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Misfit(10)

By´╝ÜKathryn Kelly



Snatching the joint from Slipper, Cash inhaled, then released the smoke. “You’re sure about that?”

“Prez won’t like knowing Fee was here,” Slipper speculated. “I have to tell him, so he can set her straight. She shouldn’t come around when parties are happening. He won’t like her being with you and Stretch.”

“For the last fucking time, I wasn’t with her,” Cash growled.

Slipper squinted and swayed again. “I thought you were.”

Cash pulled Daphne to him. As she said, the girls had a line drawn between them and the old ladies. Or in Fee’s case, Outlaw’s sister. Daphne would see Cash leaving her to entertain them as a betrayal.

“Come on, babe, let’s get back to fucking,” he told her, though they hadn’t started.

Tonight, he’d have a drink with her so they could be seen together again, then he intended to fucking sleep. In the morning, he’d fuck her brains out and find a way to flout her around to the guys. Offering them a taste of her when he knew they were married would make Outlaw believe Cash had nothing but fun and games on his mind, and expected everyone else to feel the same way.

Given such a frivolous outlook, he hoped his ruse made any rumors Outlaw might hear about tonight regarding Fee, seem so outrageous and far off the mark, he’d never believe the story.

Cash needed the most opportune time to put his plan into motion. He also had to apologize to both Fee and Stretch for the fucked up way their evening had ended.





Instead of going straight to his room, Stretch went to the bar, spying his cane right where he’d left it earlier when he’d forgotten everything to escort Fee away from the party. Most of all, away from Cash.

Seeing Stretch sit, the Probate on duty hurried over.

Potter was a step away from earning his patch, but Stretch believed the brother would continue bartending even after he became a member. “What’s your poison, brother?”

As Mortician had once tended the bar. Stretch, too. John Boy’s old lady, Kendall, as well. Something about bartending in this club made it a position for life. Once, before Stretch had almost died, he’d thought about asking Outlaw to create a new position. Minister of Alcohol. Or Ambassador of Spirits.

Cash guided Daphne to the other side of the bar. She sat on one of the stools, while he positioned himself behind her and nuzzled her neck.

“Stretch?” Potter’s voice reminded him that he hadn’t answered the man’s question.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “How about some hemlock?”

“Sorry, man,” Potter answered with mock regret. “Don’t stock that.”

Cash wrapped his arms around Daphne, settling his hands on her breasts.

“Arsenic?”

Potter narrowed his eyes. The big, bearded man had been nothing but kind to everyone. However, something about him reminded Stretch of Cowboy.

The mere thought of the name tensed Stretch’s shoulders and made his entire body ache. He’d been told Outlaw had taken care of the men who’d attacked him. Yet, Stretch still worried about his safety and resented his circumstances.

He ran a finger along his scar, clenching his teeth at the feel of the raised skin.

“When you figure out what you want to drink, call me,” Potter said, stomping away.

Cash turned Daphne toward him, raining kisses along her throat and down to her breasts. He tugged one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Potter!”

At Stretch’s yell, Cash lifted his head. Capturing the asshole’s attention hadn’t been Stretch’s intention. But most of the partying had moved from the main room and into the hallways and bedrooms. The background noise floated from other areas, making this room relatively quiet.

“You telling me what the fuck you want this time around or what?”

Seeing Cash assist Daphne off the stool and start in his direction sent Stretch’s annoyance soaring. He glared at Potter. As a club officer, he deserved respect, especially from a Probate.

Potter huffed out a breath. “Still don’t know, huh? Before you call me over again, get a fucking clue about your order.”

“Asshole,” Cash gritted to Potter.

Daphne rubbed against him like a cat. He sat her on the stool, his attention on the big man behind the bar. “You want your fucking colors, talk to an officer with respect.”

“Sorry, Ghost,” Potter muttered to Cash, then gestured to Stretch. “He’s just been staring off into space for ten fucking minutes. I got more important things to get to.”

“Wrong fucking answer,” Cash drawled. “Any time an officer sits in front of you, there’s nothing and no one that takes precedence until they are seen to.”

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