A fist of fucking titanium flies from out of nowhere and slams me square in the chest. “Ow.” My tone is pure what the hell?
It’s true, I know better than to pick a fight with Jess. And I am technically the grown-up. Well, with her being eighteen and all, I guess she’s a grown-up too. But I swear to God, that woman gets under my skin like lava-coated chiggers. Or maybe it’s the guilt.
Brian and I know the price of his extended leave. It was a deal with the devil. Saying our next mission will be dangerous is like saying the Pope sometimes prays. There’s a good chance we’ll never see our families again, and the last thing I needed was to face off with Jess and her big, blue, soul-searching eyes. Hell, I can’t even bear to look my mother in the eye.
Guns blazing, Brian lays into me. “You fire my sister five days before our next deployment?”
I didn’t fire her. She quit. But with Brian glaring me down, there’s no use arguing that technicality. Flustered, I point a finger at him. “This is your fault.”
“My fault?”
“For giving me the fucking third degree and accusing me of making a play for Jess. Which she overheard. Thanks a fucking heap.”
“Ah.” He flicks a speck of dust from the desk. “How was I supposed to know you’d have that conversation with the door opened?”
I wave both arms in the air. “Now you know. And Jess was eavesdropping. Again. Her own bad habit brought this on.”
Brian gives me a don’t fuck with the Bishops face. “I can’t have your back if things aren’t square with Jess.”
I rub at the ice pick driving into the base of my neck. “Well, technically, she quit.”
When Brian hits me this time, he doesn’t hold back. The man packs a punch like a battering ram. “Fix it, fucker.”
I look at him as if a dick sprouted from the top of his head. “How? You know your sister. She’s earned every last flaming strand of that red hair of hers. Fuck, we haven’t spoken in years, and this is our reunion.” I huff and lift my chin to the sky. “She hates me.”
He shrugs. “Well, considering your first conversation in years is to threaten her job, her hating you seems validated.”
“Is it my fault you made me say I wouldn’t make moves on your sister with my outside voice?”
“Is it my fault you’ll hump everything from a hydrant to a lamppost, and it wasn’t exactly a stretch?”
I gesture at the door. “Clearly, you had nothing to worry about.” I adjust my pants from behind the desk. Yeah, that’s a bald-faced lie.
“Clearly.” Brian shakes his head. “You can’t talk to her like she’s twelve. She isn’t.”
Duh. One look at her ass told me that.
I remain stone-faced as Brian continues to lambast me. “You don’t understand. Jess is stressed, too. With all the shit she’s going through—” He clams up.
My ears perk up. “What’s she going through?” I ask, tiptoeing as I pry.
He shakes it off. “Nothing. Just, er, woman stuff.”
Enough said. The last thing I need to hear about is the world of Jess’s uterus, though it does explain her flying off the fucking handle. With Jess, Moody is her middle name. Plus, with how full her breasts are and—
Where the fuck did that come from? I scramble to wipe the image from my mind. Can we change the subject already?
Brian drones on. “She’s not a child anymore. And you’re only filling in for the day, dickwad. Don’t make me call your mommy on you.”
“I know she’s not a child.”
While the very full-grown woman was busting my balls, it took every sheer ounce of willpower to avoid staring at those full, pouty lips. Fuck, she can’t come back here. At least, not while I’m here. This is my funeral in the making.
Hmm. I think it through. Because I also can’t not bring her back. Brian would murder me—Saw movie style.
I offer a solution. “She can consider herself on paid vacation until we leave. This way, the two of you can spend some time together.”
And she’ll be far the hell away from me.
Brian socks me again. Playfully, this time, but considering he gave it all he had the last round, I wince. “I guess you’d better find her and tell her that.”
My eyes shoot wide. “You’re her brother. Why don’t you find her and tell her?”
“Because it’s not my mess. It’s yours. And we have our entire next mission to clean up after each other.” He winks, the smartass, and heads for the door. “You know my baby sis would love to tend bar,” he sings at me on his way out.
I throw a stress ball at his head. And miss.
He chuckles. “And they call you a sharpshooter,” he calls out as he closes the door behind him.
Fucker.
I scroll through my phone until I find Jess’s number, filed under “CG.” I shoot her a text and wait her out.
Can we talk?
An hour later, after a thorough review of Zac’s new inventory system, I check my phone. Still no response from Jess, so I try again.
I really need to talk to you.
By the time I’ve finished reviewing next month’s menus with the staff, getting the seating arrangements for the Whitney wedding changed to accommodate nearly two hundred people instead of one hundred people, and reconciling the accounting for the month, my brain is fried.
I blow out a breath. Not a word from Choir Girl.
So, I do the unthinkable. I apologize.
Sorry I was an asshat. Please call back.
A text pings back, but the small surge of relief is instantly snuffed out. It isn’t Jess. It’s Brian. Even his text looks unhinged.
Did you talk to Jess???
Brian sends me a screenshot. Her phone finder app has her pinned on possibly the worst street in Albany. Without even speaking to him, I know Brian’s about to lose his shit. Hell, my heart’s beating out of my rib cage, and I’m half a breath away from losing my own shit.
What the fuck is she doing there?
Keep calm, I tell myself. If I’m panicked, Brian will panic tenfold.
I lock my voice into casual mode and call. “I’ve texted her several times. She hasn’t returned my texts, but that’s nothing new, considering her nickname for me is sometimes Satan. Have you tried calling her?”
“Yes, dumbass. Tried that first. I’m heading that way, but I’m home.” The Bishop home is buried in a southwest pocket of Adirondack Park—at least an hour and a half from Albany. His voice rises, unnerved. “I need you to—”
“I’ll take care of it. I’m leaving now.”
I grab the nearest keys and rush out the front, nearly plowing down Anita. “Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”
“Wait.” She blocks my path. “Did Jess find you?”
“Yes,” I grumble, irritated. Now I just need to find her.
“Oh, good. I know she was worried about getting that watch for Brian.”
Impatient, I mutter, “What watch?” as I move around her and make my way to the truck.
Anita keeps pace, shoving her phone in my face. “This watch.”
I check out the price tag. All her paychecks for two months wouldn’t cover that watch. “How is she paying for a four-thousand-dollar watch?”
“She isn’t. Some guy is selling his old one.”
Of course. Because that’s what people do. Sell four-thousand-dollar watches for a fraction of the price. It happens every day.
I get in the truck, slam the gas, punch the dashboard, and shout, “Fuuuck!”
* * *
The sun is nearly gone, and a small part of me is relieved to find Jess’s clunky little hatchback car.
It’s parked in front of what seems to be a house converted into a bar. There are a dozen bikes outside—Harleys, mostly. A few people are lined up at the end of the block. By the looks of them, I can only assume that’s where the line starts for hookers and your hardcore drugs of choice.
Shit.
I reach under the seat and grab the Glock, a move that could get me arrested and dishonorably discharged as neither the gun nor the vehicle is technically mine. They’re my father’s. Still, I untuck my shirt and shove the weapon in the back of my waistband because I have no idea what I’m walking into, and this gun is the only thing watching my six. Determined to the core, I ignore the blaring warning signs going off in my head.
Jess first. Consequences later.
I head inside. It’s dark and reeks of asscrack and beer, with the aroma of cigars and weed floating through the air. Here’s hoping they don’t pee-test me before I deploy.
When my eyes adjust, I study the room, quickly assessing the occupants, potential weapons, and exits. The place is filled with a few dozen men, but no Jess. Ice water drips down the back of my neck, and my heart drums louder as I make my way around the space.
What if she isn’t here? Where else can she be?
I pull out my phone, eager enough to ask if anyone’s seen her and gauge their honesty by the look in their eyes. I’m sure there’s a recent photo on our website, and when I pull it up, I freeze.
Red tendrils frame a smiling face that’s all lips and eyes and a sprinkling of freckles that skyrockets her beauty. What the hell?
No wonder Brian is worried. He should be. She’s a fucking wet dream wrapped up in a girl-next-door smile, and this is no place for her.
Like a hawk, I circle the room in a dizzying spin that comes up empty. Desperate, I scan the bar full of hardened men. If Choir Girl is here, I need to get her the fuck out.
Going person to person? Probably the quickest way to get my ass kicked if I rattle the wrong cage. I make my way to the bar, in the hopes that a few twenties might jog the bartender’s memory. I take the nearest seat at the far corner and wait my turn.
“I’ll be right with you,” I hear from the other end. Her voice is angelic and sweet, and music to my fucking ears.
Bathed in relief, I exhale and text Brian.
I’ve got a lock. She’s fine: I’ll make sure she gets home safe.
Brian’s text is cutthroat.
Return without her and lose your balls.
I smirk. As if I would leave her. But I’m not about to poke the bear.
Roger that.
“What are you doing here?” Jess asks as she approaches me, half-surprised, half-confused, her big blue eyes staring me down. She nibbles her lower lip, and that’s the spot. The one I’m suddenly dying to taste.
Who said that?
This is Jess. My best friend’s sister. His baby sister. And, for the most part, my arch-nemesis. A girl who curses the very ground I walk on.
I take a beat and breathe through the swell in my heart and the twitch in my pants. What the hell is wrong with me? I mentally shake myself. This is Choir Girl.
No. Just . . . no.
“What are you doing here?” I spit out in accusation.
Two crystal-blue eyes narrow hard. “I needed a job.”
I feel a grin emerge, wide and goofy. “Well, I’m here for the asshat convention.” I look around in jest. “Am I early?”
Arms folded, she blinks at me, deadpan.
Wow. Not even a smile. She really does hate me.
“You weren’t answering your calls or texts. Brian was worried.” So was I, but no need to bring that up now.
Regret fills her face, and she pulls her phone out of her pocket, pressing the button hard. “It must have died.” Businesslike, she says, “Well, as you can see, I’m fine. What can I get you, sir?”
I huff out a laugh. Sir. As if she can create a professional distance between us with a sir. Jess is going to make this way harder than it has to be, and there’s nothing I can do but sit back, eat every ounce of crap she slings my way, and compliment the chef.
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right and—”
Her lips purse as she shakes her head. “Sorry. This seat is for paying customers.”
I swear to God, ditching her or fucking her would be easier than this shit. I mentally thrash myself about the head and shoulders with a two-by-four for even thinking the latter.
Annoyed, I grumble and check out the bar. I need to place an order because, at the moment, I’m out of options. I happen to be very attached to my balls, so there’s no way I’m leaving without her. “Whatever’s on tap,” I reply.
A second later, a tall lager is presented before me. I admire it for a minute. Thick collar of foam. A perfect pour. I sip, blown away by the flavor.
“It’s good. What is it?”
“Chocolate lager. A combination of light and sweet malt gives it a richer, nuttier flavor, with a smidge of chocolate. I recommended it a month ago, but no one listened.”
I take another long, satisfying swallow and raise a brow. “You’ve tasted it?”
“I read about it. It’s a huge trend in upscale dining. And there’s a local brewer who can private label it for the restaurant. But what do I know?” She sighs and taps the bar. “That’ll be three dollars when you’re done.”
When she walks away to deal with other customers, I plant my ass deeper in the seat. Little does she know, I’m not going anywhere.
By the time I’ve had two beers, a mediocre club sandwich, and a large plate of cheese fries that Jess eventually nibbles at, she’s speaking to me again. More relaxed, less ax-murdery. I know her weaknesses and can feel the barbed wire slowly melting away.
Chatting with Jess like this is just . . . weird. I’ve known this girl all my life, but up until now, it’s like I’ve never known her at all. I mean, beyond the whole hate you thing. Hell, I didn’t even realize how many of Donovan’s social media images were her work. Why didn’t I know that? Oh, yeah, because I’m gone two years at a stretch, and whenever I’m around her, I’m a dick.
She holds up her wrist. A large, clunky watch dangles from her thin arm. “I’m having it engraved,” she says, almost daydreamy. “It’ll say, ‘Our path may change as life goes on, but our bond is ever strong.’”
I eye the narrow links skeptically. “Will all that fit on it?”
Nodding, she shows me the clasp. “Right here. In very small print,” she says, and we both laugh.
“It’s a beautiful gift, Jess.”
Her smile is wide and full of teeth, sporting an adorable overbite that I never get to see. “Did you just give me a compliment?”
Did I? Bring Jess a bouquet of kudos instead of a ton of shit? Wow, how times have changed.
I ignore her question and stack another compliment on the pile. Why not? I’m on a roll. “So, you got a watch and a job from the same guy? You’re quite the multitasker.”
She beams with a shrug. “It’s just for tonight. He was shorthanded. But I can now officially say I’ve tended a bar.”
Part of my heart squeezes. Jess should have had that at Donovan’s, not here. Zac said we should give her a chance, Tyler was undecided, and I was fucking Switzerland.
Well, no longer.
An old man wheels his way behind the bar. By the tattoo on his neck, he’s a Marine veteran. His chair is narrow enough to maneuver the tight space, and he does it with practiced ease.
“Thanks for filling in, kid.” He hands her an envelope—probably full of cash. “You can take off. These last customers are like family. They can help themselves.”
She shakes his hand. “Thanks for the opportunity, Mr. Adler. I really enjoyed it.”
“Buzz,” he says insistently. “Everyone calls me Buzz.” He frowns. “I wish I had a regular job for you, kid.”
“That’s all right,” I tell him. “She’s got a job waiting for her in Saratoga Springs. A bartending one.”
“Really?” she asks, not masking her excitement at all.
“Really,” I say with a firm nod. “After you take off on a short paid vacation. Spend a few days with your brother.”
Jess’s star-lit eyes capture mine, and I feel it to my soul.
This girl is gorgeous, and I’m a goner. And that’s not beer goggles talking. That’s a little too much Jess time sinking into my heart. Regret swims through my chest. She makes me wish I were sticking around.
“Come on,” I say. “Your phone is dead. You’ll need a navigator. I’ll lead you home.”
For nearly the entire drive home, Jess’s car stays at a tight distance to mine. I know she’s nervous and probably has no idea where she is until we hit the familiar road past Donovan’s. She passes me, waving as she mouths a thank you.
I could easily veer off at the next road and head home, but I can’t. Instead, I follow Jess for forty-three minutes until she arrives safely in her driveway.
I’ve spent more nights in this part of the Adirondacks than I can count. And despite what Jess usually says, I can count pretty high. With no city lights to outshine the stars, the sky twinkles brightly, a sea of diamonds against a backdrop of velvet night.
Jess parks, but I keep the engine on. This isn’t a date, dumbass I remind myself. It’s just a best friend looking out for Brian’s baby sis.
I roll down the window and paint on a scowl. “Bartending on a trial basis. You’ll start next week.”
Cocking her hip, she crosses her arms. “How long of a trial?”
I huff, feigning irritation. “I don’t know. Do you think you can last more than a month without spilling chocolate milk all over the rug?”
Her smirk is adorable. “No promises.” After a long beat of her standing and me staring, she breaks the silence. “You didn’t have to look after me all night.”
“Well, I needed to make sure you were safe.” Did that sound weird? I quickly add, “Since your brother threatened my balls and all.”
She nods with a soft smile before leaning down until we’re suddenly face-to-face. Eye to eye. Fuck, any closer and we’d be mouth-to-mouth. Thunder pounds my chest, and—what the hell—are my hands sweating?
I swallow hard. “Jess—”
“I need something from you, okay?”
Frowning, I say slowly, “Okay . . .”
“I know your next mission is dangerous.”
I sweep the impending danger under the rug. “As dangerous as any of them,” I say with a weak shake of my head.
“Liar,” she breathes, and, fuck, what do I do? This girl knows when I’m lying, and right now, I’m telling her the lie of all lies. Her sad blue eyes hit mine. “Look out for Brian. I can’t lose him, too.”
Her request hits me like a wrecking ball to the gut. I feel her parents’ funeral all over again. I miss them, and it hurts, so I can’t imagine what she’s going through. I need to talk to Tyler and Zac. Make sure they look after her.
Before my tightening heart makes me a basket case before her eyes, I steel my resolve. “I will. I swear. I—”
But before I can say another word, her lips press against mine. Kissing me. Choir Girl is kissing me, and it’s . . . everything. With each soft caress of her sweet mouth on mine, I die. And live. Any second now, my heart will pound clear out of my chest and take flight. And don’t even get me started on the relentless throb in my pants.
I feel things for Jess that I don’t want to feel—that I shouldn’t feel—but I can’t stop feeling. And when she pulls away, it rips the oxygen from my lungs. I summon every ounce of willpower and strength not to keep her. Lock her in my arms. Never let her go.
Her words are a whisper. “It’s not a blood oath, but a swear sealed with a kiss will have to do.” I blink through a haze until she giggles. “I’m not getting stitches,” she says jokingly.
We both laugh, and I want to kiss her again. Touch her. Taste her. Tell her . . . tell her what? In five days, Brian and I are gone. There’s not a promise I can give her that’s worth the breath it’s spoken on.
Still, I can’t leave it at that. I have to give her something in case I don’t—
My voice is gruff. “Hold out your hand.” She does, her smile wary as she watches with curious eyes. I reach into my shirt. “I’ve got one better,” I say before yanking the dog tags from my neck.
She tries pushing them back. “What are you doing?”
I place them in her hand, closing her fingers around them. “Giving you my word that I’ll watch after Brian. And every time you wonder, I want you to look at these and know I’ve got his back.” I wipe a rogue tear from her cheek and steal one last innocent kiss. “Good night, Choir Girl.”
“Good night, Sharpshooter,” she whispers. My nose rubs hers as she murmurs, “Watch your six.”
I stare after her as she heads into the house, watching her sweet six as my little arch-enemy strolls away with my heart. I don’t know where or how or when, but I know this.
That kiss was not our last. It can’t be.
Or maybe that’s just me, clinging to hope beyond hope that this next mission won’t be the death trap we all believe it to be. That Brian and I will watch over each other and return home safe and sound.
That I’ll keep my promise to Choir Girl. And maybe even earn myself another kiss.
* * *
* * *
Thank you for reading the Prequel to MARKED, the first in BOYS OF BISHOP MOUNTAIN series.
Grab the entire Mark & Jess romance here >> 1-CLICK MARKED