Page 795 of One More Kiss

“I’ll take care of it. I’m leaving now.”

I rush out the front and nearly plow down Anita. “Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”

“Wait.” She blocks my path. “Did Jess find you?”

“Yes,” I grumble, irritated.

“Oh, good. I know she was worried about getting that watch for Brian.”

Impatient, I mutter, “What watch?” as I move around her and make my way to the truck.

She keeps pace, shoving the phone in my face. “This watch.”

I check out the price tag. All her paychecks for two months won’t cover that watch. “How was she paying for a four-thousand-dollar watch?”

“She wasn’t. Some guy was selling his old one.”

Of course. Because that’s what people do. Sell four-thousand-dollar watches for a fraction of the price. It happens every day.

I get in the truck, slam the gas, punch the dashboard, and shout. “Fuuuccckkk!”

* * *

The sun is nearly gone,and a small part of me is relieved to find Jess’s clunky little hatchback car. It’s parked in front of what seems to be a house converted into a bar. There are a dozen bikes outside—Harley’s mostly. A few people are lined up at the end of the block. By the looks of them, I can only assume the line starts there for your hardcore drugs of choice.

Shit. I reach under the seat and grab the Glock, a move that could get me arrested and dishonorably discharged as neither the gun nor the vehicle are technically mine. They’re my father’s. Still, I untuck my shirt and shove it in the back of my waistband because I have no idea what I’m walking into and this gun is the only thing watching my six. I ignore the succession of warning signs going off in my head. Jess first. Consequences later.

I head inside. It’s dark and wreaks of ass-crack and beer, with the aroma of cigars and weed floating through the air. Here’s hoping they don’t pee-test me before I deploy.

When my eyes adjust, I study the room, quickly assessing the occupants, potential weapons, and exits. The place is filled with a few dozen men, but no Jess. Ice drips from the back of my neck and my heart drums louder as I make my way around the room. What if she isn’t here? Where else could she be?

I pull out my phone, eager enough to ask if anyone’s seen her, and gage their honesty by the look in their eyes. I’m sure there’s a recent photo on our website, and when I pull it up, I freeze.

Red tendrils frame a smiling face that’s all lips and eyes and a sprinkling of freckles that skyrockets her beauty. What the hell? I just saw her. Since when did Choir Girl grow up?

No wonder Brian was worried. He needed to be. And I need to be, too as I circle the room and come up empty. Desperate, I pan the room of hardened men. If Choir Girl is here, I need to get her the fuck out.

Going person to person? Probably the quickest way to get my ass kicked if I rattle the wrong cage. I make my way to the bar, in the hopes that a few twenties might jog the bartender’s memory. I take a seat at the end.

“I’ll be right with you,” I hear from the other end, and her voice is angelic and sweet and music to my fucking ears.

I exhale, relieved, and text Brian.

I’ve got a lock. She’s fine. I’ll make sure she gets home safe.

Brian’s text is cutthroat.

Return without her and lose your balls

I smirk.

Considering I’m very attached to them, roger that.

“What are you doing here?” Jess asks, half surprised, half confused, all big blue eyes staring me down. She nibbles her lower lip and, that’s the spot. The one I’m suddenly starving to taste.

Where the fuck did that come from. This is Jess. My best friend’s sister. His baby sister. And, for the most part, my arch-nemesis. A girl who curses the very ground I walk on.

I take a beat, and breath through the swell in my heart and the twitch in my pants. What the hell is wrong with me? I mentally shake myself. This is Choir Girl.

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