Vice Read online

  “What are they?” she whispered.

  Vice wasn’t sure he should tell her. She might get scared and bolt. She might not feel the same. But in the end, he had to tell her.

  “You,” he whispered. “Right now, Felicia Cheswick, you’re my biggest and only vice. I can’t seem to shake you no matter what I do.”

  She lifted her head, and again, only a couple of inches separated his mouth from hers. His heart skipped a beat as he moved closer to her.

  A loud bark filled the air, along with the slamming of a door. “Whew,” Lucas said, also incredibly loudly. “It’s freezing out there.”

  Felicia slipped away from Vice, easily twisting in his arms and getting to her feet in one fluid movement. Vice stayed right where he was on the couch, glaring at his best friend. Why had Lucas had to come in right then?

  Sixty more seconds, he thought to himself. He would’ve liked just one more minute alone with Felicia.

  “Felicia,” Lucas said, surprise in his voice. His eyes darted to where Vice lay on the couch. “Oh.”

  “Hey, Lucas,” Felicia said, running her fingers through her hair as if she and Vice had been making out.

  He wished.

  “I brought Smoky back.”

  As if he’d taught the dog to bark whenever his name was said, Smoky bellowed a hello. Felicia stepped over to him and started scrubbing him down, cooing at him like he was a tiny puppy and not a sixty-five-pound mutt who was so loud.

  “Tired?” Lucas asked as he collapsed into the recliner. “What are we doing this afternoon?”

  “You’re sitting in my knitting chair,” Felicia said. “And we’re having hot chocolate and watching movies.”

  Lucas looked from her to Vice, who still hadn’t moved or spoken. “Movies?”

  “I’m tired,” Vice finally said. “A lot going on this morning, and Felicia doesn’t try to keep me awake by asking me all kinds of questions about Torrie Lyman.” He cocked one eyebrow at Lucas, who looked like Vice had splashed ice water in his face.

  He blinked, and Vice started laughing, which wasn’t great for his already-tired ribs.

  “Yeah, looked like you and Felicia were totally sitting in different chairs when I got here,” Lucas said coolly.

  Vice sobered, shooting his best friend a warning look. “She made lunch, and we were just picking a movie.”

  Felicia stepped over to the entertainment center. “What do you like, Lucas?”

  “Oh, I’m not staying,” he said. “I just needed to bring Smoky back, and I didn’t realize you guys would be having a sleepover in the middle of the day.”

  “We’re not having a sleepover,” Vice growled.

  But Lucas chuckled as he got up. “I have to go see my brother this afternoon. And then should I pick you up for church tonight?”

  “Yes,” Vice practically barked. “Please,” he added as an afterthought.

  Lucas nodded and turned to Felicia, easily taking her into a hug. “Take good care of him, Felicia.”

  She wore a look of surprise on her face, and Vice enjoyed that. She wasn’t used to the big, burly bikers being all touchy-feely, that was for sure.

  “I will,” she said, and Lucas walked out the garage entrance he’d come in. Vice thought of his bike out there, and how he hadn’t ridden it in almost a week. He didn’t do well just sitting around, and he desperately hoped he’d be healed enough to straddle his motorcycle soon.

  Or maybe he could get some of his nervous energy out by kissing Felicia.

  No matter what, something had to give, because Vice was tense, tense, tense. He needed a break before he broke something.

  “Okay,” she said. “I put on one of those robot movies you like. I’m going to work on the afghan I started for my sister.”

  Vice yawned, wishing he’d been able to finish his conversation with a kiss but unable to do anything about it now. “All right,” he said, but he didn’t fall asleep.

  In his mind, he went over and over how he could make sure he got his kiss the next time he and Felicia were in each other’s arms on the couch.

  Because there would definitely be a next time.

  Chapter Twelve

  Felicia walked past Marc as he broke down the boxes he’d just finished unpacking onto the store shelves. Nothing new or noteworthy had happened at Market Fresh since the robbery, eight days ago.

  Everything was new and noteworthy in her personal life though, and she’d never been more grateful that Jordan had been the one to walk in during the robbery.

  “When you finish there,” she said to him, pausing nearby. “We need the dairy case restocked. The sale on two-percent milk has people stocking up like zombies will attack tomorrow.”

  “You got it,” Marc said. “Did you see Dante put in for the whole week of Thanksgiving off?”

  “Yes.” Felicia sighed. “I’m not sure how to give him that.”

  “It’s for his kids,” Marc said. “I guess his ex is taking them to Disneyworld, and she said he could come too. He needs the time with them.” He wore compassion in his eyes. “I’m happy to cover his shifts. I can even work on Thanksgiving.”

  Felicia studied him for a moment. Everything in the back storage room of the supermarket was made of metal, cardboard, steel, or concrete. She had a desk along one wall where she kept track of the work schedules and who did what. They had a schedule they kept for recycling, for the dents and dings program, for deliveries, for reordering, all of it. Felicia managed all of the stored goods in the supermarket. If it didn’t go bad in a few days like fresh meat or produce, she dealt with it.

  All the cans, all the boxes, all the bags. Green beans, cereals, pastas. All her. She worked with a crew of eight, and everyone knew they had to work over the holidays.

  “Are you sure?” she asked Marc. “You have a family too.”

  “This is important to Dante,” he said simply.

  “Okay,” Felicia said. “I’ll see if I can swing you some extra days over Christmas.”

  “If you can,” he said. “I’m happy either way.” He fed the box compactor another bit of cardboard, and Felicia turned to continue on with her next task—inventory for the canned fruits and vegetables. She’d been ordering canned pumpkin by the case for three weeks, and they still never seemed to have enough.

  Asher held a clipboard in his hand, but Felicia didn’t speak to him. He never looked her in the eye, even when they did converse. He had a very good eye for numbers and routine, and that made him very good at tracking the inventory in and out of the storage room. He reported to her daily, and otherwise, she left him alone to do his work.

  He had autism, but he functioned on a very high level. She liked him a lot, and after the initial training of his job, which had been frustrating for them both, he was a good employee. Never sick. Never late. His mother drove him to and from work, and the woman had clock gears in her brain.

  Felicia picked up the paper lying on top of her desk, put there by Gilbert, another of her shelf stockers that managed the case lot sales. He’d gone for the day already, and she put his reordering report in the stack she’d use to get everything ordered tomorrow morning.

  She liked her job, and she liked working with a group of people that were somewhat outcasts. They didn’t have formal educations, and some of them struggled with anxiety and other ailments—herself included. But they all belonged together in this back room at Market Fresh, and a slip of sunshine moved through her soul, though Mother Nature had delivered another snowstorm to Forbidden Lake that morning.

  Close to five, an alarm went off on her phone, and Felicia jumped away from the ledger she’d been jotting down the order in. “I’m running out to get Jordan,” she said to Dante, who waved to her as he wheeled another cart full of evaporated milk out into the store.

  Felicia’s excitement grew with every city block that brought her closer to her boyfriend. He said he’d call for dinner that night, and Felicia knew that was a splurge for him. He packed his lunches to wo
rk. He paid all of his bills on time, didn’t travel much, and a vacation to him was an all-nighter at Ruby’s with ice cream, his biker brothers, and a pool stick in his hand.

  Felicia liked that he didn’t have expensive tastes and that he was content with his life. His ribs had been getting better much quicker this time, at least according to him. She hadn’t been around last time to know how long bruised, broken, and displaced ribs took to heal.

  He’d gone to his biker meeting—church he called it—over the weekend, but he hadn’t shared the decisions they’d made. He said it wasn’t secret, only that it was club business she didn’t need to worry about.

  In the few days since then, Felicia had texted him numerous times that she wanted to be involved in his life, and that included his Sentinel side. He’d told her he’d fill her in that night over his favorite Chinese food.

  She pulled up to the curb, the way she had for a couple of evenings now, and Jordan was waiting inside the small space between the two sets of glass doors to avoid being out in the snow. He walked toward her, his long, wool coat billowing around his legs. He was gorgeous in a leather jacket, and downright sexy in a white shirt and tie, that professional coat making him look like a man of means.

  He was the only one she drove around, so his seat was back plenty far for him as he bent to get in the car. “Hey, sweetheart.”

  “What did you order for dinner?” she asked, her stomach grumbling.

  He chuckled, and said, “I know where I stand.” He grinned at her, and that was entirely unfair, because she had no defense against his teasing voice and that white-toothed smile. “I got Chinese from Wok and Roll. It’s delicious. And it’ll be at my house in twenty minutes, so you better get us there too. Smoky loves the chicken lo mien.”

  Felicia giggled and put the car in drive. For some reason, she wanted to get the motorcycle club stuff out of the way so she could enjoy her dinner break with her handsome boyfriend. But he didn’t start talking about it.

  Instead, he sighed and reached down to his briefcase bag. “I have a killer headache.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, glancing at him. “Maybe it’s too soon for you to be back at work.”

  “Funny, that’s exactly what Chandler said.” Jordan opened a bottle of pills and threw back a few, swallowing them dry. “I’m not sitting home for another week. I’m going to lose my mind, and whether Chandler will admit it or not, he needs my help at work.”

  “What are you working on right now?”

  “We’re prepping for a complicated estate battle,” he said. “The siblings are completely divided, and unfortunately, the will isn’t as clear as we’d like it to be.” He sounded tired, and a stab of sympathy moved through Felicia.

  “What about your club stuff?” she asked, because she really wanted to talk about Thanksgiving with him while they ate sweet and sour chicken.

  “It’s tomorrow night,” he said. “Lucas is going to take me, so you don’t need to worry about me riding my bike.” He cut her a glance out of the side of his eye and looked back out his passenger window.

  She’d texted him her concerns about him getting on his motorcycle too soon. He’d agreed not to ride it until the doctor cleared him, and that appointment wasn’t until Friday morning. She was driving him to that too.

  “Okay,” she said. “You say it like I’m a nuisance to you because I want you to be safe.”

  “You’re not,” he said quietly. “Sorry if it sounded like that.”

  Felicia gripped the steering wheel. “You said you’d tell me about what you guys decided to do.”

  He let a few seconds of silence pass before he said, “We’re going to see what their official club business is. And then we’re going to decide how much of a risk we’re willing to take. We don’t want to be fighting a turf war for the next however many years. They’re not pretty, and things can escalate between warring clubs quickly.”

  “Even if you’re not an outlaw club?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Territory is very important to a club, and we own Forbidden Lake. We’ve claimed it as a sanctuary for people, and for bikers who don’t want to live the outlaw lifestyle. There are very few outlaw clubs, remember?”

  “Less than one percent,” she said. “I remember.” The number hadn’t comforted her, because whether it was true or not, the fact remained that the Devil’s Breath was a one-percenter, and they wanted access to the Sentinels territory.

  Felicia’s mind spun with possibilities of why they wanted to come here, and she didn’t know how Jordan and the other bikers slept at night.

  “I’ll text you when I get home on Wednesday night,” he said. “But it’ll be really late.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’d still like to know you’re alive when I wake up in the morning.”

  “Baby, I’m going to be alive.”

  They’d had this conversation once already, and Felicia didn’t want to have it again. “Tell me more about this Chinese place. I feel like I’ve eaten everywhere in town, and I’ve never heard of it.”

  “That’s because it’s down in Sunshine,” he said. “I know a guy who works there, and that’s the only way I get it delivered.”

  “Oh, you pulled some strings.” She smiled in his direction but kept her eyes on the road.

  “That’s right.” He reached over and took her hand in his, lifting her wrist to his lips. “Anything for you, Leesh.”

  His words burned through her mind again. The ones where he’d whispered she was his vice, that he’d tried to get her out of his head and couldn’t.

  I can’t seem to shake you no matter what I do.

  She shivered, and he asked, “You cold?” before fiddling with the heat in her car. Oh, she wasn’t cold, not with his hand in hers and his presence in the car with her.

  She might be his vice, but he was definitely hers too.

  “Okay,” she said. “I want to talk about Thanksgiving.”

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “It’s next week, Jordan. What are you doing?”

  “I usually go to Mav’s.”

  “You don’t go see your family in Chicago?”

  “Nope.” He’d shut down already, and Felicia took a moment to study him. She wanted to ask why he didn’t go, but she already knew the answer. It was the same reason she didn’t visit her mother during the holidays either.

  “Well, me and my sister get together,” she said. “I’d love for you to come.”

  “What time?”

  “Noon.”

  “I’ll come to Shelley’s if you’ll come to Mav’s.”

  She rolled the words around inside her head as she made the last turn and then pulled into his driveway. With the car in park, she looked at him fully. “What time does he eat?”

  “Oh, late,” Vice said. “He never does anything before four or five.”

  “Right, because getting up at ten a.m. is really early.”

  “Right.”

  “So we can do both.”

  Vice just nodded, a smile starting to play with that strong mouth. She dropped her eyes to it, remembering what it was like to kiss him, and to be kissed by him. Heat filled her body and face, and she quickly looked away.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Great,” he said. “Two Thanksgiving dinners in one day. At least it’s not chocolate, right?”

  The next morning, Felicia woke as usual. Walked on the treadmill. Showered and got dressed. She had an hour before she had to pick Jordan up and take him to work, so she drove to Market Fresh for a consultation in the pastry department.

  She found Pearl back in the kitchens, away from the display cases, the bags and bags of rolls, and the others who arrived at the store at the ungodly hour of three a.m. to make sure everyone had their croissants and doughnuts on their way to work.

  “Hey, Pearl,” she said, sidling up next to the woman. “What are you making?”

  “Felicia,” Pearl said, turning from the dough in the huge industrial mixer.
“It’s cinnamon swirl bread.”

  “Mm, yeah, smells like it.” Felicia accepted a quick hug from Pearl, who promptly changed her rubber gloves.

  “You must need to talk about your boyfriend,” Pearl said as she went back to adding sugar to the dough.

  “A little, yeah,” Felicia admitted.

  “It’s not going well?” Pearl studied her. “I find that hard to believe. You’re glowing this morning.”

  “I am not.” Felicia glanced around as if someone else would be there to tell Pearl how very dull Felicia was. “I have no rules with him this time, Pearl.”

  “That’s great,” she said, setting the bowl up higher and really cranking up the speed. It started kneading and kneading, and it wasn’t quiet about it. Pearl stepped away to another stainless steel counter and started weighing cinnamon on a small scale.

  “I’m going to Thanksgiving dinner with his biker buddies.”

  Pearl stalled in her movement, her eyes locking onto Felicia’s. “Oh.”

  “They do good things,” Felicia said. “He told me all about this old man they helped learn to read, and he went on to college.” She was whispering by the time she finished. She had no idea why.

  “Look,” Pearl said. “You like this guy, right?”

  Felicia could only nod.

  “Have you told him you like him?”

  She shook her head.

  “Kissed him?”

  Felicia shook harder.

  “Okay, so that’s your goal, my friend. Kiss him—soon. Then you’ll know if this biker thing is going to come between you or not.”

  “What if it does?”

  “Then it does,” Pearl said. “I don’t think it will, but that’s just me.”

  “How did you know with Anthony?” she asked.

  “I kissed him,” Pearl said with a wicked grin. “And I never wanted to kiss anyone else, and I still feel that way.” She sighed as only the happily in love can. “When are you going to see him again?”

  “Less than an hour to drive him to work.”

  “Call me after you drop him off,” Pearl said. “But only if you’ve kissed him.”