“Nice,” he says.
The band kicks into another song. “Locked Out Of Heaven”, by Bruno Mars.
If I weren’t here on the job, it’d be the kind of pub I’d happily come to. It’s a shame the dealers are trying to stake their claim here. They’re ruining what could be the best pub in town.
I take the drinks over to Chops, who’s solo, and hand him the glasses.
“Cheers,” he says, and places them down on two ratty beer coasters.
“I might give the pool up tonight, man, otherwise I won’t have any money left,” I say, and hand him a fifty-dollar note. “Save my money for other things.”
“Wise move,” he says and places the money in his pocket.
I lift my chin towards him. “Catcha ’round.”
I walk back to the bar, and take a few gulps of the pale ale.
“Well, that seemed to work out well,” Mick says.
I nod, and look back over at the table, and there’s no sight of the BBQ Brigade.
Good.
Laughter bursts through the front door in the form of a curvy purple/red-haired woman, in an old-fashioned style hot-pink dress, which has a full skirt.
Gabby.
Her purple lips are on display as she smiles brightly, her arm around the slim shoulders of Sarah, who I recognise from the café.
Good on them for getting out. Gabby certainly needs a break.
Then, I see her. My heart kicks out of time in my chest.
I’ve seen my share of good looking women, but Willow is the epitome of beauty. She doesn’t even have to try.
Her hair falls in loose waves, a pale pink sundress clinging to her body, flowing mid-way down her thigh. When I spy her trademark white sneakers, I chuckle to myself.
Hates the heels.
She hiccups—trademark Willow—and then falls in line with the girls at the opposite corner of the bar.
As happy as I am to see her, now I have to justify why I’m here, when I told her I was working late.
Which isn’t a lie.
I fucking hate having to make excuses. The bigger fucking problem here is that shit could get complicated.
Why didn’t she tell me she was coming out?
“Something funny, Palmer?” Mick asks, elbowing me in the ribs.
Huh? Oh, right.
“We’ve got some beauties at one o’clock,” I mutter. He’ll be happy to see Gabby in all her glory, but I’m sure he’ll be as pleased as I am about the timing.
He looks in their direction. The stupid-arsed grin on his face grows wider and more pathetic by the second.
“Don’t get too excited. This isn’t necessarily a good thing.”
His smile curls back. “Yeah,” he says and frowns.
“Cheers, girls!” Gabby screeches. All three of them slam back a pink drink in a shot glass. Willow’s shoulders shudder afterwards, and she giggles as she wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
It’s beautiful to see her out, letting her hair down. Little does she know, I’m watching her like a hungry hawk.
“We’ve got about twenty-five minutes,” Mick says.
I gulp a few mouthfuls of beer, and rub my hand over my chin. “Yeah. I guess we should say hi to the girls, and then you can cover me when it’s time.”
“Like how?” he asks.
“I don’t give a shit. Dance on the bar for all I care?”
The twangy guitar kicks off a very familiar song: “Sweet Home Alabama”. The girls squeal their little hearts out and rush to the dance floor.
“You dance, don’t you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at his unsteady gaze.
“Been a long time, though,” he says and strokes his goatie.
For me too.
“Well, I’d say it’s time to saddle up, because I’m sayin’ hello to my girl.”
Mick growls something under his breath, and follows me out to the dance floor.
Gabby’s eyes widen, as she spots me first, but I put a finger to my lips. She gives me a tiny nod, and continues dancing.
I slide my hands over the soft fabric clinging to Willow’s waist and pull her into my body. Her delicate, flowery fragrance surrounds me in a sexy fog.
“You sure you know the words to this one, Blondie?” I say quietly, my mouth on her ear. I can’t resist kissing the soft nape of her neck.
She shudders and turns in my arms, swaying wistfully to the beat. Her smile couldn’t be any brighter. Her fingers weave together behind my neck, and she plants a loud kiss to my mouth, leaving a sweet berry taste on my lips.
“This one, I know for sure,” she says with a wink.
“Can I have this dance?” Mick asks Gabby beside us. He offers his outstretched hand. She places one hand on her heart, and extends her other hand to him. He kisses her knuckles in a ridiculous display of gentleman-ship.
She tugs on his hand, forcing him to take a step closer. “Get over here, Michael,” she huffs. He gives me a ridiculous grin and sweeps his arm around her waist, settling it on the curve of her lower back. A young guy with short black hair moves in front of Sarah, and strikes up a conversation with her as they slowly move to the beat.
For a few songs Willow and I move to the music, our bodies hard against each other. I have to start thinking about boats and work, to calm my dick.
The dick wants what the dick wants.
Work.
Seagulls.
Bait.
The old timber clock at the end of the bar tells me it’s almost time. I dig my elbow into Mick’s side. With a slight chin lift, I know I have his attention.
A female vocalist with short dark hair moves up behind the microphone, and opens up her set with “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”.
“I’m out on this one,” I tell Willow. I unhook her hands from behind my neck and lower them to her sides.
“Aw, stay!” she says, and sways into me. She pouts her lips and I almost forget that there’s something pretty fucking important I have to do. She hiccups again, and takes a step back. I think she’s had enough to drink. I’ll have to tell Gabby to take it easy on her with the shots.
“You have fun with the girls, and I’ll be back. Just promise me you’ll save me another dance.” I kiss her softly on the lips.
“Promise,” she says, and turns to Sarah, who curls an arm around her shoulders.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WILLOW
I stumble into the alleyway and lean against the brick wall, out of reach of the glaring floodlight a few feet away. I need a good dose of air. This is why I rarely have more than a couple of drinks. I’m such a lightweight. Mind you, I’m feeling all squishy and warm inside, and my man’s here. Life hasn’t been this rosy in the longest time. Finally I’m beginning to see the light, the one I’ve been searching for.
In the distance I see two men talking, standing close. Their voices are low, a mumbling of words I can’t understand. I narrow my gaze and take a few steps closer. The taller one’s back is to me, standard white T-shirt and jeans, but I take a moment to gaze over his strong shoulders, the shadows falling on the curve of his large bicep. Wait—Ryan?
He reaches into his back pocket, and hands the other man what looks like a wad of cash. He takes a small plastic bag from him and tucks into his pocket where the money came from.
Oh no.
No, no, no, no
. This is not happening.
I can’t believe it. Ryan is a drug user.
How did I not know?
The other guy, skinny with messy strawberry-blond hair, walks farther down the laneway, disappearing into the shadows. Ryan turns in my direction. He baulks ever-so-slightly when his eyes meet mine, and then takes long, purposeful strides towards me.
I stumble back, widening the distance between us.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He reaches out and cups my upper arms with his large hands.
“You said,” I spit out, digging my index finger into his rock-hard chest.
Ryan winces and narrows his eyes. He squeezes my shoulders and pulls me closer. “Said what?”
“You told me you were a good guy.”
“Willow—”
I point in the direction the shady character left. “That right there, what I just saw doesn’t look real
good
to me.”
“Not what you think, Willow.” His voice is firm, unwavering.
“Show me what’s in your pocket, then. Prove to me that this is all in my head.”
Ryan’s body tenses. His hold on me tightens. The longer he pauses, the more the anger and fire inside me grows. Blood pumps loudly in my ears, and my heart wants to jump out of my chest.
No. I’m not doing this. No matter what I feel for this man who made me open up, hope for a future with someone—this is a deal-breaker. I’ve done this before. Never, ever again.
With both hands I push against his chest with all my strength. He lets go of me and takes a step back, his mouth agape.
“Drugs ruin lives … they ruined
my
life,” I choke out, and then break into a sob. Hot tears stream down my face as I step backwards to the exit door.
He grabs my wrist, the look in his eyes conflicted. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except a forced breath.
I throw a flippant hand in the air. “I don’t do lies either, so best you not say anything.”
“Willow,” he calls after me. The door slams shut behind me, leaving my heart out there in that alleyway.
I powerwalk towards Gabs and Mick, who are locked in a gaze. They sway to a slow song on the dance floor. “Gabs, we need to go,” I manage to get out, without a sob cutting in halfway.
“What the hell?” she says. Her brows bunch in concern. “What’s happened?” She wipes her finger over my damp right cheek. I shy away from her before she gets a chance to touch the other. Instead, I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand.
“Now, Gabs,” I say, more forceful this time.
She pulls out of Mick’s embrace and steps towards me. “Sorry, Mick,” I mutter.
His expression turns from a soft smile to some form of shock, as his jaw goes slack. He blinks rapidly and looks towards the door to the alleyway, and then back at me.
“Let’s go, honey,” Gabs says and nods. I tighten my hold on her hand until we’re safely in a taxi and on our way home.
****
RYAN
If someone had beaten me black and blue and left me in that alleyway to die, I’d be feeling a damn sight better than I do now.
Of all the people to catch me.
Sweet suffering fuck!
This shit can’t be real.
Willow has to know the truth, but if I tell her it could jeopardise the whole sting.
Talk about a rock and a fucking hard place.
I scrape my hands over my face and rub my eyes. I need to get out of here, but Christ knows what kind of hell is waiting for me inside.
I yank open the heavy door and head back in. There’s no sign of the girls.
Way to kill the party, Ryan.
Stalking my way to Mick at the end of the bar, his brows raise in a silent question.
“What the fuck happened, hotshot?” he says through gritted teeth, close to my ear.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I knock back the last of my beer, and slam the glass down on the counter. It’s a miracle it doesn’t splinter to pieces.
“Righto,” Mick says.
I make my way out the back to where I parked my Ute. I might be over the limit to drive, but I’ll be fucked if I care right now. Without another word, Mick gets in beside me and is silent, thank fuck, until we get inside my apartment.
“Seriously, what the fuck happened in that alleyway?” he yells.
“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” I say, and drag the dining chair out and sit. I rake my fingers through my hair and rest my head in my hands.
“You get the gear?”
“Yes, I got the fuckin’ gear,” I growl, tossing the small bag with white powder on the table.
He picks it up and shakes the packet, levelling the contents.
“That’s good, Palmer, but what happened with the girl?”
The girl
. What’s happened is that I fucked it up completely. After seeing her there tonight, I never should’ve gone through with the buy. I should’ve kept this shit away from her, as far as possible. But there’s no way I could’ve cancelled the deal. We need this scum, and any resistance or hesitation on my part would’ve closed the door.
What I need most right now is to get my head around the events of tonight.
Alone
. There’s gotta be a way to fix it, but right now my head is completely fucked up. I can’t think straight.
“She saw the exchange go down, and I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about it, okay? Let’s just focus on work, huh?”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “’Kay. So he sold you that many grams, just like that?”
“Yup.”
“I can’t believe the brazen balls on this prick. You’re a nobody in his eyes. Never met you before, and he was ready to do business so easily.”
“Clearly this scumbag isn’t known for his brains. He’d obviously been dipping into stocks, because he was half off his head. He gave me his number too, so we’ll get another tap set up.”
“Nice work. I’ll check the surveillance and see what the footage looks like.”
“Good. We done here?” I spit out.
He scoops up the number and plastic bag from the table. “Yeah, we’re done, Palmer. I’ll send the gear off to analyse the purity and organise the wire tap.”
“I’ll be late tomorrow,” I add as he opens the door.
He nods, and gives me a genuine smile as he grips my shoulder. “Sure. Let me know if I can do anything,” he offers.
I nod, and lock the door after him. I make myself a shitty instant coffee and sit and stare into space, as I work out what the fuck I’m going to say to Willow.
****
I pound my fist against the door. It’s right on open time. Why the hell is the door still locked?
Gabby opens the door, and the metal bell chimes. Her eyes burn with rage, and her bright red lips are pursed. She looks about ready to punch me in the face.
“I need to talk to her,” I say, my breath laboured. It’s not like I ran here. What the fuck?
She gives me the evil eye and shakes her head ever so slowly.
“You,” she growls. “I don’t know what the hell you did to my girl, but I’m about to go all crazy on your muscly arse.”