Cash

  CASH

  The Barringer Brothers Series

  Tess Oliver

  Cash

  Copyright© 2014 by Tess Oliver

  Cover Design by: Nikki Hensley

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  The Barringer Brothers

  Tess Oliver

  Chapter 1

  Cash

  As my bike puffed out its last breath of exhaust, I coasted into the gas station. Stupidly, I’d raced right past the last station, not realizing that there would be a hundred mile stretch before the next one. There couldn’t have been more than a spoonful of gas left in my tank. I pulled up to the pump. It was one of those deluxe stations, complete with a market and car wash. With the endless, empty miles of highway leading to it, the owner was no doubt rolling in money.

  I swung my leg over the seat, took off my sunglasses and popped off my helmet. The breeze cooled my head instantly. Halfway through my adventure of looking for a place to belong, I’d shaved my hair off out of convenience. The air here was decidedly more coastal. According to my phone, I was only ten miles from Tucker’s Village. A friend, Mick Campbell, a retired Bedlam MC member and an old guy who smoked cigars like other people breathed air, had referred me for the job. Bentley Moore, the man I was to work for, had fought bedside Campbell in Vietnam. Campbell had never had any hard feelings toward me after I’d turned in two members for a murder my conscience just couldn’t deal with. And while I’d endured plenty of wrath and a substantial loss of blood, which had included a failed attempt on my life and several beatings that were far worse than anything my asshole father had ever doled out, new club leadership had decided to let it go. The two had never been in good standing with the club. I was free to move on with my life, a life that, up until now, had been spent between living with a father who was more monster than man, and the Bedlam Motorcycle Club where I’d learned how to defend myself from people like my dad.

  I walked into the store. My stomach was churning with emptiness, so I headed to the premade sandwiches and found a ham and cheese that didn’t look too disgusting. I grabbed a can of soda and walked to the counter. The sales clerk was an older man with thick gray eyebrows and a serious expression. “I need fifteen on pump four,” I said.

  He glanced through his store window. “Nice bike. You on a road trip?”

  “A life trip.” I opened the soda.

  He nodded as if he understood exactly. “I did that same trip. Ended up here.” Suddenly his attention was drawn to the back of the store. “You need to buy something if you use the restroom,” he yelled to someone.

  “Sorry, I don’t have money. And I’m not really sure how to take back what’s already transpired.” It was a sweet, feminine voice.

  The man shook his head in anger, but I had to smile.

  He started to ring me up and then stopped. “Excuse me.” He pushed around the edge of the counter. A girl with a mass of wavy caramel colored hair was at the door. He grabbed her arm and spun her around none too gently. “I see that water bottle under your sweatshirt.”

  Her bottom lip jutted out angrily as he reached for the water. Then her vivid blue eyes landed on me and a smile lit her face. “Sweetie pie!” she said enthusiastically. “I told you I’d be right out.”

  Just to make sure that I was sweetie pie, I glanced behind me. Yep, I was sweetie pie.

  With a confident and very enticing swing of her slim hips, she sashayed over to me and put the water bottle down on the counter next to my sandwich. Her long lashes blinked dramatically at me.

  The man, who looked even more confused than I felt, returned to the counter. His expression was silently asking if the little thief was actually with me. I nodded for him to ring up everything. She sighed and hopped up on her toes. Without any hesitation, she planted a kiss on my mouth. “Thank you so much, honey bunch.”

  I stared down at her. “Sure thing, sugar peanut.”

  She held back a smile and grabbed the bottle. As she turned to leave I reached down and gave her tight little ass a swat. She gasped and shot a less than friendly blue gaze back at me.

  “Well, lollipop,” I said, “let’s be on our way.”

  For every good reason, the shop owner watched as we walked out together.

  The girl, whose name I didn’t know but whose lips I could still feel brushing mine, turned back to me. She had a deep scar on her chin, a chin she thrust forward as she peered up at me. “Lollipop?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Don’t know why. I guess the word lickable was going through my mind as I looked at you.”

  “I don’t think lickable is a word.”

  “No? Too bad. It suits you.” I lifted my can in a goodbye gesture and walked over to fill up my bike.

  The smell of gasoline surrounded me as I watched the girl head to the highway. She put the water bottle down and reached into her pocket for something. She had my undivided attention as she reached back and pulled her thick mane of hair into a ponytail. Then she headed toward the road on foot, nursing her bottle of water.

  I filled the tank and pulled away from the pumps to eat my sandwich. In the distance, fog hovered in the sky. Tucker’s Village was right on the coast. Campbell had said it was a fishing town, and Bentley Moore had grown up there. His fishing days were over though. A string of tragedies had nearly devastated him. His wife had died of a heart attack, and his only son had drowned after falling from one of his boats. Moore had just turned seventy, and he needed someone to help him fix up some things around the house. The job came with a room. It was just what I needed. The road was becoming a less likeable place. Roadside motels and interstate rest-stops had been my home for a month, and I was coming to the end of my money and my enthusiasm for the lonely, drifter lifestyle.

  The sandwich was a flavorless mass of mushy bread and leathery ham, but it eased the hollowness in my stomach. I’d had to limit myself to one meal a day because funds were running low. If this didn’t work out, or Moore decided not to hire me, I was in trouble.

  I hopped back on the bike and pulled on my helmet and sunglasses. This part of the highway reminded me of the two lane stretch of asphalt that led to the MC compound in Nevada, deserted and seemingly endless, with little or no scenery change. I rolled out of the station and twisted the throttle.

  The slim figure of the pretty, little water thief appeared as I reached the top of a hill. She was standing with her thumb out, but when she saw a bike coming toward her, she lowered her arm and walked on.

  I rumbled past and went only a few hundred feet before turning around. I circled back and pulled up next to her. She kept walking. My bike idled loudly as I coasted
along keeping pace with her. “You might as well get on, seeing as how we’re a loving couple and all,” I said. “Where are you headed?”

  She stopped and looked my way. Every expression she shot at me had a different story and emotion behind it. She couldn’t have been much more than twenty, but it looked as if she’d already lived a hundred lives, and none of them easy. But none of the shit had killed her spirit, which she looked to have plenty of. “I’m going to Tucker’s Village.”

  “Then you’re in luck. That’s where I’m heading.” I took off my helmet and handed it to her. “Sorry if it’s a bit sweaty but beats leaving brain bits on the highway.”

  She stared at the helmet. “But what about your brain bits?”

  “I’ll try not to fall.”

  She pulled the rubber band out of her hair and yanked on the helmet.

  I reached up to tighten the strap under her chin. “What’s your name?”

  “Esme. Esme Lollipop.”

  I looked up at her.

  “Just kidding. Esme Drake.”

  “I’m Cash. And I’m not kidding. And I’m dirt poor to go along with the name.”

  “Why are you heading to the village?” she asked.

  “I’m going to see a man named Bentley Moore about a job.”

  “Oh, I love Bentley. He really needs the help too.”

  “The helmet doesn’t fit too well, but it’ll do. Climb on.”

  Her long legs swung over the seat. She leaned forward. “I suppose I should have asked this before I tucked myself in behind you, but are you by any chance a motorcycle riding serial killer? Cuz the way my day’s been going, a terrifying death at the hand of a complete stranger seems appropriate. Plus, I’ve got to say, with that shaved head and black goatee, you look sort of dangerous.”

  I peered back at her. Everything about her was even more appealing close up. “You might have asked that question before you walked up and kissed me.”

  “At that moment I was trying to save my ass. That stupid store manager was a creep. It was just a bottle of water.”

  “So, do you live in Tucker’s Village?”

  “Yep, all my life.”

  “Hold on to my waist.” I smiled back at her. “Sugar peanut.”

  She tentatively wrapped her arms around me. “What the hell is a sugar peanut?”

  “Don’t know for sure, but I’ll bet it’s lickable.” I pulled onto the highway and headed toward the shroud of fog lining the horizon.

  Esme held tightly and eventually relaxed enough to press her body against my back, and I found myself enjoying the company. Aside from one particularly limber red head, who I’d met playing pool in a bar, and a brunette named Cheyenne, who, after spending three straight days with me in a tobacco stained motel room, had accidentally dropped the complimentary motel bible on her foot and decided it was a sign and left, it had been a long, mostly lonely road trip.

  Esme tapped my shoulder and pointed to a turn off. A blue dented sign read Tucker’s Village. Someone had painted a string of yellow fish around the edges of the sign. I veered off the main highway. Rows of small, cozy houses, each worn and faded by the continuous assault from a salty ocean breeze, sat like crooked teeth along a grassy hillside. Some of the streets were dotted with tall evergreens. The main street led down between small well-kept houses, ending at an incredibly long dock that was lined with shops. Boats of every size and shape bobbed up and down along it. Seagulls darted in between the red tile roofs of the stores and the railings on the boats, filling the misty air with their screeches.

  Esme’s arm lifted and she pointed to a street. I turned the bike. “It’s the blue one with the big dog out front,” she said over the stuttering motor.

  The house was the one on the block that neighbors would avoid looking at. The front yard was a thin forest of weeds. A layer of opaque grime covered every small window, and the only window coverings were the giant blobs of bird shit that had landed on the panes.

  A giant dog was rolling on its back kicking up a cloud of dust on the nonexistent lawn. It hopped up, with both ears turned inside out, at the sound of the bike. A guy, who I hadn’t noticed until he stood up from the top step, shot an unwelcoming scowl at me as I pulled up to the house. A beer can dangled loosely from his fingers. He was covered in ink from neck to knuckles on both arms. His chin, neck and forehead were all the same width and he looked like a guy who had far more guts than sense.

  “What the fuck do you want?” He lumbered toward us, and I stood over the bike. Esme hopped off the Harley and lifted off the helmet. “Esme? What the hell? Where’s the jeep? Who the fuck is this?”

  “Go to hell, Seton. That stupid jeep broke down ten miles back, and this was my ride home.” She turned to me. “Thanks again.” She pulled the water bottle out of her coat pocket. “For the water too.”

  Just then, a man who looked to be in his late forties, but a hard earned forties, came out of the house with that same ‘what the fuck do you want’ look as the guy with the beer can. This guy wasn’t holding a can, but his belly and red face assured me he’d already guzzled plenty in his lifetime.

  “Dad, this man gave me a ride home, so take that murderous look off your face. The jeep is out on the highway about ten miles away.” As she turned to me a long curl of toffee brown hair fell across her face. She pushed it away. I was trying to make sense of how a girl like her could possibly belong here.

  “Are you sure I brought you to the right place?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, I’m sure, and the fact that you’re still standing here with these two charmers staring down at you puts you up high on the bravery list.” The older man stepped forward. A beard and moustache covered half his face, but his eyes were set deep and angry in his ruddy skin. “Dad, this is Cash. He’s here to see Bentley about a job.”

  The man looked at me and the bike and then laughed. “That poor old shit’s house is falling in around his head, and he’s hiring some biker to work for him?”

  I glanced pointedly at the questionable building standing on his lot, the only lot on the entire street without a spot of green. “I’m pretty good with tools. Hopefully, I’ll be able to help keep his house off his head.”

  The beer drinker stepped closer. He resembled Esme’s dad but with less wrinkles. He had to be her brother. “You with a club?” he grunted. Even though I hadn’t worn my cut since I’d left the Bedlam compound, something in my appearance, coupled with the Harley, always seemed to trigger that same question.

  “Retired,” I said, which earned me a suspicious squint.

  “Just turn back the way you came and you’ll end up on Moonstone Road. Bentley’s house is yellow with white trim and his orange cat is usually sitting on the front stoop.” Esme turned to her father. “I’ve got to work the late shift, so you three are on your own for dinner.” She headed to the house, and the dog bounded after her with a twirling tail.

  “That’s just fucking great,” her dad called to her.

  I started the bike. Dad and son backed up a few steps and stared as I turned around and drove away.

  Chapter 2

  Esme

  Hot water shot out from the mineral clogged showerhead. “Damnit!” I grabbed the edge of the shower curtain and peered around it. Bodhi was just zipping up his fly. “Get the hell out of here!”

  He held up his hands. “I had to piss. What was I supposed to do, stand in the front yard?”

  “I’ve seen you do it before.”

  He smiled proudly. “That’s true. I have.”

  “Maybe one of you could fix the damn second toilet, so I don’t have to worry about being scalded in the shower. Now get out.”

  “I’m leaving. You think I want to see my sister naked? Shit, I’d have nightmares for a week.”

  “Bodhi! Get the fuck out!”

  The bathroom door shut behind him. I rinsed out my hair, a long and dull task since I had enough hair for two heads. I’d been juggling three jobs for a year. After already miss
ing a day of pay yesterday to go visit my mom, which had ended up in a day of me scrubbing her disgusting house from top to bottom and then crashing on her couch from exhaustion, I’d lost more hours at the candy shop this morning. I was going to be short on pay this week. I hadn’t planned on spending the night at her house, but I’d been too tired to drive home and Mom had been extra needy. Since the jeep had broken down, it was a good thing. Otherwise, I’d have been walking on a dark highway and there would have been no beefy, hot motorcycle man to come to my rescue.

  I had less than a half hour to get to Frank’s Bar and Grill. If I was late, he’d hand Maddie some of my bigger tables. And I hated that idea, mostly because I hated Maddie. And it would mean less tips. I’d been saving money for a year to rent the old lighthouse keeper’s cabin overlooking the bay. I needed to get out of this house for good or go mad trying.

  Drying my hair was another endless task. I twisted it into two long braids and pulled on my work clothes. They smelled like grilled onions and barbecue sauce. The one day trip to see my mom had put me completely off schedule. I hadn’t had time to do laundry, and now I had to go to work smelling like chicken wings.

  Twister was waiting for me outside the bathroom door. I kissed the top of his fuzzy head, and his long claws tapped the floor of the hall as we headed to the kitchen. I had to eat something. My stomach was painfully empty from the long walk and lack of food at my mom’s house.

  Dad was sitting at the table deep in discussion with Seton and Bodhi. He looked up as I walked in. “Didn’t know you were spending the night at your mom’s. I couldn’t even call you since you decided not to have a cell phone.”