FOLLOW THE HONEY (Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance Book 4) Read online

  “Not gonna make a success of a brewpub any other way.” Pete handed a beer to his brother, and to Rocker.

  Stick held up the glass and examined the foaming, amber brew. “What am I drinking?”

  “My new amber. A little less hop than the last batch, more malt.”

  T-Bear handed beers to Bouncer and Moke, and they all drank. Stick nodded his approval. “Da, that’s good.”

  Bouncer swiped foam from his mustache with the back of his hand and shrugged. “Just tastes like beer to me.”

  Pete ignored this, doubting the biker would know good quality in food, women, beer or anything else.

  Moke, as usual, drank in silence. T-Bear lifted his glass in silent approval and Pete nodded back. T-Bear loved beer and talked about starting a brewery of his own, maybe on the other side of the Spokane valley. If he did so, Pete hoped to hell his friend retained a lawyer to keep him out of bankruptcy court, because the big ginger let money run through his hands like water..

  “All right,” Stick said. “You brought us out here for a reason, so talk.”

  Pete took a long drink and set his glass down. He could use something stronger to tell this story, ‘cause he was gonna take some major crap for it, but might as well get it over with.

  “Problems at the Hangar. Few months ago, saw on our billing statements that prices on brew supplies had gone up, even though I’d received no notice from any of the suppliers. Then, when I called them to check, guess what?”

  Stick’s ice blue eyes, so like Pete’s own, narrowed. "You've said nothing about this to me."

  "Because I'm handling it," Pete said, familiar irritation firing in his gut. He tamped it down—he was a grown man now, not a kid. "Been setting up a plan, and I'm telling you now."

  Ivan finally nodded. “So, the suppliers claimed prices hadn’t gone up?”

  “Right. Which meant someone was cooking the books. Both companies checked into it, said it wasn’t on their end—sent me the past billing statements to prove it.”

  “Which means it’s on your end,” Rocker said. “Fuck, who’d be stupid enough to steal from you and Stick?”

  Pete gave his brother a wry look.

  “Marta?” Stick's mouth twisted in disgust. “Stupid little twat. She did time for theft once already, thought she learned her lesson.”

  “Wait, wait,” T-Bear said, frowning at Pete. “You just fired the new girl, the bodacious brunette. Now you’re sayin’ Marta was the one stealin’ from ya? What the fuck you fire Lesa for?”

  Pete opened his mouth to explain, but the big ginger wasn’t done. “That sucks donkey dick, man. The new gal’s real friendly, and those titties don’t hurt a man’s eyes either. I was gonna make a play for her.”

  The back of Pete’s neck tightened. He wasn’t sure why the thought of the big, burly biker putting his paws on Lesa made Pete want to toss him through the nearest window. “She’ll be back. I’m gonna give her a job again.”

  “So Lesa’s your Judas goat,” Rocker guessed shrewdly. “She also the one drove that mess of a car out here, and is upstairs?”

  “What’d you do, grab her?” T-Bear raised his brows, a smile spreading over his broad face. “Maybe I should go on up there. Comfort her.”

  All gazes slid to Pete, and his face warmed. “Hell no, I didn’t grab her. She drove out here. And as for going up there, you can try,” he said, holding T-Bear’s gaze. “But you’ll have to get past me. She's part of the Hangar, that means I look out for her.”

  T-Bear pursed his lips under his mustache, his eyes twinkling. “Uh-huh. Thought you fired her ass?”

  Pete shook his head, done with the subject.

  Bouncer wasn't ready to let it go. “She naked?” he asked, smirking. “I wouldn’t mind them titties in my bed.”

  “No,” Pete growled. “She works for me, that’s all.” Knowing he’d had the same thoughts about her only added to his irritation. He had to clench his teeth on the urge to tell them all to fuck off.

  Streak chose that moment to bang in the back door and toss her key ring onto the kitchen island.

  “Boss, uh …you mind tellin’ me why I just drove Lesa’s car in here?"

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  At Streak's question, Rocker snorted in his beer, and T-Bear gave a deep rumble of laughter. “Sorry, prospect, he don’t wanna talk about her. She’s off-limits to our sorry asses.”

  Stick thumped his palm down on the table. “Enough. I do have a woman in my bed, and I wanna get back to her. Let’s do this.”

  Rocker nodded. “So, Marta’s your thief, eh, Pete?”

  Pete nodded, then gave Streak a hard look. “But that goes no further than this room. You and me are the only ones at the Hangar who know, or who are gonna know.”

  Streak nodded instantly. “I get you. But man, I gotta ask – where's Lesa? She all right? Not that I think you'd—”

  "She's fine," Pete interrupted. "She's upstairs, safe and sound." Usually, a prospect questioned him like that, he'd slap that shit down, but he liked that Streak took care with women, especially those he worked with.

  “Takes brass balls for Marta to steal from you and Stick,” Rocker said, getting back to business. “Especially after the way you helped her out, gave her a job after she did jail time, and you’ve no doubt been paying her well. She puttin’ the money up her nose, or what?’

  “No. She’s not into that shit,” Stick said. “I know the signs, and I would not allow her near my boys or my place.”

  “Then she’s hittin’ the tables at Northern Quest,” Bouncer guessed. “Gambling habit.”

  “That bug bites all kinds,” Rocker agreed. “From teens to grandpas betting the mortgage on their house.”

  A local Native American tribe had built a casino and hotel near the raceway, and maintained a steady stream of business, both local and out-of-area visitors willing to drop their money for a chance at the glitter.

  “Marta? Nah.” She’d enjoyed the casino when Pete had taken her there for dinner and gambling. But her pleasure had been in dressing up to the nines and parading on his arm, not in playing the machines. He scratched his head, avoiding their gazes. “I uh … think this was for another reason.”

  Stick shook his head, gazing into his brew. “And one guess what that is.”

  Bouncer hooted. “Aww, fuckin’ A, I know why she’s pissed. You fucked her and moved on, that it, pretty boy?”

  Pete’s cheeks heated as Rocker and Moke chuckled. He glared at all of them. “Right, assholes. Like you’ve never had a bitch pissed at you.”

  “You don’t shit where you live, and you don’t fuck the help,” Stick said. “Bitches always—always—find a way to make you pay.”

  Pete’s jaw tightened at his older brother’s patronizing tone, but since Stick bore the scars of his ex-wife having tried to make him pay in the worst possible way, he didn’t argue.

  “I wanted Marta to know I’m aware of the thefts, so they’d stop, but not that I know she did it. Was even gonna keep her on, but ...”

  “Lemme guess, she quit,” Rocker said, his eyes twinkling. “Heard about the screamin’ match at the Hangar.”

  “Aysha been spreading that shit around?” Pete guessed, scowling.

  “Nah, one of the locals. Small town gossip, brother. But get back to why you fired Lesa instead of Marta. And why Lesa is here.”

  All the Flyers waited, Stick impassive, Rocker amused, T-Bear and Moke both grinning at him, Streak doing his best to stay cool.

  “Because,” Pete admitted. “Marta lost it today, told me she wasn’t working for me after I told her we were done. And I mean, she really lost it. She threatened to castrate me, talk shit about me all over the county. Neither of those mean shit. But then she threatened to go after the one she figures is the reason for me being done with her—Lesa.”

  The Flyers scowled as one. “That’s fucked up,” T-Bear said. “You ain’t even doin’ Lesa.”

  “No, and I don’t intend to. But try to co
nvince Marta of that. And I gotta tell you,” he looked to Stick. “I saw a look in her eyes that I didn’t like. Like a dog raised for the fight ring that scents blood.”

  Stick let out a hard breath, and grimaced. “Marta’s always been level-headed, good with the boys. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you never really know a woman till you add sex and money to the mix.”

  “Ain’t nobody dangerous as a bitch scorned,” Bouncer said gloomily, and drained his beer. And since he had reason to know, none of Flyers argued.

  “But you have more on your mind,” Stick said to Pete, “Or you wouldn’t have called us out here.”

  Pete nodded, and waited a beat, until they were all listening. “Da. I think Marta stealing from us just handed us, on a gold plate, the chance to finally run her fucking brothers out of town.”

  “Those little bastards,” T-Bear growled. “Stole my neighbors’ shit, I know they did.”

  Rocker’s brows flew up. “You think the Sokolovs are involved in embezzling from the Hangar, now? How much money did you lose?”

  “Not that much, a few thousand. The Hangar can take the hit. The point is, those sly bastards are always hanging around lately, watching—like they’re up to something. I think they put Marta up to stealing from us, just like they put her up to taking the fall for them before.”

  “And they got plenty of time to do that, seein’s not a one of ‘em has a job,” Bouncer said. “They just steal enough cars, bikes and stereos to party.”

  “Which you oughtta know, ‘cause your place is outfitted in a sound system you bought off them,” Rocker jibed.

  Bouncer shrugged. “Somebody’s gonna get it, might as well be me.”

  Moke ignored them, watching Pete. “You think they’re planning a bigger score than having their sister pad your accounts,” he said, his deep voice quiet.

  “I do.” Pete rolled his shoulders. “Just got an itch, you know? Right in the middle of my back.”

  They all reflected on this. A man who lived the life they did better pay attention to that itch—or he could end up dead.

  “I was you, Brews, I’d change every password you got,” Rocker said. “Tonight. She was into your computers. She gets them into your accounts, they can do more damage than any other way, short of burning your place down.”

  “Thanks,” Pete said. “Already did that. Luckily, I’ve got an online password vault set up to auto-change all the passwords every week. Happened today. And I get a text if any banking activity happens.” He gave Rocker a crooked smile. “Just like you taught me, Officer Hayes.”

  Rocker returned the look. “Can’t say I haven’t done everything I could for you boys.”

  “Fuckin’ Sokolovs. Wouldn’t mind takin’ those little fuck-wads down,” Bouncer rasped, glowering over his beer. “They may have good shit for sale, but they got no respect for the club. Seems Marta don’t either.”

  Stick grunted. “Those mu'dak don’t respect anyone. They let their own sister go to jail for them once. They wanna run their chop shop, I don’t care. But I don’t like it in our back yard. Keeps too many eyes on this area. And now this? Means they’re escalating, thinking they can expand their shit. They’re also poking at us, and that cannot stand. And if Marta is escalating in a different way, she will go down with them. We’ll see how stupid she is.”

  “We could roll on ‘em,” Streak suggested, his eyes lighting with eagerness. “We run ‘em out of town, the local law-dogs will thank us.”

  “They might,” Rocker drawled, shaking his head at the prospect. “Or the Spokane County prosecutor might seize the chance to throw our asses in the state pen for twenty to life. We got friends on the force out here, we don’t have any in town.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t teach the little fuckers a lesson they will never forget, though,” Moke said, his dark gaze on Pete. “What you got in mind, brah?”

  Pete smiled. “I’m glad you asked me that. I do have an idea. One that’ll make the Sokolovs shit their pants when they so much as think of us in the future.”

  He leaned forward, ready to explain, but a loud thump shook the house.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  T-bear stopped with his beer in mid-air and raised his brows. “That’s some bass you got there, Brews.”

  As another thud sounded over the music, Pete set down his beer, scowling at the ceiling. “That’s not my music."

  “She’s dancin’ to a different beat up there, for sure,” Rocker said, and T-Bear roared. Even Streak laughed.

  Stick waved Pete back to his chair. “Relax, bratish. You locked her in, right? The furniture you have in that spare room is shit anyway. We got business to take care of here.”

  Ryder lifted his glass to Pete. “She’s pissed at you, better off lettin’ her take it out on old furniture instead of your face.”

  Pete snorted. “She doesn’t have the lady-balls to go for my face. She’s too sweet.”

  “Hey, sweet is good,” T-bear said. “I like sweet.”

  “Like a bear likes honey,” Stick said dryly.

  T-bear raised his glass. “I’ll drink to pussy sweet as honey.”

  “Not going there with her,” Pete said. "None of us are."

  “Thought you fired her?” Rocker gave him a look. “Not that you’re gonna get in there after that. Women do not like bein’ fired.”

  “Nobody likes bein’ fired,” Moke pointed out dryly. “'Specially for somethin’ they didn’t do.”

  “I’ll talk her around,” Pete said, rocking his chair back on two legs. “Explain, give her a raise, make her head waitress or some shit.”

  Stick shook his head. “You learn nothin’ from your fuck-up with Marta? This one ain’t gonna let you off easily, either, even if you are keeping her safe from threats.”

  Pete opened his mouth to remind his older brother that Sara had forgiven Stick for worse, but shut it. Fuck, what was he doing, comparing the two women?

  Sara was Stick’s old lady, his milaya. Lesa was not that. She was just passing through, or if she stuck around, it would be as an asset to the Hangar, not a piece of ass, sweet or not. And she especially would not be his old lady. Sure he wanted one someday in the distant future—say ten years or so—to give him sons and warm his bed when he was old. But not her. Not now.

  “You better hope she ain’t crazy as Marta,” Rocker pointed out, his eyes twinkling.

  Pete shook his head impatiently. “All right, so here’s my plan. The Sokolovs move stolen goods, right?”

  “Yeah, so?” Bouncer demanded. “We already went over that.”

  Pete acknowledged the Flyers' Sgt-at-Arms with a nod. “So, they’re into small shit—stereos, auto parts. But if they’re ready to move up the food chain, I’m betting they’d sell weapons if they could get their hands on them. I say we give them some to steal—then let them get caught. That way we get rid of them for a good long time.”

  Stick raised his brows. “How you figure to set that up?”

  Heat moved up Pete’s throat and across his face. “Haven’t actually got that far yet. Was hopin’ you guys would have some ideas. Bein’ the bunch of law-breakin’ low-lifes you are.”

  Bouncer grinned, and Rocker chuckled. “We are that, right?”

  Moke hook his head. “Sorry, I got nothin’, brah.”

  “Hey, listen,” T-Bear broke in, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “We got those empty crates left over from that last shipment that went through the clubhouse. What if we load ‘em with old auto parts or, hell, even rocks. All we need is a place to plant them.”

  Bouncer looked interested. “There’s that empty upholstery shop between the Hangar and the lumber yard. It’s close.”

  “Yeah, good one,” T-Bear went on. “We bring the shit there, at night. We put some fancy-looking, but easy-to-break locks on the place, and Rocker sets up surveillance. We drop the word around so the Sokolovs can’t miss it, that there’s a shipment of small arms in there, which everyone and thei
r grandma know are easy to get rid of.”

  “That might work,” Pete said. “We let it out that Stick wanted the guns in the clubhouse where they’re safe, I got pissed and moved them, some shit like that … and then we sit back and wait.”

  “How do we make sure they hear it?” Stick asked. “Might take time.”

  T-Bear smirked. “Not if somebody mentions it where Marta can hear. An’ she’s pissed at you, she’ll figure, what the hell? Let my brothers have another score, really get even with you for dumpin’ her.”

  “Fuck, I like it,” Bouncer approved. “Cops get nosy, all they find is old shit. The Sokolovs, though … they’ll go for it. Then when they do, we bring in the real weapons and leave them there, tied up in a nice, neat rope.”

  They all looked to Stick, who didn’t appear as impressed with the plan. But then he never was.

  “I don’t know,” Rocker said. “Seems like a long shot to me. What if word don’t spread fast enough? How long are we gonna have to sit on the sitch?”

  The song ended with a flourish of drums, and in the pause, Pete's back door opened.

  “Uh, boss?” Streak asked, in a strangled voice. “I just walked around the north side of the house to take a piss. There a reason your clothes an’ shit are all over your yard out there?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Pete froze, as did the other Flyers. Then unholy glee lit Moke’s eyes, and T-bear snorted into his beer.

  “Huh,” Stick said, his eyes twinkling madly. “Guess you should’ve checked on that bass after all, bratish.”

  Guffaws of laughter followed him as Pete took the stairs two at a time. He stalked across the landing, past the locked door of his spare room, and into the open door of the biggest bedroom, which he had made his own.

  The door to the bathroom between the rooms was open, the old-fashioned door-knob hanging crooked from the brass plate. The long, narrow window on the north side of his room was open too. And so was the door into his closet.

  “Lesa!” he roared.

  She appeared in the closet doorway, a stack of tees clutched in her arms. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a mess, and her eye-makeup smeared under her eyes, which were all pink and puffy from crying.