by J Bree
Even if I do fucking hate her for breathing.
My solution is to drink a lot. A whole fucking lot.
After another night of auditing books at The Boulevard that just don’t quite add up I head back to the clubhouse to lose myself in a fucking large bottle of Jack. It’s crowded and rowdy as hell for the night which grates on my fucking nerves.
I slump down at the end of the bar, ignoring everyone so they’ll get the fucking picture not to bother speaking to me, and I jerk my head at Monroe behind the bar so she’ll come serve me a drink. I fucking hate the bitch but if she’s on then there’s no way out of talking to her.
“If it isn’t the prodigal son. Fucked any good strippers lately? I heard there’s a newbie down there that has the boys panting after her.”
My teeth start aching from all the grinding I’m doing. “Leave the fucking bottle.”
She huffs. “You’ll never move outta the clubhouse if you keep wasting your cut from the runs on whiskey and titties.”
I drink from the bottle and then look around until I catch Diesel’s eye. “If you don’t come put a leash on her I’m going to throw her the fuck out. Simple as that.”
It kills him to hear me talk like that. Kills him because there’s sweet fuck all he could do to stop me. I’m higher up the fucking food chain and it’s got nothing to do with my blood.
There isn’t a piece of tech used in the club that I haven’t ordered, programmed, and set up. D’s still fucking pissy that I went off to college and still managed to come home and patch in before him.
I’ve got a brain and he’s nothing but a glorified grease monkey, working in the garage and thinking he’s hot shit for the patch on his back.
He’s all the shitty things Rue isn’t, with his head for money and blood and strategy.
“Monroe, get your nose outta club business. Serve the fucking drinks and move on, that’s all you gotta do,” he snarls at her, but she shrugs at him like he’s fucking nothing to her.
Exactly why I don’t need a woman.
They’re all bad fucking news.
The door to the bar swings open and in walks Trink looking like a fucking porn star wannabe in shorts so cutoff I can see her fucking underwear.
One of the Bay guys whistles and immediately gets punched in the gut because ain’t another biker here who doesn’t know who the fuck my baby sister is.
Godammit.
“What the fuck are you looking so sour for? STI check come back with bad news?” she laughs, grabbing my bottle and pouring herself a shot in the glass I’ve forgotten about.
“What the hell are you doing here? It’s a school night, go the fuck to bed.”
She laughs again and kicks at me under the table. “We can’t all be the genius of the family. I’ve been over watching Poe rebuild some engine, Thorn just came and bitched Pops out and dragged her home. She has the new Vanth Falling EP though and we got to listen to the whole thing twice through. Fuck knows how the hell she got it, that shit isn’t out for another month. It’s good shit though, Morrison could fucking get it.”
I know what it is and there’s no fucking way.
I’m not all fucking holier-than-thou about my little sister’s sex life but she’s seventeen and makes the fucking worst decisions. She lives by the seat of her pants and enjoys nothing more than pissing me and Hawk the fuck off.
If there’s a bad choice to be made, Trink’s gonna skip off into the sunset with it like a cheery fucking delight.
For a biker, I’m much more cautious than she is.
She got the full Callaghan bloodlines of reckless, raunchy, and fucking rowdy and I’ll be in an early grave because of it. She’s my responsibility until she’s locked down by some other asshole but I’ll be damned if it’s not going to be someone I approve of.
She grins at the glare in my eyes and tilts her head at the front door, “Hawk wants to talk to you. He’s out there with your Prez.”
Fucking brat.
I take the bottle with me because there’s no way I’m leaving her with that shit and I head out of the clubhouse, taking the stairs three at a time until I’m standing over in the trees with my blood.
I’m careful to make sure it’s not the same trees I stood near with Luis.
Can’t be too careful.
Rue kicks at the rocks with his boot, a scowl on his face as he looks out past the trees and over the parking lot to Pops’ garage. The lights are still on there but only in the apartment, the old man shut up shop for the night.
“Another shipment is gone.”
No way.
There’s fucking no way anyone could possibly bug that room.
I swept the whole fucking thing, I have the best tech and I’m fucking thorough. My brothers’ lives depend on this shit and I did it all stone cold sober, days before Angel clouded my shit.
King nods at me. “I know. I know it ain’t you or your tech, but there’s rats higher up in this club then we’d like.
Hawk stubs out his cigarette and says, “We’re gonna have to start some new protocols.”
Rue groans and rubs a hand over his face. “Right. So how’s this gonna fall? It’s gotta be locked the fuck down to an inner circle no one knows jack about? Who’s in and who’s out?”
Hellion lights up a blunt and takes a puff, passing it on to Hawk who smokes that thing like it’s the last one on Earth.
“Family only for now. Blood is all we can trust until we’ve got this shit on lockdown. We’ll start up family dinners again.” King says and Hawk nods.
“Keely keeps pushing for it anyway, makes it a safe option. Tell the men we’re trying to keep shit normal for now. Get the club back to family friendly and all that shit so we’re covered. Tomi, you need to rig up the back room. Make sure that shit is locked down tight and we can get a fucking plan in the works. Fucking rats in my club. I’m not having this shit touching my girls.”
I nod. No way Mom or Trink are getting fucking hurt by this shit.
I have my own suspicions on who it is but when it comes to brotherhood you gotta step careful. Keep your feet in line and make sure no one gets put out or suspicious until we’re ready to strike.
Then we’ll burn the whole fucking lot of them out.
Chapter Nine
Angel
The situation with the other girls doesn’t get any better as time goes on.
Actually, with the crowds around my stage getting bigger and bigger, their attitudes get bitchier and more freaking obvious. Every shift starts with whispers and giggling, and when I shower at the end they all talk about me in the locker room where I can hear them.
“I heard her old man has a habit. She’s in here working to keep him in the gear.”
“I heard he’s her pimp, not her boyfriend. Guess he wants to be the only one selling her pussy.”
“Imagine having some man telling you who to fuck and taking your money? Fucking pathetic.”
“I wonder if her pussy is any good? Maybe all these men throwing the cash at her don’t even realize she’s fucking loose and used up.”
It’s pathetic to me that they’re all out there talking shit about me like that. I know exactly what extras they offer and not once have I shamed any of them on that shit. Not fucking once.
I don’t want to sell myself like that because I’m fucking terrified of being touched, not because I have some moral high ground. Fuck, they all call me the frigid bitch… I’m actually the broken bitch, that girl who thinks about touching a man and runs the fuck away.
Well.
Mostly.
There’s been two times in the last few weeks of a client trying to climb on stage and grab me. Both of them were fucking wasted and didn’t really know what they were doing but that’s not at all an excuse.
Both times Speck stopped them.
One he simply grabbed by the scruff of his neck and walked him out of the club, the guy drunk enough to not be any trouble. The other guy fought him, gave him a shiner, and whe
n he finally got rid of him and went out the back to grab ice I finished my dance and then went out to find him.
I gave him a hug.
A quick one and I didn’t really love it but I felt like he’d been there for me and even though it’s technically his job, I still appreciated him respecting my boundaries.
The grin he gives me isn’t at all flirty, like my continued aloof treatment has firmly drilled it into his head that I’m not the girl for him.
Which is good because I’m exhausted from weeks of barely getting any sleep in my truck, not enough food, and studying every second I can, so I just don’t have it in me to deal with letting anyone down gently. Fuck, no one has babied me about anything since I lost my dad and I think maybe that has made me hard, unforgiving and just over everyone’s bullshit.
The only thing that really starts to get to me is Tomi’s presence.
I think I’ve caught his eye and not in a good way.
Well, neither way is good but I think I’ve pissed him off in some way. He was rude to me back in the office when I’d punched his brother from grabbing me, dismissive when he caught me in his office helping Poe, but now he’s gotten freaking malevolent about my presence. The problem with this is that he’s constantly at the club now.
I think he’s having issues with the books or something because he has a booth of his own to sit in each night and he slams back the beers and whiskeys as he goes through all of the paperwork. The other girls all try to talk to him but he never really talks back to them and he never takes any of them up on their offers of… stress relief.
They all start glaring at me even more, like it’s my fault he’s pissed off.
I try to stay out of his way.
I hide in the shower and the locker room, I arrive on time but never early, and the second my showers are done I get the hell outta dodge.
He doesn’t try to follow me or speak to me, so I count it as a win. I keep my head down, put everything I can into my dances, and I keep my mouth shut.
It works.
It works so well at keeping me under the radar that I become an easy target without even fucking noticing, my head too fucking caught up in being invisible that I forget that there are other men to have to worry about.
I come out of the back door, fishing around in my bag for my keys, my feet moving on autopilot, and I don’t even notice him leaning against my car until he speaks.
“Angel, good to see you.”
My stomach drops, and I clutch my bag closer to myself.
It’s Finley, my college advisor, leaning against my Chevy with a smug smirk across his lips. I’m positive he can’t be here to rob me but, fuck, I have tens of thousands of dollars on me right now. All of my savings are in this goddamn bag.
“Hey… this is unexpected. What are you doing in Coldstone?”
He stands up straight and I step around to sling my bag into the passenger side of my truck. Fuck, I should probably just climb in and slide over before he has the chance to grab me or something.
“One of the other students recognized you from the first distance class, he came to have a chat with me about where you’re working.”
I look over the tray at him, my keys still clutched in my hand like a lifeline. “I don’t see how that’s any of his business… or yours.”
That smirk of his just gets wider. “I guess it’s not but I mean, you wouldn’t want me to go in and talk to the bikers in here would you? I looked up your details after I saw you here last week. Lots of shit on your application I’m sure they’d be pissed to know about. We should have dinner. Talk things over.”
Jesus.
Fucking.
Christ.
Finley saunters around the car with a smug look on his face while I’m stuck there, struck dumb by his fucking threat. Fear curls in my gut but my legs are rooted to the ground no matter how hard my heart races.
"Look, I don't really date but I can give you my number? I'm tired from a long shift tonight and I'm just going to head on home. I’d love to grab dinner with you later though?”
The smile doesn't falter on his face at all, he just stands there grinning like the damn joker. "You've got this all wrong, I'm not exactly asking. You want me to keep my mouth shut about what's in your file? I want you to come have dinner. It's my shout, what girl would wanna say no to that?"
Any girl with half a goddamn brain. "Sure. Okay, I can grab dinner with you. Where are we heading and I'll meet you over there?"
He reaches out and puts his hand on my arm and I know for fucking sure in that moment that he's a shitty excuse of a man.
He sees me flinch.
He does it anyway.
I've spent a lot of time in the strip club, during my dances and out in the locker rooms. I've sat at the bar, in the office, I've helped clean down the stage because of all of Mel's freaking glitter, and not once has anyone forced their touch on me after seeing my reaction.
Fuck, Diamond loathes me and she still makes sure she doesn't so much as brush against me in the hallways.
Since Mav tried to touch me there hasn't been a single biker that's tried to either. Speck keeps a close watch of who is around me and not once has he attempted to touch me. Fuck, he's always as shocked as hell when I talk to him about something that isn't strictly stripping related.
Finley is a creep.
I don't want to go with him but if someone hasn't come out already then they're not going to save me now. The music is too loud in there for them to hear me if I start screaming and now he's got a firm grip of me. I should've run the second I saw him standing there but I need this freaking job. So my option is go with Finley or die here now.
Fuck it.
I lock my truck up with my bag safely stashed under my seat and then I go with him.
And I’m not entirely sure that’s not the wrong thing to do.
The car ride over is excruciating but Finley doesn’t try to touch me again.
It becomes clear that he’s not a guy girls usually say no to but… this is clearly also not the first time he’s forced himself on a girl. He knows too much, like what to say to control the conversation, how to play everything off like he’s swooping in to save me from myself because dinner with him is such a fucking privilege.
I'm not expecting much from the restaurant he takes me to, because why would a guy forcing me on a date take me somewhere decent, and you know what? I’m exactly right in that assumption.
The walls are covered in tacky decorations which in itself isn't that bad but there's a layer of dust on everything and the menus are greasy as hell.
I order the bare minimum. A salad and some water. He looks at me approvingly, like I’ve done it to impress him with a fucking diet when really I just want to get the fuck out of here and if he’s paying, which he has to because my money is back in my truck, I don’t want him using an expensive meal as a justification to dragging me somewhere else.
Fuck.
I really should have found another way out of this.
Too late now, he’s sitting there smirking at me like this is all going according to his fucking plans. When I catch his eye by accident, he smirks at me and motions at the dusty walls.
"I thought you'd feel at home here, it’s always been a staple in Coldstone for the low income houses.”
Fuck, I wish he’d get hit by a goddamn bus.
I force a smile onto my face and shrug. "My family is from here but I'm not. Like I told you, it's extended family. Look, I'd appreciate it if you could keep my confidential information to yourself. This has been such a nice surprise and all, but it’s not really appropriate.”
That fucking smile stays put on his face. “It is confidential but if I see a student in danger, I’m contractually obligated to intervene.”
Fuck him.
That doesn’t sound right but I can’t exactly call him out on it either. My phone is a piece of shit and doesn’t connect to the internet at all, I only bought it so that I could take calls from T
he Boulevard about shifts or calls from Southern Miss about my classes.
“When I heard about you dancing I knew I had to come down here and check it out for myself, make sure you’re not in any danger.”
The sound of his voice alone sets my teeth on edge.
He’s the only danger around here but he thinks he’s so fucking slick, sitting there and forcing me to back down like this is some fucking game of dominance. There’s no fucking way. I’m not ever going to lie down and submit to some piece of shit man ever again.
Fucking never.
I keep my mouth shut for the rest of dinner, nodding my way through his incessant prattling on about nothing and how important he is. Fuck, just listening to him you’d think he was the dean and he keeps dropping names into the conversation except I know and care about exactly none of them.
He doesn’t notice.
When he’s finally finished with his steak burger and fries, a large root beer float, and freaking dessert he pays for dinner and doesn’t tip the waitress. I want to claw his eyeballs out for that, the girl was great to us the whole time, but instead I try to get out of the diner in front of him to get a head start.
He catches up to me easily, putting a hand on the door to stop me from leaving.
“It’s early. You should come back to my place."
It’s four in the morning. I shake my head before the words are completely out of his mouth. "I just want to go home and sleep."
The grin on his face just gets wider. "Come on now, Angel. I'm sure you can throw in a freebie. Consider it payment for my silence."
I grit my teeth. "I thought dinner was my payment?"
"Dinner was something nice I was doing for you. Didn't your parents teach you any manners? Do they even know where you are?”
I take a deep breath. Then I take two more. How badly do I need this job? Enough to have sex with this man? Fuck. There's only one thing I'd rather do less than that, and that's to go back to the home I’m running from.
There are other strip clubs.
Now I know what I can make, I'll just head to a bigger city. Might be easier than hiding out in this tiny ass town and finding places to sleep will probably be easier too. Shit. There are other options, just not as comfortable as The Boulevard.