CHARLOTTE: Soul Sisters - Book One (The Soul Sisters 1) Read online

  “Scarlett?” I hear a deep voice behind me and turn to see the Evil Dead Vice President staring at me. He’s chewing on a red drink straw. I nod, and he smiles, pulling it out, his white teeth flashing.

  “Yes?” I lift my chin, holding his eyes but quaking on the inside.

  “You got a note comin’ due. You gonna be able to pay it?”

  A note? What is he talking about? Please God tell me my sister didn’t borrow money from these low-life, loan-sharking bikers. I swallow. “My bar is none of your business.”

  “Now, seeing as how it was the Dead that lent you that money, yeah, it is my business. If you haven’t got it, we can make you an offer for the bar; take it out of that. Win-win for both of us.”

  “I’m not interested in selling.” I move to sweep past him, but he grabs my upper arm.

  “Longer you wait, doll, the lower that offer’s gonna get.”

  I’ve dealt with men who think they can intimidate to get what they want. I’ve learned the best way is to show them I won’t let them steamroll over me. I yank my arm free and lift a chin toward his patch.

  “Your club wants to buy my bar, send in your President. I don’t dick around with peons.”

  He lifts a brow. “Watch your mouth, bitch.”

  I lift a brow right back. “You don’t like my mouth, I’m sure there are other places you can drink.”

  His friend chuckles. “Guess she told you, Trick.”

  “That ain’t the way you spoke to me when you came askin’ for a loan, babe.”

  I ignore him, stride off toward the back, and go in the office. The minute I’m out of sight, I close the door and lock it. Then dash behind the desk and squat down, fumbling with opening the safe. I grab the gun and lock the safe again. Shoving it in the back of my jeans, I move around the desk, hoping those assholes aren’t robbing the bar.

  I open the door and hear their Harleys rumble to life. I come out and see their barstools empty. Moving behind the bar, I go to the end where they were sitting and stare at their empty shot glasses and bottles.

  “Did they pay for their drinks?” I ask, watching them pull away with a thundering roar.

  When no one answers, I turn to look over my shoulder and see Pete staring at the gun jammed against the small of my back.

  “Damn, Scarlett. Were you planning on shooting them?”

  “I just don’t like men who think they can push a woman around.” I glance down and see a card laying on the bar. I pick it up. It says Evil Dead MC, Nevada. Trick, Vice President. There’s a phone number. Does this guy really have the audacity to think I’m going to call him? I flip it over. On the back is scrawled, Five thousand dollars due the first of the month.

  I smirk. I’ve got more than that sitting in my checking account right now. Then my face falls. I don’t have my checkbook or bankcard, or even my IDs. Scarlett has all that. As far as anyone knows, I’m Scarlett, and she’s me. I wonder if even now she’s draining my bank account. Of course she doesn’t have my pin number, but she’s smart enough to get around that if she wanted to, and if she’s desperate to save her bar, she’ll want to.

  “Scarlett?”

  I turn toward the voice.

  “You shouldn’t have disrespected them.” Pete looks worried.

  “I didn’t disrespect them.”

  “You called them peons.”

  Oh, right. “Well, they won’t kill me over that, will they?” At least not until they get what they’re after, which is five grand or Badlands; though why they’d want it, I’m clueless. From the situation Scarlett is in, she can’t be making much money here.

  I glance at Pete, but he just lifts his brows and walks away. Soon the bar empties and we close up. I wave goodbye to Shelly and Pete and walk back to the little white house.

  The elevation here in Cold Creek is higher than Vegas, therefore it's much cooler. That combined with the fact it’s always cold in the desert at night, has a chill in the air.

  As I walk past Scarlett’s pickup parked close enough that the house’s porch light shines on it, I see something on the windshield.

  I stare at it a moment before I realize it's something written in black marker—a big heart. And in the middle are the words YOU’RE MINE.

  I glance around but see no one. Did Scarlett have a secret admirer? Did Trick do this? Is it meant to be a threat? I refuse to let him intimidate me. I go back inside the house, grab some glass cleaner and a rag, and clean it off.

  I step inside and lock the door, then peer out the window toward the road. The only light I see is the gas station and a light in the cabin behind it. I drop the curtain and turn a lamp on. There’s wood stacked near the fireplace, so I build a small fire, wadding up some newspaper, stuffing it under the split logs, and lighting a match. It catches quickly, and I stand, staring into the flames. The crackles and snaps of the fire are the only sounds inside the small house. I try to imagine Scarlett living here alone for the last year.

  I pull the gun out, set it on the end table, and sink into the easy chair. I take out her phone and punch in her code to unlock it, and then do what I should have done earlier. I scroll through her social media and finally her photos, trying to piece together her life and all the missing pieces.

  I swipe through all the pictures of the gang I met tonight, there’s some old ones of Buck, some of the landscape, especially at dusk and dawn. I pause when I get to a shot of a black German Shepherd. It’s sitting in the dirt, and from the background, I can tell the picture was taken right outside the front porch, because the back of the bar is in the shot. I know immediately it’s that dog she told me not to feed. It looks skinny in the picture. I wonder if Scarlett fed it and got into trouble with its owner.

  I get tired of scrolling and get up and go in the kitchen. There’s a small pizza oven in the back of the bar, and they were selling pretty good all night. I split one with Shelly and Pete at the end of the night, so I’m really not hungry, but I look in the fridge anyway. She’s got some soft drinks neatly lined up, as well as some bottles of beer. There’s orange juice and eggs, shredded cheese, butter, and jelly, and a package of deli meat. I grab a cola, and then search her cupboards. There’s chips and two jars of salsa, canned soup, peanut butter and crackers, and some apples and oranges in a bowl on the counter.

  Seems like Scarlett doesn’t do much cooking.

  I return to the chair by the fire.

  My phone, no Scarlett’s phone, goes off with a text. It’s her.

  Scarlett: Did you find my bar?

  Me: I did. Badlands. Appropriate name. Your loan sharks came in the bar tonight.

  Scarlett: Crap. I’m sorry. Maybe we should switch back in the morning.

  Me: No. I’m fine. I’ll deal with them.

  Scarlett: This was a bad idea. We shouldn’t have switched places.

  Me: It’s not as easy as when we were kids, but don’t lie and say you aren’t enjoying it at least a little bit.

  Scarlett: It’s a trip, all right.

  Me: Have fun. I’ll call if I need you.

  Scarlett: Same.

  I’m not off five minutes, when I hear something outside. I move to the door and flick on the exterior light. A white horse stands about ten feet from the porch. It has no saddle or bridle and appears to be wild.

  I open the door, step slowly down, and sit on the steps. “Hey, boy.”

  He just stands there, like some sign.

  I rub my upper arms against the sudden chill that passes over me. I glance around but don’t see another one. “Where’s the rest of your herd?”

  He raises his head and gives me his profile. I slowly rise and move toward him. He takes a step back, but then holds his ground. I lift my hand and let him smell me, then stroke his neck. “Hey, pretty fella.”

  He lets me pet him for a minute, and then he tosses his head and backs up. I hear the distant yip of a coyote, but I can’t tell from which direction.

  I step back and the horse gallops off, gone into the da
rkness as suddenly as he appeared.

  I’m about to go back inside, when I see a shape trot around the side of the bar. It could be a coyote or a dog. It stops when it sees me and just stares. I suppose he’s why the horse took off.

  He approaches, coming into the glow of the porch light, and I see it’s a dog. I back up onto the porch, ready to scramble inside if he’s vicious. It’s the black German Shepard from the pictures. I’m sure of it. He sits ten feet from the porch, his tongue hanging out. He whines softly and sniffs the air. Then he cocks his head and stares at me. He looks skinny, and I wonder what would happen if I broke my sister’s rule and fed him.

  I go inside and come out with the package of deli ham. I open it, set it down at the bottom of the steps, and back away.

  He hesitantly approaches and gobbles the meat like he hasn’t eaten in days.

  I go back inside, fill a stainless bowl with water, and bring it out.

  He laps it up, every drop.

  “Goodnight, buddy.” I go inside and hear his nails click on the wooden steps. I peer out to see him curled up on the porch, his head resting on his paws. I smile and return to my chair, actually feeling better that I have a dog standing guard at my door. I don’t feel so alone. I wonder why Scarlett hasn’t gotten a dog for company. Or a cat or something.

  Once the fire burns down to embers, I go in the bedroom, strip down to my panties, and find a white ribbed tank top in a drawer and slip that on. Then I crawl under my mothers quilt and fall into an exhausted sleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Charlotte—

  I hear a bird chirping and slowly come awake. I open my eyes and take in the strange room. For a split second I feel completely disoriented. I sit bolt upright. Memory returns, and I realize I’m in Scarlett’s bed, in Scarlett’s house, living Scarlett’s life. The reality of the situation sinks in. We really did this. We switched places! I have no costume fittings, no promotional photo shoots, no rehearsals, no interviews. I’m completely free!

  A lightness of being sweeps through me, and with it, a squeal of pure joy.

  I check the time. It’s almost noon.

  I yawn, stretch, and shove the covers back, making my way to the kitchen for coffee. I make a pot and, sipping on a steaming mug, I wander to the front door to see if my visitor from last night is still asleep on my doorstep.

  I push the curtain aside, but he’s gone. The empty porch steals a little of my joy, but I’m sure I’ll see him again.

  I take a quick shower and flip through the clothes in Scarlett’s closet. It’s mostly low riding jeans and tank tops or sleeveless tee shirts. A few flannel shirts, I suppose for when it gets cold out here. There’s a cool leather jacket, and I slip it on and check the mirror. It’s the bomb, but I hardly have a need for it today. I return it to its hanger and flip past a long cool western style poncho. I try it on and pop a flat brimmed brown hat on with it that I find hanging on a hook inside the door. Hmm, maybe my sister’s fashion sense isn’t a total train wreck. I put the pieces back and find a couple of cute little sundresses shoved to the back. I pull out one. It’s got a V-neck, thin straps and gathers under the breast. It’s got a stretchy under-slip in white and a sheer overlay with lace trim at the neckline, waist and hem that comes to mid-thigh. It has a cute print of small, faded red roses about the size of a coin. I can’t resist trying it on.

  I check my reflection in the mirror. The dress hugs every curve. I find a pair of cowboy boots to complete the outfit, and the look is perfect. I swipe on some makeup and head to the bar.

  When I step out onto the porch, I spot a manila envelope leaning against the wall. I stare at it. Was it there before and I just didn’t see it? Or was it put there while I was showering and dressing?

  I scan the landscape but see no one. I spot one car over at the gas station, a man pumping gas, not looking this way. It’s quiet except for the sound of the wind and the occasional birdcall.

  I pick it up, wondering if it’s more threats from the MC, and go back inside. Taking it to the kitchen table, I pull out the contents. It’s a single sheet of paper with heavy slashing handwriting in bold black marker.

  I know what you did.

  You should have listened to me, bitch.

  I swallow. Is this because I fed the dog? Is this why Scarlett warned me?

  I’m so pissed, I want to stomp over there and throw it in his face. I take a breath, remembering it’s my sister who has to live in this town with these people, and anything I do may come back to bite her in the ass. So, I shove it in the envelope and jam it in the trashcan.

  “What a dick.” I refrain from responding, but if that asshole thinks he’ll scare me with his stupid note, he better think again.

  I lock up and head to the bar.

  Friday evening—

  There’s a man up on stage playing guitar and singing a country song. His rendition of Chris Stapleton’s Tennessee Whiskey is spot on. The mood in the bar is mellow tonight, and I like it.

  “Hey, Scarlett, you’re up next.”

  I’m drawing a beer, my hand on the beer tap, when Pete says those words. I stare at him curiously.

  He tilts his head to the side. “Weren’t you going to play and sing tonight? That’s what Tina told me.”

  I blow out a breath. I was hoping since Tina isn’t here I could just forget it, but I guess she’ll have Pete verify next time she comes in. “Um, yeah. Sure. Just a second.”

  I deliver the glass of beer to a customer, add it to his tab, and wipe my hands and move toward the stage as the song finishes to a round of applause. The lights are low in the bar, and the tables are filled. We’re having a really good night.

  I smile at the performer. “Want to do one with me?”

  “Sure, darlin’. What do you want to play?”

  I pick up Scarlett’s red guitar. “Do you know Remind Me?”

  He grins and starts strumming the opening cords. He breaks into Brad Paisley’s part.

  I join in with my guitar and jump in with Carrie Underwood’s part.

  We battle back and forth, each taking a guitar rife between verses.

  The crowd is really getting into it, and my vocals are flooding the room. I’m having fun, and I think this kid is shocked at how well our voices work together.

  I’m aware of the door opening and more people coming in, but I don’t look over. It’s crowded tonight, and soon there’s standing room only. At first, I wasn’t sure where all the business was coming from, but from what I’ve overheard, we’re apparently a good stopping point for people coming from over the mountains heading toward Vegas. We’re also one of the only bars between the air base and Vegas.

  The song finishes, and we get a thunderous roar of applause, along with some ear-piercing whistles.

  I look out over the dark room. There’s a small spotlight that makes it hard to see too much. “Y’all mind if I play another?”

  The crowd roars.

  I grin. “I’m gonna pull out an old one, but a good one. It has special meaning for me, so I hope you’ll oblige me. This one’s for anyone out there who’s lost someone.”

  I strum the mellow opening chords of 3 Doors Down’s Here Without You.

  The room quiets. There are no shuffling chairs, no clinking glasses, it’s just my soft vocals floating through the room. I drift to the side of the stage, out of the direct spotlight, and I can see the crowd better. My gaze is drawn to a man with dark hair and a beard sitting at the end of the bar near the door. There’s something about his eyes, and I can’t look away. He seems moved by the words I’m singing, and I finish the rest of the song, staring into his gaze.

  When the song ends, applause erupts, but still I stare at him. He sits unmoving, then lifts a hand and curls two fingers, beckoning me to him.

  I break my gaze and smile at the crowd. “Thank you.”

  Some yell for more, but I slip the guitar strap over my head, sit the Red Fender Stratocaster in its stand at the back of the stage, and walk off.
I intend to return to behind the bar, but at the last second, I veer toward the door and the man sitting at the end. Someone else takes the stage and begins a rendition of Steve Earle’s Copperhead Road.

  It’s crowded, and I have to work my way through the bodies.

  When I finally reach him and get a better look, my smile falls. My eyes sweep over him. He’s fucking gorgeous and built, but what stands out most is the leather vest I hadn’t noticed before. The patch over his right breast reads President. I look over his shoulder and see his VP, Trick giving me a smug look.

  I swallow. “Hey.”

  The man’s eyes sweep over me. “Lord, girl, you’re hot as Vegas blacktop in that dress.”

  I arch one brow. Is this guy for real?

  “I’m Daytona.” He extends his hand.

  “Scarlett,” I say, taking it. His grip tightens around mine, and he pulls me forward. Then he stands and offers me his stool.

  “Let me buy you a drink, Scarlett.”

  I sit, mostly because he’s crowding me in, and it’s the only space I have. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary.”

  He motions to Shelly. “Get the lady whatever she wants.”

  Shelly looks at me with bug eyes.

  I don’t know why, but I suddenly feel the need to prove something. “Bulleit on the rocks.”

  Daytona grins. “I love a woman who drinks whiskey. Nothing sexier.” I notice his eyes sweep over my legs and cleavage as he makes the comment.

  Shelley scoops some ice into a rocks glass and tips the bottle of Bulleit Bourbon. I watch the amber liquor cascade over the ice, mostly to avoid looking into his hypnotizing gaze.

  Daytona has several twenties on the bar and slides one forward. “Keep the change, darlin’.”

  Now who’s trying to impress whom?

  “So what brings you in tonight?” I ask. “You here to sing?”

  He chuckles. “Hardly. Though I really liked that song you did.” He lifts a hand and brushes a strand of hair back from my temple. I resist the urge to pull back. He still hasn’t answered me. When I cock a brow, his grin gets wider.