Jax's Dilemma:Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 2)

by Wilder, Chiah

  “Hey, Cherri, I thought it was your day off,” Holt said as she entered the club.

  “Supposed to be, but the ton of paperwork on my desk was eating at me, so I decided to do some catch-up. How’s business?”

  “Slow, but Wednesday afternoons are always the slowest for the club. Want a drink?”

  “No, I’m good.” She watched the stripper on stage. “Chloe looks like she’s sleepwalking up there.”

  “She’s got the flu, or something.” Seeing Cherri’s eyebrows go up, Holt continued, “She needs the money real bad, so she dragged her ass in here.”

  “With that dancing, she’s not gonna get shit for tips. She should’ve just stayed home. Gotta get crackin’,” she said as she walked toward the office behind the stage.

  Looking at the stack of receipts, invoices, time sheets, and inventory lists, Cherri pulled her hair back into a messy bun then sat behind the desk, determined to make some headway in catching up. She was glad it was a slow, quiet day. As she started to work, she heard indistinguishable voices, then soft moaning coming from the backstage area. She strained to hear, to make sure it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. No, definite moans were coming from the dressing room area.

  I hope one of the dancers isn’t turning a trick. Fuck, can’t anything be smooth? From time to time, some of the dancers would turn tricks in their dressing rooms to make some extra money on slow shifts, but it wasn’t allowed on Insurgents’ time. The MC turned a blind eye if a dancer was tricking in her spare time, but during work hours, it was reason for termination. Cherri hoped she didn’t have to can someone.

  She approached the closed dressing room door, pausing to listen. She heard high-pitched groans; it was a woman moaning. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she turned it as she heard a low, male voice. Something rang familiar in the man’s hushed tones. Opening the door, she saw Peaches straddling Jax who was seated on the leather couch. Peaches’ tits bounced while her ass wiggled on Jax’s hardened cock.

  Bolts of shock shot through her body as dampness covered her cheeks. Her mouth hung open and she gasped.

  Peaches turned around, her tits smooshed against Jax’s face. She smiled wickedly.

  Jax stared at Cherri, panic etched on his face, and said, “No, Cherri, this isn’t what you think.” He peeled Peaches off him. Cherri whipped around and ran out of the room with Jax at her heels. He grabbed her arm, swinging her around.

  “Stop! Let me explain. This isn’t what you think.”

  “It is exactly what I think. I was a fucking fool to let you into my heart. You’re worse than any of the other guys because you pretend to care. All that gentle shit you fed me was just a trick to get into my pants, you sonofabitch! You’re the worst! I hate you! Get the fuck outta my life and stay out. Fuck you, asshole!”

  Cherri, breaking away from his grasp, ran out of the bar into the bright sunlight. Bleary-eyed from unshed tears, she managed to get in the car she borrowed from her roommate. Jax rushed over toward her, screaming, “Dammit, Cherri, just stop! I have to talk to you. Stop!”

  She threw the car in drive and screeched out of the parking lot. She had no intention of speaking with him ever again. There was nothing to explain; he’d used her and treated her just like a hoodrat or a club mama. He didn’t care shit for her; he just wanted to fuck her. How could I have been so stupid? I will never forgive him. Ever. I will make him pay for what he did to me.

  The whole drive home, her phone rang and pinged. When she got to her place, Cherri sprinted up the stairs, closed her bedroom door, and flopped on her bed. Looking at the ringing phone, Jax’s number blinked. It’s a little too late, asshole. She turned off her phone and buried her head in her pillow as sobs overtook her body, tears streaming down her face. She hated the way men used women, and she swore she’d go back to not letting any man mean anything to her ever again.

  * * *

  Jax, face tight, eyes burning, went back into Dream House. “Gimme a shot,” he said to Holt.

  Holt placed a shot of whiskey in front of Jax, a knowing look on his face.

  “Why the fuck are you lookin’ at me like that, asshole?” Jax growled.

  “Hey, man, your fight ain’t with me. I’m just mindin’ my own business.” Holt wiped the bar with his rag.

  “Just don’t fuckin’ look at me and I won’t have to beat your ass, got it? Gimme another.”

  Holt nodded and placed another shot in front of Jax, who was radiating anger. Peaches, finally dressed, came up to him and wound her arms around him. She kissed him on the neck, murmuring, “How come you didn’t come back?”

  He pushed her away. “You fuckin’ set me up, you dirty slut!”

  Peaches, wide-eyed, protested, “I didn’t do that. I needed you here—I was desperate. I was gonna kill myself.”

  “Like hell you were. You called me and said you and Emma had a fight and she was throwing you out. You fuckin’ told me you had a gun to your head and you were gonna off yourself. You cried on the phone, made me think if I didn’t come, your suicide would be my fault somehow. You lying cunt!”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “Where’s Emma, then?”

  “She left right before you came.”

  Turning his head sideways, he said, “Is that right, Holt?”

  Holt shook his head. Peaches glared at him.

  “Has Emma been here today, Holt?” Jax asked.

  “She came for an hour, but had to do something with her old man. She left me in charge for a few hours.”

  Jax gripped Peaches’ arm roughly, his fingers turning white from his grasp. “Listen to me, bitch. You fuckin’ set me up, and I wanna know why.”

  “I love you; that’s why. I’m the one who’s here for you any time. I want to be your old lady. I’ve been good to you.” Hardness laced her blue eyes.

  Jax relaxed his grip on her arm and ran his hand through his hair. “Peaches, you’ve been good to me. You’re a great fuck, and you’re always available when I need you, but I’m not looking for an old lady. I’m sorry you fell in love with me. I made it clear to you we were just fuckin’ and nothing more.” He paused and looked her straight in the eyes. “There’s only one woman who has my heart, and that’s Cherri. I was gonna tell you later tonight that our fuckin’ has to stop ’cause I’m with her. I wanted to—”

  “She certainly didn’t look or sound like she wanted to be with you, Jax. How could you want that icy bitch over me?”

  “You made a fuckin’ mess with me and Cherri, something I gotta fix, but don’t be sticking your nose into my business anymore. You got that?”

  “If you think I’m just gonna let some skank take my man, you’re crazy. I’m gonna fight for you, honey, all the way.” She clasped her hand on his denim-covered thigh and stroked it.

  “It’s over, Peaches. That’s the way it is.” Jax moved her hand off him then pushed her back a little. “I’m outta here.” He turned to leave.

  “Waiting for that icy bitch to melt is gonna take time. I’ll be here when you get lonely and tired of waiting.”

  Jax snorted, turned his back on Peaches, and walked out of the strip bar with his phone to his ear, hoping Cherri would pick up. Swinging his leg over his Harley, he revved it up and took off, his heart heavy.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was at her front door. “Cherri, I know you’re in there,” he said as he pounded on the door. “Open the fuck up!”

  Silence. He pounded again, this time kicking the door. He heard the crackle of splintered wood. “Fuck, do I have to break down the goddamned door?”

  Silence. Pissed as hell, he called her again. Hi, this is Cherri. Leave a message.

  He growled in frustration then threw his phone against the front door, broken pieces exploding around him. He stomped on the broken phone until it was a pile of parts. “Fuck!” He jumped off the porch and onto his bike, riding away as his exhausts ripped through the quietness of the neighborhood.

  Walking into the clubhouse, he motion
ed to Johnnie to give him a shot. Sitting at the bar, Jax downed the whiskey, enjoying the way it burned and warmed his throat at the same time.

  Hawk came over and clasped his hand on Jax’s shoulder. “I tried calling you.”

  “My phone broke.” Jax poured another shot down his throat.

  “How’d that happen?”

  “I threw it against a door.”

  “Yeah, that’ll do it. What’s up?”

  “Fuckin’ bitches. They’re a pain in the ass. I’m going back to fucking multiple pussies without any faces.”

  “Problem is once one of them gets into your system, you’re fuckin’ screwed—you don’t want anyone else but her. That’s how it was for me with Cara.”

  “Yeah, but Cara wanted you, too.”

  “It was a struggle, but the best ones always are. You’ll figure it out.”

  “You like challenges, but I like easy pussy.”

  “If your cock is aimed at that stripper, then easy is not what you’re gonna get.” Hawk laughed, downed his beer, and turned to leave. “And yeah, get a new phone. Club business requires you have one at all times.”

  Jax grunted as he played the events over in his mind. What the fuck was Cherri doing at Dream House anyway? Wasn’t it supposed to be her day off? He knew it looked bad when she came into the room, but she wouldn’t fucking let him explain. He wasn’t doing shit with Peaches. He had got to the club, worried Peaches was going to hurt herself, and when he went into her dressing room and saw her in her stripper outfit, sitting on the couch, she didn’t look all that upset to him. After they talked for a bit and he realized she had exaggerated so he’d come to the club, he started to get up to leave when Peaches pushed him back and started pushing her tits in his face and rubbing her barely covered pussy over his dick.

  He tried shoving her away, but she kept moving all around him, and his dick got harder. He was peeling her off him when Cherri opened the door and got a full view of a half-naked Peaches and his hard-on. He didn’t blame her for being pissed. She probably thought he used her. And, of course, he had a hard-on—he was a man, and any soft ass grinding against his cock would wake it up. But it didn’t mean he wanted Peaches or was going to fuck her. Since he’d tasted Cherri, he craved only her. He had to make things right with her. He just had to.

  * * *

  Slivers of moonlight pierce through the shutter slats. Quiet stillness lends an eeriness to the night. Several high howls and low barks from the neighborhood punctuate the blackness.

  It is a hot, thick night. The oscillating fan in the corner of the bedroom blows streams of hot air in Cherri’s face. She hears the floorboards creak outside her door. Her heart beats faster, her chest heaving, and she fears it will burst out of her. Silence. She knows he’s out there, can almost hear his short breaths. Dampness forms under her breasts and upper lip. She pulls the sheet up above her chin, encasing it around her like a cocoon. Under the sheet, the oppressive heat surrounds her.

  The doorknob clicks and turns slowly. She holds her breath, waiting—waiting for the door to open and the man to enter. Click. It opens, a shadowy figure looming in the doorway. He comes closer. Cherri, covering her head with her sheet, hopes it’ll make her invisible. The mattress depresses as he sits down next to her. She hears him panting, his excitement palpable. She shivers despite the temperature. His chuckles come from deep within his chest, and his drumming fingers against the mattress sound like a metronome. She wants to scream. He’s playing with her.

  He tugs the sheet away from her grip, sliding it out of her clammy hands. She opens her eyes and sees his lust-filled ones shining as they fix on her ripe, young breasts. He leans toward her, and his mouth silences her small, “No.” Kneading her breasts with his hand, he pushes her down on her back as he lifts up her cotton nightshirt. She whimpers. He presses his lips against her mouth as his hand rubs her hips.

  “No,” she snivels.

  “Shh, honey. I’m not gonna hurt you. Daddies never hurt their special girls.” His mouth starts its descent toward her breasts. Something hard, like a wrench, rubs against her private parts.

  No… no…

  Cherri woke up gasping for air, sweat pouring down her neck and under her arms. She rubbed her forehead, trying to dispel the ghosts of her past. Getting up, she put a cold washcloth against her hot face, the coolness giving her some relief. She looked at her phone; it read seven-thirty in the evening and twenty-five missed calls—all of them from Jax.

  “Are you okay, Cherri?” her roommate, Ginger, asked as she softly knocked on the door. Cherri sat mutely on her bed, looking at the door.

  “Cherri?” Ginger’s voice was louder that time as she came into the room, gazing at Cherri. “I heard you yelling; is anything wrong?”

  Sighing, Cherri shook her head. “No. Just a bad dream, that’s all.”

  “Must’ve been some dream. You were screaming.”

  Cherri shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “You sure you’re okay? You look real sad.”

  “All men are assholes.”

  Ginger laughed. “You just figuring this out now? Don’t be sad over that, ’cause it ain’t gonna change them. I’ve known men are assholes for a long time, but they fuck good and they can be a helluva lot of fun.” Ginger brushed her curly auburn bangs to the side.

  Cherri sat and watched Ginger. A few minutes of awkward silence passed. Ginger, backing out of the room, said, “I gotta get going. I got another shift at the strip club. Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “Thanks,” Cherri called out after her.

  Standing up, Cherri went over to the picture-sized window and looked out. Cars drove by, people walked around, and children played in the street. She wondered what each of their lives was like—were they happy, lonely, or in love. Her mind drifted to Jax and their lovemaking earlier that afternoon. She was so happy, but then he had to go and spoil it all. Anger emanated from her when she thought about the way he used her for fucking then ran back to Peaches for loving. He was the worst asshole she had ever met. At least with the other jerks in her life, she had known what the score was, but with Jax, he hid what a fucker he really was. He had hurt her. She thought she was immune to a man hurting her, but she let her guard down, let this one sneak into her life and heart.

  Her phone pinged. She picked it up and saw it was a text message from Gunner:

  Gunner: How are you? I’m at the club but don’t see you. Are you here?

  Cherri: It’s my day off. You missing me? :)

  Gunner: Always.

  Cherri: I’ll be there tomorrow.

  Gunner: You doing anything now?

  Cherri: Not really.

  Gunner: Want to get some barbecue with me?

  Cherri read the text a couple of times. Gunner was a nice guy, and she knew he wanted something with her. He was generous, and she knew there wouldn’t be any chance of her falling in love with him. Plus, Jax was history, and she was done with him. Gunner could give her the money she needed to leave Pinewood Springs and start a new life. Gunner wouldn’t be a bad sugar daddy.

  Gunner: You there?

  Cherri: Yeah, sorry, doing something at the same time. Dinner sounds good.

  Gunner: I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes?

  Cherri: Yeah.

  Gunner: Ok. Don’t need to give me your address. Know where u live. See you soon.

  Cherri: :))

  She stared at the phone, a calm caressing her. If Jax could grope Peaches, she could cozy up to Gunner. She might even go to a clubhouse party and hang all over him. She’d show Jax two could play at his game. A sneer broke out over her face as her heart turned to ice.

  Chapter Eight

  There was an excited tremor in the air at the Insurgents’ clubhouse. It was Saturday night, and that meant it was party time. Parties at the clubhouse were always wild. Since several chapters were coming that night to party, the members told Emma and Cherri they needed several dancers to entertain the men, along
with a few who wanted to dance and fuck afterwards.

  The only drug the Insurgents tolerated at their compound was weed, but at big parties, crank and crystal flowed. The basement of the clubhouse had many rooms that could accommodate the various brothers if they passed out or wanted to crash. The old ladies had been cooking since the morning to prepare the food for the party; platters of ribs, beef brisket, and hot sausage links, along with mountains of mashed potatoes, corn, and coleslaw, would soon be laid out on the long wooden tables in the great room. It was too cold to put them outside—spring in Colorado was a mixture of pleasant days and frigid nights.

  The old ladies, after setting up the food, would leave. Sometimes, they would go over to each other’s houses and drink. They rarely went to the weekend parties; the family parties that usually happened on Sundays were cool, but most of the old ladies hated the weekend ones because of all the sluts who spread their legs for the brothers.

  There was a definite hierarchy among the Insurgent women, and the old ladies were at the top and garnered the full respect from the other women and the brothers. The lowest rungs were the club whores and mamas—they were nothing more than public holes to satiate the brothers and their guests at any time. The hoodrats were the weekend sluts who came to party, drink, and fuck. They may come to one party or to many parties, but they came and went as they pleased. Before they entered, they were patted down, checked out via an elaborate ID system Hawk had set up, and photographed. The Insurgents didn’t need any undercover badge or any infiltrator from a rival club on their property.

  The women, who lined up outside the chain-link fence for hours before entering the hallowed doors of the clubhouse, dressed in tight-fitting, barely there outfits. To a passerby, it would seem like the women were planning to audition for a porn movie. Overdone makeup and heels made for sitting rather than walking adorned most of the women. It amazed many of the bikers that so many women would spread their legs for them each and every weekend, just to have biker sex, but there was never a shortage of women.