Page 8 of Smoke

Omen takes out a cigarette from my pack and snaps it in half. “Ain’t no one in Crimson Valley paying more than twenty dollars for a glass of Scotch. You weren’t going to make jack shit.”

“Are we done here? Or will you not be satisfied until I have nothing to serve my customers?” I glare at a spot on the bar, refusing to make eye contact with any of them.

“Nah, I think you understand now. We’ll be setting up shop here until we find the mole in our organization.” Hawk comes from behind the bar and pauses behind me.

Great. I can’t even argue or he’ll probably burn the whole place down. I’m fucked. “Whatever.”

Scarrow and Omen both stand to leave but not before Omen takes another dig. He crushes the rest of my pack of cigarettes in his palm. “You should quit.”

I snort but keep myself in check. I’m still in the danger zone with these three rabid fucking bastards. “Thanks for your concern.”

“I’ll send you the bill tomorrow,” Scarrow taunts.

I swear if they don’t stop there’s going to be another triple homicide tonight. “For what exactly? My overdue therapy?”

He laughs. “No, but that’s a good point too. For the liquor. You’ll be ordering it from us from now on. And it looks like you’re running low on a few.”

Fucking bastards. I’m going to kill them. I grit my teeth. “What about my other vendors? I have contracts and outstanding orders.”

“We’ll take care of all that, mama. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” Omen flicks his fingers against my temple, leaving me stunned.

They’re almost to the door when Hawk turns back around. “Oh, I almost forgot. Tomorrow. Sunday dinner. Don’t be late.”

If I thought I was going to commit murder before…. “I don’t go to those anymore, Hawk.”

He smirks, but as usual it doesn’t reach his eyes. No, his look is one of pure fucking disgust. “Well, you do now. The level of disrespect your daddy tolerates is beyond me. But no more. Not while I’m around. It’s gonna be just like old times, Cherry.”

Fuck. Me.

As soon as they’re outside, I bolt the door. A part of me wants to cry, but I know if I start now, I’ll never stop.

I groan as I survey the mess behind the bar. It takes me another two hours to clean it. I sweep up the broken glass and mop the floor for the second time tonight, cursing the entire time. But no matter how much soapy water I throw on it, the stench of booze is pungent. It’s a good thing I’m closed tomorrow. It will give me an extra day to air it out.

I drag my feet upstairs and let out a tightly held sigh of relief when I enter my apartment. The scent of candles and incense from last night still linger, a comforting aroma that wraps me up like a big hug.

After taking a long hot shower, I slip into a pair of shorts and a tank top. I start to climb into bed when I remember the promise I made earlier.

Fuck.

I slide my top down to my waist and lay back against the headboard. Holding my phone up in the selfie position, I pinch my right nipple so hard it swells and reddens. I snap the pic and send it.

Happy now?

Typing bubbles appear, stop, then reappear for what seems like forever.

No. I want the other one.

I sigh and do the same to my other nipple. I just want to go to sleep, not argue semantics.

Bye, Kane.

I’m going to cum so hard looking at these tonight, Cherry… Sweet dreams.

Yeah, my dreams better be as sweet as fucking pie because my waking life is turning into a real nightmare.

Sundays used to be my favorite day of the week. I’d get to put on one of my pretty dresses and sit in the front pew. Everyone treated me like I was a princess. Well, in Crimson Valley, being the daughter of a preacher was pretty much the same thing. Here, they love their bibles as much as they love the sins they commit in the Lord’s name.

I stopped going after my momma died. Didn’t quite see the point. Then Hawk and his momma started coming around for Sunday dinners. With a little coaxing, Miss Riley got me into that front row pew again. But I agreed on one condition. No more pretty dresses.