Tease: A Kings of Korruption MC Novel

by Geri Glenn

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Watch Out For

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  By

  Geri Glenn

  Tease

  ©Geri Glenn, 2015

  Tease is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  This ebook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the reader. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my mom, a woman who has shown me what it takes to be a strong, independent woman and has never given up on me. We’ve had our share of trials and every time, you’ve been there with unconditional love and support. I am who I am because of you. Thank you for making me the type of person who has the courage to reach for the stars. I love you Mom.

  “NO, BUDDY! SHHHH!” I PULL the little terrier closer, trying to calm and quiet him. If Rick hears him barking again, he’ll kill him. He’d said so himself. Rick is my new stepfather, and he is mean. He smells bad too. I’ll never understand why my mother had to go and marry that big jerk in the first place.

  I miss my real dad. He was the best dad ever – but then, last year when I was only eight years old, he died. My mom blames me; I know she does, even though she says that’s not true. The fire chief said it was an electrical fire. I’d been sound asleep when the smoke detectors went off. The air in my room had been thick with black smoke, choking me and making it hard to breathe. I tried so hard to get out of my room, but the door handle was just too hot. I tried to open the window too, but I just wasn’t strong enough to lift it. I was trapped.

  I was so scared. Buddy was scared too. He crawled right under my bed and curled up into a little ball, shaking with fear. I was screaming and crying, trying with all my might to yank open the window. I even tried to break it, but I just wasn’t strong enough. After giving up on the window, I crawled under that bed with Buddy and hugged him close. Squeezing my eyes closed, I prayed for someone to rescue me.

  That’s when I heard a loud crash as my Dad broke the window from the outside. He was standing on a ladder, like my very own superhero, hollering for me to come on. I couldn’t get Buddy, though. He had pushed back even farther under the bed, too terrified to come out. I crawled farther under, ignoring my father’s panicked order to hurry. Flames were now coming through the walls, and I was choking on the filthy air, coughing and gagging.

  Just as I got my hand on Buddy’s collar, someone grabbed my ankle, hauling me out from under the bed. My dad had come into the room. I cradled Buddy to my chest as he turned me, hurrying toward the window. He tucked Buddy into my shirt and lifted me up and over the window ledge. After waiting for me to get my feet situated, he’d looked me right in the eye and told me not to look down.

  I’d made it down about six rungs when the ceiling fell in. My Dad never made it out of that room.

  Now Mom was married to Rick; she met him at some bar a few months ago, and within just a couple of weeks, we’d moved into his house far away from any of my friends. Dad would have hated him. He drinks too much, and now so does my Mom. She barely talks to me at all anymore. She says I look too much like my dad, and it hurts to even look at me. Buddy and I keep to ourselves most of the time, but when they start fighting — which they do a lot — Buddy barks.

  They’re fighting right now which is why Buddy won’t shut up. He doesn’t like it when Rick calls my mom nasty names any more than I do – I hate that he talks to her like that – I hate him. Wrapping my hand around Buddy’s snout, I shush him once more. His small body trembles with anxiety.

  Just then, the door slams open, bouncing off the wall. “Give me that fuckin’ dog!” he roars. Rick stands in the doorway, a large butcher knife clutched in his fist. Jumping to my feet, I block Buddy’s body with my own.

  “I told ya what would happen if you didn’t keep that fuckin’ thing quiet. Give him to me!”

  “No!” I scream. “You can’t have him! He’s mine.”

  Rick surges into the room just as Mom comes around the corner, tears gleaming on her cheeks. I pick Buddy up, turning him away from Rick and look frantically for a way to get out of the room. I’m not fast enough. Rick swings out, his fist connecting with my cheek and knocking me back onto the floor.

  Buddy leaps from my arms, teeth bared as he growls and snaps at Rick. Mom is screaming something, but my head is still ringing from the punch he’d just given me. Just as I am able to stand, Rick gets his hand around Buddy’s neck and lifts him high in the air.

  Buddy’s feet scramble to push against his forearm, eyes bugging out of his head. Rick raises the knife to Buddy’s throat, ready to slash across it, stealing the only family I have left since my dad died.

  “Let him go!” I run, slamming into him from the side, knocking him off balance and causing him to drop the tiny dog. Rick’s long arm darts out, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt before he yanks me back. He throws me to the floor and climbs on top of me, pinning me down with his large body.

  The air is filled with my screams, my mom’s cries, and the constant barking of my best friend. Rick’s hand flies out, slapping me across the side of my head with all his might. I stop screaming, my head swimming. I can see Mom pulling at his arm, trying to lift him off of me. He swings back that arm, knocking her to the floor as well. She doesn’t move when she lands.

  Turning back to me, Rick lifts his knife to my face. “You little shit! I should fuckin’ kill you for that.” He doesn’t even see Buddy coming. Buddy rushes him from the side, latching onto his arm, biting and shaking like a full-grown Rottweiler.

  With his free hand, Rick reaches around and grabs the little dog by the head once more. Lifting him by the throat, he whips his arm viciously back and forth. I hear a small yelp before Buddy drops to the floor, his tongue hanging limply from his mouth.

  An anguished cry escapes my throat as I stare at my beloved Buddy. He’s dead – I know it. His lifeless eyes are staring at me as Rick turns back to me, sneering in my face as he raises his knife. He places the tip of it right under my eye, the cold steel pressing deep enough to draw blood.

  “I’m gonna teach you not to fuck with me. EVER!” Pressing his blade in farther, he draws it from my eye, down my cheek, and stopping at my chin. The pain is excruciating as he slices my skin. I scream in pain and humiliation. “Next time, I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

  He grabs my shoulders and lifts me slightly off the floor before slamming me back down again, my head cracking off the hardwood.

  Standing, he curls his lip at me. “Piece of shit.” He walks out of the room then, leaving me with my dead dog, my unconscious mother, and my mangled face.

  I PLACE MY HAND on the door handle and push it open just as someone from the other side yanks it toward. With my hand still on the han
dle, I stumble forward, hurriedly putting my hands out in front of me to prevent smashing my face off the sidewalk. I don’t make it that far, though. My hands connect with a wall of solid muscle.

  “Sorry.” The word is muttered from a gruff and smoky voice coming from about a foot above my head. I’m five foot eight so that means this guy must be very tall. By habit, I tilt my face toward his and smile.

  “No worries.” I move my fingers slightly and hear his swift intake of breath. That’s when I realize that my hands are resting on his very firm torso. I can feel the rough outline of his abs through his shirt. I want nothing more than to explore further, and maybe even count them, but chances are, that might be creepy. Standing upright, I readjust my hold on Dexter’s harness and pull away slightly, inhaling his scent as I go. He smells like worn leather and motor oil mixed with a hint of cologne. That smell is the sexiest thing ever to pass through my nostrils.

  Realizing that I’m just standing there awkwardly smelling the poor man, I give him a tight smile and gently tug on Dexter’s lead, letting him know that it’s time to go. I feel him step aside, and my shoulder brushes his chest as I pass. I inhale his scent one last time before stepping out into the cool autumn afternoon.

  Grinning like a fool, I make my way down the busy street, heading toward home. I’m not one bit embarrassed that I just felt up that delicious-smelling man. I don’t often get the opportunity to lay my fingers on such fine, toned flesh – like, ever.

  Moving down the sidewalk, I put ab man out of my mind and think back to this morning and my counseling session with Max. Max is an eleven-year-old boy who has lost most of his vision over the course of the last year. My job, as his Vision Loss Counsellor, is to help him accept his blindness as his new reality and find something for him to be excited about again.

  Today had gone well, and I’d finally noticed some progress. Max even learned to play a chord on the guitar. Over the past couple of months, I had tried to help him find something – anything – to be excited about, but Max is just pissed at the world. He’s pissed he can’t play video games with his friends anymore. Pissed that he can’t go outside and play road hockey with the neighborhood kids like he used to. Mostly, Max is pissed because he loves sports, mostly soccer, and he just can’t play that anymore. In his young mind, his life is over.

  Last week I had given him one of the loaner guitars and an instructional CD for children that the hospital loaned out to patients of their various programs. He had taken it, but I could hear the doubt coloring his voice; he was just too polite to voice it. But the fact that he had gone home, listened to that CD and taught himself a chord on the guitar – I call that progress.

  I love my job. The hours are flexible, and I get to mentor some amazing kids in an area that I am passionate about. My blindness happened when I was seventeen. At first, I had been devastated, but then I realized that being blind is only a small part of who I am. It doesn’t have to define me. I was a strong and independent girl before it happened, and now I am an even stronger, more independent woman. To be able to help children realize the same thing for themselves is an amazing feeling.

  I know we’ve reached my building when Dexter slows, angling his body slightly to press against my leg. This is my cue to slow down. As we slow to a stop, I raise my hand, searching for the keyhole to the main door of the old stone house that holds four separate apartments, one of which I rent for an insane amount of money. The apartment itself is huge, and its location is perfect, allowing me to walk just about everywhere I need to go, but I pay for it.

  Dexter leads me up the familiar staircase to the doorway of my unit. Once inside, I lock the door before turning and giving him an affectionate scratch behind the ear. I unhook his harness, relieving him of his working duty. As a Guide Dog, Dexter is trained to be in work mode from the minute that harness goes on in the morning until I take it off in the evening. During that time, he is focused entirely on his job and ensuring my safety. Once it comes off, though, he is just like any other gigantic lap dog.

  He runs off in search of his stuffed rabbit while I move toward the kitchen to start making supper. On the way, I stop to check for messages on my answering machine. Within thirty seconds of it playing, I wish I had left that task until later.

  As I walk down the hall, my mother’s nasally voice fills the apartment around me.

  “Laynie, it’s your mother. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you yesterday, and I’m worried. You know I like to talk to you every night.” I roll my eyes, waiting for it to end, but she keeps talking. “You need to call me, young lady. I need to know that you’re OK. I need to hear your voice, honey. Please call me back.”

  Entering the kitchen, I go straight to the fridge and pull out the lasagna that was left over from the night before while the next message plays. My mother again.

  “Laynie Marie! I’m now officially worried. Call me back immediately!”

  God! My mother drives me up the wall. I love her to pieces, but she is a shameless worrywart that hovers around me at all times. Even from three hours away, she still manages to keep tabs on me. I can’t escape her.

  The next message is from my brother, Daniel. “Laynie? Mom’s freakin’ out. Why do you do this to her? You need to call her. She wants me to pop over and check on you. Call me.”

  Yanking my lasagna from the microwave, I make my way over to the couch and dig in to my supper. Filled with frustration, I think about my family, wondering when they are going to realize that I’m a grown ass woman, and I need to live my own life. If I had my sight, would they still treat me this way? They may still have their sight, but they don’t really see me for who I really am; I’m not sure if they ever will … if anyone ever will.

  It had never been my intention to talk to her. I’d only come into the coffee shop to get a closer look. I wish now that I hadn’t. She was even hotter up close, and fuck me, she smelled like goddamned strawberries. A whole fucking field of them. It made me want to taste her.

  I’d first seen her a couple weeks ago when I’d been keeping tabs on Charlotte, my buddy Ryker’s woman. Charlotte works at a nursing home directly across the street from The Bean, a hipster-type coffee shop that I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. I drink my coffee black. Coffee isn’t meant to have fucking whipped cream and chocolate shit drizzled all over it.

  But today, I did go in. I went in because I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. Every time Charlotte worked, I sat outside, watching the shop for another glimpse of this woman, and every fucking time, there she was. I needed to see her close up. To see if her hair was as golden as it seemed to be from across the street. I needed to see what color her eyes were and whether her figure was as smoking as it was from a distance. It was. Fuck, all of it was. I never did see what color her eyes were, though. They’d been hidden by a large pair of round framed sunglasses.

  When I pulled that door open, I had no clue she was on the other side. She comes flying at me, landing against my chest, her strawberry scent filling my nostrils. A muttered apology is all I can manage. I don’t know what the fuck to say. She is there, right in front of me – fucking touching me — and I freeze. I don’t want to scare her, which is odd because I like being scary. I’ve worked at it.

  I just stand there like a complete fucktard and stare at her. It all happens so fast; I’m still frozen when she smiles tightly at me and walks away. Stepping out of the shop behind her, I watch as she struts down the street, her ass swaying seductively in her long, tight-fitting dress.

  After she turns the corner, her Guide Dog leading the way, I shake my head and go back to my post outside the nursing home. Now that I’ve seen her up close, I have more questions than before. What is her name? Why is she at the coffee shop each day, always at the same time? What color are her eyes?

  I’m curious about her Guide Dog. Is she blind? She doesn’t seem to be, but she always has those glasses on, and her dog is always with her. He wears a Guide Dog harness and vest, and it says Canadian D
eaf Blind Association right on it. And why the fuck does she smell like strawberries?

  I don’t know why I care. It’s not like I will ever find out. It’s not like I want to. There’s no room in my heart for her. I’m pretty sure my heart’s dead anyways – black and shriveled. It died a long time ago, back when I was just a kid. I’ve been broken for as long as I can remember, and nothing will ever fix the fucked up pieces of my soul. The truth is, I don’t even want to. Everybody that I have ever loved has contributed to the fucked up mess that is my life, and I never want to love another person ever again.

  A bitch like that would be scared shitless of a mean son-of-a-bitch like me anyways – as she should be.

  I’VE BECOME A FUCKING stalker. A creepy, over-caffeinated stalker. For the last couple of months, ever since the day we collided, I’ve gone to that hippie coffee shop, ordered a black coffee and sat on the patio, one table away from her. In those months, my whole world has gone to hell. I’d been working with a young as fuck, new prospect, Ryker’s woman had been kidnapped and almost killed, causing a whole shit storm with another club. The stress of it all would have been almost unbearable if it weren’t for my mystery woman. Sounds creepy as hell, but being near her calms me somehow. I still don’t even know her name, and I haven’t dared to speak to her, but at least three times a week I’ve sat close by. While watching her, I’ve learned plenty.

  I’ve learned that she is definitely blind, but that doesn’t seem to hold her back any. She moves with confidence and grace, only relying on the dog when necessary. I’ve learned that she’s a writer, or a blogger or some shit. She’s always on her laptop, earphones in her ears, fingers wildly plucking away at the keyboard. I’ve learned that when she’s thinking, she twirls her hair. Often, her fingers on the keyboard stop their race across the keys, her head tilts slightly to the side, and she pulls a chunk of her honey blonde hair between her fingers and twirls. This can go on for quite a while and every time she does it, I can’t help but wonder what the fuck she’s thinking about.