by Jenika Snow
“What are you thinking about?” he asked in this deep, but soft voice. He looked at her eyes, held her gaze for a moment with his own, then turned back to running the peroxide soaked cloth over her cuts.
He moved down with the gauze, got the marks on her neck, on her upper chest where the shirt gaped open, and froze for a moment. She could see the way his breathing changed, the way he swallowed, and wondered what he was thinking of.
“I’m not thinking about anything.” And she wasn’t, not really, at least not things she’d want to share with him for fear it would make things uncomfortable. Jana wasn’t about to make a fool out of herself, and right now she needed to focus on getting better so she could be with her son. She cried every time she got off the phone with him, and over the last day she’d cried a lot.
“I don’t believe you, but I’m okay with you not wanting to tell me,” he said and offered her a smile. That one gesture changed his entire expression. He looked softer, if that was even possible.
“What are you thinking about?” she said to him this time, not sure if she really wanted to know, but wanting him to talk to her regardless.
He didn’t respond right away, just took a few minutes to cover some of the deeper cuts with the ointment. The cut on her arm, which was especially deep from William’s belt buckle breaking her skin, was what he focused on now. His touch was gentle, soft, and it was like he wanted to make sure what he was doing was done with precision and thought. When he had a fresh piece of gauze covering the wound and a strip of medical tape keeping it in place, he moved an inch back on the couch and stared at her.
“I’m thinking how I’d like to find the motherfucker that did this to you, bring him back to life, and kill him all over again. Slowly.” The violence and menace in his voice had a cold chill moving through her. “I’m thinking that I’d like to chain him up in a basement, beat him with the belt he used to hurt you with, and not stop until he was pissing and shitting himself, begging me to stop. But I wouldn’t, Jana. I wouldn’t stop.” His voice got so cold, so scary at that moment.
She clenched her hands into fists on her lap, licked her lips slowly, and knew that although this man tended to her, saved her life, he was dangerous on every level.
“I swear to fucking God, Jana.” He leaned forward, his voice lowering even deeper. “I will never let anyone hurt you or Braden, never let anyone make you two feel fear ever again.” He took her hand in his, and the sudden movement had a small sound of surprise escaping her.
Her heart was beating so fast and hard that she actually placed her free hand over her chest, thinking it would help calm the frantic speed. “Tuck…” She said his name softly, not knowing why, or what she’d say after that, but the word had just tumbled out of her.
He exhaled roughly, let go of her hand, and stood. “I’m sorry, Jana. I’m just an angry man in general, and when someone hurts a person I care about…” He looked at her again.
She had shifted on the couch so she could see him, and hearing him say he cared about her, even if it may only be on a non-sexual level, had warmth filling her and erasing the pain momentarily.
“Listen, you should go lie down. I’ll take the couch—”
“I can take the couch. This is your place, Tuck.”
He shook his head before she finished. “No. I want you to be comfortable, and you need the bed more than I do. Besides, the couch is lumpy as hell.” He went into the kitchen and grabbed a new bottle of whiskey he pulled out of the paper bag. Clearly vodka hadn’t been enough for him. “Unless you want to watch me get shitfaced, Jana, you might want to go to the room.”
The way he spoke told Jana he wasn’t in a good place right now. She should just leave him alone, give him the space he obviously needed, but she couldn’t help herself from at least trying to comfort him. She stood, walked toward him, but when she saw him tense, she knew he was aware she came closer, and Jana told herself now wasn’t the time or the place.
“Tuck…”
“Please, Jana.” He looked at her with this hard, yet unreadable expression. “I’m not in a good place right now, and don’t want you subjected to this toxic shit inside of me.”
Her heart was breaking for him.
“You don’t deserve to be around me when I’m like this.”
What in the hell had happened with his club? It had to have been bad.
“Getting drunk is all I know how to handle what I feel right now.” He said it in almost a pleading voice.
“Okay, Tuck,” she said softly, and turned and left to go down the hallway, away from him and to give him his solitude right now. Right before she went into the room she turned and looked over her shoulder, saw him watching her, and wished that things had been so different. She wished things with William had never happened, and wished that she and Tuck had been put together for very different reasons. Jana wished that being with Tuck didn’t mean he had to tend to the wounds her ex had given her. God, life was really cruel sometimes, for everyone.
Chapter Eight
Pierce had to be some masochistic asshole, especially when he knew being with the woman he wanted probably wasn’t going to happen. He walked into The Crystal Cavern, the tittie bar that he’d become obsessed with ever since he’d seen that stripper shake her shit on stage. Damn, even now just thinking about it got his dick harder than rock.
He adjusted himself, paid the cover charge to even get into the place, and found a table in the corner that was shrouded with shadows. The room was smoky, the blue lights making everything seem a little less realistic. He leaned back in the padded chair, placed an order for a stiff drink when one of the scantily clad waitresses came by, and stared at the stage, waiting for the one stripper he’d driven out here to see make an appearance.
Although this place was known for having strippers that were all about giving a little action on the side for some extra cash, the one woman that he wanted to stick his dick in wasn’t for sale, apparently in not that way at least. He’d chosen this corner table because it was still close enough to the stage that if he wanted to he could lean in and smell that pussy of hers. Fuck, he bet she smelled all sweet and candy-like. His cock jerked again, and he reached down and adjusted his dick behind his fly to relieve the pressure.
He might be called an obsessed asshole, or even a stalker because he only came up here anymore to see one woman, but Pierce didn’t care. He’d come here every damn time she worked if it meant he got to see those big, perfect tits of hers.
Pierce didn’t need to buy pussy that was for damn sure. The sweet-butts back at the clubhouse were all fine, willing to spread their thighs at the snap of a finger, but Pierce couldn’t find any kind of satisfaction with them anymore, not since he’d seen this stripper that first time. He figured he was just hard-up for her, needed her for some damn reason like a fiend needed a fix, and he wasn’t going to deny himself.
He wanted something different, some foreign pussy that knew how to squeeze a man’s dick until it felt like it would fall off. Yeah, that’s what he wanted, what he’d jerked off to more than once since he’d seen her licking that whipped cream off of her fingers.
Shit, he was about to come in his pants just from the thought.
A few of the strippers walked by and offered him a VIP lap dance, and even a little extra in one of the backrooms, but his girl was going to be up, going to shake those ass and tits he’s been needy for.
Pierce didn’t like skinny bitches, didn’t like the bones that stuck out from their hips and didn’t like being able to see their ribs. What he liked was a nice, thicker woman, one with more meat to grab onto, curves that he could get lost in.
The lights flashed on stage once, letting everyone know that the next show was about to start. Oh yeah, there she was, walking out in killer “fuck me” stilettos, wearing nothing but this tiny red G-string and bikini top that barely covered her nipples. She had this hourglass figure that had his heart racing and palms sweating. Damn, what was it about her? Her dark
hair was up, but the lights were focused on her body below the neck, her face shrouded by the shadows.
The spotlight slid up and covered her big, round, and juicy looking ass, one that had a nice red string right between the cheeks. Her hair was a little longer than it had been the first time he’d come to the strip club. Even though her hair was up he could tell. But he didn’t care if she had a shaved head. The woman was hot as hell. Her flared hips and thighs, which were meant to grip a male around the waist while he fucked her good and hard, had him curling his hands around the edge of the table.
“Here ya go,” the waitress said and set his whiskey and Coke on the table. Pierce focused on the stage.
His stripper turned around, her eyes closed, her lips lush and painted red. He zeroed in on her big, full tits again, at the way they were barely restrained by her red top. She started moving back and forth, and the sight of the way she swayed her hips transfixed him, made his mouth salivate, and the images of the filthy fucking things he wanted to do to her pop in his head. Her flesh jiggled, bounced up and down as she shook it all on stage. Damn, he didn’t want any of these other bastards watching all that glorious golden flesh moving around.
His dick punched forward even harder, with so much force he nearly pulled his cock out and stroked himself right then and there just to relieve the pressure. Goddamn, she was a sight to look at, a woman that knew how to make a man crawl on his knees just to get closer. Pierce ran a hand over his mouth and breathed out.
The dance went on for a few more minutes, and when the song ended and she had all her dollar bills, he watched her leave the stage Pierce couldn’t help himself. He stood, walked over to where the stairs to the stage were, and although there was a bouncer guarding it, he called out for her, needing to get her under him for the night.
“Come home with me,” he called out, feeling like a douche on so many levels for doing it this way, but obviously not caring enough not to do it.
She stopped and turned around. When she got a look at him and scanned her gaze down the length of his chest, her eyes widened. Was she staring at his cut? Maybe she was saying “hell no” because she knew he was in a club? Or maybe she saw the massive hard-on he sported? Surely she’d seen a hell of a lot of them working at this joint.
“Come on, baby.” He braced a hand on the wall, trying to see her over the massive body of the man in front of him. Hell, Pierce was a big guy, but he was cut and ripped with muscle. This fucker was all bulging belly and a face that looked like it had never seen anything funny. He probably had fifty pounds of thickness on Pierce that had nothing to do with muscle mass.
“No thanks,” she said over her shoulder, and turned to leave.
His cock jerked at her denial, but when she was really walking away he grew annoyed. “You shake your shit up there like you want to get fucked, and now you’re saying no?” He was being an asshole, but she was denying him, and Pierce wasn’t used to that shit.
She stopped and turned around, but the shadows concealed her face, almost as if she wore a mask. He could make out her eyes, knew they were narrowed, and saw the shape of her nose and lips, but unless he wanted to push through this bouncer he wasn’t going to see anymore. And when she’d been on the strange the lights had been stationed on her lower body, amplifying her assets. But then her eyes widened, and she stepped further back into the shadows, and held the robe she wore tighter to her body. “Go to hell, you pompous asshole,” she said on a slightly shaky breath. “I’m sure you have plenty of pussy at that club you’re at, or maybe you need to learn how to respect women, even if they do strip.” With that she flipped him off, turned her back toward him, and disappeared behind one of the doors.
“Beat it before she embarrasses your ass even more,” the big bouncer said.
Pierce gritted his teeth, felt anger that she turned him down, but also couldn’t blame her. He didn’t have to say that shit, and now here he was with a raging boner, and the woman he wanted to stick his dick in had told him to screw off.
“Well shit,” he said under his breath.
The bouncer snorted. “Man, if you’re trying to go for Lil then you better just get used to jerking off now.”
He narrowed his eyes at the fucker.
“She only strips. You bug her again and she’ll likely cut your dick and balls off.”
Pierce narrowed his eyes at the other man. Although all he wanted to do was tear through this guy and go to that woman, maybe kiss her so she couldn’t even breathe, making her see that being with him wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen, he took a step back. No, he’d back off for right now. He wouldn’t let it go, though, because even though he did want the woman named Lil—which he had to assume wasn’t her real name—he’d give her this space. But he’d show her that letting him into her bed, fucking her good and hard, so she couldn’t even walk straight the next day, would help them both out.
Yeah, he was being a cocky asshole, but the truth was no one denied Pierce, not until they at least got to know him better. He snorted at that thought, and turned to leave the strip club. But yeah, he really wanted her, and that need was at this obsessive level. He wouldn’t give up that easily.
Chapter Nine
Tuck parked his Harley in front of the small bar and grille in River Run, cut the engine, and looked at the other bikes parked out front. It was early in the day, and he’d only left Jana because she’d fallen asleep. Pierce wanted to talk to him, maybe about what the hell he’d done, or maybe just to shoot the shit since Tuck hadn’t been to the club in a while. And although it had only been a couple of days since he’d spoken with the club members, he still hadn’t heard from them on whether or not he was kicked out.
He was suffering from bouts of internal rage concerning the whole situation, but none of that had to do with him regretting what he’d done. He’d never regret saving Jana and doing what he did. Making the deal with M had been his only option, and whether the club saw that or not, saw that he did care for the woman and would do anything to make sure she was okay, wasn’t his problem anymore. He’d betrayed them, gone behind their back, and by club rules they could have ended his life and buried him in the mountains where no one would have found him. He’d been through a lot with those members, and even if Pierce was a newbie in the patched-in scene, Tuck had become close with the other man.
He dismounted and headed inside, his sunglasses hanging loosely from his fingers, his helmet hanging on his handlebar¸ and the emptiness he felt at the fact he didn’t have his cut on weighing heavily on him. When he pulled the door open the sound of “Sweet Home Alabama” coming from the jukebox filled his head. There were bikers gathered around the pool table and bar, and barely dressed older women were on their laps and hanging around them.
He bee-lined to where he saw Pierce sitting in the back of the bar, a pitcher of beer in the center of the table, and this pissed expression on his face. Okay. Maybe the other man didn’t want to have club talk with him. Well, that was a little better. Tuck didn’t really want to go down that route, especially when he knew if the club had made a decision but was sitting on it, Pierce wouldn’t be able to say anything, or he, too, would be going against the club.
“Hey, man,” Pierce said and tipped his glass toward Tuck right before he brought it to his mouth and drank the rest of the contents. He poured himself another full glass, gestured for the waitress to bring over more, and then he just stared at Tuck. “Well, sit,” Pierce said, his voice hard, pissed.
“What’s up your ass?” Tuck asked and pulled the chair out to sit down. If anyone should be in a foul fucking mood it should be him, but even Tuck wasn’t feeling that type of anger. The truth was he was upset over the thought of losing his club, but on the other hand he was happy he had Jana in his house, even for a short amount of time. She wouldn’t stay there forever, was already starting to heal, and he knew she’d leave soon. That had this pang starting in his gut and moving all the way through his chest.
The waitress set
a glass in front of Tuck and grinned down at him, but he waved her away.
“Turning down pussy that’s willing, yeah?” Pierce said, but he was looking down at his glass, his brow furrowed.
“I’m not interested in skanky old pussy that hangs out in here.” Tuck leaned back in his chair. “You called, so I assume this is some personal shit.”
Pierce looked at him, grabbed his glass, and drank more of his beer. They sat there for several seconds in silence, the sound of the music, laughing, cursing, and lewd language filling the room. It felt like the club, and that was a kick to the balls on a deep level.
“There hasn’t been a vote yet,” Pierce said in a deep, low voice.
Tuck nodded, filled his glass full, and finished half of the contents before he even took a breath.
“I want you to know I’m against you leaving. I can see why Lucien called this, but I also know that you wouldn’t have done it if it didn’t mean a hell of a lot to you.”
Tuck nodded again, not really wanting to talk about it now that it was out there.
“But that’s not why I called you for a drink.” Pierce set his cup down and leaned forward. “I wanted to know how you deal with wanting something that looks like you won’t be able to have.”
Tuck couldn’t help it. He started laughing. “Man, you’re talking about a piece of ass, aren’t you?”
Pierce exhaled, ran a hand over his short light hair, but finally nodded. “Yeah, and it’s the craziest fucking thing, man. I have never wanted a piece of pussy as badly as I want this stripper’s.”
Tuck wasn’t surprised that Pierce was obsessing about a woman, especially if she had turned him down. “What she say, no or hell no?”