Tripp (Knights Corruption MC Series Book 4)

by S. Nelson

  Berating myself for acting like some kind of lovesick puppy, I squared my shoulders, raised my head high and plastered on the most seductive smile I could muster. Striding across the room and looking for my next customer, I eyed a table full of businessmen. They seemed harmless enough, as harmless as men could be with naked women surrounding them and alcohol flowing freely.

  Circling the table, I stopped next to a good-looking, dark-haired, younger guy, touching him on the shoulder to garner his attention—not that his eyes weren’t already on me the entire time. “Hey, handsome. Do you want a private dance?” There was no way he would turn me down, not with the lust-induced haze he battled while leering at me. I shut down my inner voice, deciding I needed to right the wrong of not shedding all my clothes earlier. Besides, there had been many times when I’d had to grind up on a fat, ugly man, so when I encountered the chance to entertain someone pleasing to the eye, I jumped all over it. Figuratively as well as literally.

  Grabbing my hand tightly, he said, “You don’t have to ask me twice, sweetheart.” He rose from his chair, practically knocking it over in his haste. “Let’s go.” His friends egged him on as I led him across the club, the smell of alcohol around him evident but not quite at an alarming level.

  As we headed toward the private rooms located in the back of the club, my eye caught sight of someone off to the right, sitting in one of the more secluded sections of the establishment.

  Him.

  The one who drew me in with nothing but his mesmerizing green eyes.

  The one who spoke to my soul.

  I guess he didn’t leave after all.

  Desperate to distract myself from wishing I were with the mystery stranger instead, I practically ran toward the room I needed.

  Closing the door to the private space, I guided him toward the single chair in the center. Once he sat, I stepped back, being sure to give him my sexiest smile before turning around to hit the button for the music. All of the selections in the private rooms were seductive beats, nothing fast-paced. The idea was to drag out the dance as long as possible, hoping the customers would engage in another. Most times, it worked.

  After my stage performance, I’d changed into a simple, short black dress which buttoned up all the way. It fell just below my plump ass cheeks and dipped very low in the front, practically exposing my very erect nipples. The cold blast of the air conditioning was always kept on high, ensuring our arousal.

  Shutting my eyes, I allowed the steady strum of the song to guide the flow of my body, swaying my hips while my hands danced over my skin. In my head, I was somewhere else. Alone. Not about to take off my clothes for some man I’d never met before. Just when I’d found my happy place, he popped into my head. The way his eyes bore into mine while I was on stage. The way his breaths increased and the slight thumping of his pulse intensified the closer I stalked toward him. The way his jaw muscles clenched when I saw him glance at the other men surrounding the stage. He didn’t like that their eyes were glued to me, much like his were. It was slight, and quick, but I didn’t miss his possessive demeanor toward me. And I should have been frightened, but I wasn’t. I wanted his attention. Hell, I think I even wanted his hands on me while I danced, although that was definitely against the rules.

  I circled the guy’s body, all while lightly touching him. First it was on the shoulder, letting my fingers trail over the fabric of his jacket. Then I ran my hand down the front of his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt halfway. Pleased when I felt defined muscles underneath, the guy was a nice change of pace from some of the men I had to deal with. So why couldn’t I stop picturing my gorgeous stranger?

  Straddling my customer’s lap, my thighs pinning him to the chair, I ran my hands through his thick hair. Gripping his curly tresses, I yanked his head back so he was looking straight up at the ceiling. I heard a rumble erupt from his throat, knowing he was completely turned on—as if the evidence of his arousal straining against his pants wasn’t already a sign.

  But then he tried to touch me, and that was a big no-no. A violation of the rules. Well, my rules. I knew for a fact there were girls here who had sex with some of the men who came in, but I wasn’t into that. The show I gave them was just that, a show. Dancing. That was all I’d ever do with these customers.

  Apparently, this guy had other intentions.

  “Nuh-uh-uh, big boy. No touching allowed,” I gently advised as I pried his hands off my ass and put them back on the arms of the chair.

  “Ah, come on. All I want is to touch you. I won’t bite, I swear. Well, not unless you want me to.” He winked as if the gesture would make me change my mind. The lights were dimmed low but I could still make out his every feature, as I’m sure he could mine. I knew he noticed the warning look on my face, and when he made a move to grab me once more, I quickly removed myself from his lap and backed up.

  I needed the money, so instead of calling security in to remove him, I tried my best to dispel the intensified moment. And fast. Needing him to focus on me and not my unwillingness to let him grope me, I grabbed the top of my dress and slowly pried it apart, the buttons making a delicious sound as each one popped open.

  And we have success.

  He licked his lips while his eyes devoured the very sight of me, his anticipation heavy for my next move. The skin of his hands turned pale, his grip on the chair certainly intense. Until it all became too much for him. Slipping his hand down his pants, he started to stroke himself, and I knew my situation had gone from tricky to unnerving. The way his eyes darkened frightened me, but I tried like hell not to show it.

  My hands stilled on the last two buttons of my dress and I stopped dancing. Taking one step back, I told him, “There’s no touching allowed in here, honey.” A fake smile plastered on my face, my tone left no room for argument. I prayed he’d see I was serious and simply comply so I could finish, but something told me that scenario wasn’t going to play out for me.

  “But I’m not touching you,” he responded, looking confused.

  I pointed at his crotch. “No touching at all, not even yourself.”

  Instant irritation contorted his expression, his eyes suddenly becoming darker than before. I knew he’d been drinking, but as the situation unfolded I realized there was something else wrong, something more dangerous. If I had to guess, I’d say he was high. On what, I had no idea, and I didn’t want to stick around to find out.

  “That’s a fucking stupid rule if you ask me,” he shouted, rising from the chair and taking a single step in my direction. “I’m paying good money, and if I can’t touch you then I sure as hell should be able to stroke my cock if I want.” There was fire in his eyes, and I knew I’d lost control of the situation. I frantically tried to figure out how I was going to move past the irate man and escape.

  While I contemplated my next move, I put as much distance between us as possible. “Well, those are the rules and you have to abide by them if you want me to finish my dance.” I didn’t want to finish, not at all, but I’d say anything I needed to. “Can you please sit down so I can finish for you?” I asked as I popped another button, plastering on another fake smile to trick him into thinking he wasn’t frightening the hell out of me. The plan I’d come up with was to make him sit back down before I ran toward the door. Toward safety.

  But he had other ideas.

  Still standing, he barked, “How about you get fuckin’ naked and do what I’m paying you to do.” He crushed the space between us in two long strides, grabbing my arms before I could retreat. Standing at five foot eight, decently tall for a woman, I appeared much smaller with him towering over me. I’d been in these circumstances before, unfortunately—a hazard of the job—but usually the men were weak and drunk, easily persuaded to comply with my rules. This guy, however, was different. He scared me, and if I didn’t escape soon I feared he was going to attack me, uncaring if he hurt me or not. For all I knew, he wanted to hurt me.

  “Please let go,” I pleaded, trying to shrug
out of his bruising hold. When his grip intensified, I started to tremble. “You’re hurting me.” Still nothing. “Let go of me,” I screamed. “Now.” I tried to appear strong and fearless, but my tone betrayed me.

  “You’re not going anywhere until I get what I paid for, you little slut.” With his final word, he shoved me so hard I fell on my ass, instant pain shooting up my back and breaking out at my shoulders. Shock knocked me dizzy, allowing him to start to disrobe. He loosened his tie and ripped his shirt open in a flash, the muscles I thought were so appealing minutes before terrifying me now. His fingers popped the button of his pants before quickly working on his zipper as he approached my crumpled form.

  Thankfully, the daze I’d been in dissipated and I shot to my feet, making a run for it. He caught my wrist as I rushed past, however, whipping me around and slamming me against the nearest wall. I tried to fight him off but I was simply no match. “Get off me, you bastard!” I cried, fear setting in that no one was going to hear me. Not over that damn music, both inside our room and out. My only saving grace would be if someone happened to be walking by at that exact moment.

  “Now,” he said, as he gripped the sides of my dress, “we’re gonna have some fun.” Popping the remaining button of my dress, he ripped the material from my body and tossed it to the floor beside me. I tried to cover myself, but he grabbed my hands with one of his and held them above my head. Trying to kick him did nothing but earn me a punishing grip to my slender waist. “Keep on fighting me, sweetheart. I love a good struggle.”

  There was nothing I could do. I was utterly helpless. My arms were restrained and his hips were pinning my own to the wall, adhering my fears to his excitement. His lips roamed over my neck, biting and licking me as if he wasn’t forcing me into this position.

  I continued to struggle, but the only thing I accomplished was wearing myself out. When my attempt at escape became futile, I started to cry. Honestly, I’d been surprised it’d taken me that long for the tears to start flowing. While I was lost to my breakdown, his free hand moved from my waist and down my body, traveling over the skimpy material covering my sex.

  He rubbed his fingers over my core, trying to gain entrance by sliding the lace to the side. “You’ll like this. I promise,” he mumbled, his ministrations becoming more persistent. I wriggled in his hold, finding a spurt of energy, and as he took a small step back I finally found my opportunity to attack.

  His face was mere inches from my own when I struck his nose with my head. A chilling sound erupted from his mouth before he released me and stumbled back, his hands instantly flying up to cover his face. Blood coated his fingers, but I didn’t hear bone crunching so I doubted I broke his nose. Pity.

  Before I could skate around his enraged form, he leapt at me and tackled me to the ground. “You fucking bitch!” His knees made good work of pinning down my arms, so the only thing I could do was shake my head from side to side. As if that was going to help me. I closed my eyes, willing my mind to float off to a safer place, but I was stuck inside that darkened room with a man who was hell-bent on taking what he thought he was owed.

  Drops of his blood hit my cheek, forcing me to open my eyes and face the reality of what was going to happen. I decided to plead with him once more. “Please don’t do this. Please just let me go.” I begged him over and over, but it was no use. And my silly attempts to buck him off barely registered. He was simply too strong.

  His hands wrapped around my throat before another word left my lips. Dots flashed behind my eyes. I started to fall under an all-too-familiar darkness, and although I did everything in my power to stop it, I feared all of my efforts were in vain. If I fell unconscious, he’d surely have his way with me. Not that I could do much while I was awake, but at least if I were lucid, I’d still have a shot.

  The darkness would still my struggle.

  The light would give me a fighting chance.

  Tripp

  I rested my head against the top of the booth, taking in all the activity of the club, but nothing I saw distracted me from her. The mysterious woman who not ten minutes prior had burrowed into the deepest parts of my brain.

  “I thought you were leaving,” Hawke yelled, slapping my shoulder before taking a healthy swig of his drink.

  After her performance I knew there was no way in hell I was leaving any time soon. My inner voice had convinced me to stay, so I slinked into the nearest booth and attempted to cool my overactive thoughts with some hard alcohol.

  “Nah,” I responded nonchalantly. “I’m gonna hang out a bit longer.” I never made eye contact with my brother for fear he’d pick up on something I wasn’t completely sure of myself. Hawke may play a dumbass most times but the guy was super observant.

  “Uh-huh,” he mumbled, throwing back a shot before his head twisted to the side. Slapping the table, well on his way to becoming drunk, he shouted, “’Bout time you fuckers got here.” Turning my head, I saw Ryder and Breck approach, both of them looking like someone killed their dog, if they’d had one.

  Neither one of them said a word as they nestled into the booth next to Hawke and me, spreading out enough so we weren’t crammed together, which would just be weird. Ryder reached for my scotch but I slapped his hand away before he’d grabbed the glass.

  “What the fuck, nomad?” he yelled, quickly retracting his hand.

  “You know damn well you ain’t gettin’ any of this shit.”

  “Who died and made you my keeper?” His scowl would have scared most people, but not me. Besides, I knew Ryder enough to know that he wouldn’t make good on any threats while he was sober. And by sober I meant no hard alcohol flowing through his veins. Otherwise, all bets were off.

  “Beer,” I said, taking a healthy swallow of my drink.

  “What?”

  “Beer, you bastard. That’s all you’re gettin’.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he growled, shoving Breck from the booth so he could get out. Luckily, I caught Carla’s attention and shook my head while pointing at Ryder who was fast approaching the bar. But my warning was unnecessary; everyone who worked the bar knew not to serve Ryder anything but beer.

  Turning my attention back on Breck, I asked, “Why the face?”

  No hesitation before he spilled. “Marek’s ridin’ our asses about the rotation with Psych. He’s coming unhinged and it’s scaring the shit out of me.”

  “Coming unhinged?”

  “Well . . . more than usual.” He shook his head as if he disagreed with some sort of inner dialogue, locking eyes with me before he frowned.

  Ryder striding back to our table pulled all of our attention.

  “You fucker. That chick wouldn’t serve me what I wanted,” he griped before pushing Breck farther into the booth so he could sit back down.

  “Why you want that shit anyway?” Hawke shouted over the music, tapping the top of the table in beat with the song.

  “I could just use a shot of something to help take the edge off.”

  “Why?” Hawke repeated. “Braylen getting on your nerves?” My brother laughed, and seeing the look on Ryder’s face only made him laugh harder. “Shit!” he exclaimed. “Never thought I’d see the day when the big bad Ryder was all twisted up from some fuckin’ broad.”

  “Fuck you. I don’t even know what Edana sees in your dumb ass,” Ryder goaded, knowing damn well Hawke was gonna retaliate. Which he did, seconds after Ryder shut his mouth. Hawke jumped up from his seat and lunged over the table, reaching out to grab Ryder’s cut, the volatile look on his face warning everyone around him he was set to explode.

  Pulling him back, I shoved Hawke back in his seat, throwing my arm across his chest to try and keep him contained. Which was quite challenging because he kept trying to go after Ryder, who sat across from us with a fuckin’ smirk on his face.

  “Calm the hell down!” I shouted to my brother, putting more pressure on him to stay still. Finally he did, reaching for his drink and draining the rest of it before tossing
the empty beer bottle at Ryder. Thankfully our Sergeant-at-Arms ducked at the last minute.

  “Isn’t it your duty to make sure there’s no chaos in the club?” I asked, glaring at Ryder. He knew damn well any mention of Edana was a sore subject, the guilt that consumed my brother on a daily basis over everything that had happened to her borderline debilitating.

  “What? Like keeping the peace and shit?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief at the idea.

  “Yeah, you ass.”

  “Like that’ll ever happen.” Ryder slumped back in the booth, baiting Hawke with the narrowing of his eyes. It was as if he wanted to fight with him.

  Deciding to change the topic, I coaxed Breck into telling me more about his outburst. “So, is someone not doing their part babysitting our prisoner?”

  “No. Everyone is doin’ their part.”

  “So what the hell is the problem?”

  Tapping the table as a distraction, Breck glanced to Ryder before speaking. “Marek feels we’re not inflicting enough pain on Psych.” From the tone of his voice I knew the subject bothered him. Breck had no problem inflicting pain on someone when necessary, especially to the likes of that fucker, but I knew he didn’t get off on that shit either. None of us did. Well, apparently Marek did, but could I blame him? The man had every right to inflict as much agony on Psych Brooks as possible, but at some point he had to let go and move on.

  “He’s draggin’ this shit out. It’s not good. Not for him or any of us.”

  Bingo.

  Leaning forward, I gave Breck my best advice. “Look, this whole situation with Psych will be done whenever Marek deems it so. He’s working through some shit, not only for himself, but for Sully.” Resting back against my seat, I finished with, “We’re just gonna have to be patient. He can’t prolong it forever. Have you seen Psych’s condition? If I were a betting man, I’d give him a few more days at best.”

  Swallowing the rest of my drink, I shoved it toward Ryder. “You can suck on my ice cubes if you want. I’m sure there’s some scotch left on them.” The corner of my lip twitched in amusement watching his reaction.