Viper's Kiss (Back Down Devil MC #8)(73)

“Okay,” Angelo said. “Never. I just have debts.”

“And crappy food,” Jace said.

“Yeah, man, my stomach…”

Jace opened another container and screamed. “Holy Christ.”

“What?” Jett asked.

“Look at this. More chicken, man. And it’s green…”

“I had chicken,” Blaine said.

“You serve spoiled food?” Jett asked.

“When you cook it,” Angelo said, “the bad stuff dies. It never goes bad…”

Jett backed up. He looked at Blaine and saw his face turning white.

“Oh man,” Blaine said. “No…”

Before Jett could say another word, Blaine started to throw up. He launched his food right at Angelo, hitting him in the legs and covering his feet and the raw chicken on the floor.

Jett reached for the door and opened it.

Blaine let out a growling sound and threw up a little more.

“It looks better now than it did when Stacey brought it from the kitchen,” Jace said.

Jett laughed.

Blaine grabbed his stomach and dry heaved. “Fuck you, man.”

“I think we’re done here,” Jett said. He looked at Angelo. “Clean it up, Angelo. All of it. Next time we come back here… it won’t be nice. And it won’t be f*cking puke on your clothes either.”

Jett left the fridge area and spotted Stacey. She looked at him and smiled. He gave a nod. Part of him still thought about running right through her. He imagined her tight and wild.

“That was f*cking gross,” Jace said.

“Yeah,” Jett said. “I’m out of here.”

“Where to?” Jett asked.

Blaine cut between them and put his arms around them. “Let’s go get a f*cking drink.”

“Before that, you need a breath mint,” Jett said.

He looked for Stacey again, but she was gone.

Fuck, what a crazy day.

But at least I’m alive…





two.



Drinking at the clubhouse had its own appeal. It was a lot like drinking with business partners or something. Always waiting for someone to talk about a deal, a war, a fight, a gun, something. Miller and Gaige had given Jett a key to a room at the clubhouse, but he had yet to use it. He was close enough just by wearing the goddamn patch and pulling the trigger on his gun when needed. Not that he didn’t love the guys or anything, but sometimes it was nice to be at a bar outside the clubhouse.

Blaine and Jace were shooting pool against two guys, four women looking on. They were betting fifty bucks a game, but Jett knew that the women were the real prize. For Jett, he just sat at the bar, beer and whiskey in hand, listening to a rambling broadcast of a f*cking hockey game. He didn’t give a shit about sports. Or anything for that matter. Jett had grown up rough and tough, his mother kidnapped and murdered when he was just seven years old. And it always seemed on those sevens bad shit happened. On his seventeenth birthday, he was on the streets, living alone, and found out that his father was the one who kidnapped and killed his mother. That began a long quest to find his father and all the backdoor dealings of organized crime that had been going on around Jett.

During a drunken stupor at twenty, Jett actually got into a fist fight with Miller. From what Jett could remember about that night, he did get Miller with a few really good shots to the face, but Miller was sober and his sober fists prevailed. When Jett woke the following morning, there was a note literally pinned to his stomach.

Nice fight. Let’s talk.

He met up with Miller and that began his life with Back Down Devil MC.

“Can I get you another one?” the bartender asked.

Jett gave a nod. “Sure thing.”

The bartender was cute as anything. Tall, skinny, a beautiful chest. Hair pulled back tight and a little butterfly tattoo on her left wrist. Something about that little tattoo drove Jett wild.

Fuck.

It had been a month since he last had a decent f*ck. It was with someone he thought to be a girlfriend. But Ada wasn’t quite that. She was a stripper whore who loved cock and coke. She ended up getting killed ten miles south of Frelen. There was an open murder investigation, but something about it all just bothered the shit out of Jett.

With a fresh beer in front of him, the cute as hell bartender lingered. “Why aren’t you playing pool with your friends?”

“Because I have something better to look at right here,” Jett said.

“Hanging around until closing?” she asked.

“Two in the morning? Beautiful, that’s when I start living. I rise when the sun sets and watch the sun rise every morning.”

“I’d like to watch a sunrise with you.”

Jett grinned. “Trust me, beautiful, you spend a night with me, the last thing you’re going to give a shit about is the sunrise.”

“Good thing,” she said, leaning over the bar a little more. “Because there’s only one thing I want to see rising before my eyes…”

Jett squeezed the glass of whiskey so tight he thought it was going to break.

He started to stand, ready to pound the whiskey and then take the bartender somewhere - bathroom, back room, break room - and then pound her. Then he heard the familiar snapping sound of a pool stick breaking and turned his head just in time to see someone cracking a stick over Blaine’s back.