Bouncer (Kings of Carnage Series Book 5)

by Kim Jones

  Backing up a step, I press between her shoulders until she’s bent further. Sliding my hands down her curves, over her hips and across her ass—my fingers brush over a sensitive spot that my belt repeatedly touched. “Fucking love seeing you marked like this.”

  I spread her open and fuck her slow, watching my dick disappear inside of her. “I’m going to make sure this pretty little pussy is sore tomorrow. Sore like your ass.”

  “Please…”

  I pound into her with purpose. I want to feel her come around me. With me.

  I lift her against me. Her back to my front. Her ass hot—scorching. I reach around and stroke her clit, my mouth finding her neck, her ear. I use my teeth, tugging softly.

  “Fucking come for me, Apple.” Like my words are what she needed, I feel her begin to unravel.

  I pull back, slamming into her, my hips meeting her ass with a slap.

  When that feeling barrels up my spine, I pull out and come over the creamy skin of her ass. I let go of her hip, smoothing my hand over her ass, loving the way my come looks on the red flesh.

  I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are tired but happy. Sated. I taste pussy on her lips when I kiss her, which only serves to make me want to take her again.

  But she needs to be in bed. And I want to go there with her.

  I wash us off and help her from the shower, wrapping a towel around her body and drying off her hair with my towel before leading us into the bedroom.

  When we’re finally buried under sheets and blankets, I tuck her against me. She tangles her legs with mine and burrows into me until she’s comfortable.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “For what?”

  “For…everything.”

  I don’t say anything. I just kiss her hair and wait for her to fall asleep.

  Sixteen

  BOUNCER

  Every morning, it’s the same.

  I admire her curled beside me. We get up. I feel us distancing before we even walk out—both of us regretting being apart during the day and anticipating the night to come.

  This shit’s been happening for two weeks now. And for reasons I don’t want to examine, I hate it.

  But I need to. I need to comb through every detail of possibilities. Recon is my job for fuck’s sake. So why have I been able to draw out some of the world’s most wanted from caves in the dessert, yet from this woman, I can’t draw out more than moans of pleasure.

  Where’s she from?

  What’s the little tattoo on her wrist—a wrist usually covered by those fucking yellow gloves, that only I get to see—even fucking mean?

  Not to mention, her middle name. I still want to know her middle name. Need to know her last name.

  What, does she think I’m going to Google her? She’s right. I’d do a full background check on her because that’s my safety net. I need to know. That’s how you keep people safe, yourself safe—you know all the shit there is to know about any given place or person.

  I’ve wiped down the same spot on me bike for five minutes. I realize it when I look up to see Boots watching me from the corner of the garage.

  “You got me a spot ready?” I prompt, wanting Boots to do something besides watch me run through every detail of mine and Apple’s relationship in my head. And I want my bike protected in the corner before people start showing up for this fucking Super Bowl party Chaos has planned.

  He nods, pointing to a spot. “Had it ready an hour ago. Got your cover out and ready, too.”

  Okay, maybe he’s learning me a little too well.

  Most guys don’t cover their bikes. They want them to be admired. Appreciated. Respected. Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck about that. I just want my shit left alone so I don’t have to hurt anyone.

  Cause I will.

  Boots takes the rag from me. “Here, let me take care of this. Go rage internally somewhere else.” I give him a look. “You’re harshing my mellow, man.” He laughs.

  It’s common knowledge I hate parties. Too much shit can go wrong..

  “What’s a fucking mellow?” I can’t help it. I’m on edge. I’m frustrated about this shit with Apple.

  He takes my bike by the handlebars. “Nothing. You just look like you need to burn one.”

  He’s right. I let go of the bike and he kicks the stand up, rolling it away to its intended spot.

  Tonight, I’ve gotta sit back and keep my shit together. I need to play a part in rebuilding this clubs reputation since Chaos took over. That’s what he wants, and out of respect for him, that’s what I want too.

  I may not be a permanent figure here, but these are my Brothers.

  I reach in my pocket and pull out my smokes, pulling a joint from its contents and lighting up. If ever I need this shit, it’s now.

  I sit at a table out front and people watch from a distance, letting the tension release in streams of smoke.

  Members and their Ol’ Ladies are starting to fill the main hall when I enter through the back door. I scan each face, checking for outsiders. None yet.

  Changing focus, I spot Apple behind the bar. Serving drinks.

  Where the fuck is Cassie?

  Apple does not need to be behind the bar. She needs to take it easy. She’s done with the antibiotics, but she’s still not at one hundred percent.

  I make my way over, looking around to make sure no eyes are on us.

  I don’t give a shit if they see us together or not. I tell them what they need to know. Nothing more. But I know she wants us to keep our distance outside our room.

  I get that. She is here permanently, I’m not.

  That thought makes my nomad life feel lonelier than it ever has. And it makes me consider what or who Apple would do after I’m gone. I grit my teeth.

  What would happen if I stayed?

  Would we keep doing what we’re doing?

  Would it be the same? Different? More?

  All I know right now is this woman stirs in me questions I’ve never asked myself.

  “Apple.”

  When she turns to look at me, I notice for the first time today how pretty her hair is. She’s brushed it out and taken it down from the braid she wore last night. It falls in waves.

  And she’s not wearing the sack she normally wears. Today she wears a T-shirt. It’s still ratty as shit and way too big. But she looks different like this. In the light of day. Where others can see a small glimpse of what only I get to look at.

  I don’t fucking like it.

  “Bouncer?” I look up at her and realize by the way her brows draw in that I’ve been staring. Looking around again, I pull her to the storage room behind the bar.

  She’s mere inches from me as I push the door. I lean in and kiss her. Not just because I want her mouth on mine. Because I wanted to see if she’s been drinking.

  She has.

  I growl.

  “You’re drinking? What the fuck, Apple? You agreed to lay off until you went back for your check-up. Do you even care about your health?”

  She holds up a hand to stop me. “Chill, homie. It is vodka. But it’s not what you think.”

  Apple says a lot of weird shit. But either she’s drunker than she looks, or she thinks because I’ve been buried in that pussy that suddenly I’m stupid.

  “Let me guess, a bottle spilled and you had to clean it up with your mouth?” I’m going for serious, but she laughs anyway. I don’t think I’ve heard her laugh before. If I did, I didn’t appreciate it. I do now.

  Her laugh fades to a smile. “You used the rest of the mouthwash. I improvised. You won’t let me leave this place and there wasn’t any more in the stock room.”

  She’s right.

  I lean in closer. “Next time you need something, tell me.” In the back of my mind, I’m still going over the fact that she hasn’t drank anything today.

  “Next time?” She looks at her feet. “You won’t always be here, Bouncer. I’ve taken care of myself for a long
time.”

  That stings. Again, she’s right.

  I brush my lips against hers. I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to talk about what’s to come. Because then I might have to admit to myself that I don’t want this to end.

  I kiss her with all those unasked questions on the tip of my tongue.

  And when she looks at me, I can tell she tasted every one of them.

  Seventeen

  APPLE

  I lied.

  Again.

  Vodka for mouthwash?

  Please.

  I haven’t drank in so long, it only took a couple of shots to buzz me.

  I’m tempted to tell Bouncer just so he will spank me. Not with his belt, though. That shit hurt. But maybe one of those erotic hand spankings he swears is a real thing.

  I smooth my hair back in place and step from the storage room. To protect our secret, I waited a minute until he left so no one would see us. Not that I care who knows about us. But he seems all sneaky and shit here lately.

  The first few days—since I’ve been allowed out of my room—were fine. He wasn’t here. But these last two, I see him multiple times throughout the day. And though I know he’s always watching, I get the sense he’s keeping his distance on purpose.

  What did you think this was?

  A relationship?

  I shake away thoughts of us together, with kids and a house and shit, and get back to work. The crowd is slowly pouring in and by kickoff, the place is packed.

  It’s loud. A little crazy. By the time the game ends, everyone is drunk. Or in their feelings because they lost a shit ton of money. The T.V.’s are off and the music is blaring—eighties classic rock. Go figure.

  I haven’t seen Bouncer since our closet rendezvous earlier, not that I’ve had a chance to look for him. I haven’t even had a chance to sit down. Chaos warned us this party was going to be massive. I wasn’t prepared.

  There’re so many unfamiliar faces. Civilians—invited to come party with the club to see for themselves that the guys aren’t a bunch of murdering thieves. Or at least give that impression.

  “Hey, I know you.”

  My skin prickles at the words. I look up to find a tall, lanky guy with shabby hair and a weird nose studying me. He reminds me of Shaggy from Scooby-Doo.

  “Sorry, bud. Don’t think you do.”

  He tilts his head. “No. It’s definitely you. You got a weird name, huh? Like purple. Or leaf.”

  “Two Millers, Apple!” Jinx calls from across the bar.

  “Apple! That’s it.”

  I roll my eyes at Jinx’s timing, ignoring the guy and grabbing Jinx’s beers, slamming them down in front of him with a little too much force.

  His eyebrows waggle. “Rough night?”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” He feigns innocence.

  “Talk about things you know nothing about.”

  I walk away to avoid a comeback, right into Shaggy’s conversation.

  “I’m Shaggy. From The Comic Bookstore. At Four Points.”

  I still. “Are you shitting me? Your name really is Shaggy?”

  “Yep. You said my name was cute.”

  “I never said that.”

  He winks. “Sure you did.”

  Wait.

  I do know him.

  The Comic Bookstore is just a front. Behind the dusty shelves lined with comics is a room where he sells porn. I’ve seen a lot of young girls come and go from there. I’d heard he had a studio in the back. I remember steering clear of him after seeing a few of the girls leaving in tears.

  I follow his gaze and see him checking out a group of girls standing near the end of the bar. He drags his tongue over his teeth, then swings his gaze back to me. “You need to come by my store, Apple.” He leans over the bar and drops his voice. “Bet you look real pretty without all that shit on.”

  I take a couple steps back. Something about this guy gives me the creeps. I didn’t like him then. I don’t like him now. Even though I know I’m safe, surrounded by some of the baddest motherfuckers in the south, I’m suddenly back at four points. Sleeping with one eye open. Dressing down. Looking dirty. Doing my best to not draw the attention of people like him.

  One moment I’m staring at Shaggy, the next I’m looking at a Kings of Carnage patch. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Bouncer’s voice is deadly. But all I feel is calm. I focus on the crowned skull and the date that’s tattooed on the back of his neck. The strong scent of leather mixed with the intoxicating scent of him. My hands find their way to the bottom of his vest and I cling to it. He reaches around and squeezes my fingers with his.

  “Shaggy. I own the—”

  “I don’t fucking care. Get out.”

  I peek around Bouncer to see Shaggy’s eyes widen as he holds his hands up. “Man, I’m just here for the party.”

  “Get. Out.”

  “I was invited by—” Again, he doesn’t get to finish his sentence. But this time it’s not because Bouncer interrupts with words, he has him by the collar of his shirt—dragging him across the bar.

  “I will rip your goddamn throat out.”

  Shit.

  He sounds serious.

  Quincy appears and grabs the guy by his arm and the back of his neck. Bouncer releases him and Quincy pushes him through the crowd and toward the door.

  “Apple?” Bouncer keeps his back to me, turning his body so that he’s between me and Shaggy until he’s out of the clubhouse.

  “Yes?”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re done for the night. Go to bed. I’ll be there soon.” With that, he leaves. Never once making eye contact.

  “Well, I’m not going to argue with that,” I mutter, thankful for the opportunity to get the hell away from all these people.

  The moment I enter the room and shut the door, I lean my head back against it and just breathe. Bouncer hasn’t smoked in this room since I got sick. And the air in here is so much clearer than in the main room. I sniff my shirt and frown.

  I smell like a Newport and a Marlboro had a baby.

  I strip in the bathroom and turn on the shower. It’s lonely in here without Bouncer. And washing my hair myself doesn’t feel the same as it does when he washes it. Thinking back, I don’t think I’ve showered once without him since I been in here.

  How long has that been?

  Two weeks?

  Three?

  I dry off. Brush my hair. My teeth. Pour the mouthwash down the sink to avoid getting caught in a lie. Lather myself in my stolen lotion. Find one of his shirts to sleep in. Opt out of panties because I’m not even sure I have any clean. Finally, I cut off the lights and climb into bed.

  No sooner than I’m settled and my breathing starts to even out, the door opens.

  “Hey, friend,” I draw, warmth filling me when I see the tension in his face soften to a smile.

  “Hey, baby. Shower?”

  I poke my lip out. “I didn’t know how long you’d be. I already took one.”

  “Don’t pout. I’ll just be a minute.”

  He pulls his gun from his back and sets it on the dresser along with all the things in this pocket. Then he strips. My breath catches at the sight of his tattooed back. Perfect ass. Muscular legs. Wide shoulders and strong arms that I can’t wait to be wrapped around me.

  He’s halfway to the bathroom when he turns back and grabs his gun off the dresser. My eyes lock on his cock—thick and heavy and gorgeous.

  “Don’t stare, sweetheart. It’s rude.”

  I laugh.

  He stops at the bathroom door and looks back at me. “I like that sound. Like fucking music.”

  I’m still swooning when he disappears and I hear the shower cut on.

  The ten minutes he’s gone feels like an eternity. When he walks back into the room, rubbing the towel over his short hair, my body ignites at the sight.

  Perfection.

 
He’s the most beautiful asshole I’ve ever seen.

  He pulls on some boxers then slides in bed next to me. I root around until I’m comfortably lying on his shoulder. My knee is over his knee and it’s all I can do to not hump it.

  Again.

  “What’s your middle name?” he asks, his fingers stroking up and down my spine.

  This is like the seventh time he’s asked me. I’ve yet to give in and tell him. It’s almost become a game between us.

  I tilt my head up to look at him. “That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He doesn’t meet my eyes. “It doesn’t bother you? Not knowing my name?”

  “Nah. I like that you’re just Bouncer. A real name would confuse me. Do I call you that name? Or Bouncer? Do I say one in public? Then one in here? Are there certain people who don’t know it? If so, who are—”

  “Never mind. I won’t tell you my name. But I want to know yours.”

  “Okay, fine. Finger me and I’ll tell you.”

  His fingers pause the pattern they were drawing on my back. “What did you say?”

  It’s hard not to giggle. “I said, finger me and I’ll tell you.”

  He pushes me to my back and turns on his side, facing me. “Get this off,” he demands, even as he jerks my shirt over my head. His hand rests on my bare stomach. He flexes his fingertips and my body bucks. He leans up on his elbow and looks down at me. “Horny little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Very much so.”

  “I see.” His lips hover over mine, our breaths mingling. But he doesn’t kiss me. When I lift my head to meet them, he pulls back. “You didn’t say anything about kissing you, sweetheart.”

  “Goes with the territory,” I breathe, raising my mouth to his again. And again, he pulls back. “What the fuck? Kiss me.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “Please?”

  “No. I’m going to finger you. Just like you asked.” He tilts his head to whisper in my ear. “I’m not going to kiss you. Or cup your perfect tits. Or suck on those pretty nipples. Or bury my tongue in your cunt and eat you until you come on my face.”