Plain Jane & the Bad Boy

Chapter 2

There was nothing better in life than a cold beer in the palm of your hand and the sizzle of beef cooking on the grill, especially after completing another flip. A flip which should bring in a nice chunk of change.

Liam did the math in his head. He bought the house for one eighty on a short sale, spent thirty-five upgrading the kitchen with new cabinets and appliances, spent another twenty-five on turning the bathroom into a mini-spa with a sunken tub and walk-in shower. Another ten grand on the floors, paint job, and landscaping. He and his men put in long hours and got everything done in two months. Local listing prices of neighboring houses were in the two eighty range. He planned to list the house at three twenty and decrease if necessary. Hopefully, it wouldn't be necessary.

A cheer went up in the family room, followed by a string of curses and the tinkle of broken glass. Liam leaned over the arm of his deck chair and pushed open the screen door. "You break my shit, I break you."

"That was the jaw of your UFC fighter breaking. You owe me a Benny," Mack shouted.

What else was new? He sucked at picking a winner. He had a thing for the underdog, always wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, until they bit your hand off. And they always bit his hand off, such was his expertise.

Willa, Mack's old lady, crossed to the kitchen and returned with a broom, as Mack hauled his ass out of Liam's favorite chair and lumbered over to the patio. "You're burning the meat." Mack headed for the grill.

"Touch my meat and you're fired."

Mack snorted and picked up a pair of tongs. "I'm the best drywaller you have, asshole." He opened the hood on Liam's custom-built grill and flipped the steaks.

A fact Liam couldn't deny. He looked out onto the open backyard and the houses adjacent to his—Mack's and the rest of his little group—houses they'd flipped together, which created their own little enclave at the end of the cul-de-sac. Man, they'd all come so far from the days when he was just the son of the president of Mayhem MC.

Liam grew up in the motorcycle club and had enough of the violence and crime that the army was an acceptable alternative. Six years in as a grunt going from war zone to war zone; and four years as a respectable business owner flipping houses, he should be pleased.

Shit, he was pleased, though something was missing, something tangible.

The patio door slid open again and out traipsed Willa, followed by everyone else: Billy and his pregnant girlfriend, Sasha; and single and loving it, Jay.

Tonight was their ritual feast after completing a job. Everyone gathered at Liam's for a meal and some downtime before the next job. Liam stole the ritual from his father who did the same thing before a drug or gun run. Great way to establish camaraderie before illegal activity. The ladies handled everything except the meat and the liquor.

"Liam burned the meat, so blame him, not me." Mack piled the T-bones onto a platter Willa had brought over. Liam didn't have any of that fancy shit in his house.

Willa did a year in college as an interior designer, then Mack knocked her up and she dropped out. Now, she was a stager, working with a few developers, including Liam. He gave her free rein to design his house. With no woman in his life to defer to, he didn't care what the inside looked like as long as he had a place to sleep, eat, and shit.

Tomorrow morning, she'd stage the house they just finished for a showing later that afternoon. Tonight, it was all about kicking back and relaxing. They gathered around the picnic-style dining table. The spread looked good—baked potatoes, corn on the cob, grilled veggies, and meat. Liam's stomach growled as he filled his plate.