“Relax, I came for some Coke.”
“Oh. I’ll get it.”
“Don’t bother, I got it.” Grace got a glass and moved to the fridge. “Is that true? Is that what happened to your face?”
Danielle sighed. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“Come on, Mom. You look like you got in the steel cage with Ronda Rousey. That’s pretty serious.” She poured out a glass, then put the bottle back and leaned on the fridge, hands behind her. “If that happened to me, what would you want me to do?”
She had no smart-ass reply. At all. “I’d want you to tell me so I could go to the police. And we’d see what happened after that.”
Grace nodded, grabbed her Coke, and headed back to the living room. “I like Knuckles’ idea better.”
Chapter Nine
The parking lot in front of Rebel Circus was packed, but there was staff parking at the back. Knuckles stole a spot and headed in the back door, passing through the professional kitchen, and waving at the staff that were working hard on the traditional bar food that the place sold until 11pm. Lots of chicken wings, pork ribs, tempura shrimp and whatnot. Finger food.
He was grinning, couldn’t help it. The phone call bringing him here tonight was good news; Tank couldn’t help at the club. Rose was finally in labor and about to spawn his heir. Buck and Gertie were there with Tank, Fritter and Sharon were watching Davie Junior. Jayce was headed to the hospital, too. So, they’d asked Knuckles to step in.
Spaz was here somewhere already, so was Rusty. Between the three of them he was sure they could keep a lid on the place.
He came out in a corner between the end of the bar and the hallway that lead to the restrooms. The music—a good, hard, southern rock tune—hit him square in the chest.
As always, he was impressed with the sight of the place that Rose had imagined and designed. It did look like a circus tent, but in red and black to match club colors. The lighting was decidedly ruby in tone, the table tops and counters black. A small lamp lit each table, keeping the illumination low.
Overhead, fabric in the same color scheme was scalloped like a huge tent, with chandeliers hanging down from the many peaks. In the back, furthest from the main stage, the tent effect was pulled back further into the roof and the tables were sunken into the ground, allowing for an honest to God trapeze to swing overhead. Rose had a couple of friends that had done some not-quite-Cirque-de-Soleil shows a few years back and people seemed to love it.
Spaz was at the bar, watching the room. Knuckles joined him, waved the bartender down for a soda, then took up the same watchful position as Spaz. “Where’s Rusty?”
“In the back. There’s a bachelor’s party tonight. Rich asshole types.”
“Ah.”
The smaller stages, equipped with poles, scattered around the room were all in use; it was Saturday after all. Each dancer had really upped her skills, and Knuckles knew that was Rose’s doing. Until she’d come along, the actual skill level of the dancers had all fell into a “self-taught” category. As a trained dancer, she really made it obvious that some of the girls were mostly making due from just their tits. She made them actual dancers.
“Busy night,” he mused, scratching his jaw.
“No kidding. Called in the back-up bouncers, too.”
“Good call.”
The crowd was a mix of mostly men and a few women. He had to smile as he watched a girl—stage name “Gypsy”—climb down from her stage and lap dance a woman at a front table in her zone. When women came along with men to a place like this, showing love to the ladies was a good way to keep things light and easy. She even left one of her “veils” with the woman.
“Were you up to anything big?” Spaz asked, taking a pull off his beer.
“Nah,” Knuckles said, reaching for his Pepsi. He didn’t bring up his neighbors. He wasn’t sure what to make of them yet, especially the mother.
She didn’t check any of his boxes. She was thin, with medium-brown hair. Not a bad body, but he liked tits. Always had. She had freckles; he hadn’t noticed until he was checking her eyes in the bathroom once she woke up. Something happened in the kitchen before he left; he got that vibe, that sense that she’d be game for a tumble. That’s when he noticed that the freckles ran down her slender neck and into her shirt. He had been desperate to know if the freckles were on her little tits.
She shut him down fast, and that was for the best. Proximity caused confusion, and Annie...he almost laughed with affection at the thought of her. That kid was adorable, and having her around was calming. That made no sense, since she could get a little hyper at times. It was her innocence, he suspected. She was so unbiased, enthusiastic about everything...it was just fun to be around that.
It’d be like him to cause problems with her mom and mess stuff up with that kid. That would be the worst thing he could do.
Danielle Prince had been kissable in that kitchen, though. Damn, he’d been tempted. She wasn’t his type; she didn’t put on a show to be noticed. She was a regular, everyday woman. Not out to impress anyone.
“How are things here?” he asked, pulling out the little stirring straw the bartender had put in his Coke with an annoyed look. What the fuck did the guy think he’d want a straw for?
“Fine. Busy, but everyone’s behaving.”
Just as he was taking a sip the bartender leaned forward, shouting over the music. “Rusty’s on the radio. The bachelor in the back just grabbed one of the girls in a way she didn’t want.”
“I got it,” he assured Spaz, leaving his soda. “Keep an eye out, kid.”
Spaz held up a few fingers in salute and Knuckles strode to the back of the club, past the trapeze area, waving to a few regulars he recognized. The hallway leading to the VIP rooms consisted of glossy black walls and red pot lights in the ceiling. In the corner a couple were making out, but it was all consensual so he continued through the swinging doors to the VIP gallery.
Rusty had a guy by the scruff of the neck, pulling him into the corridor without a lot of care. Rusty was a big guy, immovable as a rock. He seemed to be doing just fine but backup was a good idea if this prick’s friends got any big ideas, and the security wasn’t out here so they were likely dealing with things inside.
Whenever a guy decided he got to grab whatever he wanted on a girl, the club preferred for their members to have a good “talk” with them, explaining what constituted bad behavior. Security stepped aside and let them do it.
“Whatever, man!” the guy was laughing loudly, stumbling over his feet. “She’s a stripper! I paid to touch!”
“You can touch, not grab pussy, asshole.”
Rusty shoved the asshole at Knuckles, who caught him easily. “Come on,” he mumbled, leading him back the way he came, past the amorous couple, and to the exit that led to the alley.
With a brisk shove the guy was stumbling against the far brick wall, and his humor faded. Maybe the realization was hitting that this wasn’t a polite “escorting from the building.”
“Hey, hey!” he shouted, insolent and pulling himself to his full height.
“You can’t grab them that way,” he said, annoyed but firm. “Hips, sure. You can even touch her tits if she puts your hands there. Crotch is a no go.”
The asshole scoffed.
“No, that’s true. She’s still able to tell you no.”
With a head shake the guy looked at his shoes. “Fucking bitches, man. Can’t win today.”
Maybe he was slow, maybe it never occurred to him that coincidences happened, but Knuckles suddenly remembered Danielle’s account of how her face got beat to shit. A stag party, she said. What were the odds?
“What’s your name?” he asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it as Rusty joined him, leaning against the door.
“What?”
“Your name, asshole. Just want to know what to call you.”
“Duke,” the guy said, wiping at his chin and swaying on his feet. He smiled sloppily. “Why?
You want a date?”
“You get a little rough with a few women today?”
Duke blinked.
“Like, I don’t know, a friend’s maid or anything?”
Now Duke frowned. “How the hell you know about that?”
No further confirmation was required. Law of coincidence could fuck itself. His elbow cocked, drew back, and shot out, fist at the ready to absorb the shock of hitting the guy’s jaw.
Which was like a fucking boulder.
Still, the prick’s head jerked to the side, eyes going wide as he blinked a couple of times. Knuckles re-evaluated the level of drunk. This jerk might be feeling no pain at all.
Someone shouted something as he hit him. A few friends maybe came to his defense, but security and Rusty kept them away. Duke worked his jaw back and forth a couple of times, then frowned at Knuckles.
“What the fuck was that for? You her pimp or something?”
This shot hit the bastard’s face, right on the button. His nose opened up, a fountain of gleaming crimson that coated his chin and neck. And then it was on.
With a roar, Duke rushed at him. No surprise this frat boy, trust-fund looking fucker likely played football. But that had been a few years ago, and he’d softened up.
Knuckles, however, was still in fighting form and had been since getting back from the sand box. His lifestyle left him in better shape for fighting anything other than women. The same could not be said of Duke.
The gut Knuckles’ fist connected with clenched at impact, sending a jolt of heat up his arm. But that’s all it was for now; heat. His weaker left hand caught the unprotected jaw, up close to his ear. Knuckles was easily able to avoid the body check, sending Duke sprawling against the alley wall.
His hand clenched a fistful of gelled hair, pulled back, and forced the asshole’s already compromised profile into the brickwork once. Twice.
Then someone was pulling him back, two sets of hands on each shoulder. Knuckles let up, knowing one of those sets of hands was Rusty’s. The scene behind him told a story of a much briefer confrontation; Duke’s friends were nursing jaws and solar plexuses, looking like scolded schoolboys. Their huge eyes stayed on him, and Knuckles had the hope he’d scared the shit out of them.
“It’s good,” Rusty assured him, calm and cordial. “These boys are on their way out. They’ll mind their manners from now on, I promise.”
Knuckles nodded, and the other four guys came forward to collect Duke. Still conscious, the oaf was moaning and muttering, handing covering his busted nose. Might have a few broken teeth to deal with as well.
He squinted after the troupe of well-to-do assholes, and Rusty gave him a shot in the arm. “What the hell was that all about, huh?”
“What?”
“That was more than just a lesson, man. You could have killed that guy.”
Knuckles shook his head. “Earlier today he hit a…friend of mine. My neighbor.”
Rusty frowned. “Your neighbor?”
Knuckles sighed and shoved his now-aching hands in his pockets. “She’s a civilian.”
“Ahh, you want to nail her.”
“Fuck you. No, I don’t.” Well, he did in that kitchen but Rusty didn’t need details. They weren’t girlfriends gossiping over ice cream, for fuck’s sake. “She’s a single mom. She’s a nice woman. And her daughter wants to help me build a bike.”
“Her daughter?” Rusty threw his head back and laughed. “Holy shit. Stay away from the mom for sure. That sounds like an instant family trap if I ever heard one.”
“Yeah, I know. Fuck off. I like the kid, though. She’s funny.”
Rusty headed for the door back to the club. “Whatever, man. Just watch out for the mom, that’s all I’m saying.”
-oOo-
Back at the clubhouse the night was in full Saturday night mode. Rebel Circus had closed an hour before, and a couple of the dancers had come over to try out a walk on the rough side. Knuckles was torn between watching out for them and waiting to hear from Tank about his kid being hatched.
He also wanted to enjoy a momentary break from the buzzing bees. A fight usually gave him a break from that.
He had almost immediately parked his ass in an armchair, an overstuffed fake leather abomination that had one arm ready to fall right off the side, but it was comfortable. A bottle of root beer was balanced on his knee, and he kept eyes out on these strippers. They weren’t sweetbutts and he was worried about someone getting confused on that count.
So far one, a tall, lithe, and very bendy blonde, had decided she liked Spaz. For his part, the IO looked to be over the moon, torn between staring into her gorgeous baby blues or her cleavage as she perched on his lap, turned into his side to talk to her friend. The friend was a leggy redhead—not natural—that Knuckles had taken a tumble with about a month ago, and she was a very, very fun girl. Tims looked to be enjoying having her on his lap, too.
“You look lonely.” Hands slid down the front of his kutte from behind, and he caught one in his free paw.
“Hey Neenie,” he mumbled, kissing the back of her hand.
The raven-haired beauty circled the chair, still holding his hand, and parked her firm little bottom on his thigh. He let go of her hand to circle around her hip, taking a pull of root beer. “How are you doing tonight?” she asked, leaning into his chest and putting her arm along the back of the armchair.
His eyes caught her bit of cleavage as it was mashed together and he licked his lips. Down below there was a stirring, which was a relief. He’d been starting to worry. “I’m doing okay. You bored?”
She nodded, tugging at the front of his shirt.
“Okay, baby. Let’s head to my room.”
She stood and put a hand out, as if he needed her assistance to stand. But he took is anyway with a grin, and let himself be pulled to the dim corridor behind the bar.
“Hold up, Knuck!”
With a sigh, he turned, taking a sip of soda, tugging Neenie’s arm to make her stop. Jayce sauntered over, seeming to take his fucking time with it.
“What’s up?” Knuckles asked.
“Tomorrow morning, nine am. You got a call with Guidinger.”
His mouth went dry again, and he used more root beer to swallow the lump. “Oh. Okay.”
“If you’re feeling up to it. I can message him back, ask for more time—”
“Nah, that’s not necessary. I got it. I don’t want to ride yet but I never do for this shit anyway. I’ll take the call.”
“Only if you’re sure, man.”
“Yep. I got it.”
Jayce nodded, jogged his shoulder, then turned back to the party. Neenie pulled his arm again and Knuckles followed. She shut the door and turned on the bedside lamp, then started to unbutton the short blouse she’d been wearing. He shrugged off his kutte, placed it carefully on top of the tallboy dresser, and shed his shirt with less care. It hit the ground, and as he went for his belt buckle he watched Neenie.
She let her bra hit the floor, and her small breasts tightened up in the cold. She pushed at the waistband of her stretchy skirt and it slid down her legs without a fight, then she got on his bed in her panties. On her elbows, Neenie lounged on his pillows, legs splayed and her knees swinging back and forth. Her grin was huge. “Missed you, Knuckles.”
He didn’t answer. The boots came off fast and he shoved his jeans to his ankles, then strode to the bed nude. His cock was hard for the first time in a while, and it wanted some relief. Crawling up from the foot of the bed, he caught both of her slender knees in his hands, shoved them apart and went for the waistband of her little black panties. “Has all of you missed me, or just this?” he muttered, shoving his hand inside and going for her sweet spot.
Her mouth fell open, head went back to the pillows, and a long, low moan tore from her throat. “Oh God, that’s it.”
He stopped to yank her underwear off, then his hand went back for her clit. He pinched, stroked, and rubbed as he reached for a condom from the
nightstand. He stopped to roll on the rubber, eliciting sounds of carnal frustration, but then he yanked her hips towards him, flattening her on the bed, angled himself and plunged in deep on one hard shove.
“Shit, Knuckles! Oh, my God!”
He ignored her, sensing how she was adapting to suddenly having him inside her, her body trembling from it. He pulled back and thrust in again, eyes on the two little moles on her left shoulder. They were kind of cute.
“Oh God, that’s too much!”
He closed his eyes and did it again, and again.
“Knuckles—”
He put his hand to her face and shoved it to the side, continuing even as Neenie’s pussy clenched like she was trying to keep him out. With how wet she was, it made for an interesting sensation.
It didn’t take long, due to his long, involuntary abstinence. A few more thrusts and he let go, planting deep with a low groan. Then he pulled out, went back on his knees, and flopped her left leg back over with her right. Her body rolled with it, and he thought he heard a sound like a sob.
“Neeenie?” he panted, leaning over her on both arms again. “What’s wrong, honey?”
She shoved at him and darted off the side of the bed, grabbing her skirt off the floor as she did so. She wouldn’t look at him, either.
“Shit, did I hurt you?”
Just another muffled sob.
“Neenie, wait. I’m sorry.” He reached out and took her arm. When she froze at his touch it was like a punch to the gut. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She plopped on the end of the mattress, only in her skirt, turning wet eyes towards him.
“Ah, shit. Fuck, honey, I’m so sorry. I got too excited.”
She swallowed and looked around, probably for the rest of her clothes.
“Hey,” he said softly, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“You’re not usually like that,” she accused him, spotting her bra and leaning over to grab it. “Some of the guys are a bit rougher but you’ve never been like that before.”
He ran his hand over his hair as she dressed herself again. Shit, he was an asshole. At least she’d stopped crying, but he was going back and trying to remember if she’d told him to stop. He didn’t think so, he thought she’d been working those muscles maybe but...
Shelter (Red Rebels MC Book 5) Page 9