forgotten. “No worries. Oz and I celebrated apart for the first time.”
Despite my twin and I being closer than anyone else, we figured we would try our own things this year. Him with his friends and me with mine. We had our annual shindig later that evening where we watchedBreakin’projected on a sheet in the backyard, then binged on our special mix of buffalo ranch popcorn and s’mores. It’s tradition, and we promised we’d always do it, even when we’re eighty.
Nico rises and shrugs off his jacket, and my heart rate accelerates. Is he going to offer me his? As he leans forward, I can only think of how awkward our first moment like this will be with my brother standingrighthere. But I quickly decide it doesn’t matter.
This isNico Griffin,thehottest member of the Maned Marauders MC. Well,thehottest guy I know.
My hand slides across his rippled abs as he holds up the patched coat by the collar, and I try to shrug off my brother’s, but I pause when Nico reaches past me toward an approaching figure over my left shoulder. Horror makes my heart stop at my embarrassing mistake. To make things worse, when I glance upat Adal, he’s giving me such a knowing expression that I want to die right there.
Please. Let me not exist.
A trace of jasmine and cigars curls through the air just before I see her—Wren with her ink-black split by a flash of white lightning down the middle. She clings to Nico’s side like she owns the spot. Her full sleeves of tattoos are quickly covered by my—his—jacket as he slips it over her arms, and she shivers, shedding her skin cells all over the lining.
The two lean in and open-mouth kiss each other. Her delicate fingers dance over his broad chest. Peeks of their tongues poke out until the sight of it makes my stomach churn.
But I can’t look away.
When my heart beats again, it feels like it’s been stabbed and is leaking blood into my lungs—filling the space where breath should be.
Wren breaks the suction of their embrace and flutters her lashes at him while whispering, “Thanks. I was cold.” Finally, her eyes dart over to my brother and me. “Hey.”
Adal tosses his cigarette butt on the ground and gives her a fist pound. “Sup, Wrench. I need more ink. You busy? Can I come by on Tuesday?”
