Page 27 of Insidious Heart
Little John makes sure I have all the facts, every single detail I need in order to get the job done, and what he doesn’t know firsthand or have access to, he calls our mutual friend, Spider, to dig up.
And this file screams of the Goliath Birdeater’s handiwork.
There’s no other way John would know without a doubt that Beauregard Williams istaxingso many businesses in Rolling Meadows, just like he wouldn’t be able to confirm one hundred percent that his garage is a chop shop that also cleans stolen guns and cooks meth.
My mentor is good but he’s not a young buck anymore, and Beau may be a mean and nasty idiot, but he seems to have a mind for protecting his businesses.
Even though he’s clearly holding a church service out of his biggest business right now.
He’s been gone most of the week and when he’s in town, Beau has been staying at their clubhouse save for quick trips to his house on the other side of town, so to be holding church here is a little strange. But what do I know? It just seems odd since the clubhouse is closer to his house, and he pops in and out of there a lot.
His daughter being the reason for that, I’m sure.
I can’t help but grin as I swipe my screen and pull up that part of the file.
Stevie Williams, the Demon Seeds’ princess.
When I first started looking through the file Little John gave me, I went right to Beau’s list of haunts.
His house, the clubhouse. Work, bars, strip clubs. Where he grocery shops, where he gets gas. Every place Beauregard frequents was listed, and when I saw Rolling Meadows Nursing Home cited with an asterisk, I wasn’t sure why.
So, I went to investigate, and damn if I wasn’t pleasantly surprised.
Did I know at the time the willowy little slice of heaven standing out back all alone was his daughter? No, and that’s exactly why I decided to approach.
I had seen that sick fucker Jax—Joker, apparently—leave the facility, but I hadn’t seen any club affiliation other than that, and I assumed he must have been dropping off his president for some strange fucking reason. Then I sat on that rundown piece of shit building for nearly nine hours with no sign of the bastard and was ready to call it a night when Stevie walked out.
Hair the color of cinnamon and honey caught my eye first, the loose waves hitting just below her shoulders and hanging in her face. She was wearing standard scrubs under a simple light gray zip up hoodie, purple Crocs on her feet, and she had a gigantic hobo bag slung over her shoulder.
All in all, Stevie wasn’t anything to write home about at first glance, but once I was directly behind her I knew I was one hundred percent wrong about that.
Subtle curves on a delicate body. A body that was taller than I realized, probably five-six or five-seven, and every inch was soft and lean under sun-kissed skin.
And if that wasn’t enough to entice me, once Stevie spun around to face me, god I was so fucked.
First of all, she smelled like Christmas.
Peppermint, cookies, and something a touch citrusy.
In my twisted mind, since I’ve never celebrated it before, that equates to Christmas; and once she turned around and I was hit with that scent, Stevie became a Christmas present I’d love to unwrap.
But then she looked at me.
Really fucking looked at me, and I was taken aback for a second.
Her eyes are so blue, blue like… almost like an aquamarine color, and they fucking sparkled from underneath light brows and thick lashes. And the fairer tone to her skin, the pretty pink of her Cupid’s bow lips, the slight flush to her cheeks, all of it made that blue even more intense.
I was instantly obsessed with this girl and she hadn’t even said a word to me yet.
And when she did? Jesus, I got so fucking hard I thought I was going to sprain my dick from the way it was pushing against my fly.
She wasn’t scared of me—surprisingly, even though I made her jump—and the fact that Stevie had a little attitude about my pet names for her sent a shot of dopamine straight to my brain.
I don’t spend much time with women, not unless I really need to get laid and feel like risking all kinds of shit by doing so, and even then it’s quick, to the point, and consists of very few words.
Which is miraculous because I’m a talker, but sex and violence go hand in hand for me, so I have to keep my trap shut or else things get weird and messy, and I don’t fucking like messy.
But I do like my women feisty and Stevie’s minor snark catered to that.
