Laced with Fear (Cash Bar Book 1) Read online

  “Ready to squeal like piggies?” I ask.

  None of them respond, but their fear is so apparent, I can fuckin’ taste it.

  “Let’s have some fun, boys,” I say to my brothers as we approach the four dead men hanging.

  I strip my clothes off, keeping them separate from my cut and boots. I have to burn them in the morning, but I’m too fuckin’ tired to worry about it right now.

  Showering, I wash the blood from my hands and face before I turn off the water and grab a towel. Once I’m fairly dry, I make my way to the bed, our bed. I pull back the sheets and crawl between them, wrapping my arm around Ginger’s middle and sliding my thigh between hers.

  “You’re back,” she whispers as my lips touch her shoulder.

  “Yeah, I’m back,” I admit.

  “It’s handled?” she asks, her body stock still.

  “Yeah, baby, it’s all handled.”

  She turns around in my arms, and I wait for the demons, deciding that they must have entered her eyes while I was gone. I’m pleasantly surprised that through the moonlit room, I see absolutely no trace of them.

  “I wonder how many more there are out there?”

  “Wish I knew, peaches,” I murmur as my nose slides alongside hers.

  “Thank you,” she whispers before her lips brush mine.

  “For what?” I ask, pulling away from her so that I can look into her face.

  “For being you. For being my rock during all of this.”

  “Fuck that rock bullshit,” I spit as I pull us both up to a sitting position. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops in surprise.

  “Pres,” she gasps.

  “I’m not your fuckin’ rock, peaches. You are your own fuckin’ strength. You don’t need me. You have me to support you in any way that I can, but baby, you don’t need me. You’re so fuckin’ strong, so strong.”

  “Pres,” she says as her lips tremble and tears fill her eyes.

  “So strong, Ginger.”

  GINGER

  Prescott’s whispered words of my strength undo me. He sees me as this ultra-strong woman when I feel anything but. I feel weak, and just tonight, I couldn’t hurt those men who brutalized me.

  Yes, they hurt me, and yes, I wanted to hurt them, but something inside of me couldn’t do it. Maybe it’s exactly what is inside of me that is the sole reason I couldn’t do it.

  I can’t keep it to myself a second longer, so I tell him. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper.

  “You’re…” his voice trails off as his eyes widen.

  “Do you want a boy or a girl?” I ask with a grin.

  “Pregnant,” he breathes. I watch as his face slowly breaks out into a huge smile.

  I wait for his real reaction. Right now, the news is settling. He lifts his head, his smile still wide, and he practically tackles me to my back. One of his hands wraps around the inside of my knee and he spreads me wide.

  “Move those panties to the side or I’m ripping them off,” he demands, his voice deep and husky.

  I do as he requests, and his cock presses against my center. I quickly move my hand out of the way before he slams completely inside of me. I gasp when his hands grab mine and press them above my head. He intertwines our fingers and starts to slowly thrust in and out of me.

  “Prescott,” I whisper. Our eyes connect, and I watch as he sticks his tongue out and slides it along his bottom lip.

  “Pregnant with my baby,” he rasps. He continues to fuck me, his long and lazy strokes making sure I feel every inch of him inside of me.

  “I am,” I nod.

  “Peaches,” he moans as his hips roll and his pelvis grinds against my clit.

  We don’t speak. Our eyes stay connected, as do our hands and our bodies. He slides inside of me, over and over again, slow and steady, with long, languid strokes, in no hurry at all whatsoever.

  “Pres,” I whimper once I feel my heart start to race as I climb closer toward my release.

  “Come,” he demands on a groan.

  He speeds up and I start to pant, climbing closer toward my release. Then, without any warning, I cry out with my climax as my body shakes. He grunts and then his hips start jerking wildly as he fucks me a little harder and a little faster before he arches his back and lets out a cry of his own, coming inside of me.

  I shiver when his hands release mine, but slide down my arms as he lowers his face. His lips touch my neck, his tongue gliding against my inked skin. He continues to gently thrust in and out of me as we both catch our breaths.

  “Marry me, peaches.”

  “What?” I ask in surprise.

  “Marry me. Marry your Old Man,” he smiles.

  My hands fly to the back of his neck, my fingers twisting in his hair and I search his face.

  “You’re serious,” I breathe.

  “Fuck yes, I am.”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll marry you,” I cry out as I giggle.

  The movement causes me to lose him from my body. He looks at me in awe for a split second before his head dips and his lips press against mine in a hard, bruising kiss.

  “Later today?” he asks.

  “Today?” I practically choke.

  “Yeah, peaches, today.”

  I nod before I smile. He settles behind me, pulling my back against his chest as his tongue traces my neck like he does every night before he lifts a hand to my breast and squeezes it, telling me to go to sleep.

  I lie awake, unable to fall asleep quickly.

  I can’t wipe the smile from my lips.

  I’m pregnant, Prescott and I are getting married, and I’m finally content—completely happy.

  SNAKE

  I hold onto her, knowing she’s not asleep. It takes her far too long to sleep, but her body finally relaxes and her breathing evens out. I don’t find my own slumber, though. I lie awake and look at her tattoo, my name on her neck, my baby inside of her, and tomorrow my ring on her finger.

  Everything that I have ever wanted is finally coming to a reality.

  This woman owns every piece of me, from the inside out. I’ve never been more proud of a human being as I am of this woman in my arms. She’s stronger than the biggest badass I know. She’s everything. And soon she’ll be my wife; then she’ll be the mother of my children; and with any luck, that strength will transfer on to them.

  Almost a year ago, I thought I’d lost her. Nine months ago, I thought she was lost to me. Three months ago, I dragged her ass back here, and I’ve not regretted one second I’ve spent with her—not one single fuckin’ second.

  I can’t wait for the future.

  I can’t wait for what insane shit she’s going to bring into my life.

  I can’t wait for how much love she’s going to bring to me.

  I can’t fuckin’ wait.

  LACED WITH FEAR

  A CASH BAR NOVEL

  CHAPTER ONE

  GINGER

  I place my hand on my belly. I know that I don’t look gigantic, but I feel it. Six months pregnant and I don’t honestly know how I’m going to make it until the end of my last trimester. I feel like I’m going to explode at any given moment.

  “Hey Ging,” Free calls out as he walks into the bar.

  It’s midday, which means this place will be full of Notorious Devils brothers for lunch. I lift my hand in a wave as I continue to wipe down the bar top. I’m cranky, and not just because I feel like a bloated whale, but because the girl running the night shift doesn’t do her fucking job.

  Every morning the bar top is sticky, and the entire main room is full of empty bottles and trash. It’s completely disgusting. It’s twice the work for me, and I need to fire her ass. The problem is, I don’t want to work until three in the morning every morning. I’d rather enjoy my evenings alone with my man—not to mention my sleep.

  I continue cleaning up, then when I’m finished, I take a beer over to Free and pop it down on the table in front of him. He lifts his eyes to me, arching a brow in question.


  Unceremoniously, I plop myself down in the chair next to him. “Jacquie has to go,” I announce with a sigh.

  “Didn’t want to tell you babe, but she fuckin’ sucks,” he murmurs, lifting his beer to his lips.

  I almost, almost knock it out of his hand. “You’re just telling me now?” I ask.

  He shakes his head once. “Babe, you knew she sucked. Gives great head, but really sucks at running a bar,” he chuckles.

  “Oh gross, I’m going to puke on you,” I cringe.

  He laughs and then the air shifts around me. I don’t even have to look to know who is walking into the bar. It’s Prescott. Tipping my head to the side, I watch him walk toward us. He doesn’t look anywhere but directly at me with each step he takes.

  His long hair brushes his shoulders and his beard hides the expression on his lips, but I don’t need that because his eyes tell me everything I need to know.

  He’s pissed.

  “Free, go,” Prescott growls when he approaches.

  “Yes, sir,” Free mumbles, picking up his glass and hurrying away from us.

  I literally have zero clue why Prescott would be mad. I woke up this morning, got dressed, and came into the bar. The same thing I do every morning. I don’t question him though. I decide to wait him out, sometimes it’s just easier that way. He can be, a bit over-the-top, at times. He’d never admit it of course.

  “Want to explain to me why you aren’t home, resting?” he asks, planting his fists on his hips.

  My mouth forms a small O shape as I look up at him. “The doctor didn’t say it was mandatory,” I whisper.

  Prescott’s gaze hardens and his jaw clenches. He doesn’t like my argument, but all I’ve done is state a fact. I’m not trying to be difficult, but I still have a business to run. I’ve only been back for a total of seven months, I’m still catching up.

  Granted, the Notorious Devils’ men ran the bar while I was gone, and they did a decent job, but they didn’t do any paperwork or actual cleaning. They had whores, like Jacquie in here, and those bitches don’t clean for shit. This town isn’t heavily populated with people, so my choices for good help are slim pickins. Either I do it myself, or it won’t get done at this point.

  “He said your blood pressure was on the high side, that you were obviously stressed, and needed to relax. Please tell me you were fucking paying attention to him when he spoke, Ginger,” he growls.

  Oh, Ginger, he is pissed. Usually I’m peaches or Georgia peach, but Ginger—that’s never good. I sigh and lean back in the chair, tipping my face back a bit more. “I can’t leave the bar unattended. Jacquie is a shit employee, Pres. This place is a pigsty every single morning. I’m actually kind of afraid of what happens while I’m home at night. Until I have an employee I can trust, I need to be here, at least in the morning to clean up her disgusting mess,” I explain.

  Prescott runs his hand over his face and through his hair, tugging on the long strands. “Woman,” he growls.

  Without another word, he bends down and picks me up in his arms. I let out a cry, but he just shakes my body slightly. I honestly can’t believe he can pick my big ass up right now. He dips his chin and his deep green eyes focus directly on mine. “I’m taking your ass home, you’re resting. Don’t give me any fucking shit. This dive will do just fine without you breaking your back cleaning it,” he growls.

  My heart begins to race in my chest, and not from excitement but from anger. I slap my hand down on his shoulder, but he doesn’t even flinch. I kick my legs, but he completely ignores my protests as he walks us toward his pickup truck.

  He wrenches open the door and gently deposits me onto the seat, grabbing onto the seatbelt and locking it into place, and me, into the truck.

  “If you make a move to get out of this truck, I’ll spank your ass right here in the middle of the parking lot,” he growls. Then his tongue gently slides along my neck. He traces the tattoo of his road name there—Snake.

  Pressing my lips together, I cross my arms over my chest as he takes a step back. I hear him chuckle as he shuts the door. I watch him walk over to a small group of his brothers, Free, Crooner, and Motorhead who all turn to him when he arrives at their small circle.

  Free’s eyes shift to me, and he gives me a smirk before he lifts his chin to Prescott. I narrow my own gaze at him, but it’s fruitless because he is completely focused on his president right now. All three of the men smile, and nod then they turn and walk into the bar.

  Prescott doesn’t follow, he turns back toward me, and I watch him stomp in my direction. He looks no less pissed off than he did a few minutes ago, and inwardly I cringe.

  I hate pissing him off, but Cash Bar is mine, my uncle’s only legacy and I spent almost an entire year away from it. I feel like I let my uncle down, and I need to get it back up and running, even better than it was before. To do that, I actually need to be there, and not on house arrest.

  Prescott climbs into the driver’s seat and slams the door before starting the engine. I refuse to speak first, keeping my arms crossed over my chest like a pissed off toddler.

  He may not like that I need to be at the bar, working, but that’s just the way it is. I’ll take today off, but tomorrow I’m going back down there and he won’t be able to stop me.

  SNAKE

  I glance over at my woman. She’s fucking infuriating. She’s also gorgeous when she’s pissed off. All I want to do is pull over and fuck her right here in the truck. Ignoring my hardening cock, I drive back to our place. My wife is stubborn as shit, and I have a feeling that I’ll need to be vigilant in keeping her home or she’s going to try and slip away from me.

  Pulling into the driveway, she’s out of the pickup and marching up the walkway before I even have the fucker in park. Jogging up behind her, I slap my hand against the front door as she attempts to slam it shut.

  “Ginger,” I growl.

  She whirls around, her dark blonde hair flying in the air and gently floating down around her shoulders. Her brown eyes narrow and she places her hands on her hips as she glares at me. I almost laugh, because she’s nowhere near intimidating, but rather adorably sexy.

  “What did you say to your cronies?” she demands.

  I lift my hand and wrap it around the back of my neck, looking down at my boots as I smile. Cronies, the fuck, she’s hilarious sometimes. I shake my head once and attempt to wipe the smile off of my lips.

  “I told them to work the bar today, and to find fucking decent staff to interview. You aren’t working there anymore. You can do the bookkeeping from home, but being down there, on your feet. No way in hell,” I state.

  She stomps and makes a noise in the back of her throat. “You are so controlling, Prescott. Fuck, it drives me insane, you know that don’t you?” she hisses.

  I close the distance between us, reaching out to wrap my hand around the side of her neck. My palm covers my brand on her skin. I swear to fuck it sends warmth through my entire body that it’s there, that I can see it, and touch it. That she’s mine in all ways possible.

  “I’m not controlling, peaches. I fucking worry about you, I care about you,” I state.

  I am controlling, I’m controlling as fuck, but it’s because I love her. I know what it’s like to live without her—I’m never doing it again. I fucking refuse. She drops her arms and rolls her eyes but a small smile tugs on her pretty pink lips.

  “Yeah, okay,” she whispers. “I can compromise,” she mutters.

  My eyes widen in surprise and disbelief. The woman can’t compromise, not in the slightest, but I bite the inside of my cheek instead of pointing that fact out to her. No need to piss her off any more than I already have.

  “No more cleaning the bar or being on your feet,” I grumble, squeezing her neck gently.

  She sighs heavily, and her brown eyes meet mine. “Fine, but I seriously need some good, trustworthy help, Pres. Also, I need to be able to go down there a few times a week just to pop in, make sure everything is running t
he way it should be,” she adds.

  I grin. My woman. The fucking negotiator. “I’ll take you there, and you don’t work when you go. You do nothing but delegate.”

  Her eyes brighten, and she lifts up on her toes, pushing her lips together. Leaning down, I press my lips against hers in a swift kiss. She doesn’t allow me to pull away immediately, her tongue sneaks out and traces the seam of my lips. I let out a grunt as my hand leaves her neck to find purchase against her plump ass.

  Ginger’s mouth opens with a sigh and I slip my tongue inside of her. I taste her, swirling my tongue inside of her warm mouth, fucking her as I grab ahold of both of her ass cheeks, squeezing them hard. When she whimpers, I’m fucking done for.

  “Prescott,” she moans. My lips move down her jaw. I find my favorite part of her neck, my mark, and I lick the scroll of her tattoo. “I need more,” she whispers against my ear. I need more too, my cock aches as it presses against my zipper.

  I want nothing more than to throw her on the sofa and fuck her hard and fast, however the baby in her belly causes me to pause. I can’t be as rough as I want to be, and our positions are limited.

  I lick my way back up to her earlobe and nip the skin there. “Upstairs, strip for me.” She shivers and then takes a step back from me.

  Her eyelids are hooded, and I watch as she wets her lips before she turns and hurries up the staircase toward our bedroom. I give her just a few seconds head start before I follow behind her.

  I start to undress as I go, hanging my cut on the bedroom doorknob before I pull my shirt off and throw it on the floor. Toeing my boots off, then shoving my jeans and boxers down before stepping out of them.

  Ginger is already naked by the time I make it to the bed. She’s on her knees in the center of the mattress and her brown eyes are staring right at my cock. It jumps from the attention, which causes her breath to hitch and a small chuckle to escape my mouth.