Struck from the Record

by K. A. Linde

Clay finally shrugged. “Nope. Go ahead.”

  “Thanks. It’s fucking packed in here.”

  “Yeah. Didn’t realize the place would fill with hipsters. It’s like we splashed water on them.”

  “Gremlins,” the woman said with a laugh. “Nice.”

  “Yeah. If only they hadn’t multiplied in the last couple of years, then these bars wouldn’t be so in.”

  “Right. So true. I wouldn’t be caught dead in here if my boyfriend didn’t like the scene.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s hard enough, getting over here from the Hill, with goddamn traffic.”

  Boyfriend. Why did that suddenly make her more attractive?

  “And where is this boyfriend of yours?” he inquired, momentarily forgetting his game.

  She shrugged. “It’d be just like the ass not to show up after making me drive all the way over here. As if I don’t have more important shit to do.”

  Clay smirked. It sounded like something he’d probably do.

  “Sounds like a stand-up guy.”

  “The worst.”

  Clay almost laughed. She was serious. He was about to ask why she’d stay with the guy if he was like that, but then he glanced over at Andrea. She was still flirting shamelessly with Bad Suit, and Clay was over here, talking to his second stranger for the night.

  He and Andrea both put up with each other’s shit. It worked for them. Had been for almost ten years.

  The bartender finally responded to the woman waving cash over the bar, trying to get her attention.

  “I’ll take a double vodka on the rocks. Grey Goose. Just keep them coming.”

  He eyed her with appreciation, and she just smiled wryly. “It’s been a long day.”

  Clay held his hands up. “Who am I to judge?”

  The bartender pushed the vodka over to the woman and passed another Crown and Coke to Clay, who hadn’t even asked for it. It was his fourth. He didn’t even know how many other drinks he’d had tonight.

  As he took an appreciative sip of the whiskey, his phone pinged.

  Where are you? I thought you’d make this harder.

  “Girlfriend?” the brunette asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “She stand you up, too?”

  Clay saw Andrea arch an eyebrow over Bad Suit’s shoulder. He raised his eyebrows. She tilted her head toward the restroom, and he smiled, letting her know he’d gotten the message. Loud and clear.

  “Not exactly,” he responded. “Excuse me for a minute.”

  “Should I save your seat?”

  He wasn’t sure if she sounded hopeful. Most girls would be falling all over themselves by now, but she didn’t seem to be that kind of girl, which was interesting. She just continued to sip her vodka, straight up, unperturbed.

  “Yeah. Unless that boyfriend of yours shows up.” Clay winked.

  “All right. I’m Gigi, by the way.”

  She dropped her suit jacket over his seat and put her hand out for him to shake. He startled slightly at the introduction, as if this were a business meeting and not two people meeting up at a bar. He didn’t even remember the last girl’s name. This was a lot less than flirting.

  Wait, is she even flirting with me?

  Huh. Maybe not.

  He reached out and took her hand. She had a firm grip, which meant she worked in a profession where people looked down on her. She needed this for authority. He liked a firm grip…handshake and otherwise.

  “Clay.”

  “Nice to meet you, Clay. I’ve got your seat until my lecherous boyfriend shows up.”

  He grinned. He couldn’t help it.

  He wedged his way through the crowd, receiving disgruntled shouts from the people he’d unceremoniously shoved out of his way. When he finally made it back to the restrooms, he found Andrea standing outside the door, as if waiting for the next chance to go inside, which he knew she never did. Queuing was not one of Andrea’s specialties.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he said, approaching her.

  “You, sir, are in big trouble.”

  “Tell me all about it.”

  A girl left the restroom, and Clay pushed Andrea inside. The girl gave them a strange look, but there were other restrooms for people who needed it. He locked it from the inside and turned to face his girl. He grabbed her around the middle and hauled her against him. She was so small, always had been. She’d been obsessed with her weight in college and ended up in a lot of counseling to try to fix the issue, but she’d always be small.

  He pressed her body back against the door, and she met his gaze with a determined one of her own.

  “Clandestine,” she murmured in a tone that made it seem as if she were unimpressed.

  “You said I was in trouble,” he prompted.

  With her words, blood was already pumping to all the right places. Fuck, she turned him on. The chase, the rendezvous, the game.

  His hands slipped down her black dress, slinky and sophisticated, and he knew it cost a fortune. Everything that Andrea liked did. Instead of going for her lips, he nuzzled her neck, making her arch against him, and then he trailed rough kisses over the territory he was claiming.

  “Yes,” she said, trying to seem unaffected, “you came to ruin my fun, and then you didn’t even make a move. Clay Maxwell, whatever has gotten into you?”

  “You’re too hasty.” He nipped at her neck, and she squeaked. Oh, how he loved that sound. “I was assessing the situation and determining when to go in for the kill.”

  He forcefully grabbed her leg and pulled it up around his waist. Her dress slid past her upper thigh, nearly revealing what was underneath. He slipped his hand under the material and realized with satisfaction that there was nothing underneath.

  “Oh, dirty,” he growled playfully. “You were ready for me.”

  “I was, but you’re too slow. I’m planning to leave with him.”

  “Like hell you are!” Clay barked out.

  “What? You can have your fun for the night, but I can’t?” Her eyes issued a challenge.

  “I haven’t had any yet,” he growled, “but I will now.”

  Clay’s hand slipped back under her dress until he found her pussy, hot and aching for him. She enjoyed this as much as he did, and he’d remind her exactly how much. He wanted to just take her against the door, but he’d rather she beg him for it later.

  Without a second thought, he slipped his finger between her lips and trailed it through her wetness before massaging her clit. He had perfect access from this angle, and the only way it would be better was if he could bury his face in between her legs and feel her come all over him. She’d definitely beg then.

  “Mmm,” she purred, grinding against his hand.

  Abruptly, he removed his finger from her clit and pushed two fingers up inside her. She was dripping wet, and he coated his thumb before circling her clit and finger-fucking her hard. It’d be so much better when he got his cock up inside her, but for now, this would do. His dick was as hard as a rock, and it was practically painful as he watched her eyes roll back into her head while her pleasure mounted.

  “You’re not playing fair,” she groaned.

  “Only way I know how.”

  “Oh, please, make me come.” She looked at him, her eyes hooded. “If you can.”

  Motherfucking challenge accepted.

  She knew what he was capable of, but he reveled in showing her just how much pleasure she could get from just his fingers. He knew how to ply her body to his command. She writhed underneath him, barely holding on. He’d seen that look for ten years now. He shoved against her, reminding her exactly what she would get, if only she begged. Her fingers brushed against his erection through his suit pants, and all he wanted was for her to take it out.

  Then, she let out one final moan and came all over his fingers, leaving him slippery wet and dying to get his cock into her pussy.

  She huffed as she tried to regain her composure. He let her leg drop and used a nearby paper towel to m
op up his hand.

  She was still leaning back against the door, staring at him. “I like the bow tie.”

  “I know.” He grinned, revealing his dimples.

  “You always know just what I like.”

  “How about we go home, and I’ll show you exactly what you like?” He leaned in close and growled low in her ear, “Fuck you at my leisure, make you come at my command. Or do you want to be spanked tonight, baby? Or more?”

  Her breathing was heavy when he pulled back and looked into her dilated baby blues. “Oh, Clay…” She patted him twice on the cheek. “Maybe another time.”

  “What?” he demanded.

  “You lost tonight. Game over.”

  She turned to go, and he slammed his hand back on the door. Someone banged on it from the outside and yelled at them to hurry the fuck up.

  “What the fuck?”

  Andrea softened but only slightly. “I don’t want to be seconds tonight, baby.”

  Then, she strode out of the restroom, leaving him alone, wondering how the hell that had just happened.

  Chapter 3

  A LIFE OF BAD DECISIONS

  This wasn’t how their little game was supposed to end.

  It never ended this way.

  He hadn’t waited that much longer than usual to approach her. After they’d talked, then they would go back and fuck the night away. He wasn’t sure if either of them had ever refused before. It was against the rules.

  Whenever she played, he always left the girl he had been talking to for a night with Andrea. There wasn’t a girl alive that he’d trade the game for. Well, maybe one, but since she was about to marry his brother, it didn’t count.

  Andrea could be a bitch to everyone, but then again, he was a total ass. That was how they worked. This was where they made sense.

  Under the fury that was simmering to the surface though was confusion. Why would she choose Bad Suit over me? He’d understand if she hadn’t invited him to play, but this was different. She had made him leave his own game for hers and then turned him down.

  Clay tried to clear his head, but anger just hit him stronger. He returned to his barstool with single-minded determination. When he made it back, Andrea and Bad Suit were already gone, which only pissed him off more. He hadn’t even gotten to confront the douche. Jackass was going to get to enjoy all of Clay’s hard work. Think he’d gotten Andrea soaking wet and caused the tremors between her legs.

  Dick.

  “You’re back,” Gigi said when he finally returned.

  “Yeah. Got held up.”

  But a guy was sitting in his seat. He was average height with moppy dark hair and a beard. He was pasty pale in his purple V-neck shirt and skinny jeans, which frankly proved that the guy had a small dick.

  “Who’s this, Gi?” the guy asked possessively.

  “Clay. We just met.”

  “That’s fast,” he said, eyeing Clay. “Even for you.”

  “We just met!” she nearly shrieking. She smacked him on the arm.

  “Yeah, buddy. Don’t worry. I was only warming your seat.” Clay was in such a piss-poor mood after Andrea that he added a wink for effect.

  The guy glowered at him. He clearly didn’t miss what Clay was saying. Truth was, he was in such a mood he’d probably fuck Gigi if he could get her away from Small Dick. But, really, he was itching for a fight right now to burn off the adrenaline. For a little while, it might even be better than a lay with a stranger.

  Anyway, he knew he could take this guy.

  But, instead of reacting to Clay, he blew up on Gigi. “Great, Gi! Just fucking great!” Small Dick slammed a twenty on the bar and reached for his jacket. “I’m not dealing with this shit again. Who knew that if I’d shown up a little earlier, I’d have found you fucking someone you’d just met? What else is new?”

  Gigi’s brown eyes nearly popped out of her face at the words. “Christ, Marcus! What the fuck is your deal? I legit just met him because this was the only fucking seat, and you were late.”

  “So, if I’d been on time, you wouldn’t have done this shit?” he demanded. “I bet.”

  “Man, you have some issues,” Clay muttered. “I’m not into your girl. I have enough trouble on my own.” And she just walked out the door.

  “Seriously, nothing happened!” Gigi said.

  “Nothing better have fucking happened.” Marcus turned to face Clay menacingly. He narrowed his eyes. “Have we met before?”

  “Doubtful.” Clay didn’t associate with people like Marcus.

  “Wait, no. I’ve seen you on TV, I think.”

  Clay shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t like where this was going. He never liked when people recognized him—his face or his name. Because that meant only one thing…

  “Your brother is Brady Maxwell, right?”

  That.

  It meant that.

  Fucking Brady.

  Clay glowered. Douche had to touch on the one other subject that’d set him off.

  Marcus’s smile grew as he realized he’d struck gold. “Yeah. That’s right. That’s where I know you. Brady’s the one fucking underage college students and reporters and still managing to get his slimy ass reelected to Congress.”

  Clay openly glared at him. His anger had hit an inferno. All of the alcohol simmered in his veins, throwing his logic to the wind. A lot had changed between Clay and Brady since he and Liz had gotten together. Clay still thought Brady was a pompous, self-important dick, and at another time, he would have let other people call his brother on it.

  But not now.

  Not about Liz.

  She was single-handedly the best thing that had ever happened to the Maxwells. Crazy to think about after all the shit they’d gone through to get where they were at the moment.

  Clay didn’t even respond to Marcus’s comment. He just let his fist fly. It connected with the douche’s cheek with a satisfying crack. It hurt like a bitch and split Clay’s knuckles open, but damn, did it look good when Marcus rocked backward from the force of the hit. Clay followed it up with a punch to the gut. Marcus doubled over, gasping for breath, when Clay brought his knee up to connect with Marcus’s nose, which broke on contact.

  “Fuck!” Gigi swore.

  Clay righted the guy and grabbed him by the front of his coat. He slammed Marcus backward against the bar. “Don’t ever fucking talk about my family, you piece of shit.”

  Blood was pouring from Marcus’s nose, and Clay was drawing attention to them.

  “Let him go!” Gigi cried, yanking on Clay’s arms. “That’s enough. Let him go, Clay.”

  “What the fuck?” Marcus wheezed. He was clutching his nose.

  “Go fuck yourself,” Clay spat.

  “I could press fucking assault charges, you asswipe!”

  Clay laughed. “I’d just love to see that.”

  “My girlfriend is a fucking attorney.”

  Clay smiled, glancing at Gigi, whose olive skin had paled considerably. She looked frightened.

  “Another thing we have in common, and I’m one of the best in the goddamn city. So, again, go fuck yourself.”

  “Just leave,” Gigi told him. “He’s not going to press charges. Just get out of here. For your brother’s sake, if not your own.”

  Clay laughed humorlessly. “Whatever.”

  He stumbled out of the bar and into the cold bitter air. It immediately sobered him up some, and he shook out his hand. The fog had started to lift, and pain returned slightly with the shift.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  He shouldn’t have let Andrea upset him. Not enough to purposely pick a bar fight with a stranger. He had definitely assaulted that guy, unprovoked. He’d be fucked if Marcus did actually press charges. Didn’t matter if Clay was one of the best lawyers in the city. People were always out for blood when it came to the perfect Maxwells.

  And he’d drawn first blood.

  He wiped his hands down his face. He needed to just go the fuck home an
d sleep off this shit. Deal with it in the morning with a clear head.

  He stumbled down the street, away from the bar, removing his phone from his jacket pocket. He typed out a text to Andrea as he walked in the general direction of his apartment.

  Thinnkk o me as he fcks u n kno I cld b makin you cum.

  He was about to send it when he got an incoming text.

  Savi’s coming into town for NYE. Liz wants you to bring Andrea if you’re both free.

  Clay stared at the crisp text message from his perfect older brother. He hadn’t seen their younger sister, Savannah, since the election. She was a junior at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, majoring in journalism, and was always fucking busy. It’d be good to see her even if she and Brady would gang up on him.

  Clay responded eloquently.

  Fuck you.

  A response came almost immediately.

  Always a pleasure, Clay.

  Clay nearly threw the phone, and then he remembered the text to Andrea. He pressed Send, his anger heating back up. Fuck everyone tonight.

  “Stop right there.”

  The cold barrel of a gun was pressed against his temple.

  Clay froze in place. Shit! Fuck! Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, fucking fuck, fuck! What the fuck?

  All traces of alcohol immediately dissipated from his system, and he was on red alert. Fear hit him fresh, and his bravado was gone. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart-ass remark to come back with. At least…not one that wouldn’t get him killed.

  “Give me everything you have on you. Right now!” he cried, his hand shaking slightly as he held the gun aloft. “And no sudden movements, pretty boy.”

  “Just throw your shit over here,” yelled another voice off to Clay’s right, past the guy holding the gun. “And make it fucking quick.”

  He couldn’t see either of the assholes who were holding him at gunpoint and robbing him blind. He couldn’t even turn to look and get the incriminating information he’d need in court…if he survived this.

  Fuck! No!

  He would survive this. He’d comply. They’d get what they wanted and be gone. Most armed robberies didn’t end in death. They were thieves, not murderers. He knew the statistics. He needed to get this under control. But he was still shaking violently as he reached into his back pocket.