Page 18 of Bound by Family
Ryker, who boldly introduced himself, is a player. Yep, seen hundreds of them in my day growing up in the club. Tattoos, sexy vibe … I bet he doesn’t even have to ask women, just crooks his finger.
The other man, who I’m not sure his name, looks a little lighter in a way, but I’m not sure how to describe it.
Cooper, though. My heavens. Talk about charismatic, and I got that just from the few words he spoke to me. Hell, I get it just from being in the same room with him. It’s like he oozes it out of his pores, releasing it out in the world for women to fall at his feet and beg. Then there’s the hair. I can’t call it light, and it’s definitely not dark. It’s a unique combination of the two; light browns intertwined with a few darker browns, giving his hair a shade I haven’t seen before. Like a caramel color with an edge, and long. So much so that he has a hair tie wrapped around his wrist. No doubt he puts it up regularly. I’d put money on it only amping up his sexiness.
When our eyes connected for that brief moment, the blue popped out in his. I also noticed some navy around the edges. That combination of hair and eyes … Be still my deprived heart.
The way his pants ride low on his hips makes me want to give up all kinds of things to get him to raise his arms above his head so his black T-shirt rises up and I can see what’s underneath.
He has tattoos running all up his left arm, disappearing under his shirt. I can see some black poking through the top at his neck, too. It piques my curiosity, wanting to find out what he’s hiding.
I shake my head and squeeze out the mop. It’s been way too long since … Never mind.
The front door opens and in strolls Mr. Draker. The guy is older; late sixties, early seventies. He’s been our plumber for years, and a man my father trusts to take care of problems.
“What’d ya got here?” he asks, strolling in with his bag in hand.
I look at the floor then up at him. “What do you think? I had everyone take a piss all over the floor?”
Chuckles come from the corner where the three hot bikers sit and wait for their clothes to dry.
“I told you we needed new shutoffs for each machine. That was on your list four months ago, and now it’s been moved to priority, as in—do it now.” He jumps a bit at my tone, but doesn’t balk.
This is the part of the businesses I don’t like—when you hire someone to do a job, and they don’t follow through. It’s happening more and more. I try to handle it all because if my father or brothers did, hell hath no fury. It just makes everything so much worse.
“I was just comin’ to do that today, Ms. Bristyl.”
Stopping short of rolling my eyes, I say, “Yeah, and the pigs are due to shoot out of my ass at any minute. This needs to be done now. I called my cleaner on the way here. Most of it is sopped up, but you’ll have to work around the customers until the place is cleared out. I don’t care how you do it; just make it happen.”
A loose strand of hair falls into my eyes, and I blow it up out of my way. This is business, and if he doesn’t want to do his job, then I’ll find someone who can. Then I’ll have to explain it to my father, and he’ll be pissed I didn’t come to him first. One step at a time.
“I can shut off these and do the pipes, then the others. There should be no need to shut the place down.”
“Timeline. When’s it going to be done?” My tone is sharp. I’m seriously frustrated with this man.
“Give me a week to get it all switched over.”
“If it’s not done by then, I’m finding someone who can do it.”
“I understand.”
He better understand. Sinister Sons is huge in this town, and he knows who owns this place. One word, and that will be it.
I like handling everything on my own, though. It’s an independence thing. I don’t have it in my life as much as I want, but this I can control.
When clapping comes from the corner, I narrow my eyes. That is, until I see the smirk on Cooper’s face. Then I turn and put the damn mop bucket away, needing to get out of here and breathe. For some reason, he has a power to suck the oxygen out of me.
Coming out of the room, Cooper and his guys are pulling clothes out of the dryers and a washer, then beginning to fold. I can’t help looking. I mean, come on, my eyes just travel there on instinct.
His black briefs are sexy as all hell. I need a cold shower.
“Sorry again for the trouble,” I say on a wave.
Some words are returned as I exit quickly, getting the hell out of Dodge.
* * *
“Don’t be pissed at me.”Whenever anyone starts a conversation off with those words, you know you’re going to be pissed at the end. It’s a red flag with a bull running toward it. It’s a lit match about to be thrown into a fire pit doused in gasoline.
