Forged: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel

by Thomas, Natasha

  Chuckling at my question Glock replies,

  “Oh, brother, I can assure you of it. If there’s anyone who’ll keep Rob gone for good, it’s Alysia. You won’t be seeing him around again, even if she has to handcuff him to the sink he’ll stay gone. Trust me.”

  Interesting. I’m sensing there’s history there, but I couldn’t care less what their deal is as long as Rob holds up his end of the bargain and stays gone. That brings me full circle to the current problem we’re facing.

  “What’s going on with her putting her plan into action? Is she still going ahead with that tonight?”

  “Haven’t heard any different, brother. I assume we’d have heard from Priest if plans had changed, so I’d say it’s still a definite go.”

  I fucking hope so. Tilly hasn’t been eating, sleeping, or dealing with this shit well, and I’d love nothing more than to be able to go home and tell her we’ve got the bastard responsible for torturing her all those years ago, but I can’t. We’ve got nothing. Alysia is our last shot at finding him before he finds us. Something none of us want but have come to realize is a very real possibility.

  “Who’s on Jiggles tonight then?” I enquire.

  Priest, taking what Brookes said very seriously, decided it best to have at least three men, preferably four, stationed in and around the strip club Alysia would be working at for safety reasons. She’s in charge and would be the one calling for backup if needed, but Priest wanted that backup local, not half an hour or more away. Alysia didn’t know it yet, but she was about to have a whole boat load of bikers eager to assist in any way possible if she said the word. I’ve got no doubt she’s going to be pissed as hell about it, but she’s a professional and will get over it when she sees the benefit of having us at her back.

  “You, Tank, Dagger, and I are taking tonight. Reaper, Pipe, Liam, and Shifty are on Thursday, and fuck knows who’s doing Saturday, but I figure Priest will tell whoever needs to know when they need to know it. We’ll head out around seven. She goes on shift at eight, and we’ll hang around till she leaves. Priest didn’t give me anything other than that to go on, so I figure one of us will follow her to make sure she gets home okay. Only it’ll be Tank, Dagger, or I doing it, not you. If she’s got Rob with her, I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

  Fair enough. That’s definitely a plan I can get behind. As much as I’m grateful to Alysia for helping, and would be happy to assure her safety at any cost, seeing Rob again this soon would be a recipe for disaster and we both know it.

  “Sounds good. I’m gonna go home and see my woman and kids before we head out then. Meet you at the clubhouse, yeah?”

  Tipping his head, Glock mounts his bike and heads back toward Blackwater. Turning I survey the safe house, pack up the last of my tools and head out too. I don’t know how far I was planning to take Rob’s ass kicking, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have been walking away from it with the broken nose, black eye, and few broken ribs he did if it’d been left up to me. Glock stepping in and getting Alysia involved was honestly probably the only thing that had spared Rob’s life. I might not like taking a man’s life, watching the light drain from his eyes, but when it comes to Tilly and our relationship I’d do anything, and I mean anything, to make ensure no one took her from me.

  Rob didn’t have a hope in hell of seducing Tilly away from me, but the fact he’d tried, and me knowing he’d thought about it was more than enough cause for me to lose my fucking mind and have me seeing red. Did I want to kill him? Yes. Did I want to hurt him for thinking he could come between us? Fuck, yes. But in the end do I honestly believe I’d have followed through with it? Probably not. But that’s not a solid no is it?

  After dinner with my favorite girls, helping to bath Avery and Nevie, a quick but hot make out session with my wife in the pantry, and two bedtime stories later, I meet the guys at the clubhouse where we made the trek to Boulder in record time.

  Jiggles is a fucking dive of a strip club, and seeing it in person it’s so much worse than the pictures that showed up online. The neon sign is faded, some of the letters not even lighting up anymore. The exposed brickwork on the front of the building is cracked and chipping away in big sections, making the place look more dilapidated than it’s probably twenty or so years. Two large bouncers are positioned at the front entrance guarding the place, checking ID, and opening the door, but they’re no more than glorified monkey’s in suits. Neither one of them could run to save their lives on account of the sheer amount of steroids they’ve been chomping down for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Both big, burly, and over muscled, what they obviously don’t know is, that kind of bulk is actually a hindrance not a help.

  The inside is worse if that can be believed. All the walls are painted blood red with black booths lining two walls, a bar centered on one, and the stage taking up a good portion of the fourth. Glass shelves line the wall behind the bar, five high, and the bar top is made out of some reflective mirror shit. Neon lights trim the bar top, and stools, black and silver, bolted to the floor run its length. The whole place is a cliché. Nothing here’s been taken care of, and pretty much all of the furniture, even the fake chandeliers are falling apart. I wouldn’t be surprised if the joint starts caving in on itself at any time.

  Women dressed in tiny shorts barely long enough to cover the essentials, silver sequined bras, and silver stripper heels walk around serving the customers that are desperate enough to frequent a shit hole like this. Not to mention the woman currently working the pole on stage looks like she’s closer to forty than twenty, and could do with a shower and a new routine ASAP. Does she not know that fucking the stage, the pole, and herself is not sexy? It reeks of desperation, and is the furthest thing from dancing that I’ve ever witnessed. Sure, I’m all for some tits and ass, but when you look like you need a full body lift, a good twenty pounds of meat on your bones, and have the curves of an adolescent, you might as well give up the ghost and move the fuck on.

  I spot a hallway off to the left of the bar that I can only assume leads to the private rooms where more intimate lap dances are given, and I remind myself to tell Dagger to keep a close eye on the men coming and going from that direction. Speak of the devil. Dagger leans over so I can hear him over the music and yells,

  “This place is a fucking dive, man, but I can see why he’d come here. No one would notice an asshole like him showing up in a place like this. And I can pretty much guarantee no one would care what happened to the girls who work here if something did. They look like they’re too fucked up to know what’s going on themselves.”

  He’s not wrong. From what I’ve seen of the ten or so women making their rounds on the floor and the one on stage, all these women look haggard, worn out, and used up. I’d bet the asshole that owns this place thought he’d struck gold when Alysia applied to work here. Nodding to a free booth in one of the darker corners of the club I gesture them toward it.

  “Fucking junkies. Let’s sit and work out who’s going where before she comes out, yeah?”

  Tank, Glock, and Dagger follow my lead all taking seats in the semi-circular booth at alternating positions making sure every entry, exit, and corner are monitored. Fuck, I’m glad Priest send four of us. It’ll be a damn sight easier to keep an eye on shit than with the original two we’d discussed in the very beginning.

  Tank starts, and as usual when Tank talks, everyone listens.

  “Talked to Alysia earlier, she’s using the stage name Buttercup. Don’t know why, but that was what she said.” At that Glock almost busts a gut laughing, earning him a swift kick from Tank, and matching glares from Dagger and I.

  Throwing his hands up in surrender he chokes out,

  “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that’s what I used to call her back in the day, and it doesn’t surprise me one bit that girl would pick something like that to have a dig at me.”

  Glaring at him openly Tank goes on.

  “Yeah, well keep it fucking down would you? We don’t need to
draw attention to ourselves, brother. This shit’s sensitive enough without you fucking it up first day out.” Nodding his apology Glock closes his mouth with an audible snap. “When I spoke to her she told me Rob would be here too. Didn’t trust him alone tonight, but promised he’d behave himself.” Staring at me he asks, “Anything you wanna share with the group, Saint?”

  Shaking my head I curl my hands into fists under the table, and wonder how much Alysia already told him.

  “Not fucking really. Just keep the asshole away from me, and everything will be copasetic.”

  Jerking his head toward the other wall, the one the hallway is located near, Tank crosses his arms across his massive chest assessing me warily. A lesser man might spontaneously burst into flames or piss himself at the hard look on his face, but I’m used to the big man’s unnerving persona so it has little effect on me.

  “Clocked him inside a minute of walking in. He’s done his level best to ignore us and I doubt he’ll approach, but if he does, whatever shit you’ve got going on needs to be locked down tight. We don’t need extra bullshit on top of the shit storm this already is, yeah?”

  Nods around the table, and a few minutes later after we’ve ordered a beer each from the well passed her expiry date waitress, the house lights go down and Tank takes the opportunity to hand out our assignments. You’d think he was still in the SEALS the way he slips back into his role so easily.

  “Dagger, watch the hall. You clock anyone going in or out that looks like our man you give the sign to me or Glock. I’ve got the back exit and right hand side of the stage. Glock you’re on the left side of the stage and front entry. Saint, you watch main floor and bar. Any of you see him you tell me or Glock. I don’t want anyone taking it on themselves to do anything that’ll put Alysia, or getting our hands on him in jeopardy, yeah? Alysia will let out three whistles in short succession if there’s a problem. You hear that, grab the man on your left and stay low. Do not pull your piece unless you absolutely have to. The only reason a woman with her kind of training would give the call is if all hell was about to break loose and we need to hit the deck.”

  Waiting for our agreement, Tank sits back and chugs the rest of his beer. When he’s finished his face turns serious as he focuses solely on me.

  “I know this shit is going to be hardest for you, brother, but you’ve gotta rein it in long enough for us to get the bastard in the van and locked down before you let loose. You don’t think you can do that you need to speak up now, because I’m telling you, you do anything to fuck this up for anyone at this table, and that includes Alysia or even Rob, I’ll personally hand you your ass on a silver fucking platter to match the fucked up décor of this joint.”

  “I get you and I’m not going to fuck this for anyone,” I growl. “Getting our hands on this motherfucker is my only objective, so you can stop with the pep talk, big brother because I don’t fucking need one.”

  Grunting his response just as the thumping beat of, Pony by Ginuwine, comes on over the sound system, Tank settles in to watch the section he’s assigned himself as do the others. Taking a quick glance out of the corner of my eye in Rob’s direction, I see him laser focused on the stage in front of him. He’s not moving a muscle, and regardless of the dim lighting inside the club I can see his body’s gone rock solid.

  Taking the opportunity to swing my gaze toward the stage I can see immediately what’s got him so worked up. And I have to admit, if I wasn’t so head over heels in love with my wife I’d be trying to get a piece of the vision currently strutting her stuff in front of us.

  Alysia, dressed in skyscraper heels that have to be at least six inches high, a white men’s dress shirt, a thin black tie, and fedora is twisting her body seductively around the pole like a seasoned pro. The mischievous smile on her face aimed at the crowd has the men front and center cheering and throwing bills at her before she’s removed even one single item of clothing. Sliding down the pole to her knees she begins teasing the audience, opening each button down the length of the shirt so slowly even I want to yell at her to hurry the hell up.

  A flash of hot pink and a minute later, the shirt she was wearing slides down her arms, getting hooked on her elbows as she rises from the floor. Hooking her left leg around the pole again, in a move I’d assume only the most experienced strippers attempt, she shimmies up the pole while shedding the shirt, hat, and tie, all the while keeping a firm grip on the device barring all her weight.

  Holy shit. The woman is fucking stacked. You’d never tell from the loose fitting T-shirt and skinny jeans she’d been wearing earlier that she was packing all that beauty beneath if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes when she removed her shirt to tend to Rob’s wrists. Not that I was checking her out or anything. I’d never do shit like that, I’m a married man after all.

  With the same trademark dark hair, almost black like her brothers, Alysia’s hair hangs down her back stopping below her shoulder blades straight as a pin. I know her eyes are a strange mix of violet and grey, darker at the iris, almost dark purple in fact. You mightn’t be able to see them in here, but when I’d caught sight of them earlier they’d been mesmerizing. She’s got to stand maybe five-foot-one at a push, but comes closer to five-five if not five-six, average height for a woman, with the shoes she’s sporting at the moment. And her body? Well, the only way to describe it is, in-fucking-sane.

  Curves in all the right places. A set of tits that has every man, even the married ones, mouths watering. Legs that deceptively look like they go on forever, regardless of her short stature. Her body is tight, toned, and pretty much as close to perfect as you can get. Which brings me to the question of the burns she got during the accident that ended her career.

  The black lace top stockings cover her from toes to just above her knees, in what I assume is her attempt to cover them up. Not that anyone would be taking notice of a few scars, no matter how bad they are with the way she’s grinding on that pole like it’s her man’s cock. I swear every bastard in here’s got to be hard at her performance, and I’m no exception. Neither is Tank if the grimace he’s trying to hide is anything to go by. I’d never act on it, Tank wouldn’t either, but there’s no harm in appreciating a beautiful woman dancing, is there?

  Scanning the immediate area and then further afield, I spot the man we’ve spent the last month combing all corners of every state for. Nudging Glock, I discreetly tip my head in Demon’s direction at the same time as kicking Tank under the table to get his attention.

  “Nine o’clock. Center left,” I say low enough for only the men sitting at our booth to hear.

  Alysia has clocked him too, offering the new addition a seductive smile and wink. Rob’s body goes rigid at the gesture, his head whipping around to see who’s caught her eye. As soon as he spots Demon he sends him a glare that’d have other men retreating. But Demon hasn’t taken his eyes off the stage since walking in, so he doesn’t pick up on the menace being thrown in his direction as he settles into a chair at a two-top table, merely two tables back from the front of the stage.

  With her song and her time on the stage winding down, all Alysia is left wearing is a hot pink thong that shows off her perfect heart shaped ass, her stockings, shoes, and nothing else. Her high, full, tits have got to be at least a DD-cup, and are topped with the perfect shade of bubblegum pink nipples, tight and hard. Rob’s stare has switched back to the stage now, and although I know he’s got an eye on the newcomer to make sure he doesn’t get close to the girl making men harder than steel on stage, his eyes are devouring all Alysia has to offer. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say there’s some unresolved shit between them that’s going to come to a head in the very near future. Works for me, because if he’s otherwise occupied with her that means he’ll stay the fuck away from my wife.

  Demon’s eyes roam the beauty in front of him, but as if he senses a threat they dart nervously around the room seeking out whatever has him feeling uncomfortable. He can’t have noticed us, what with us lea
ving our cuts in our saddlebags and parking our bikes four blocks over. Not to mention we’re almost completely hidden by the dull lighting and obscure position we’ve picked out. But something’s got him rattled. What I don’t know, but we’ll soon see.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Alysia

  “I tried killing a spider with glitter body spray once.

  Now it won’t stop stripping and I have to call it Cinnamon.”

  - Rotten eCard

  Who in the hell thought this plan was a good idea? Oh, that’s right, I did. What I forgot was I fucking hate being the center of attention, and having these men stare at me like I’m a steak dinner and they haven’t eaten for a week is creeping me out. All but one of them that is.

  Having Rob’s eyes track my every move is the only reason I’m still up here going through with this ridiculous charade. The heat he’s throwing in my direction is so intense I could end up with sunburn after one song. All that aside, it’s the one thing helping me to channel my inner slut, so I’ll have to make sure to thank him for the incentive later.

  The moody bastard wouldn’t take no for an answer when he found out where I was going, which mind you I only told him under duress. He blocked the door refusing to let me leave unless I told him my plans for the evening, and although I did indeed cave and tell him where I was working, I didn’t tell him why and I don’t intend to regardless of his demands that I tell him when we get back to the apartment. He then proceeded to jump in my car, pout like a two-year old, and not speak to me for the ten minute drive to Jiggles. What he didn’t know was, I had no problem with his silent treatment I actually preferred it, so it was no skin off my nose if he wanted to act like an errant child.