“It’s going fantastic, my man. Absolutely fantastic. Good to be me, yes it is. And there’s our girl!” he shouted enthusiastically, spotting me in the back of our group. “Get over here, Bri-baby! I never get tired of looking at you.”
I slipped my arm free of Louis’s with a smile and moved around the others to receive a bone-crushing hug.
“Good night?” I asked when he released me.
“The fucking best. Always the fucking best where I’m at, Bri-baby. Always. And hey, there’s the music man! How you doin’, music man?” And he was off, talking to Louis before moving on to the others, then the group coming in behind us. I moved closer to Jax and we grinned at each other.
“Kitchen?” he asked.
“You read my mind.”
It was packed in there, bottles lining every available surface. We stopped and chatted with others, fellow servers and bartenders from the Lane, people we usually only saw on Sunday nights at Fury’s. We were all still in our uniforms, and during the week, it was what set us apart from one another, made us competitors in a race for drunken sales. But on Sundays, it was what brought us together. We were comrades, we gatekeepers of legal sin, the ones who contributed to society’s moral decline. We were the ones who enabled bad decisions, one-night stands, breakups. We helped customers drown sorrows, celebrate victories, nurse torn hearts. We saw people at their best and their worst, sometimes in the same night. Sometimes in the same moment. Night after night we were everyone’s best friends until closing time, and on Sundays we grouped together in a small apartment overlooking the Lane, our sinful kingdom, and compared stories over our own drinks.
I was throwing back shots with the new bartender from Sharkie’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find Fury standing there and behind him, a smirk on his face, was none other than Dark and Brooding Luke Turner.
“Got someone here who wants to meet you, Bri-baby.” Fury was smiling in a conspiratorial kind of way.
“Oh yeah?” I arched an eyebrow at Brooding Turner.
“This is my boy Luke. Good man, Luke. Gonna make your boy Nicky a lot of money. Ain’t that right, Luke?”
Brooding rumbled an agreement, the amused look never leaving his face.
“Good man, good man. I’ll let you kids get to know each other.” And with that, Fury swaggered off, disappearing into the sea of bodies. In the living room the music slid back a step to the late sixties as “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” came on.
“So it’s Bri, is it?” Turner asked, his voice teasing.
“Brianna,” I replied, playing along for a second before narrowing my eyes. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
He shrugged, unapologetic, and my suspicions were confirmed that he had gotten both my address and name from my license Thursday night. “You don’t look like a Bri.”
I arched my eyebrow again, because if that wasn’t a pickup line, I didn’t know what was.
“And what exactly do I look like?” It wasn’t flirty, my response. It was deadpanned. And I was preparing myself to throw the drink in his hand right in his face if he said something painfully cheesy like “Candy” or “Angel.”
But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything close to that. With a straight face and a serious voice, he replied, “Trouble mostly.”
I grinned.
“Astute. And you don’t look like a Luke.”
“Yeah? Do I look like trouble too?”
“No. An asshole.”
He threw his head back and laughed. It was a dark sound, there was something lethal lurking in it, and I was grinning because I liked it.
“How do you know Fury?” I asked after a minute.
“Fury?” He looked confused. “You mean Nicky?”
“Yeah. You know. Like Nick Fury?” I gave him a disbelieving look. “Don’t tell me you never noticed the resemblance.”
“Sure. Didn’t make the connection though. Clever. He’s an investor of sorts.”
“You some kind of businessman?” I squinted, trying to picture him in a suit and tie. It wasn’t an image easily conjured.
“Something like that.”
I thought about his timing on Thursday night, where he had to have been in order to intervene, the stuff that guests were currently snorting in the bedrooms, and my heart sank.
“Oh, God. You’re a drug dealer, aren’t you?”
He laughed again, deeper this time, clearly amused by my reaction.
“No, sugar. Not a drug dealer.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. Lord knew I didn’t have a lot of morals and I’d never be accused of being a Goody Two-shoes, but after seeing what drugs did to people, people like Sarah and Preach, it was the one thing I’d never be able to be truly okay with. The shit was poison, a thief that took everything from the ones trapped in its spell, and the ones who dealt it to them were assholes.
“Good.” I frowned then, thinking again of Thursday and Preach. “Hey. That old man. You know, the other night? What happened to him?”
“You insinuating something, sugar?”
“Not unless I should. Call it curiosity.”
He stared at me for a minute. Questions hovered between us that I could tell he wanted to ask but didn’t.
“Took off. Caught up to him at one point, but didn’t bother with him.” The look I was giving him was steeped in skepticism and he gave me a half shrug in response to it. “He’s old. Wasn’t much of a threat. Not the one who physically jumped you, at any rate. Speaking of, how’s your head?”
“Still attached.”
He grinned and the sight of those even white teeth flashing was a little mesmerizing. “Miraculously. Knew girls got attached to their purses. Never came across one quite so dedicated.”
It was my turn to shrug. “It’s mine. What’s mine is mine.”
He gave me a speculative look. “Funny. I feel the same.” It was the purr of a lion and I felt heat slam into my stomach.
Down, girl.
Jax chose that moment to interrupt and a part of me was relieved. I hadn’t realized we’d drifted so far away from the others, halfway down the dark hall, until Jax sidled up to me, handing us both a beer before placing his hand at the small of my back and fixing Luke with a level stare.
“Just wanted to thank you for the other night. Bri told me what went down. I appreciate it, bro,” he said sincerely.
Luke looked slightly uncomfortable, or maybe just caught off guard, but he nodded once and took a swig from his bottle.
“No problem. Right place, right time.”
“Yeah, well, like I said. I appreciate it.”
Luke was giving him the once-over, and it dawned on me that he was trying to figure out if Jax was staking some kind of claim. Pissing on me to mark his territory.
“You gotta excuse Jax. He thinks he’s my guardian,” I piped up, wanting to set the record straight.
Jax’s grin was a little sheepish, but mostly unapologetic.
“She gets into a lot of trouble.” He laughed and Luke, damn him, gave me an appraising look that set my blood on fire.
“Jax, I see you’ve met my boy Luke.” Fury was back and his host face was still firmly in place. Always the entertainer, Fury.
“We’ve met before. Briefly.” Jax smiled and I knew, I just knew, that he wasn’t thinking of the bar fight, but of seeing Luke’s bare ass the next day.
“Luke here’s gonna make Nicky some crazy money Friday. Crazy money. Big fight and Nicky’s got all of it riding on Luke to win it.”
It was like slow motion. Jax’s horrified gaze turned to me and his hand slipped from my back just as Fury’s words sank in. I turned to Luke slack-jawed and slightly nauseated.
“You’re a fighter?” It was between a hiss and a whisper.
&n
bsp; “Fighter, Bri-baby? Hell no,” Fury trilled. “Luke’s not just a fighter. He’s a boxer. Best damn boxer you’ve ever seen.”
Jax reached out for me and I jerked away before he could touch me. My blood, which just a moment ago had been like fire running through my veins, had frozen and was draining slowly, sluggishly, from my face.
“A boxer.” It was a stunned breath, maybe even a plea. And when he nodded, wary, I snapped.
I chucked my mostly full beer at his head. I didn’t stop to see if it hit its mark, though judging by the sound of glass shattering and Fury’s shocked yelp, I guessed it was close enough and he had ducked at the last minute. I was already whirling around and stalking through the throng of bodies, heading for the door. I could feel bewildered stares on my back and I was aware that to everyone other than Jax, it looked as though I’d lost my mind. I didn’t care.
A chill in the air, which I didn’t remember being there when we came in, slapped me in the face as I stomped across the short balcony toward the stairs. I was halfway down them, my heels on the metal ringing like thunder in my ears, when I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I figured it was Jax, trying to catch up, intent on talking me down. I didn’t slow until I reached the bottom, where I took a deep breath. I wanted to be calm but I couldn’t. I couldn’t still the rage that was bubbling in my chest.
A fucking boxer. Of all the head fucks.
The footsteps were right behind me and a rough hand grabbed my arm, jerking me around. It wasn’t Jax’s clear blue eyes I was looking into, but the hard, dark brown of Luke’s.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he growled. I noted with pleasure that while my bottle of beer might not have connected with his forehead like I’d hoped, it had splattered on him. I pulled myself up to my full height.
“You are!” I jabbed a finger into a broad chest that was much too close. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a boxer?” I spat the word from my mouth, the foul taste of it lingering on my tongue.
“Never came up, sugar.”
I was glaring at him and there was a deep rumble in my throat that might have been a growl, because even though I could see his point, I was still pissed beyond reason.
“I don’t associate with boxers.” I went for haughty but it came out scathing, which worked just as well.
“Good. Because I don’t associate with bitchy little beer wenches.”
I slapped him. I didn’t know why. One minute I was standing there, shaking with outrage, one arm trapped in his grasp, and the next, my free palm was connecting with his cheek. He raised his hand, the one not holding my elbow, to rub at it. I couldn’t tell if he looked shocked or amused. I didn’t really care.
“Well, it looks like we’re done here then,” I said coolly, as if I hadn’t just struck him and his face wasn’t reddening under his fingers. I wasn’t pulling my arm free of his, though, and even when he agreed, a short clip of a word, his voice low and dangerous, he didn’t let me go.
We were standing there, staring at each other, our chests a breath away from touching and I knew, somehow, that we were posed on the brink of something. It was a knife’s edge, or maybe a cliff, and we could either step back, onto safer ground, or we could inch forward, though we’d probably be bloody when we landed. I was wondering which we were gonna do, if I should be the one who made the first move, which way I should go if I did, when the hand holding my elbow hauled me forward, closing the tiny gap between us.
I blinked in surprise, but before I could register that the decision had just been made for me, Luke was bending and his lips were crashing down on mine.
I think I gasped. Or moaned. Whatever sound it was, he was instantly swallowing it. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was violent and dominating. His hand fisted my hair, tugging at my scalp, and mine instantly followed suit, diving into his, sliding up to his crown and pulling.
The hand on my elbow slipped down till it was cupping my ass. With one swift movement, I was hoisted up against an unyielding body, the skirt of my dress riding up as my legs automatically wrapped around his waist. He was everywhere at once. My hair, my neck, gripping my thighs, my ass, back up to squeeze my face, then back down to my waist where his fingers cruelly dug into my hips. His skin was a sinful cologne, a medley of cigarettes and beer, aftershave and sex that filled my nose and overwhelmed the rest of my senses. His tongue battled mine, fighting for dominance, only to retreat and he sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, nipping it with his teeth. I think I tasted blood.
I wanted to tell him I didn’t kiss and I certainly didn’t kiss boxers, but then his tongue was back and I forgot why it was exactly that I didn’t kiss and what the big fucking deal was with boxers anyway.
I wasn’t aware that he was moving until my back came into sharp contact with the bricks behind the stairs, his hand at the back of my head cushioning the impact. My panties were shoved aside and I didn’t know who was doing the shoving, but both of our hands were fumbling and fighting for control of his button and zipper. And I was hoping, dear God, I was hoping, that he was going commando again, because the thought of anything else between us made me want to sink my nails in and drag them down his scalp to his neck.
But then he was inside me and I felt like I was going to burst with the fullness and the relief. We threw our heads back, hissing with pleasure, and I grabbed his shoulders when he started to pull back. I made a sound of protest, glaring at him, and he met it with an incensed look of his own before his hips surged forward again, turning my complaint into a groan. He moved furiously, thrusting violently against me, and I met him halfway, matching his pace, his intensity. His mouth found mine and we were fused together in two places but it wasn’t enough and too much all at once. I was overwhelmed and it was the most satisfyingly electric feeling I’d ever experienced.
Voices, not quite loud enough to be understood over the thumping bass of Fury’s stereo, drifted down from the balcony above us, and the thought of people being feet away from our dark corner turned me on further. Judging by the way Luke’s fingers were digging into my ass and the frantic slamming of his hips that I could no longer hope to keep up with, it was doing the same for him.
I was struggling not to make a sound, to bite back the emotions desperate to escape, when Luke gave one final thrust, burying himself deep, and I was tumbling, on fire, burning from the inside out, biting and clawing anything I could reach. His mouth was back on mine and it was punishing in its brutality, as one of his hands grabbed my hair and yanked hard.
When he finally broke away, we were both panting, breathing in precious oxygen that just moments before hadn’t mattered.
He pulled out slowly and I unhooked my legs, sliding down his body. As he stepped back, the nip in the air skimmed across my skin, making me miss his overpowering warmth, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Not bad for a beer wench.” His mutter came out as ragged as my breathing as he adjusted my dress and panties.
I glanced up at him with a smug look I hoped didn’t look as fuzzy and drugged as my head felt. If it did, it’d match the one on his face.
“Not so bad yourself.”
He stared at me for a minute and there was something warring there in his eyes, indecision and something else. Then he sighed and it was a sound of surrender. I smiled, because for the moment, just that one, I was okay with surrendering.
“Fuck it,” he said, his voice strained and hard, like diamonds cutting glass, and my smile grew. He grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the spot behind the stairs, away from the Tap Room, away from Fury’s. Maybe away from my sanity. He led me toward the street, back toward Duke’s and I knew, deep down, to where his car was parked two blocks away near my own. “Your place or mine?”
Chapter Seven
“Bri, wake up.”
I mumbled something incoherent and tried to burrow
deeper into the warm nest of blankets and pillows heaped around me. Something was shaking my shoulder roughly and I reached back to swat it away.
“Five minutes,” I heard myself slur. It barely sounded like me. “Just five more minutes.”
“No. Up. Let’s go.” The shaking persisted, harder now, and I buried my head under a pillow.
“Geroffme,” I said. “Too early.”
“It’s two. Get up.”
I grunted and batted behind me again. If I could just go back to sleep, my dream of Channing Tatum doing wicked things to me would pick up right where it left off. I could feel it in my bones. He was waiting for me just on the other side of consciousness, ready to finish what we’d started. This thought must have been voiced out loud because a split second later, the blankets were ripped away from around me and I gasped when cool air hit my naked back.
“Tatum can fuck off,” came a menacing growl from above me, and I sat up abruptly as the memories from the night before came flooding back to me.
A groping two-block walk to a black F-150. Being shoved up against its passenger door and kissed until I was breathless, then practically shoved inside. An agonizing fifteen-minute drive across town, hands roaming frantically, touching and grabbing anything they could reach over the console. The vague impression of a stone path and a front door before we were inside and clothes were pulled off and moans filled the air.
Parts of me I hadn’t known could beg tingled and tightened with need, almost weeping in their desperation. Being painfully and unforgivably empty only to be stretched and full and so fucking grateful for it that all I could do was mewl my appreciation. And sex. So much mind-blowing sex on every available surface in every possible position until we finally collapsed on the bed that I was currently sitting in.
A bundle of clothes landed in my lap with a soft thud, jerking me out of my thoughts.
“Put ’em on,” Luke ordered gruffly, adjusting the obvious bulge in his pants without even an ounce of shame. “Or I’m gonna be late, sugar.”
Wild Ones (The Lane) Page 6