by Kerri Ann
“Busta.”
“I’m trying to be calm.” Cracking my knuckles and teasing the end of my beard—my nervous twitch when I’m bothered—I try to stay relaxed. “Oubliette, how did you gain that mark?”
“Do you want a shooter? Something fiery and fun? Or are you into a sweet chocolate concoction?” Ignoring my request and turning her back to me, she grabs up a few liquor bottles from the bar. “I’ll go for the sweet one. You look like you could use it.”
Blowing out a heavy breath, starting toward the back of the bar, everyone in the way parts like the sea, or ventures off to other parts of the clubhouse, away from my intended course. Lifting the arm and stepping inside, I park my body in her way. “Now Busta, how am I supposed to make you a great drink if you’re in the way?”
It’s easy to see that she’s fully fucking drunk. I also notice the cut isn’t as small as I thought. The bruising around the edges of it are already turning blue and purple, and it suits the shape of a knuckle. Gripping her by the hips, propping her ass on the bar, I feather a hand across her face. Wincing slightly, she turns away quickly, then turns back with a big grin.
“It’s not bad, Lucius,” she whispers.
“Obi, who hit you? I don’t take it lightly. I can see it hurts. I won’t leave it until you tell me,” I implore her as calmly as I can.
Touching my face, she runs her fingers through my beard. “It was a girly spat. Nothin’ you need to worry about.” I look over at Panna, one of the only people who stayed put at the bar. Obi implores her with her own look, a look that says ‘help me.’
Without turning to her, I ask, “Pandora, what happened to my girl here?”
“Your girl?” Obi recites with a snappy look.
I place a finger on Oubliette’s lips. “Shush. I’m talking to Pandora.” She grins, and I feel her tight giggle that attempts to escape.
“She had a run—”
“Pan! You promised. New girl and new rules!” Oubliette yells out, laughing the whole time. It’s good to see she’s getting along with someone that I trust and care for. Pan is my favorite woman here. She’s more like a mother than just a member of the club to me.
“Pres, there was a scuffle in the bathroom. Don’t worry, though, your girl here got in a few good licks to Mona.”
Fucking Mona. I thought she was dealt with.
“You said you’d keep quiet, Pan.” Oubliette pouts.
“I said I’d keep quiet unless he asked. He asked.”
With a resounding, Pandora! yelled across the room, she rises from the bar and starts away. “Ret’s calling. Good luck, Oubliette. See you around.”
“See ya,” Oubliette calls out, but her look shows the disappointment of being outed and left alone to deal with the aftermath.
“Obi, I’m tired, I’m stressed, and I have a ton on my mind. Tell me what happened.”
With downturned eyes, and a puffed-out bottom lip, she says, “Don’t make me tell you. I didn’t expect any less. I held my own, we worked it out and I’m fine. Leave it, please, Lucius.”
Knowing eyes are on us from all directions, I let it rest. “We’ll talk about this later.”
With a wink and a grin, Obi pushes me to back away. Hopping down on wobbly legs, she smacks her hands together. “Right. Time for a drink. Celebrations I hear, President.”
Chapter Twenty
Oubliette
Oh, for fuck. I shouldn’t have had that last Widowmaker.
Or the last two Cocksuckers.
Probably should’ve avoided the Inky Mermaid Piss, and the Sinful Heartbreaker too, because I’m pretty sure the Talented Mr. Rip-my-ass-a-new-one is ready to kill me. At least that’s the impression I get from his gaze.
I’m intoxicated. There’s no doubting that, but I think I deserve to let my hair down after all the shit I’ve gone through lately.
Sucking on my fingers, clearing the vermouth that dribbled as I mixed the last set of shooters, I look across at the lineup of boys at the bar. Yeah, a bunch have ran off to hang with their women, but a great deal of them were interested in what I could create.
“Oubliette, these drinks are spectacular,” Flight calls out, slurring his words.
Lining up a few shooters, I concentrate on pouring into the small mouthed cups. “I’m a fucking genius for drinks. I should write a book.”
“You got that right.” Miss slaps a hand on the bar. The motion throws him off-balance, tossing his ass to the floor as he rocks off the chair.
“Fuck, brother. You’re cut off,” Flight jokes, laughing and reaching for his own shooter. We’ve been at this for a few hours now, and Flight is someone I’m starting to enjoy the company of. His short hair, tight to his head in tiny waves—with cutouts in the back, creating a pattern of flights on an arrow, he’s meticulous and good-looking. Not to miss that sweet smile, I see why the ladies flock to his side as we drink. Though, most of those ladies are lightweights, and they’ve ran off for other entertainment.
As a few of the guys gather up Miss, who’s told me to call him Parker, I laugh. Well, I laughed until I looked at the stoic and solemn face across from me.
Lucius.
He’s kept his wits about him. He’s nursed beers instead of delving into the ‘world of Oubliette and her wicked liquids’—his words, not mine.
“I’m done for tonight,” Miss states. His stance sways as he tries to gain his footing. “These earthquakes are killing me. When will the ground stop moving?”
Laughing out, Flight smacks him on the shoulder as he grips him around the waist to hold him up. “There’s no earthquake, you quack. It’s you that’s movin’.”
Allowing his brothers to hold him up, Miss grins wide. “Probably true. I should go.”
He’s talked more and more as the liquid’s loosened his tongue. The man is fucked. He is well and fucked. When I tried to give him bartender advice, Lucius gave me the ‘don’t do it’ look. I’ve stayed quiet and only listened.
Removing the hands of his brothers, that are the only things keeping him upright, he tumbles to the floor once more. Miss is a towering hulk of a man. He’s easily the same, if not more than Lucius is in weight. They’re just shy of each other in height, and his body exudes a dangerous aura. The scars that course his neck and arms tell me he’s taken and dealt it back in spades to his enemies. It has to be the reason he’s been promoted to enforcer. I’d be fucking scared of his ass if he came looking for me.
After years in the club life—well, at least surrounded by it at work—I’ve come to sort out the dangerous from the showy. I can tell you who’s in control of their tendencies to cause death versus the guy who falls into it because he had to. Lucius learned to be the bad guy. Miss? He’s fought his way out of the darkness to be the weapon he is now. He’s honed it to perfection.
“Time to go, Oubliette.” Standing up and laying his empty beer bottle on the counter, Lucius motions for me to end our night.
I get it, and in a way, I can’t disagree. I’m fucking beat. The fight with the club girl Mona didn’t do anything other than use up some of my reserve adrenaline, and now that I’ve burnt away the rest of my strength with booze and laughter, I’m bushed.
Smacking my hands together, I swipe them back and forth, like they do when you’re at the casinos. “Time for me to go, boys. Thanks for the night.”
“Really?” A few call out, but I’ve made my decision. Well, actually, Busta did, but I’m following suit.
“Yeah. My ride’s heading out. At this point, I should be sober enough that I can grip his hips to hold on. If I keep drinking I’ll be roadkill.”
A few of the guys approach me and thank me, and a few tell Busta how I have to come back for a club night to bartend. Miss and Flight let their Pres know that if he doesn’t name me as property, that he’ll have competition.
I’m not sure I want that—the property title—but I know the benefits of it, so it doesn’t bother me to be called that.
Stepping in to the outstretched arm of Lucius
, I curl into his side. Kissing me on the forehead, he leads us outside to his bike. As I hit the pavement, it shifts uncomfortably. “I might’ve had a few too many,” I groan, swaying slightly in the lamplight.
“Well, if you hold here,” he advises, placing my hand on his cock, “it should be enough of a handle to keep you amused.”
Feeling how hard he is, I grip it tightly. Sliding my hand up and down, I tease him. Probably a bad idea, but I’m gathering up all my bad ideas in one year. It was a bad idea to chase Crystal outside. It was a bad idea to taunt Busta at the warehouse, and it was definitely a bad idea to kill Nock. I might as well stack ’em up.
Bending down and covering my mouth with his, I taste the tang of his consumed beers. Tangling his tongue within, enjoying his war, I run my tongue along the edge of his teeth. Pulling back slightly, just enough to speak, I whisper, “If you get me alone, I might have to show you what this tongue can do beyond getting me in trouble.”
“I think that would still be constituted as trouble, Obi.”
“Well, you’ll just have to find out.”
Lifting me with a growl, he sets me on the back of his bike, then climbs on and starts us out of the lot.
Chapter Twenty-One
Busta
Heading out of town to my place, the roads are quiet. After the crazy busy, fucked-up day, I’m glad. I don’t think I could handle soccer moms and assholes on phones.
Sitting at a light, waiting for it to turn, I give Obi’s hand a squeeze. She’s been holding my erection the whole time. Stroking it a few times, then using it as a handlebar, it’s a great reminder that she hasn’t fallen off. Also, that I’ll be fucking her as soon as we enter the house. Seeing her behind that bar, watching her command the room with the brothers in my club, it felt right. She felt right. I felt at peace with her there.
Yeah, I was the bastard saying that I don’t need a woman in my life. I was the bastard that said any of these fuckers that were strapped down with a bit of pussy, that it held them hostage—that they were trapped. I figured they were just asking for trouble in their lives. Yet here I am. She’s shown me strength, compassion, and that she can hold her own with a bottle of Jack. She’s damn near perfect.
“Almost home,” I yell over the roar of my bike. I don’t hear her reply, and as the light changes, I speed off.
Thinking about everything—King and his mess—our disaster, and how it’s affecting all the surrounding clubs, I decide we need to step up our timeline. We need to beat him at his own game.
Getting home, I park in the garage. “I have a call I need to make. You go grab a drink, Obi. I’ll be right in.”
With a nod, she walks inside. I watch her retreating ass the whole time and think about how King is now not only causing issues in the club, and in my life at the club, but he’s fucking with my sex life too. My once rock-hard cock that was ready to make Oubliette scream is subdued.
Grabbing a beer from the bar fridge, I close the garage and start walking to the back of the house along the side. The grass over here is a bit crunchy, and I’ll remind myself later that the sprinkler timer should be dialed up.
Hitting the button for Death, he replies with a heavy grunt. “This better be good. I was knee-deep in pussy.”
If mine’s sidelined, only fair someone else’s is on account of King.
“We need a meet, sooner rather than later.” I don’t want to say too much, as I’m not sure who’s listening. There could be bugs, or someone in earshot.
“Tomorrow. Come to Humble.” Without awaiting my answer, Death hangs up.
Dialing another, the phone doesn’t connect immediately. Ring after ring, I wait. “What’s up, Pres?”
Fuck, I still need to get used to that.
“Did you call your sister?” I ask.
“Yeah. She’s got us a meet with Sinner and Soulless the day after tomorrow,” Miss informs me, still slightly slurring his words.
“Push it up. Have them meet you and me at Humble Club tomorrow. Noon, I’ll ride over with Oubliette.”
“With Oubliette, huh?” His voice is full of mirth.
Fucker.
“Yeah, with the bartender. I’m sure Death would be happy to see she’s safe.”
Laughing into the phone, Miss has a hard time controlling his drunken giggles. “Fuck me.”
“Shut it. Just meet me tomorrow at the club.” Hanging up, I still hear his laughter. Asshole.
Pocketing my phone, taking in the darkness and the stars, the light leaves a reflection on the water below. Grabbing a seat on one of the chairs out here, I blow out the pent-up frustration that’s been mounting. First with DG, then the brothers. Now I’m head of this shit, and I have a responsibility to the club to tell them the truth. They don’t know about King. They don’t know about all the shit that’s happened and that continues because of Cruel Intentions and my past. Because of me and the choices I made then.
Yeah, King thinks he owns me—always has. Taking me from my family and invading my life all that time ago. He forgets, I was trained to be the asshole I’ve become.
He took the darkest parts of me to create the weapon he’s hoping to use against those I care for now. I won’t bow. I won’t break.
Pulling out my wallet, taking out the small picture with worn corners, I look at it in the moonlight. The faces of the people that meant the most to me that lifetime ago, the people that I fought to protect that have fallen into memory.
I never gave in fully to King, never truly becoming his puppet, and I guess that’s why I’ve excelled at the Bows. I’m my own man, and he’s the same. Code is just as strong, just as willful.
My little brother had disappeared from sight for years, until last year. I’d thought he’d found an out—a lucky life without club intervention. A pool in the backyard with football buddies and cheerleading short shorts. When I’d heard rumblings about a guy that looked like me, I had the boys investigate a new club in the area. With the answers I expected, my suspicions had been confirmed.
To fight this, to fix it, I know I’ll need Code and his club involved.
Using whores, intel, and cops on the take, I was able to grab his phone number. I hadn’t called it yet, but it’s time he and I had a chat.
Scrolling through my phone, thumbing the number, I press it.
“Hello?” His groggy voice carries across the small speaker.
“Cap.”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“It’s Lucius.”
“Lucius? I don’t know—”
“Yeah, you do. Now, I need you to listen, Cap.” I don’t know if this will push him, but I have to try. I have to try and break this secret wide open—I need to fix our lives.
“How the fuck did you get this number? No, better yet, what the fuck do you want calling me in the middle of the night?” Cap sounds just like our father. Same tone, and same patience too, I’ll bet.
“I know you’re in Orange County, brother. We need a meet.”
“Not interested.”
“This is about something bigger than a grudge. Do you know of the Humble Club?”
Cap replies, “Yeah. Why? That’s Horsemen run.” His tone softens. He’s listening at least. For now, that’s the best I can ask for.
“Meet there tomorrow at noon. And Cap? Bring your VP.”
“Like I’d come alone.” With that, the line clicks as he hangs up, and I do the same.
“Fuck, I hope this works.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Busta
Walking back in the house, I find Obi passed out on the living room couch. She’s snoring lightly, drool dribbling out of her mouth, and damn near naked. Just looking at her is killing me. Her shirt is off, her jean shorts are on the floor. Her bra and flimsy underwear are the only things covering her. Poor woman hasn’t had decent clothing in a week.
Fuck, I need to take her shopping. At the least, she needs to go to her condo to grab some things. Even though I want to enjoy her like this,
because yeah, she’s damn near perfect, I know I can’t.
Walking over, I pick her up and move down the hall. Listening to her soft whine, I laugh. It entices me more and more to learn her little quirks, to find out what makes her tick.
Placing her in the bed and smiling, I tuck the blankets across.
“Thank you, love,” she murmurs, curling in on herself.
Love.
I can’t remember a time that anyone has called me ‘love.’ I’ve been asshole, fucker, cocksucker, and on numerous occasions, douche, but never love. Peeling off my cut, my shirt and my jeans, I curl into the bed beside her. Roping an arm around her chest, holding her boob as if it anchors me, I spoon her tiny body. Nothing feels more perfect.
I’m fearful of that.
What if what I’m doing will mess this up? Whatever this is, will it last?
King will fuck this.
No...I’ll fuck this.
The shit thing is I have to. I have to make this right. I have to make it right for all of us.
No more hiding in the shadows, no more letting people run and ruin my life. I’ll choose my fate, and I’ll choose hers. We’ll make this right for all.
Falling asleep, my mind drifts to the past and how it’s blatantly fucking me over again.
Fucking King.
“COME ON THEN. LET’S have a go. Show me your worst, Colton.” Plowing his feet into the sand, kicking out his stance to make him that much harder to knock over, Colton knows his sheer size makes him a brute. He knows this is coming down to a fight and he thinks he’s prepared. He deserves everything he’s about to get.
The reason for the fight is simple. For years, Colton chased my sister. He wanted in her pants, and once he did, he unfortunately knocked her up in the process. Colton then turned tail and took off like a coward bitch. Today’s the first day I’ve seen him in months.
For a guy that was here every day after school and before, whining and attempting to win her, to now shut down and leave without a word, it was noticed. Finding out my sister was pregnant, he ran. That didn’t help matters.