Persuasion Read online

  “Yeah.” Why pretend to be over it? “It’s really hard imagining my mother in that house all alone. Even the family dog moved out with Dad. She spends her time between the television and her bookshelves. I’m worried about her.”

  Tina gave her a sad smile. “You know what they say about divorce?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s like a death in the family, and it may take a long time for your mother to deal with the pain. Let her mourn her loss in her own way.”

  “You’re right.” Lily knew the steps of the grieving process—she dealt with it at her job all the time. But when it involved her own parents, all her training couldn’t keep her focused and accepting of the emotional challenges her mother faced.

  “And if you’re unsettled when school starts, how are you going to offer sincere advice to troubled teenagers?”

  Another fair observation. “Good point. I guess I have three weeks to get my shit straight. Or maybe I can get a job at the law office with you.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Remember, you get one box of tissues in life, use them sparingly.”

  Lily grinned. Tina always had a catchy adage for every situation. “Right again, genius.”

  “And don’t think you’re not getting drunk, that’s why we’re taking a cab tonight. This is my treat and we’re going to party!”

  “Buzzed maybe, that’s my limit—I don’t do falling-down, stupid drunk.” And absolutely no one-night stands. It went against everything she believed in.

  “All right—a couple drinks and stimulating conversation with a hot Texas boy will do. Give me a smile,” Tina demanded.

  Feeling bad for letting her negativity take over again, she put on her party smile. Lily wanted to have a good time tonight and she was glad to hang out with Tina again, just like old times.

  “Are you braless, Lily Gallo?” Tina teased. “Better say a few Hail Marys before we hit the club.”

  Lily twisted around. “Well, I didn’t have too much of a choice—my dress is backless.”

  Tina shrugged. “Mine’s crotchless.”

  They both laughed again and Lily was certain they were going to have fun. In an alternate universe, with Lily’s father and mother still together, her motivation for relocating would have been to experience life. She’d always fantasized about moving to Manhattan. She’d love to experience the gourmet restaurants, bright lights, and just the rhythm of everyday life there. A year ago Texas would have been the last place on earth she’d consider moving to. “Sometimes I think I should have stayed close to home.” Here it came again, the guilt and regret, oozing like blood from a wound.

  “But you don’t like Philadelphia—got bored, remember?”

  True, but there were things she loved too—cheesesteaks and giant soft pretzels came to mind first. And she loved sports, and Philly had major league sports. Just having access to the East Coast in general was something she’d miss. “I love the Flyers.”

  “And the Eagles and Phillies.”

  Lily’s old townhouse had had sports memorabilia hanging on the walls. All of it proudly purchased over the years from the King of Prussia Mall, a habit she’d picked up from her father.

  Tina patted her back. “I’m sorry, maybe we should order in tonight and watch a chick flick.”

  “No.” Lily waved her hand. “I’ll drop the attitude, promise.”

  “You better, girlfriend.”

  “Ready for a few margaritas?” She loved the salty-sweet flavor.

  “With stupid little umbrellas?” Tina slung her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s go, the cab should be here.”

  —

  Lily groaned as the cab pulled up to Tito’s—she’d gorged herself at Frank’s Spaghetti House. Tina hadn’t exaggerated: the food had reminded her of back home. Now a short line of guests waited outside the nightclub, and Tina directed her to the front of the line and greeted the doorman.

  “Hi, Chris,” she said flirtatiously.

  The bouncer grinned like a besotted fool, stamped their hands, and waved them inside.

  “You didn’t mention anything about being a VIP here,” Lily said.

  Tina flipped her long hair to the side. “Friends with benefits,” she bragged. “I dated Chris for a couple months last year. We parted on good terms.”

  Lily’s gaze explored the expansive room. The back wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The DJ booth and bar were to the left, along with some high-top tables. The raised stage was situated on the opposite side, with booths and what appeared to be a second dance floor with a lighted floor. Streamers and balloons decorated the walls, and retro posters featuring classic rock bands glowed underneath black lights.

  Tina led the way through the crowd and claimed the last high-top. Lily sat down, then flagged a server passing by.

  “Two frozen margaritas, please.”

  The waitress placed a couple of cardboard coasters on the tabletop and disappeared in the direction of the bar. Happy she’d ventured out tonight, Lily relaxed more, watching the locals dance and drink. Clubs in Philly were more uptight in comparison, and she could easily get used to the beach-bum attitude she’d experienced since the day she arrived in South Texas. After a few more songs, the music ended, and all attention was directed at the stage.

  “Welcome to Tito’s,” the DJ said. “Tonight we’re going to party like rock stars.”

  The crowd cheered.

  “We have everything—Carlos Santana, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, Joan Jett, the Beatles, Ozzy Osbourne—whatever you want to sing for the karaoke competition. The prize is a weekend trip for four to the River Walk in San Antonio. Then our house band will take requests, accompanied by our Temptation dancers…” A spotlight turned on and five women dressed in baby-doll shorts, bikini tops, and thigh-high boots started twerking.

  “Remember that party in Emily’s dorm freshman year?” Tina asked. “Bet you’d nail it again, Lily.”

  “No.” Lily had ended up singing Britney Spears—“Baby One More Time”—under the influence of red wine. “But we could do Salt-N-Pepa, or maybe something else, newer even.”

  “It’s classic rock night.”

  Another server arrived with a round of tequila shots from a table of guys nearby. Tina waved at them. Always guarded when it came to men, Lily downed hers, still a little intimidated by the prospect of going onstage. She loved karaoke and, on a good night, had a great voice. But when she got butterflies, forget it, she’d croak like a frog.

  Tina ordered another round of shots for the men. “I’ll sing with you.”

  The first couple to brave the stage chose “You’re the One That I Want” from the movie Grease. The crowd applauded and threw confetti at them as they returned to their table. Tina jumped off her barstool and offered her hand to Lily.

  “Ready?”

  Lily was pretty sure Tina knew the answer—she preferred to stay seated. Tonight was about forgetting, though. “ ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ is one of my favorites,” she called, trailing her friend to the stage.

  Chapter 3

  Lang didn’t give a shit if his Brothers didn’t like putting on nice shirts underneath their vests and barhopping downtown. Sometimes he wanted to get away from the smoke-filled poolrooms and heavy metal. After spending the day in court yesterday, he deserved a break from the norm. He’d chosen Tito’s as their last stop, happy to sit at a booth in the back, away from the dance floor, but close enough to the stage to appreciate the entertainment.

  And from his vantage point, the little blonde onstage won the prize for best singer. Determination pinched the pretty spot between her sculpted brows as she belted out a high note, her friend singing backup on a Stevie Nicks tune. Beauty like hers didn’t come around every day. Lang spread his legs wide and leaned forward, checking her out head to toe. Her green dress didn’t leave anything to his imagination—her breasts were perfect, and attracted his attention like a bull’s-eye on a dartboard. But her face kept drawing his attenti
on—those Sophia Loren eyes and thick lashes, her Roman nose, that fuck-me mouth.

  He’d always preferred blondes, short ones with big tits and thick hair. Something to hold on to while he pumped inside them.

  He shook his head, then stared down at his iPhone, which was vibrating, signaling an incoming call. He didn’t pay attention, just looked away. One night to himself—was that too much to ask? Now he understood what his parents had been up against with three girls to raise. Lang loved them unconditionally, but the eldest, Maya, had turned fourteen two weeks ago and acted eighteen. Hell-bent on rebellion, showing up at the clubhouse unannounced, dressed in inappropriate clothes and smoking cigarettes. He’d slapped the last one out of her mouth and she’d flipped him off.

  The phone vibrated again; this time he answered. “Rosa? Everything okay with the girls?” The nanny was a godsend and a valued member of their family.

  “Yes,” she said. “Trisha wanted to say good night.”

  “Lang?” she asked in her sweet six-year-old voice.

  “I’m here, baby girl.”

  “Good night, love you.”

  “Night-night,” he whispered into the phone. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He disconnected, smiling to himself.

  “ ‘Night-night’?” Moco repeated from across the table.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Lang growled, always catching shit for his soft spot when it came to his sisters.

  He slammed the rest of his beer, then set the mug on the table. “Moco, grab another round.”

  His Brother frowned. “Am I a Prospect? Vincent should get it.”

  Lang raised an eyebrow. The bastard was Mary fucking Poppins if he said so. It had taken eight years, two failed marriages, and two kids to convince his best friend, Vincent, to become a Prospect. And if he could, he’d strip Moco of his patches and send him back to school to learn respect. “Maybe you need a refresher.”

  Moco mumbled something under his breath and left the booth.

  The music stopped and Lang’s attention returned to the stage. The diva he’d been admiring finished her two-song set, capturing the favor of the crowd, a standing ovation even.

  “I’d tap that sweet ass in a heartbeat,” Vincent commented, his gaze following the girl too.

  “Not in our rags.” Lang knew bikers didn’t get women like that. Not the kind of bikers who wore patches, anyway. She’d fit better on the back of a Ducati, sitting behind a rich urban biker decked out in pristine leathers. Which disgusted him as much as men wearing clean tennis shoes.

  Sometimes old-school patch holders threw their leathers in dirt, hoping to age them. Battle scars earned respect, so did dirty leathers. It meant something—time in the seat on the open road. He watched her climb offstage and wander toward the tables. Nothing wrong with looking.

  Moco returned with a pitcher of beer. “Budweiser,” he said, plopping down on the bench.

  Just as Lang refilled his mug, he heard someone yell from across the bar. All four of them shot up, instinctually ready to intervene if needed. Lang rushed forward so he could get a better view of the situation. Fuck. He knew that a couple members of a rival club known for starting shit wherever they went were inside—he’d noticed their bikes outside. “Vincent, come with me.” A frustrated breath escaped him as he led the way across the room.

  A table had been knocked over, and one of the Heretics had the tiny blonde and her friend cornered. With the music back on and the crowd so thick, no wonder the bouncers hadn’t made it over yet. There was also the fact that most bars in Corpus turned a blind eye whenever a club member was involved in an altercation, out of fear or tolerance, it didn’t matter. As long as civilians respected the MC, there was no reason to use intimidation as a method to get what you wanted. Ever.

  Lang shoved his way forward, inserting himself between the girls and the patch holder. “What the fuck, man?”

  The Heretic glared at him. “Don’t remember asking you to join us.”

  Lang grinned evilly, itching for a fight. Punches were like relief valves. “I don’t need an invite.”

  His rival gazed to the left, signaling for his Brother to move closer.

  Lang knew Vincent had his back and twisted around, eyeing the women. “You two okay? Want to head back this way?”

  “Y-yes,” the blonde answered shakily. “We left the stage and that asshole grabbed my ass. When I told him to leave me alone, he backed us into the corner.”

  She’d found her voice easily enough, Lang thought. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

  “We’ll take a whole bottle,” her dark-haired friend said. “Just get rid of the Muppet.”

  Lang snorted. The guy did resemble Animal, with his messy, bright red hair and the chains hanging off his jacket. He nodded and faced him again. “I’ll escort the ladies to their new table.”

  Vincent smiled at the brunette, then crossed his arms over his chest, ready for anything their opponents wanted to start.

  “Make this easy,” Lang proposed to the Heretics. “Walk away. Or we can go outside. Your choice.”

  The Brother huffed, but finally realized he was outmanned. “I’ll remember your face.”

  “You do that,” Lang shot back, unafraid.

  After the Heretics left, Lang offered his hand to the blonde. “Lang Anderson.”

  She rewarded him with a soft smile. “Thank you for helping us. I’m Lilliana Gallo—but you can call me Lily.”

  When she placed her tiny fingers over his, something sparked inside him. It started with a tingling sensation that traveled up his arm and slammed into his dick like a bolt of lightning. She gave him a fucking erection with a handshake. Definitely a first. “Nice to meet you, Lily Gallo. Let’s get out of the way. You’ve had the spotlight enough tonight.”

  She flushed. “You heard me sing?”

  “Pretty sure half the city did.” Not that these girls were bad singers, but neither of them was going to get a record deal.

  “Oh God.” She covered her face, then looked at her friend. “Told you it was a bad idea, Tina.”

  Tina chuckled. “You’re a great singer, Lily, and candy attracts flies.” She looked in the direction of the exit where the Heretics had disappeared. “Or in this case, maggots.”

  Vincent laughed hard. “Maggots?”

  “Something like that,” Tina said.

  Lang liked their spunk. “Beer is this way.” He headed to the booth, hoping Lily would follow.

  She did, but not quietly. “Sons of Odin?”

  She’d seen his patches. He’d made it a point to let her. “I’m the acting president.”

  “Is that like a Viking fan club?”

  Fuck. Insulting the charter usually ended with broken bones. But coming out of her perfect mouth, it made him smile. She actually had no clue what the leathers were about. Where was she from, anyway? “That’s a freebie, baby. Next time, I’ll have to punish you. First rule—never disrespect my club.”

  They’d reached the booth and he grabbed a clean glass, filled it with beer, and offered it to Lily, though he was pretty sure she wasn’t a Budweiser kind of girl.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking a tentative sip.

  He’d provide her with a quick MC education. If she wanted to stay afterward, all the better. “Ever hear of one percenters?” He tapped the patch on the front of his vest that identified him as one.

  She considered him for a long moment, gaze sweeping down his body, pausing on his boots, then the front of his vest. “Outlaw motorcycle club?”

  A good guess. “There’s a lot of inaccurate information out there,” he continued. “The cops spread rumors and lies, slander our names, and make us look like thugs.” After listening to his own comment, he wondered who he was really trying to convince, her or himself. Especially after the day he’d had.

  “Aren’t you a gang?”

  “To some people, yeah. But in my world, we’re a family. Brothers.”

  She took a longer drink this time, t
hen made a bitter beer face, either at the Budweiser or at his comment, he wasn’t sure. She looked around the table, checking out Moco and Slim. “Who also just happen to sell drugs, murder people, and whatever else you do…I mean, no offense, it’s just what you hear.”

  Strange how her negativity didn’t offend him. He was used to all the preconceived notions about him being a hardened criminal based on his patches. Some clubs specialized in drugs, prostitution, gunrunning, and even executions for the cartels. Not the Sons of Odin. His grandfather had had a conscience, and from the day of the club’s inception he’d dictated exactly what his vision was for the future. Men admittedly had vices—booze, gambling, guns, and pussy. He’d made a profit off those. As for the rest of the myths out there, Lang blamed the media and shows like Sons of Anarchy for misleading the public. “Wrong. No drugs. No murders.”

  She looked skeptical. “You’ve never killed anyone? Or no one in your club?”

  She didn’t pull any punches—in fact she hit below the belt. But her curiosity reminded him of his sisters and their uninhibited desire to explore the world around them. “I said no murder. There’s a difference between murder and killing.”

  Maybe inviting her and her friend over to their table wasn’t such a good idea after all. Lang was sure she was gearing up to suck him into some kind of moral debate and fling scriptures or philosophical bullshit in his face. And if he refused to discuss it with priests who tried to convince him to leave the Life, he surely wasn’t going to mentally wrestle with Lily. Beautiful or not. But man, this woman had his attention, especially those dark eyes. He wanted to kiss her.

  “You’re right, I agree with that point.”

  She did? He relaxed then, sitting on the edge of the bench, a safe distance from her. Because if he got any closer, he’d ram his tongue in her mouth—possibly more. “Our bylaws forbid drug dealing.”

  “That surprises me,” she said. “But how do you make money?”

  “Next rule, never ask a Brother to discuss club business.”

  “I certainly can appreciate that.”

  Was she for real? He didn’t understand why she accepted his refusal to answer so easily. “You’re crazy.”