by M. N. Forgy
The music fades, the lights dimming on the main stage so Bad Bunny has enough time to grab all her money without looking greedy to the crowd. With the attention on the side stage, I take the free time to check my phone and make sure none of the guys have messaged me for anything back at the clubhouse.
I take a pull off my beer just as a spotlight hits an unfamiliar face in the middle of the stage, I set my phone down, curious.
Valley didn’t mention a new girl, then again, I didn’t give her time to say much before or after I was done fucking her. While I oversee security here, Valley handles the talent. She’s what the girls call the house mom.
This new girl has shoulder-length blonde hair, soft eyes, unmarked skin. She’s wearing a black sheer robe, her back to the pole and eyes cast down. Like a virgin lost in a sea of sex and sin. It’s eye catching, to say the least.
Lifting my hand, I grab Ariel’s attention, and she leaves the men she was waiting on, her hand balancing a tray full of tips and cigars as she makes her way to me.
“Who’s that?” I point to the woman I haven’t seen before.
Ariel looks to the stage and back to me. “New girl, name’s Aspen.” Ariel nods with her response. “She’s been here before-hours for a couple weeks learning the ropes from Valley,” she explains further.
DJ Nerve taps the mic to introduce her. “Let’s give it up to our new girl, Aspen, heart of ice, but a soul of fire!” his rugged voice growls through the speakers.
The music kicks on, and her body starts to move. “Nightmare” by Halsey plays, and she rolls her neck, her hair falling into her face right before she flings around the pole like a dark angel. Her robe flying behind her. Every movement is so fluid, it’s more than dancing, it’s art. She doesn’t dance like the other girls, there’s something different about her. Dropping onto all fours, her back pops up and down, her hand slapping at the floor right before she pulls herself up to her knees and rips her robe open, her eyes still cast down as she reveals perky tits in a fishnet bralette, her thong matching.
Brows furrowing, I watch closely. She’s lost in the song, dancing as if she’s living the lyrics and not dancing for a bunch of horny men. The alabaster skin in front of me has no tattoos, no piercings that I can see. She’s unmarked in every way. Aspen’s so pure that it baffles me as to why she’s even up there.
The beat continues to thump as the rhythm plays on and Aspen continues to tell a story with her body on the stage. Wrapping a leg around the pole, her creamy ass cheeks come into view as she swings and does a sexy move. I don’t know what it’s called, I just watch her in fascination. Now all the way at the top of the pole, she takes her top off, the small scrap of material flying into the crowd allowing some drunk bastard to catch it. I stand, making sure to lay eyes on the man in possession of the garment so I can be sure to get that back. I’ve heard the women talk in the dressing room about how expensive lingerie is and her being new, her attire will be limited for a while.
Just as the song comes to an end, she slips from the chrome pole to her feet. The beauty of Aspen on display for me, with her tits in full view, her stomach not tight and fit, but smooth and sexy, I’m intrigued and certainly turned on.
She lifts her head just as the lights dim, hooded eyes landing on mine. The crowd between us disappearing for a split second before the room darkens to black.
Stepping down from my throne, I head to the man who has her top. He’s about five feet tall, wearing a wrinkled suit, with a tie hanging off his neck. I tap him on the shoulder, pointing to the black fabric rolled into his hand.
“I’mma need that back,” I tell him with a hard expression. I flare my nose, trying to hold my temper in that he even thinks he gets to keep it.
He sneers. Not giving him a chance to cause a scene, I snatch it from him and walk away.
Left of the stage, I push the heavy curtain out of the way, finding Aspen wrapping her naked body up in a Kimono. The silk material hides her body from me, concealing what I really want to see up close.
The room smells of a variety of perfumes and makeups. The soft glow from each vanity filling the room with just the right amount of lighting to make the girls look like models when sitting in their chairs. Girls idle chit chat about regulars coming in and how much they’re making in tips.
Aspen sits down at a vanity at the end of the room, keeping to herself. A wallflower if I ever saw one, but one lost in a desert of selfish people. Stick to the wall, babe, nobody here is your friend. I think but don’t say.
The women notice me as soon as I step foot in the room, my presence getting them excited, they all begin to talk to me, standing to catch my attention. Jesus, it’s flattering, really. But too much at times. I guess my reputation precedes me, then again I know Valley tells all the girls to stay away from me so it makes them at much more eager to get my attention.
It’s a game. One I play very well myself.
I give a smile, rub my hand down one of their backs in passing, but who I really want is at the back of the room. I want to know who Aspen is, why she’s here?
Coming up behind her, she’s sitting in a silk-covered chair messing with makeup on her vanity. Her eyes slowly slip up, finding mine in the mirror’s reflection. Her lips part, dark green eyes surprised to see me.
“This yours?” I hold it out to her.
She smiles, her cheeks turning red. “Yeah, thanks.” Her voice isn’t silky smooth, it’s laced with an edge. Smokey and sultry without even having to try.
Tossing it on her vanity, she grabs it quickly. Her cheeks blush the color of a rose that’s been out in the sun too long, its vibrant color faded into a light pink.
“Be careful where you toss your shit, the men will take it and they’re not easy to get back,” I tell her, my voice coming off harsher than I intended it to, but that’s just who I am. I say exactly what I’m thinking and getting in a brawl over retrieving a fucking bra back for one of the girls is more trouble than it’s worth. Her face hardens from my tone and it occurs to me how out of character it is for me to be back here. I never come in here, usually, I just have Valley get on to the girls if they fuck up, or return belongings they lose to the crowd.
Why am I back here? When have I ever not been able to resist the pull of a hot woman? What has gotten into me?
“I’m North,” I introduce myself. “I keep an eye on things around here, make sure you’re safe.” I keep talking instead of fucking leaving, but I want to hear her voice, see more of her face and look into her eyes. If Jinx taught me anything, eyes tell you a lot about a person.
She looks up to me with a look of purity, green irises the color of leaves in the summer.
“I’m Aspen,” her voice is light and airy, tugging on something unfamiliar inside of me. She’s so very different from any creature I’ve ever come across.
“Let me know when you get off work and I’ll walk you to your car, you being new, I don’t want some bastard thinking he can get one over on you.” I look to the floor, anywhere but her eyes. It’s not uncommon for us to walk the girls to their cars at night to make sure they’re safe but I’ve never come to one of the dancers and personally walk her to her car after work. My actions confuse me, this feeling inside of me different.
Rubbing my neck anxiously, I turn away. I need to get back to work. Heading out of the dressing room, I spot her in on one of the dozen mirrors, turning in her chair to watch me walk away. I find Valley standing at the entrance of the room, her arms crossed, a brow raised in an unspoken question. She’s a good fuck, but clingy as hell, man.
“I see you met the new girl.” She grins.
“Is she new?” I shrug, as if I don’t keep track of who is who at this place. Including her.
“Don’t act like you don’t know any of us.” She squints her eyes in knowing. Her lips cocking to the side as she silently reminds me I just fucked her. This has nothing to do with the girls of the club and everything to do with her.
Raising a brow, I re
lax my features. My lips pulling into a smirk. “Not anyone important.” I deadpan, and her sassy ass grin falls flat.
The song in the background changes as I exit the space, not giving Valley another second of my time or even share the air I breathe. I have one focus, returning to my throne.
We are kings, after all.
Two
North
My head rests on a pillow with my arm wrapped around it, snuggling it to my body. Plucking the earbuds from my ears, Halsey playing “Gasoline” is cut short as I roll over onto my back. I’m at the clubhouse. Yawning, I look to my left because I never go to bed alone, and find Cookie, the club ass.
I shove her in an attempt to wake her ass up. She groans, her mascara is smeared down her face and onto one of my pillows. Her dark hair mangled and looking a fright this morning. It’s one of those nights where I went to bed thinking Merry Christmas and woke up with Trick-or-Treat because the beer goggles are off. The present I saw last night is a cruel joke in the light of day.
Did we fuck? Nah, I had to be really hammered to screw her.
I shove her again, her limp body tensing beneath my touch.
“Come on, get up. Get dressed and get out, Cookie.” Finally, pushing herself up, she looks around the room.
Sliding off the bed, I grab some clean clothes from the dresser. I snatch a white shirt that looks like it’s been worn so much it’s threadbare in places, then I grab the usual ripped-up jeans and some underwear.
“What time is it?” she mutters with sleep heavy in her voice as she lifts her hand palming her forehead.
“Time to get out,” I deadpan, moving from the dresser to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
Turning the shower on, I climb in and lower my head, letting the hot water rinse the night before away. My flesh readies for another day of living the life of a King.
I didn’t used to always be a King. It’s not as glamourous as it sounds, I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, and not because I’m an outlaw, but because of the skeletons I left up north.
My previous club could come looking for me anytime.
I committed the ultimate sin. I left, I broke the brotherly code and according to the bylaws, it could mean my life.
Thankfully, Chaos took me in, seeing where my heart really lies. Met him at a bar fight. I was angry and just started beating the shit out of people and before I knew it, Chaos and I were the only ones standing, and a friendship grew. He knows all about the other club and how I was selling my soul one dead body at a time. Pulling the trigger became a silent whistle to the reaper to come and collect what I’ve just gifted him. I was giving him innocent souls for a club I wasn’t seeing eye to eye with. They didn’t kill for reason or revenge. They called upon me to do their dirty work simply because they could. When they finally showed me they were not a brotherhood I wanted to be in, I left. I admit when Chaos introduced me to the Kings of Carnage and I prospected under Vic, I started getting nervous with some of the shit that was going down, I was afraid I traded one bad choice for another until Chaos promised me a hostile take over. We cleaned house of every motherfucker that didn’t know what being in a brotherhood was. I’m thankful for running into Chaos every fucking day and would throw myself in front of a bullet for him. He made a brotherhood I’d never step away from.
Soaping up my chest, my hands running through the curves of my pecs, I einse my body and turn the water off. There is no way to clean the scum covering my soul.
Dressing, I grab my toothbrush and add the paste. One hand on the counter, I look into the mirror as I brush my teeth. My bright blue eyes ice-cold and soulless, carrying so many secrets that I can hardly stare at my own reflection. Spitting, I rinse my mouth and run my fingers through my dirty blond hair. It’s getting some length, falling to my brows when wet. I feel my chin and cheeks, a little scruff, but nothing worth shaving. With the quick once-over, I decide I’m done. Opening the door to my room, I find Cookie gone.
Good.
I’d like to say I’m not an asshole, but I am. I know what I want, and what I don’t. People can’t handle honesty, thus making me the bad guy.
Opening the door to the clubhouse, I find Apple pulling a hideously ugly glove up her left arm. She’s an odd one but has a personality none of us can help but like. She’s the one you go to when you want gossip. She hears everything because she’s like a fucking ghost. Always cleaning the club, but fucking quiet as a spirit shifting through the halls.
“Any chance I can get some clean sheets?” I wince, knowing I just asked her this yesterday.
Her head snaps up, her baggy shirt shifting with the fast action but not enough for me to see what she’s got underneath there. “Why don’t I just burn them so I ain’t gotta do this every day?” she says with a half-laugh.
Winking at her, I smile at her sassy ass. “Thanks, babe.”
“Mmmhmm.” She rolls her eyes, looking back to the rag and spray cleaner. “Gonna have to take stock in gloves the way I’m goin’ through ‘em with all y’all. Damn.”
Turning around, walking backward, I say, “I’ll grab you a bottle of the good shit from the club tonight as a thank you.”
She doesn’t respond, but I see that lip want to smile. I head down the stairs. The opposite of the hall has a pole you can slide down into the main room. I only take it when I’m drinking.
Downstairs, I see Jinx is sitting at the bar messing with his phone, sunglasses firmly in place even inside a building. Sliding up next to him, I run my hands back and forth through my hair, still trying to wake myself up.
“How’s things going with the rails?” I ask. He found an ingenious way to run things through the train cars not too long ago.
He nods. “Fine.”
This is Jinx, the man of one-word answers who only speaks when spoken to. I joke with him that one day he’ll get drunk enough I will jinx him by saying the same thing at the same time. Jinx handles getting the drugs in and out of Uprising for the Kings. The Samoan has arms the size of some people’s thighs. We all swear he works out instead of sleeping.
“You gonna come out to Centerfolds tonight?” I ask, looking for casual conversation.
Jinx turns his head to me, but with his sunglasses on, I can’t lock onto his gaze. He shrugs his shoulders and gives me a grunt before giving his full attention back to his phone.
I sigh. “Well, a grunt is something.”
To this, Jinx laughs. “Shut up, fucker. If I get my shit done, I’ll come watch the ass swirl while you pass the hours of the night away calling it work. If you don’t see me, then you know I got busy. That enough for ya?”
I half-laugh at the asshole. Standing, I pat his shoulder.
“That’ll do!”
Outside, the weather is hot and I’m aching to get on my bike and ride before the sun sets. Bouncer is leaning against his bike, smoking. When did he get back in town? Bouncer is a nomad and is like a fucking ghost popping in and out of the club without me knowing it. He’s loyal though, whenever I need him he’s always there no matter where he might have been at the time I called upon him.
“Hey fucker!” I call to him. He nods, a grin spreading across his face. “When you get in town?”
He shrugs in a manner suggesting he doesn’t know. He probably doesn’t. The road takes him wherever he needs to, acting as his calendar, the sun his guide. Lucky bastard.
Three
North
Sitting on my throne in the back, as usual, I watch Bad Bunny finish up her routine, the crowd is more wild tonight from a bachelor party. It puts me on edge. It’s always the fucking best man that has to take things too far. Never fucking fails.
“Drink, baby?” Ariel asks.
Sitting up, I take the beer from her. “Thanks, babe.” I tip her a five for thinking of me, slipping it into her black spandex shorts. She winks at me as a thank you, and waltzes off.
The DJ announces Aspen without much gusto. The lack of enthusiasm from him tells me she
must not have tipped him on the way in for her shift. Which makes me wonder if Valley even told her it’s expected. Valley can be an amazing housemother to the girls, but she’s not warming up to Aspen it seems. My eyes snap up above the rim of the beer bottle. The spotlight shining down on her brightly. Her blonde hair is slightly curled from the rain outside, her body glistening from the heat of the light above her as I sit back and watch.
She has a black top tied showing her flat stomach, black shorts layering a pair of fishnets with a pair of spiky heeled boots. Her hair is so natural, her face light of makeup. She’s not in the least bit exotic. She stands out like a rose in a field of wildflowers. Has anyone told her to spice her looks up, is she ignoring them? I don’t know, but whatever she’s doing, she has every man’s attention in this club.
“Heartless” by The Weeknd starts to play and she starts to move. She snaps her leg up straight, other knee in her face and toes pointed to the ceiling as she swirls around the chrome.
Placing the beer between my feet, I watch, fascinated. When I walked her to her car last night she nearly ran, doing everything she could to keep her distance and not look at me which tells me one thing. She wants me, and if not, I want her. Rubbing my hands together, I wait for her to look at me. All the girls look at me. She flips her hair, flexes, and dry humps the fucking stage but never looks my way.
It irks me. Standing up, I push my way through the rowdy crowd, and her eyes finally lock with mine. On her knees, she lifts her arms, teasing her hair with her hands. Fuck, she’s sexy. A lot of these men look at these women and know they’re out of their league. The carnal desire making them throw their money at them for just a minute of attention. But Aspen, she seems attainable, which seems to be more of kryptonite to these men because they’re going nuts. She’s the girl next door, or the sexy babysitter the wife just hired. Every man wants her solely because she has the look of purity.