Midnight Oil: Plaything #5 Read online

  Midnight Oil

  Plaything #5

  Tess Oliver

  Midnight Oil

  Copyright © 2019 by Tess Oliver

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  More Plaything

  About the Author

  One

  Quinn

  A small plane buzzed so close overhead, I ducked my six foot frame out of instinct. The summer sun was just lifting in the sky but the Brackford Airport, a tiny airfield filled mostly with rich people's flying toys and flight instructor airplanes, was already vibrating with activity. I lumbered across the asphalt as I gulped back the last few sips of coffee. Trey's fire red Ferrari was parked by the building. Zane's Land Rover was next to it. It seemed everyone else had already arrived. I was going to hear it from my big brother for being late.

  Chase looked up from the parachute he had just finished packing. "Look who finally showed up. Did you bring coffee for everyone?"

  "Don't you rich guys have people who do that for you?" I crumpled the empty cup and tossed it across the room into the trash can. It did a nice bank shot off the wall before dropping in. "Still got it, even at the crack of dawn."

  "Dawn cracked about an hour ago. Glad you finally dragged your ass out of bed, Sir Wets-his pants-a-lot." Trey quipped as he put his phone back into his pocket.

  Zane laughed. "Even after hearing that nickname for the thousandth time, it still earns a chuckle."

  "Two accidents in kindergarten," I complained. "I was fucking five years old and both times, Mom was late for work so I didn't have time to go to the bathroom. And my kindergarten teacher, the ferret faced Mrs. Turd Turner was angry from the second we trotted in with our smiles and our Ninja Turtle backpacks until we walked out, broken and sad from a day spent with Turd Turner. And, Trey, don't make me perform my Trey Armstrong meets the mall Santa face to face again." I grabbed my jumpsuit off the hook and sat down on the bench.

  Zane shook his head. "That's right, you had Turd Turner. Chase and I were in sweet little Mrs. Jensen's class. She used to knit blankets for nap time."

  "Remember those sugar cookies with the smiley faces she used to give us as we walked out if we were her special smarties for the day?" Chase asked.

  "Sure do," Zane said. "I was the smartest kid so I walked out with a cookie every damn day."

  Trey stared at him with wonder. "How the hell did the rest of us ever become friends with you and that bloated head?"

  Zane shrugged. "Must have been my charisma."

  Aidan tromped over, looking as big and gruff as a grizzly bear. He was holding a parachute container. "Since you were still getting your beauty sleep, I packed your chutes."

  "Gee thanks, big guy." I reached for the pack, but he held it just out of reach.

  "Not so fast. I haven't seen the performance." We were all big guys, even Zane, who was shorter but made it up in muscle. But Aidan was a giant. The parachute pack looked like a little kid's backpack in his big hand.

  "What performance?" I asked. It was still too early and the coffee hadn't set in.

  "Trey Armstrong meets mall Santa. I haven't seen it."

  "Fuck, Aidan, yes you have," Trey groaned. "Just let the idiot get his gear on. The pilot just texted that we're taking off in ten minutes."

  Aidan ignored my brother and stared down at me with an expression that said no performance, no parachute.

  "Actually, I'd like to see it too," Zane said. "I've witnessed it on several occasions, but just like the Sir Wets-his-pants-a-lot nickname, it never gets old."

  I put the jumpsuit on the bench and stood up. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up and put my hands in my jean pockets, a perfect imitation of an eight-year-old Trey trying to look badass. "Hey, Quinn, I'm going to ask Santa for one of those remote control army tanks." I stepped forward as if I was moving ahead in line. "Nah, I think I'm going to ask him for that Halo game since Mom said she won't buy it for us." I stepped forward again. "On second thought, I want one of those rad scooters that lets you go like a hundred miles an hour down the sidewalk." The entire room was silent. I had everyone's rapt attention, except for Trey's. He had picked up his phone. In his defense, he knew how it ended. I stepped forward again. "Quinn, we're almost at the front of the line. Maybe I'll ask for a new skateboard. The one I have sucks." I stepped forward again. I popped my eyes wide and froze for a good ten seconds before spinning around and screaming, "Mom, Mom!"

  Aidan's laugh vibrated the windows on the room. "Ah shit," he said when he caught his breath. "I'd heard about the mall Santa scene, but it's much better to see it in live action." He turned back to my brother, who was still swiping through his phone. "That there, is an Armstrong brother classic."

  "Fuck you, Bigfoot." Trey finally lowered his phone. "The guy had a nose that looked like a red head of cauliflower and his eyes were bloodshot. Not exactly the picture I had of Santa in my head."

  Chase picked up his parachute pack. "I had an uncle with bloodshot eyes and a cauliflower nose. He kept bottles of whiskey hidden all over the house. Well, did we come here to skydive or to reminisce about kindergarten and Santa Claus cuz I didn't leave Macy and my warm, cozy bed just to hear about the Armstrong boys peeing pants and crying for Mommy."

  I sat back on the bench to pull on my jumpsuit.

  Aidan dropped my pack in front of me. "You're welcome," he said curtly.

  "Thanks, bro." I pushed off my shoes.

  "Sure thing. Hope I did it right. You know how I am about following directions." He smiled smugly at me.

  "That's all right," Trey said. "Since he's been working at that medieval joust dinner theater, my brother has learned how to fall without knocking out the little bit of sense he has left."

  My brother and I ribbed each other constantly, but in truth, since we were raised by a single mother, Trey, who was three years older, had to be both a brother and a dad to me. I knew that we always had each other's backs, and I could always count on him when I needed support or advice. He was smart, so smart that he and his three best friends from school whipped up a multibillion dollar company out of thin air—and a few trusting investors. I couldn't have been more proud of my big brother.

  "Yep, I've taken enough falls from a horse to know that you should never go head first toward the ground." I zipped and buttoned and secured myself into the jumpsuit. Skydiving had been Zane's idea. Actually, it started with his girlfriend Rainsford, who talked us all into our first jump. We got hooked. Raini, who was as wild as she was beautiful, had bored of it quickly. Now it was just a guys' day out kind of thing.

  "Actually, I'm surprised you're still working at that place," Chase said. "Usually you've moved on by now. Just like with you and women, once the novelty wears off, you pack up your endless supply of condoms and hit the road."

  "I think I'm being unjustly characterized because I didn't bring you a coffee, England," I said.

  "The only reason he's sticking it out with the jousting thing
is because he's had his eye on one of the food servers." Trey was scrolling through his phone as he blurted it out.

  I leaned back with a head shake. "Shit, that's the last time I tell Georgie anything. I told her that in confidence." I shook my head again. "Those darn journalists."

  Trey's face popped up. "Ah shit, don't tell her I told you. She's going to be pissed."

  I laughed dryly. "Too late for that, bro."

  "So who is this elusive woman?" Aidan asked.

  I shrugged but my mind went straight to Suzy. "Remember that girl in high school, the one who was older and popular and didn't know you existed but that didn't stop you from ogling her, watching every movement of her sweet little body as she pulled a textbook from her locker and sipped a bottle of soda with her friends in the lunch area? You know the girl. We've all had at least one in our lives."

  "Not me," Chase quipped.

  I rolled my eyes. "Well, not the England brothers, of course. I'm talking about us regular, mortal guys."

  My trip back to high school had left Zane with a glassy look in his eyes. "Hannah Young," he said. "She used to bite her lip every time she walked up to the pencil sharpener. And her ass would sort of sway back and forth like pendulum while she turned the arm of the sharpener. Yep, Hannah was that girl for me."

  Trey looked over at him. "Really? I thought you were always wearing a hard on for Rebecca Moore."

  "Oh right, her too. I guess I had more than one of those girls." Zane went back to cleaning his goggles.

  Aidan pulled his long hair back into a rubber band. "You're not exactly that skinny dork you were in high school. Why the hell are you ogling this girl like a high school crush? Seems like you would have already had her in your bed by now."

  I picked up my flight suit. "Suzy isn't like that. Besides, she is living with a guy."

  There was a simultaneous 'ahh, that explains everything' comment in the room.

  I looked at Chase who had said it the loudest. "Why does that explain everything?"

  Chase tilted his head side to side. "She's taken and you can't have her and that is exactly why you want her."

  I shook my head. "Nope, you're wrong about that, England."

  Trey got the text from the pilot to let us know the plane was ready. We picked up our gear and headed out to the runway. A small plane roared past us and lifted off toward the blue summer sky.

  "I think when I get tired of jousting in front of thousands of drunk people shoveling turkey legs into their mouths, I might become a flight instructor," I mused as we headed out to the plane.

  "Hey, nimrod," Aidan said, "don't you need to be a pilot first?"

  I shrugged. "Yeah, so I guess I'll do the pilot thing, then ease into flight instructor."

  "Or you could just come work for your brother, instead of hopping from career to career," Trey suggested. He had offered me a number of positions inside the Plaything Company, but I was sure it would be a bad idea.

  I laughed loud enough that it was easy to hear over the buzzing sound of the plane engine. "Remember, bro, family and business should never mix."

  Aidan, whose big strides had carried him ahead of Trey and me, looked back over his shoulder. "Chase's brother, Heath, is working under me in the warehouse, and I've only wanted to draw and quarter him three, maybe four times."

  "Yes, but the warehouse is separate from the main building and besides, Heath is older than Chase so Heath can still hold the big brother power thing over him. I'd be going in defenseless."

  "Yeah, yeah, never mind," Trey snarked. "Just keep playing medieval knight. You live in a fantasy world anyhow, you might as well work in one. By the way, are you coming to the barbecue tonight? It's your turn to bring the beer."

  I shook my head. "No can do. I've got to work tonight. The guy who usually rides as the Red Knight got hurt. I'm filling in for him."

  "Did he fall off a horse? Broken ribs from a lame jousting opponent?" Zane asked.

  "Nope, I think it was a pickle jar." We reached the plane but my last statement stopped everyone. They turned to look at me.

  "Did you say a pickle jar?" Trey asked.

  "Yep, the fool was trying to open the damn thing, so he tapped it against the side of the counter and it shattered." I held up my hand. "Four stitches in his right palm."

  The guys had a good laugh as we climbed into the plane for an early morning jump.

  Two

  Suzy

  “Babe, can you fix me a sandwich before you go?" Tate crowed from the living room where he had planted himself all day to watch a marathon of Spiderman flicks. The forest of empty beer bottles sprouting up from our splintery coffee table meant he'd be in a crappy mood when I got home from work.

  I finished tying the lace on my corset belt, an annoying part of my work costume. "I don't have time. I'm going to be late."

  "Please, babe, I haven't eaten and all this beer is making me drunk. I've got to head over to Tony's later for a card game."

  I came to the end of our short hall. "You better just stay home. You've been downing those beers like water."

  A chip of paint fluttered down from above and landed on my shoulder. I brushed it away. The paint on the doorjamb was peeling and the front room of our crummy rental house had tobacco stained walls. Everything about our living situation, boyfriend included, made me want to close my eyes and wish for an entirely new life.

  Tate didn't pull his gaze from the television set. "I'll be fine. Just need to fill my stomach with that sandwich you were about to make me."

  "I told you I'm late."

  "Well, without the sandwich, I'll be driving you to work buzzed."

  "What are you talking about?" I asked and searched around for my keys.

  He held them up above his head, still not looking away from the screen. "I need to borrow your car. Mine is out of gas."

  "You're not driving after all those beers. Just skip the card game and give me those keys."

  He dangled them teasingly in the air. "Come get them from me, you wench. Flash me some tits and I might hand over the keys."

  I lunged for them from behind the couch but he grabbed my wrist. It was amazing how the beer slurred his speech, but it never dulled his reflexes. When I first met Tate, he was a tall, fit, muscular guy with a good job in construction. There was always an edge of what I liked to call asshole-ery about him, but for the most part, he treated me right and we had a good time. But a year after he got fired for drinking on the job, a lame ass move considering he was working on steel beams four stories up from the street, he still hadn't found work. It seemed construction foremen frowned upon whiskey filled coffee breaks.

  Tate, who somehow managed to be even stronger and stupider when drunk, yanked me hard enough that I fell over the back of the couch and halfway on his lap. His arm curled around my waist and he pulled me against him. A raging erection poked at my ass.

  "I think you should skip work and I'll skip the game. You know how this damn costume turns me on." His clumsy fingers grabbed at the string on my corset. I slapped his hand away and struggled to get free of his grasp.

  "I'll get fired and I'm the only one making any money." It was a reminder he hated to hear. The beer and his short, hot temper worked in unison as he shoved me off his lap. My hip landed hard on the edge of the coffee table. The impact sent the dozen empty beer bottles falling and rolling like bowling pins. At least two broke into pieces.

  "Fuck you," I said through gritted teeth as I pushed myself up off the filthy threadbare rug. Pain shot through my hip and back. I badly wanted to kick his shin but knew that would only push more of his anger buttons, like the comment about money. I rubbed the hip and fought back tears that were brewing from a mix of pain and anguish. What had I gotten myself into with this man? I deserved so much better.

  I stuck out my hand. "The keys to my car, please."

  He stared up at me with cold blue eyes, eyes that used to make me melt with dizziness but that now only made my stomach twist into a knot.
"Told you, I'm going to a poker game." His words were said with slow, sober precision. My barb about being the only one making money had hurt his ego. Not enough, I was certain, to send him out job hunting. "Get your purse and I'll drive you."

  A dry laugh shot from my mouth. "I'll take my chances at the grimy bus stop over in front of the shady looking liquor store. I'm not getting in the car with you." I hurried to the stool to get my purse. A bus ride was going to make me extra late.

  For a tall drunk, the man moved without a sound. A cold hand took hold of my arm, startling me enough to make me drop my purse. "Don't be mad, Suzy. I don't want you to sit at that bus stop. I'll drive you."

  I jerked out of his grasp. "Are you kidding me with the don't be mad shit? You just threw me into the coffee table. I can already feel the bruise starting on my hip."

  "Sorry, it was an accident." Tate put on what he considered his seductive expression, only after a lot of beers it just looked silly. "Look, babe, I'll drive you to work. I'm not drunk." He moved in for a kiss but I jammed my palms against his chest to keep him back.

  "No, not in the mood for this, Tate. I need the keys so I can go to work." I held out my palm.

  Shunning the kiss had sparked him right out of his apologetic mood and back into angry, drunk Tate. "Well, I need your fucking car because I'm going to a poker game." He swept past me and headed toward the kitchen. He flung open the pantry door, nearly snapping it off its already weak hinges. "Guess, I'll make my own fucking sandwich."

  "Tate, you can't drive drunk." I toned down my rage and added a motherly edge. "Why don't you just skip the game tonight?" Then a thought occurred to me. I'd been so wrapped up in the argument about the keys, I hadn't even thought about money. "Wait a minute, what are you using for poker? We've been broke as field mice waiting for my next paycheck. I barely have enough change at the bottom of my purse for a bus ride across town but you've got a wallet fat with enough cash to play poker?"