Page 7 of Driving Whiskey Wild
To this day, he kept his eyes peeled for a black Cadillac with a big-ass dent in the right rear fender. God help the owner if he ever caught him, because while there were many things Bullet wouldn’t put up with, hurting children, women, or animals topped the list.
He stroked Tinkerbell’s back and reached for his beer. There had been a time when Bullet was a big drinker, but that, along with everything else in his life, had changed when he was in the military. Now he had an occasional beer, but for the most part he liked to remain sober just in case someone fucked up and needed his help. But it had been a long night, made longer by a stroke of unexpected jealousy that gnawed at his gut. Tonight he wanted to try to drown out thoughts of Finlay Wilson.
As he lifted the bottle to his lips, his phone rang. Goddamn it. He remembered that Finlay had his number, and a spear of ridiculously embarrassing hope rang through him.
Tinkerbell lifted her head as he dug his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Bear. He set the bottle back on the table and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, B, what’s up?”
“You at home?”
“Yeah.”
“Drinking?”
He glanced at the open and untouched beer. “Not yet.”
“I need a favor. Crystal was out with the girls and she was the designated driver. She got sick, and I had to go pick her up.”
“Where are they?” He gently nudged Tinkerbell off his lap and rose to his feet.
“Whispers.”
“Aw, fuck. Seriously? Was Dixie with her?” He hated that place. Unfortunately, Dixie liked going there for exactly that reason.
“Yup.”
“I’m on my way.” He patted his leg and headed for his truck, with Tinkerbell trotting beside him. “How’s your girl?”
“Not well, but I’ve got her. She thinks she ate bad nachos, but if she’s not well in the morning I’ll call Bones and have him check her out.”
“You need anything while I’m out?”
“No. We’re good. Thanks, Bullet. Take your extended cab. You’ll need the space.”
With Tinkerbell on the passenger seat, Bullet drove down the rural road and pulled onto the main strip. Picking up the girls was no big deal, even if he had to drag his ass out of the house after working a fourteen-hour shift. He’d spent his later teen years driving drunk customers home from the bar. That was when his father had still run the place, before his stroke. Before Bullet had enlisted and entered the Special Forces. Before he’d seen too many men take their last breaths. Before he’d found out that he wasn’t invincible.
Before PTSD.
He rolled down the window as he cruised toward the nightclub. The cool air helped clear his head. He reached across the seat and petted Tinkerbell, glad for the company. When he pulled into the Whispers parking lot, he spotted Crystal’s car and made a mental note to pick it up with Bear if Crystal was still sick tomorrow. Poor girl. He added one more item to the list of things that made him smile. The way his family took care of each other. They always had each other’s backs. Knowing his family was safe, that might just take the cake.
Thinking of cake, his mind turned to Finlay. She was a sugar rush if ever there was one. He felt himself smiling, and just as quickly, that smile faded. Where the fuck was she tonight? He threw the truck into park and patted Tinkerbell’s head. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t go for a drive.”
He cracked the windows, locked up, and headed inside to collect his sister and whoever else was wasting their night in this douche bag place.
Bullet strode into the dimly lit, testosterone-laden bar. The heat was almost as oppressive as the aura of yuppiness. He was a good head taller than the crowd, making it easy to scan his surroundings. A sea of sexed-up women danced with too-pretty men sporting manicured eyebrows and buttoned-up shirts. The guys were probably hoping for a fuck, the girls, dreaming of their frogs turning into princes, complete with a diamond ring and a white picket fence.
Bullet knew he was a menacing force, and he was used to crowds parting for him, as they were now, eyeing him up as if he might pound the hell out of someone for no damn reason. Idiots. Goddamn kids, living their safe little lives, afraid to step outside of the harbor and experience the harsh real world.
Fucking Dixie. Why did she get off on this shit? His gaze locked on her red hair, and he plowed through the crowd. She was dancing with Gemma and Jon Butterscotch, the doctor dude who came into the bar with Bones sometimes. Bullet lifted his chin in greeting. Jon was a good guy, but not for Dixie. She didn’t need a stuffed shirt who drove fancy cars.
Bullet grabbed Dixie’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Dixie spun around with fire in her eyes, grabbed his wrist the way he’d taught her, and twisted out of his grip. The anger in her bloodshot eyes morphed to irritation when she realized it was him who had grabbed her.
“What’re you doing here?” She continued swaying to the music, or maybe she was swaying because of how much she’d had to drink. Bullet couldn’t be sure.
The music blared so loud he had to raise his voice to be sure she heard him. “Driving your drunk ass home. Let’s go.”
“I can take her,” Jon offered, his gaze sliding to Dixie.
Over my dead body. “That’s okay. I’ve got her.”
“I’ll grab an Uber,” Dixie insisted.
“My ass you will.”
“Bullet!” Gemma clapped her hands. “Are you here to dance?”
Jesus fuck. They were both blasted. “No, sweetheart. I’m taking you home to Tru.”
“Oh! Okay, thanks! I miss him. And my babies. I should be home with my babies.” Gemma craned her neck, looking around the dance floor. “We need to find Finlay and Penny!” she hollered. “There’s Fin! With that guy!”
Like a scope on a rifle, he zeroed in on Finlay’s blond hair, her slinky little body dancing too damn close to some prick. Bullet glared at the guy as he closed the distance between them, drawing the weasel’s attention. The guy stumbled back, putting space between him and Finlay as Bullet’s arm swept around her waist. “Come on, lollipop. Time to go.”
“Bullet? What are you doing here?” she yelled, pointing to her ear. “I can’t hear you!”
He bent to speak into her ear and she threw her arms around his neck and said, “Dance with me!”
Christ. You’re plastered too? So much for Shirley Temples. “We’re leaving.”
He took a step, and she squirmed from his grip.
“I’m not leaving! I’m dancing.” She reached for the guy she’d been dancing with, and Bullet gave him a dark look.
The guy held his hands up and disappeared into the crowd.
“You scared him away! Now you have to dance with me.” She plastered herself against him, and he caught Penny’s sleeve as she stumbled past, yanking her against his side and holding on tight as he pried Finlay’s delicate arms from around his waist. He hauled her against his other side and demanded, “Gemma, Dixie. Front door. Now.”
Groaning, arms flailing, Dixie traipsed ahead of him, while Gemma hummed with a smile on her lips.
“I don’t want to leave!” Finlay pleaded.
Bullet glanced at Penny, who said, “She doesn’t get out much.”
Ignoring Dixie’s pouts and Finlay’s struggles, he managed to get them to the front door. He pushed it open, and Finlay spun around, heading into the bar. He grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her against him.
“Not happening, lollipop. You’re too drunk.”
“I am not drunk!” she said, leaning against him. “Right, Pen? I can hold my liquor.” Her eyes bloomed wide as he led the stumbling, swaying lot of them toward his truck. “I can hold my booze, my bar liquid. My…I don’t want to go home.”
Penny laughed and buried her face in Bullet’s side. “I can’t believe we have to be escorted home by a Whiskey.”
“More like taken against our will,” Dixie said as she tilted, grabbing Gemma’s shoulder to steady herself.
Bullet grabbed ahold of the back of Finlay’s dress again to keep her from running off, holding on tight as he unlocked and opened the truck door. She came face-to-face with Tinkerbell—and screamed. All at once, Penny squealed, Tinkerbell barked, Gemma turned and puked, and Finlay scrambled behind Bullet, clinging to his hips, her face pressing into his leather vest.
Christ.
Dixie stood by the truck, arms crossed, taking it all in with an amused smile.
“Get in, Dix. Tink, back. Floor,” he commanded, and Tinkerbell jumped into the backseat and lay down on the floor. He turned to Gemma and helped her upright, searching her face. She had the relieved look of someone who had spewed poison from their body. A good sign. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Gemma nodded.
Bullet swept an arm behind him and pulled Finlay around to his front. Her face remained buried in his leather vest. She clung to him, eyes slammed shut. At least she wasn’t running. “I’ve got you, lollipop.”
She whimpered.
“She’s afraid of dogs,” Penny explained.
“You afraid of dogs, too?” he asked Penny.
She shook her head.
“Great. You and Dix, in the back with Tinkerbell.”
