Devil's Game (Reapers MC, #3)(52)

Looking around the darkened, underground room, I was pretty sure we’d found it. The music was loud, the crowd was mixed, and the pool table was surrounded by a group of guys I’d rank at about a seven or eight on the “I’d hit that” scale, Liam being a perfect ten.

Bastard.

How dare he be all sweet and nice in the moonlight, and then take off and never talk to me again? Of course, I did kick him in the balls … The memory always gave me a smile.

“Dad know you have a fake ID?” I asked as we moved toward the bar. Kit smirked.

“Of course,” Kit replied. “He gave it to me.”

I stopped dead.

“No f*cking way.”

“Yup,” she replied. “Right after I got caught with a bad fake during high school. Told me that he didn’t want me getting arrested or in trouble, so I needed quality.”

“That is so unfair,” I muttered. “He never gave me one.”

“Did you ask?”

I shook my head.

“No, I guess it never occurred to me that I could … I mean, after a certain point he let me drink sometimes at the club and home, but I just didn’t think about bars.”

“Well, that’s the difference between you and me,” she said. “I’m always looking for new ways to get in trouble. You’re always looking to slide by without anyone noticing.”

She had a point. Hell, you could even see it in our clothing. I wore a simple black top. It showed a little cleavage and outlined my curves, but in terms of club wear it was designed to blend in.

Kit, though … Not so much.

She’d gone full vintage for the night, a look she’d been developing for a while. Her hair was dyed dark black and arranged in an elaborate style that screamed Bettie Page. She wore a fitted, off-the-shoulder red blouse that matched her bright red lipstick and showed off her tattoos. She’d paired it with ultra tight capri pants that somehow looked old-fashioned and slutty at the same time. The entire outfit was eye-catching and unique, and completely above any particular fad or momentary fashion trend.

Kit had always been that—ruthlessly making her own path, oblivious to other opinions. I loved it.

I loved her, too.

“I love you,” I told her, catching her up in a hug. She giggled.

“You’re drunk.”

“So are you!”


“Not drunk enough,” she countered. “Get me a vodka Red Bull, okay? I’m going to hit the powder room.”

I waited for our drinks, musing about my sister and her unique view of life. Powder room, for f*ck’s sake? Who says that? Somehow it was all part of that vintage persona, and on her it didn’t seem artificial at all.

Quite the accomplishment, really.

I got the drinks and found a table in the back. The top was a little sticky, as was the padded bench against the wall. I couldn’t see much in the dim light, though, and that was probably a good thing. When it comes to sticky in a bar, spilled drinks are sort of the best-case scenario.

My phone buzzed.

PAINTER: How’s Portland?



Yeah, right. Like I wanted to talk to f*cking Painter. I picked up my drink and chugged it down fast.

Kit slid in next to me, eyes wide.

“Are we not a happy camper?” she asked. I slid my phone over to her and she picked it up, studying the message. “Ah, the amazing Painter.”

Then she started typing. It took me a minute to realize what she was doing. I lunged for the phone and she laughed, hitting send.

“You bitch!” I yelled. She laughed and gave it back to me.

ME: Figure it out, dumbass. You blew it, and now I’ll never blow you.



“Wow, that’s cold,” I said, impressed. “He’s gonna be really pissed at me.”

“You found him f*cking a girl in the bathroom right after he turned you down,” she said bluntly. “He doesn’t get to be pissed. Ever. And what do you care? You’re done with him.”

“Yeah, but I still have to see him around when I go home.”

“So what?” she asked. “It’s like your head is still in Coeur d’Alene. You live in Portland now, babe. Bottoms up!”

She passed her drink over to me, and I chugged that one, too.

“I think I’m drunk,” I said after a couple minutes. She leaned forward, looking deep into my eyes like a fortune-teller.

“Really drunk, or just mostly?”

“Mostly,” I replied. “But definitely not sober.”

“Excellent,” she declared. “Now we’re going to talk about Liam.”

I swayed.

“I never should have told you about him.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “But you did, so that’s a done deal. Have you heard from him at all since that night?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know if that pisses me off or not. I mean, it was all lies. I know that. But I still sort of miss him. How f*cked up is that?”

She cocked her head, thinking.

“Pretty f*cked up. But that’s how it is when you break up with someone.”

“You have to be with someone before you can break up with them.”

Kit started laughing.

“What?”