Chapter One
It’s 2 a.m. and Antonio’s on his third cigarette when the explosion rips through the peaceful night, rocking the shitty Buick he’d stolen a couple of hours before. The two wheels on the left side actually lift for a second before they hit the dusty, deserted road with a thump that vibrates through his bones. A loud ‘WOOSH’ sounds as a bright orange fireball erupts in the distance behind him, the flames licking up towards the sky like forked tongues.
He uses his boot to kick open the stiff driver’s side door before he steps out into the night. The raw power of the fire crackles, climbing higher as the air starts to thicken with black smoke, bleeding into the heavens.
He’s lived in Pinehurst his entire life and he can’t for the life of him figure out what’s down here on the outskirts of town that could burn like that. He gets his answer a couple of seconds later when the stench of kush infiltrates his nostrils - not the soft, fragrant scent he’s used to but something more earthy, more potent.
A pot farm, he guesses. Illegal grows have been cropping up all over California for years now but never one this close to home. It occurs to him that’s why their club secretary Fitz sent his ass out here tonight. He’s probably waiting for Joker to come racing down this stretch of road after protecting their ‘business interests’ with the actual legitimate farm they work with, Rose Kush.
When Fitz had instructed him to play getaway driver, he’d been sparse with the details. He’s still pissed at Antonio for accidently dislocating his right shoulder during their MMA match last night. To be fair, Antonio is usually a lot more controlled when he fights. He’d just ended up losing his concentration during the grapple when he’d caught sight of his brother Danny on the opposite side of the octagon. He’d been getting into it with some out-of-towner for grabbing the bartender’s ass.
He’d heard the pop the instant his focus had slipped and now he’s doing Prospect level bullshit because Fitz can’t ride his bike up to Sunridge with King.
Act like an asshole, get treated like one, Kingston Fitzgerald, the President of their club had told him, his fingertips rapping out an unknown rhythm upon the table as he sat at his throne. You’re lucky I’m not letting him return the favour.
It’s the gun shot that jerks Antonio from his thoughts. A sharp, distinctive crack that cuts through the night. In the distance a figure in a black hoodie hurtles towards the car, too far to make out the stature in the darkness.
His partner in crime, he presumes.
Another bullet pings off the Buick, close to Antonio’s left shoulder and he ducks inside the car, slamming the door shut behind him. His heart thuds in his chest as he twists the screwdriver jammed into the ignition and the engine roars to life. The passenger door is torn open as the hoodie throws themselves inside, yanking it shut behind them. There’s no time to put on the seatbelt, he’s already shifting gear, his foot on the accelerator. The wheels spin, kicking up a cloud of dust as he hauls ass out of there, racing down the empty service road like a bat out of hell.
He truly did not think anyone was dumb enough to try and set up an illegal weed farm on Outlaw Royale turf. The Pinehurst townies know better, which means it’s someone from outside the boundaries trying to move in on Rose Kush’s territory.
He hasn’t heard any rumblings, but he isn’t involved in that side of the business. He’s too busy restoring vintage motorcycles out of his garage with Joker.
In the seat beside him, his passenger types something on their phone before removing the sim card and rolling down the window. They shove the device out of the gap before snapping the sim card in two and placing it into the ashtray close to the gearbox where it’ll burn up with the rest of the car.
It’s when they reach up to pull their hood down that he realises that his fugitive is a woman. A fucking stunning one at that. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in waves of ash blonde. It looks like spun silver, reflecting in the light of the full moon outside. She tilts her head to look at him and those eyes, they remind him of the cornflowers he used to steal for his mom out of the neighbour’s garden. Her skin is flushed with adrenaline, an apricot hue blossoming across her cheeks, her lips curving up into a sinful smile before he forces his gaze back onto the road.
“Fuck.” he mutters, his grip tightening on the wheel because sitting beside him is The Kush Queen herself, Lila Rosenhurst, the woman who’s supposed to be in Sunridge navigating the logistics of the new high yield pot farm with Leon Martinez.
“You seem surprised to see me, Toni,” she says conversationally, taking out a platinum Zippo lighter. He watches from the corner of his eye as her thumb runs over her initials etched upon the surface. He remembers seeing the design in the glow from the flame when she’d lit his cigarette outside Jo’s Bar that night. “I’m guessing Fitz didn’t mention giving me a ride.”
“He did not,” Antonio confirms before he starts to put the pieces together. “They’re setting up an alibi for you in Sunridge, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” she says, removing a matching platinum cigarette case from the pocket of her hoodie, carefully opening it. She takes out one of the pre-rolled joints and places it between her heart shaped lips before snapping it closed. She flicks the lighter open, the same one that probably just burned down an entire pot farm before she ignites the end of the joint. “I wanted to take care of this one myself.”
The sweet smell of rose kush breezes through the car and he’s taken back to that evening, the one he still jerks off to in his shower a month later, despite the girls that have occupied his bed in the time between.
The two of them in the back seat of his tow truck. The light floral scent of her lotion flooding his senses as her hair fell across his face, shielding him from the rest of the world. Her delicate fingers entwining with his as she pinned his wrists above his head, slowly sinking down on his cock, taking him inch by inch until he was delirious with want. She’d left him a desperate, fucked out mess in the back seat, his cock still jutting out of his jeans smeared in that sweet honey of hers as she fixed her dress and closed the door behind her.
She had read him like a book, knowing where to touch, where to tease, how to take him apart piece by piece until he was begging for release. His reputation may paint him as an aggressive lover, but he’d tossed his playbook right out the window when she’d tugged his hair just right, making him moan in a way he’s never done before.
“You’re gonna ruin me again, aren’t you?” he whispers into the space between them. He can feel her knowing smile as she tucks the cigarette case back into the pocket of her hoodie.
“Hm,” she says, handing him the joint. He takes a long drag because this shit tonight, it’s about to get crazy, he can feel it with every fibre of his being. “Only if you ask nicely.”
