Naming His Price (Poison Sons MC) (2 page)

“Why wait until it's beyond repair though?” Rusty inquired, attempting and missing another shot. With a curse, he signaled to the bartender for another beer. “He could have saved it seven or eight years ago. Now it's too late.”

Silas shrugged, lining up to sink the eight ball. With a grimace of disgust at his below-par skills, Rusty turned away rather than watch the Cajun beat him. “I'm gonna go for a ride. Anyone needs me, you know how to get me.”

“Haha, dat's the beauty of your position, Rusty. Everyone does everytin' for you.”

Just then, the radio above the bar buzzed.

“Silas. Silas, you there?” The static-filled tones slowly leveled out as the bartender turned the dial. “Come in.”

Stopping short of his shot, the dark-haired man made his way over to the mammoth brick bar to take up the receiver. “Yeah, what's da problem?”

“We got a vehicle approaching. Dark green Toyota, late 2010 model. Probably about half a mile out. Anyone you know?”

Silas frowned at the information. “Not one of mah friends. What about da driver?”

“Female.” The informant replied, “Light hair, can't see much more from here.”

At the information, Rusty arched a brow. Silas caught his gaze, shrugging. “Anyone wit her?”

“Negative.”

That was strange indeed. He didn't know of a single woman in town who wouldn't be wary enough of their less than pristine reputation to keep far away from Newnan road. What on earth could she be doing out here? And this late in the day, no less?

“What should we do, Silas?”

Stepping forward, Rusty took the receiver from the Cajun to answer himself. “Billy, this is Rusty. Let her through. I'm curious to see what she wants.”

“Gotcha, boss.” Static crackled again as the signal went out.

“Jethro.” Rusty gestured to the kid cleaning glasses and re-arranging bottles beyond the partition of the bar between them. “Get lost. Go wax the bikes or something.’”

“Sure thing, Rusty.” The college drop-out was always glad to get out of his duties. It was probably why he'd chosen to join the Sons rather than finish his first semester at community. Within two seconds, he'd disappeared out the back door.

“Silas, you go help Billy welcome our guest.” He instructed his companion. With another gilded smile, Silas nodded. “No funny business, you got it? We don't know who she is or what she wants. You bring her straight to me.”

“Relax, Rusty.” With a wink, the Cajun grabbed and shouldered his rifle from where it leaned against the front door frame. “We all know you get dem firs' dibs wit' da ladies.” As he left the bar, the remaining man scowled slightly. Who the hell would be coming out to the bar direct? The reputation that preceded the Sons was violent enough to scare off seasoned cops; yet a girl had come alone?

This should be interesting.

**

The place was even more of a hell-hole than she'd imagined.

As Danielle stepped outside into the cool autumn air, she eyed the run-down brick bar she'd parked before. Seasons of falling leaves had weighed down the roof so much it was sagging in places. Nature seemed to be slowly absorbing the structure, from the ivy climbing the walls to the moss edging the window sills. The wooden porch was completely rotted through in a few locations and the asphalt of the parking area was so pock-marked with weeds that it was barely holding together.

Despite the state of the building before her, Danielle's spirits only rose. There was no way she couldn't make this sale. She just had to smile, be tactful and polite, and above all, keep her wits about her. Glancing down at the folder poking from the top of her bag, she mouthed the name she'd written there.

Randolph Hicks.

“You los', chère?”

Danielle jumped about six inches into the air before whirling to be faced with a thin, tall, brown-eyed man. His chocolate colored facial hair was so thick it was hard to get a look at his face; but she could see clearly enough the gleaming rifle he carried over his shoulder. Her eyes widened as the breath whooshed from her lungs.

A battered pickup truck and three gleaming black and red Harley Davidsons, in addition to her car in the parking lot, had been enough to warn her that there were people about. She just hadn't expected them to be packing fire power. Perhaps she should have listened to Nick a bit more carefully.

No
. Taking a deep breath, Danielle drew from the reserve of her earlier confidence. If she wanted to make this sale, she couldn't act like a frightened child. Sure, he had a gun, but he wasn't pointing it at her.

Yet.

“No, I'm not lost. I'm looking for Turnaround Bar... isn't this it?” She gestured to the pathetic dwelling behind them.

“
Oui
.” His heavy accent and smattering of French vocabulary pronounced him one of a plentiful Cajun community in the area. “And why might you be looking for da Poison Sons?”

“Oooo, look at this one.” Before Danielle could begin to answer, another man appeared from the thick foliage surrounding the bar's parking lot. He seemed the exact opposite of the rifle-toting giant she'd met already — short, thick-necked and broad-shouldered. Blonde hair was buzzed close to his head and his carriage spoke of past army training, even if his manners didn't. “Ain't she a pretty one?”

This one didn't have a gun, but something in her gut told Danielle that he was no less dangerous than the Cajun.

“...Thanks.” She finally tried, carefully. Extracting the thick manila folder with the warehouse specs and paperwork, she went on. “My name is Danielle Sparks. I'm looking to speak to Randolph Hicks?”

“Rusty gets all the good ones,” the blonde quipped at his companion before turning back to her. “Well I'm Billy and this here's Silas. You'll be wantin' to go inside if you're looking for Rusty. Though... uh.... you sure you haven't found what you're lookin' for already?”

Danielle bit back a snort of laughter at the blatant come-on. Poison Sons or not, these boys were still about as stereotypically male as they came. Usually, she'd be making a very apropos exit in the face of such a bold move, but that wasn't exactly an option at the moment. Instead, she swallowed her mirth, straightened her skirt and gave the most polite reply she could come up with.

“Sorry, handsome, but I'm here to speak with the big guy. Can't divert from my business.”

When Billy scowled, the Cajun beside him grinned, revealing a mouth full of gold caps that probably cost more than she made in a month. “Go righ' inside, chère. Rusty waitin' for you.”

With what she hoped was a friendly smile, Danielle turned on her heel to start for the main entrance of the bar. Though her bravery was bolstered by the fact that she appeared to have made it past the guard dogs, there was a smaller part of her that was praying that she wouldn't get shot in the back.

She breathed a sigh of relief after she'd picked her way over the rickety porch and finally made it into the dim interior of the building. To say the least, it wasn't much better aesthetically than the outside. A beat up jukebox in the corner was playing eighties rock, and the entire establishment smelled of beer, cigarettes and gun smoke with an underlying hint of rotting wood.

A quick glance around the place revealed it to be almost deserted; there was only a snoring man in an armchair, face covered by a water-spotted paper, and the bartender.

But
what
a bartender.

The man had to be at least six and a half feet tall, which let him tower over her 5'9” frame even in her work heels. A black t-shirt was stretched thinly over a wide, flat chest and arms that bulged with hard-earned muscle. His face was a thing of rugged beauty, with slate gray eyes and a long nose that looked like it had seen a few fights. Stubble the same raven color as the waves carelessly falling about his shoulders covered his jaw and cheeks; and Danielle couldn't help but bite her lip as she imagined how it would feel rasping over the more sensitive parts of her body. That, and the notion of his sensuously full mouth on hers made her hesitate by the pool table. She'd known that many a woman in town lusted after the Sons for their power, but she hadn't ever seen one she'd been so physically drawn to.

“Um... excuse me.” When she finally found her voice, it wavered embarrassingly. “I'm looking for Randolph Hicks.”

The man looked up from the glass that he was cleaning and his intense gaze sent a shot of liquid desire through her. There was a moment in which he just stared at her, taking her in from head to toe, before his lips curved slightly.

“Call me Rusty.”

Danielle had to inwardly wrestle her shock to keep it from showing on her face.
This
man was the new leader of the Poison Sons? She'd been expecting a grizzled, scarred biker twice her age or at least someone not so... good looking. Any ideas that she might have had about charming an older man into a business deal went out the window.

“Well... Rusty, I'm Danielle Sparks.” Crossing to the bar, she held out his hand for him to shake. When he took it, electricity sparked in her fingertips and zipped down her body to make her thighs tingle. “I've come here with a business proposition for you. I heard that your father stepped down and that you're the one to talk to.”

“Who'd you hear it from?” The South had colored the man's deep bass so it sounded like silk and it took Danielle a moment to clear the fog from her head before she could contemplate an answer.

“Oh... around.” She wasn't careless enough to rat out anyone who'd been gossiping about the town's ruling gang. In addition to protecting her information sources, she'd never been and never would be a snitch.

“Well, you heard wrong.” The young woman froze for a second as the man pulled a bottle of whiskey from an upper shelf to pour into a short glass.

What did he mean? Wasn't he in charge? Or hadn't Jonah actually stepped down? Perhaps she'd come to the wrong person.

“My daddy's dead, Mrs. Sparks. Cancer got 'im. I always thought he smoked too much.”

“Oh... I'm sorry.” Danielle looked up at him in surprise as he set the glass of whiskey in front of her.

“Don't be. When it's your time, it's your time.” He poured a second glass of whiskey, adding a little ice before slinging the bar towel over his shoulder. “But I'm betting you didn't come here to give me condolences about my pops. If we're gonna talk business, I need a drink.” With that, he came around the bar.

Long legs quickly ate up the distance between them and Danielle had to force her eyes upward after admiring the way his jeans hugged slim hips, muscular thighs, and everything in between. As he sat next to her, the scent of him — motor oil and spearmint — wafted over her. Her thighs clenched in reaction and she cleared her throat, taking a sip of her whiskey to hide her discomfort.

The alcohol went down smooth and warm, soothing her digestive tract and heating her stomach.

“Mmm... That's good.”

“20 year Glenlivet. The best. Now, Mrs. Sparks—”

“It's Miss,” the young woman couldn't help but correct him when he wrongly addressed her the second time.

The information made his gray gaze intensify slightly. Never taking his eyes from her, the man took a swallow of whiskey before replacing his glass on the bar. “
Miss
Sparks. What was it you came here to talk about?”

“A real estate opportunity.” Despite the electric attraction crackling through the air between them, the prospect of the sale put Danielle into her element. She immediately straightened before extracting her manila folder from her bag and placing it on the bar. “I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look to be in need of a new base of operations.”

Rusty continued to eye her, his expression unreadable. “Go on.”

“I know you boys have been using this place forever, and frankly, it's falling apart. The costs for the work needed would be so high that it'd benefit you more to just purchase a new property. Lucky for you, this just fell into my company's hands.” Flipping open the folder, she pushed it toward him to reveal the specs for the warehouse. “It's in the center of downtown, underground. It'd be exceedingly convenient for doing business as well as for storing goods.” Exactly what kind of goods she didn't venture to specify. “You could probably fit over twenty bikes in the garage. The location and the benefits would be enormous for the Sons. You can see for yourself.”

She watched as the dark-haired man flipped through the first few pages of the packet, his eyes scanning over the information. After three or four minutes, however, he closed the folder to look up at her, his gaze amused.

“You want me to buy this place?”

Danielle trod carefully here; clearly he wasn't as open to the idea as she'd hoped. “I think it would be a good investment for your organization, yes.”

“Why come to me directly?” He inquired blithely. “You could have sought out any of our contacts in town.”

“Your contacts can't make decisions like you can, Rusty,” she shot back almost immediately. “I needed someone who could give me a clear yes or no on this property, and the last time I heard, only the man in charge is able to make financial decisions of this caliber for the Poison Sons.”

Her fiery words had the man before her scratching his chin thoughtfully. “...What else have you heard about us?”