by Jc Emery
“I’m gonna hold a meet to talk about voting her in,” I say. His body tenses even worse, and he shakes his head, but a tiny smile forms at the corner of his mouth. It’s just for a second, and then it’s gone.
“The club told you to back off—what would you do?”
“Depends on the reason,” I say. We rarely ever discuss anything as deep as this. I mean, why the fuck would we? Typically, we’re both perfectly fine just fucking around. But then everything started to change. Finally getting Nic into bed after all these years meant something more than finally fucking my high school crush. Then this shit with Princess, and my head’s not been right in a damn long time.
“Say Nic did what Cub did,” he says. His knuckles are gripping the counter so tight I think he might crack the fucking thing off.
“Shit like that ain’t easy to forget. Bitches in this life—they snort shit, suck dicks, and fuck around, and we don’t give a fuck about that shit as long as they keep their mouths shut about club business. Princess was miserable, sure. I get that, dude. But she broke the one fucking rule we got—the only fucking thing that makes this work: our silence.”
“You think I don’t know that?” His voice booms, and his head shoots up. His gray eyes shoot daggers at me. “You really think I ain’t thought about this—that my dick’s the only thing that matters?”
“Then what does matter?” I ask quietly. In all the years I’ve known this mother fucker he’s never opened up like this. Even when we were kids and he’d get hurt, all he’d do is start kicking the ground and throwing a fit. Didn’t matter if he’d fucked up his knee or broke his arm—he was pissed and kicking the dirt. “What is it about this chick that’s got your dick in knots?”
“She thanked me,” he says lowly. “The trip back from Brooklyn, we’re all standing around listening to Pop ramble the fuck on. She’s got to be scared as fuck, but she looks at me and fucking thanks me. Nobody ever thanks me.”
“You’re ready to lose your patch because Princess has manners?” I ask, almost incredulous.
“Fuck,” he shouts in frustration. He lifts the empty beer bottle from the counter, and throws it against the back wall. I force myself to keep a steady eye as he kicks at the floor three times and then slams his fist into the counter.
“Say you go against Grady and the club votes you down. He’s barely tolerating her being in Pop’s house as it is. You lose your patch for her and that crazy bitch is gonna follow you wherever you go.”
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He’s taking a chance by talking to me. I know that shit’s not easy.
“Problem is, Bro—you lose your patch and ride off into the sunset, and what happens when Mancuso finds you? Way I see it, the only thing keeping her alive is this club. You can’t do that shit on your own.”
“Tell me what to do,” he says in a plea. I bite my tongue to stop myself from cracking a joke. Trigger’s not one to give up control easily, and he pretty much never asks for help. I consider ribbing him about it, but if I tried that, he’d probably self-destruct from trying to sort this shit out on his own. I love the dude, but he’s not really a thinker.
“Let her go,” I say and take another pull of my beer. “You care way too much about her to let her get hurt, so the only thing you can do is to just let her go. At least then she’ll be safe.”
“She’s fucking relentless,” he says.
“Then make her understand that this isn’t going to happen and why,” I say.
“Yeah,” is all he says as he walks slow and defeated to his room, slamming the door behind him.
I can’t really be happy for Trigger right now. It’s not like he’s got his shit sorted and everything’s gravy. Still, seeing him this fucked up over a broad—and Princess of all people—makes this shit almost worth it. Trigger isn’t the kind of guy who gives a damn about women or how they feel, so whatever he feels for Princess must fucking mean something. And I don’t think it’s going to go away. He’s always been a company man, and going against the club to keep her close is news that’s bothering even the Nevada charter. With any luck, he’ll figure out how to turn her off enough to put an end to this shit.
I’m done, I think. I don’t want to think about this shit anymore. I need food and a comfortable bed to pass the fuck out on. Without thinking twice about it, I pull my phone from my pocket and hit the number nine, then wait for her to answer. But she doesn’t. It’s fucking typical. The phone rings and rings until the voice mail message picks up.
“This is Nic, leave a message,” her voice sounds through the phone in a surprisingly pleasant tone. Maybe the fact that she rarely answers her phone is a good thing. At least leaving a message ensures I’m gonna hear something nice out of her mouth.
I wait for the beep and say, “Come on, Nicole. Answer my calls. We both know you got a house full of food, and I’m hungry. I’ll be by in a bit so we can have dinner. I’m thinking you could get those steaks going.” I don’t know if she’s eaten yet, but I haven’t, and I’m fucking starved. Plus, eating a second dinner isn’t going to hurt to put some pounds on that stick figure of hers. I head back to my room to grab my bag and head over to Nic’s house, but stop halfway there. Trigger’s door swings open, and he stands in the doorway. His head is bent. and he’s looking down at his phone in his hand.
“Got a text from Cub,” he says without looking up. “Got to pick her up.”
“Where is she?” I ask, giving him a nervous glance. He keeps sucking air in through his nose and blowing out heavy breaths. He lifts his hand and wipes white powder away from his nose then lifts his head. His eyes are pinned and unfocused.
“House party. Downtown,” he says. “You’re gonna want to follow me.”
“Why?”
“Because she left the house with Nic,” he says and pinches the end of his nostrils together, sucks in a deep breath, and shakes his head. “Fuck.”
“If you’re not good to ride, I can take Ruby’s Suburban to pick them up,” I say. Irritation tickles the back of my neck as he sniffles and shoves his phone back into his pocket. No wonder she didn’t answer my call. “What the fuck are they doing at a house party downtown? Those places are fucking skeezy.”
“And the clubhouse isn’t?” he asks, smirking and grabbing his dick.
“At least we know the fucked up shit that goes down at the clubhouse,” I mumble and turn around to head back down the hall and out the door. Trigger’s behind me when we pull out of the driveway, but then he takes lead. The house is a short drive from downtown, but we take our time riding slowly up and down every street in between. It isn’t long before Trigger signals with his left arm that he thinks he’s found the house.
The house in question is jam-packed with people, and the music is blaring. I recognize this house and fucking pray this isn’t where they are. Fort Bragg’s small, but there has to be another house party going on tonight. At least, I hope. This place is owned by a couple of meth heads who used to cook the shit here a couple years back before the club had to shut them down. We only found out about it because Layla was buying her shit here.
Trigger pulls up to the house in front of the fire hydrant, makes a sharp right and then backs the bike up to the curb. I follow his direction. When I dismount, I look for a guy to watch the bikes. People in this town know not to fuck with us, but some of these losers need reminding and my bike already has one fucking scratch in it. I’m not about to let her get another.
Scanning the crowd, I find a kid who can’t even be out of high school yet. He’s young enough to be Nic’s brother, and he’s standing on the sidewalk holding a forty in his right hand. His eyes widen as I point at him and say loudly, “You. Come here.”
The kid walks over all wobbly-like and nods. He obviously knows who we are, and he’s been raised right if he looks like he’s going to piss himself like he does.
“You watch my bike. Make sure nobody fucks with it, or I’ll be breaking bones when I come out,” I say. He
nods his head furiously and takes a swig from the bottle.
“Yeah, I can do that,” he says.
I jerk a thumb over my shoulder at Trigger and raise my eyebrows at the kid as I take my helmet off and set it on the handlebars. “And that guy? His bike gets fucked with and you might want to be careful. He likes to pound his dick into tight young assholes.”
The crowd parts and quiets down as we walk through. Trigger jabs me in the ribs for my comment, but says nothing else as we head through the house. The faces in the rooms aren’t familiar as far as I can tell, but they aren’t stupid. Someone turns the music down and conversation stops save for a few people who stand on the periphery whispering among themselves. Forsaken showing up at a house party they weren’t expected at is a big deal to the people in this town. In the kitchen, shoving baggies and a glass pipe in a drawer, is the meth head who owns this shithole. He’s skinny as fuck, and his limbs jerk as he moves.
“Shut this shit down,” I say to him. He nods his head and his hands twitch as he continues to sweep a mirror and a few needles into the drawer. Fucking loser.
Around the corner from the kitchen and behind the center hallway is the covered back porch. The room is littered with a variety of furniture. On one of the center couches sit Nic and Alex. At the sight of the two of them, obviously fucking drunk, huddled together on the couch, my blood pressure shoots through the roof. Neither of them has any fucking business being in this kind of place. The shit that could happen to them in a place like this makes me wanna bust some heads open.
In front of me, Ryan reaches out for Princess. Happily, she takes his hand, and he pulls her to her feet. I move around them and look down at Nic, who’s sporting the biggest, cutest fucking pout on the planet. Damn, even pouting she’s fucking cute. I shake my head at her, which makes her cross her arms over her chest and shake her own head back at me. I don’t know what the fuck’s happened since this morning. We had a good morning. We bickered, grocery shopped, and I was planning on having her make us dinner. Absolutely nothing should be pissing her off right now.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I turn away from her to find Trigger and Princess turning and facing the door to the hallway. A half a second later, Princess loops her pinky around Trigger’s. I try to temper my reaction by scratching the back of my neck, but I can’t stop the shocked look that covers my face. What the fuck is wrong with this chick? But Trigger doesn’t let go. His pinky tightens around hers, and he brings his arm closer to his body, which brings Princess closer as well. I didn’t see this shit on the way from Brooklyn, but according to Ian, the pinky shit is a thing between them. Unfortunately, Grady’s seen it, too. Hearing about it made me laugh because it sounded like they were making shit up, but actually seeing it for myself does something else to me.
I try to shake it off and turn to Nic. With the offering of my hand and a reassuring smile, I wait for her to give in. It takes her a moment longer than I’d like, but finally she reaches out and slips her small, calloused hand into mine. When she does, I tighten my grip and bring her flush against me. With one hand on her lower back and the other gripping her hand in mine, sandwiched between our stomachs, I lean down and lightly smack my forehead against hers. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Pulling back, she rubs her forehead and scowls up at me. “Dick,” she says and offers up nothing else. Using her free hand, she pries the other from my grip and practically stomps off behind Princess toward the front of the house. Her arms are folded over her chest, and she keeps her eyes forward. Princess looks backs at Nic and then to me, then down to Nic again. The smile on her face is blinding, but then it falls and she narrows her eyes at me. I guess she’s still acting pissy about that orgasm I gave her. Women. Normally, chicks can’t wait to let me in their pussy, but Princess is different. She’s definitely not normal, that’s for sure.
“We’re heading out, Brother,” I say to Trigger once we reach the sidewalk. I wrap my hand around Nic’s and try unsuccessfully to hold back the laugh that bubbles at the look on her face. She’s pretty much shooting daggers at Princess and muttering things I don’t understand, but I do catch a few choice words like cut, throat, and bitch. I let go of Nic’s hand and give her ass a pat. “Go ahead and run,” I whisper in her ear. “I like the chase.”
Climbing onto my bike, I start her up and hold my helmet in my hands. I wave Nic over, but she doesn’t budge. Above looking mad, she’s downright fucking angry at me being here. She shakes her head in refusal. I bring my right arm up and point my index finger at her. The defiant act was cute a few minutes ago, but now she’s acting like a fucking child, and it’s wearing on my nerves. It feels like it takes half of a goddamn year for her to get over her shit and walk over to me. Grabbing the helmet, she places it on her head and snaps it in place, then adjusts it. She doesn’t hesitate as she swings a leg over the bike and tucks herself into my back. Taking off, I leave Princess with Trigger and just hope he’s not too fucked up to ride her home safely, but it’s too late to rethink shit now.
Chapter 14
I pull up to Butch’s house to find all of the lights on inside and the music louder than it should be at this time of night in this neighborhood. Butch didn’t give a shit about a lot of things, but respecting others was something he was always going on about back when I was a prospect. Far as I know, Nic’s got good neighbors, and they don’t deserve to have their eardrums blown out. “Shit,” she mutters from behind me and climbs off the bike. Placing the helmet on the handlebars, she stomps up to the house and flings the door open. I give a good laugh at her stomping now that she’s out of range to hear me. I’m trying to fuck her tonight, not get the cold shoulder.
Voices rise from inside the house, and people pass in front of the living room window. Through the doorway, I can see Nic as she’s shouting at her bitch ass brother. Two teen boys and three girls appear from the corners, all half yelling at each other and at Nic.
“Fuck that,” I say and hop off my bike. Walking slowly from the drive and down the concrete pathway, I try to listen to what’s being said before I let the kids know I’m here. Against the wall that separates the living room and entrance is Nic. Jeremy towers over her and is shouting in her face. She looks like she’s giving as good as she gets, but I can’t hear a word she’s saying. The way he’s crowding her makes me pick up my pace.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? This is my house, not yours!” he screams. “Quit being such a fucking bitch!” Something in me snaps, and I barrel forward right into the house. I run into two bodies that part, each going a different direction, and I slam into Jeremy. My hands find purchase in his shirt and I push him forward. He stumbles and falls on the floor in front of the couch. His dark blue eyes are wide, and his jaw is slack.
“Get up!” I shout. He doesn’t move fast enough, so I lean down and yank him up by the front of his shirt. Up close I can see how bloodshot his eyes are. Paralyzed in fear, his body shakes and his eyes water. The smell of beer is on his breath—my beer. Fucking shithead. I tighten my grip on him then push him off of me and down onto the couch. Pointing a finger at him, I say, “Any body part you move I’m going to break the fuck off.”
I turn back to the teens, who are all huddled around in shock. The three girls make a move for the door. “Stop!” I scream. They freeze in place in the middle of the doorway. I pass Nic and place a hand on her shoulder. “Go to the couch, baby,” I say quietly.
The other two boys stand around and fidget. I decide to deal with them first. Standing in front of them and holding my hand out, I say, “ID’s.” They stare up at me in surprise, but don’t do as they’re told. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, boys. I’m gonna need your ID’s. Now.” Very slowly, they pull out their wallets and hand their ID’s over. Turning to the girls, I do the same thing, but they’re quick to cooperate. “You little assholes drank my beer and disrespected my Old Lady. Is this going to happen again?”
All of their heads shake, and the moment I let them go,
they run right out of the house like their asses are on fire. I can’t help to smile as I watch them flee. There are a few perks of being Forsaken, and this is one of them. Dumb little bastards.
I shut the front door and walk back into the living room. Jeremy’s turned toward Nic, and he’s whisper shouting, “Tell him to back off and I’ll clean up the mess. We could get along a lot better if you would just chill out.” Her lips are pursed, and she’s staring straight ahead into nothingness.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I scream. His eyes dart to mine, and he grumbles something under his breath. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“I said this isn’t your house,” he says back with attitude. I nod and look down at Nic, who’s curling into herself. “And it isn’t hers, either. This is my dad’s house.”
The dig is subtle, but she catches it. The way he emphasizes the point that Butch isn’t Nic’s biological dad makes my jaw tick. Butch is her dad in every way that counts.
“Hey, you wanna be a man? Start fucking acting like one. You do not push around women half your size, for starters. And you ain’t got shit. You’re a fucking kid,” I snap back. “Now shut the fuck up.”
“Is this what you been dealing with?” I ask Nic. She lifts her head and looks up at me with sad eyes, but she won’t give him up.
“Fine,” I tell her and turn back to Jeremy. “I’ll deal with this on my own. You’re already in debt to me, kid. Don’t make your situation worse.”
Jeremy folds his arms over his chest and, despite his size, he looks so much like his sister. They have the same damn pout, but it ain’t fucking cute on him. “Go to your room, and if I hear so much as a peep out of you, I’m going to beat the shit out of you until I get tired.”
Standing from his seat on the couch, he walks up to me with determination in his eyes. “You’re not my dad,” he hisses, “and you can’t tell me shit.”