The Rush: The Hell's Disciples MC (The Hell's Disciples MC Series)

by Jaci J

  With a thick eyebrow raised, he frowns. “For now.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  My stomach twists.

  T scares me, terrifies me.

  “Means sooner, rather than later, you’re getting off that shit, and when I nut in you, it’ll fucking stick.”

  Jesus, he’s so damn crude.

  “I’m not ready for a baby.”

  I don’t know what I want anymore, especially when it comes to T.

  “Baby, your old man ain’t gettin’ any younger. I’m pushing thirty-four. I want kids.”

  “I’m sure there’s a woman out there willing to give you a couple of kids right now,” I tease, trying not to laugh at the irritated look on his face. “Why don’t you try coming inside of her?”

  T’s frown hardens, not finding me funny. “Don’t fuck with me, Bailey. The only bitch I want is standing in my bathroom naked, denying me a couple cute ass babies.”

  “I’m sure your baby mama will give you cute kids. You’re good looking,” I say, lifting a shoulder as I towel dry my hair. “A couple of your kids are bound to be cute.”

  I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.

  My head is spinning.

  “You’re pushing your luck,” he tells me, lifting me up and tossing me over his shoulder.

  “I’m sure she’s a lovely woman,” I giggle, laughing even harder when he smacks my bare ass. “She’ll make a good baby mama.”

  Walking into his room, he bends down and flips me off his shoulder and onto my back on the bed, crawling on top of me and between my thighs. “The only baby mama I want is laying on my sheets, naked.”

  Looking next to me, I laugh. “I don’t see her.”

  One of his hands wraps around my jaw, his thumb brushing my lip. I watch as his face sobers, his eyes roaming my face, landing on my mouth.

  “Any pain?”

  I shake my head.

  The only pain is twisted around my heart and in my head.

  “Won’t happen again,” he tells me, sincerity in his voice.

  “I hope not.”

  “You don’t trust me, but you will.”

  “I’m trying.”

  He kisses my lip. “I’ll prove it to you, baby.”

  “Okay.”

  I hope so.

  21

  T

  “WHAT THE FUCK happened?”

  We’re back in Church, sitting around the old table, and I drag my buck knife through the woodgrain, my anger building. I’m having a hard time not taking my frustrations out on the bodies around me.

  I left Bailey at my place, in my bed, to come here, and I know it’s about to be a goddamn shitshow.

  “What the fuck happened?” I growl, looking at my old man. “What happened is that you pushed this Russian deal, and now that shit’s leaking out of the club and soaking into the people around us.”

  “You cut that deal off.”

  “I fucking did. That shit was getting messy.”

  “That wasn’t your call to make.”

  “Yeah, well, I made it.”

  “Should’ve brought it to a vote.”

  “Should have, but didn’t.”

  My old man looks heated, ready to tear me a new one.

  Nothing new there.

  “Who the fuck is the president?” he asks me, but he isn’t looking for answer.

  “Who the fuck is the VP?” I toss back, tired of this shit.

  We can’t have club business spilling into the lives around us. Any motherfucker around this table would agree if it landed at their goddamn doorstep.

  “You run this motherfucker?”

  “I did what I thought needed to be done.”

  I might have been calm with Bailey. I might have played nice and kept my anger in check, but as soon as her ass fell asleep I sat there, watching her, stewing. I couldn’t let it die. I couldn’t bury it.

  “You speak for the club as a whole?”

  “Those Russian pricks down at the club questioning my girl, and then putting their hands on her, busting up her mouth when she didn’t give them the answers they were looking for, that’s my goddamn reason.”

  Rock, King, and Buck look at me, shocked. Bish shakes his head, but my old man just shrugs. He fucking shrugs. “And?”

  “And? Did you just fucking shrug?” I growl, leaning forward, hands on the table in front of me, my blood boiling.

  “Now she’s your girl? She’s just some stripper.”

  I’m up and out of my seat, my chair on the floor behind me, in a goddamn second. Rock is sitting right next to me and is up and out of his, an arm wrapped around my shoulders, holding me back.

  “The fuck you just say? Talk about Bailey again and I’ll fucking kill your old ass, dad or not.”

  I’ll bury his ass.

  Put a bullet in his fucking skull.

  Rip him the fuck apart.

  He’s a hard-ass, bitter old prick, but that shit’s even low for him. We don’t fuck with women or children—his goddamn rule.

  Pushing Rock off of me, I manage to hold myself back.

  Barely.

  My old man just sits back in his chair, arms crossed, nodding. “Sit the fuck down, son. Just making sure she’s worth stickin’ our necks out for.”

  “The fuck you talkin’ about?”

  “Talkin’ about you and your wandering dick, boy. The club isn’t gonna bother with some bitch’s fat lip if you’re not plannin’ on making her more than just some fuck toy you chew up and spit out after a few hours in the sack.”

  “That was just some test?” I growl, kicking at my chair, pissed.

  My chest is tight. My fists clenched. My jaw aching.

  “That was me getting confirmation that this bitch is gonna be more than just some stain on your nasty sheets at some point.”

  Jesus Christ. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

  He shrugs. “Still think you stepped over the line calling that deal with the Russians.”

  “So, if she was just some bitch, then you’d let her get roughed up over our deal and we’d keep working with these assholes, even though they stepped over the line?”

  “That’s beside the fucking point. Now we’ve gotta worry about retaliation since they were already thinking we were double crossing them.”

  “Nothing we haven’t dealt with before,” Buck huffs, dropping the paper he was looking at onto the table.

  “You were worried about your girl before,” my old man says, looking at me. “Be prepared to be even more worried, because those fucking Russians aren’t going to take this shit lying down.”

  “Let them come for me. I’ll take them all the fuck out.”

  “You’re so goddamn combative. Sit the fuck down. Use your damn head and do this shit right.”

  I fix my chair and I sit down.

  I’m still antsy, though.

  “So, what the fuck are we gonna do?” Rock asks, sitting back down in his chair next to me.

  “We’re gonna sit back and watch my son try to handle this shit on his own, and then we’ll step in and help when he drops the ball.”

  Frowning, I get up and walk to the door, done with this shit.

  “Fuck you,” I growl, kicking the door open and walking out of room one.

  “The fuck was that?” Rocky asks, following me outside and into the dark parking lot.

  Stopping at my bike, I pull a pack of smokes and a lighter from the saddlebag and light up.

  The first hit does it.

  Fuck.

  “Exactly what it fucking looked like.”

  “Looked like you walked out of fucking Church before the gavel came down.”

  Taking another drag, I find myself rolling my goddamn eyes. Doing it makes me think of Bailey.

  “Observant,” I grouse, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

  I walked out. I’d walk out again.

  “This bitch has got you twisted up.”

  He’s not wrong.

&nbs
p; But I’m not fucking sorry about it.

  “The only thing that’s twisted is my old man not trustin’ me.”

  “You made a rash decision.”

  Maybe I did.

  “Made a decision based on facts.”

  “What facts?”

  “Facts are when we dropped in on the Russians, I saw a rusted piece of shit in that warehouse.”

  “And?”

  “Same goddamn truck that was in those surveillance pictures out front of the club.”

  Rock looks like he’s following me, his eyes narrowed. “You sayin’ the Russians shot at the club?”

  “Saying they had something to do with it.”

  Jerking the hand from the back of his neck, Rocky growls, “Fuck. Why?”

  I take another drag off my smoke. “Don’t know. Gonna find out.”

  “Take this shit to the table.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m already in it deep with the club. I’m wrong about this, start more shit, I’m gonna bring a fucking shitstorm down on me, down on my girl. Can’t do it.”

  “Then what the fuck are you gonna do?”

  “We’re gonna do a little fuckin’ digging, brother. And then, when I get confirmation that I’m right, I’m gonna handle it.”

  BAILEY

  “What are you going to do now?” Stormi asks me, setting down two large duffels from my locker at the Pink Cat at my feet.

  I wasn’t fired.

  I didn’t quit.

  But I can’t fucking go back.

  Not after last night.

  Shrugging, I take a drink of my coffee, her question spinning around in my head, running laps, on repeat. What am I going to do? I moved here a few years ago, and the Pink Cat is all I’ve known since I’ve been here. “I don’t know,” I finally answer.

  “You still hustling on the side, seeing that old guy?”

  I nod, not meeting her eyes.

  A few weeks ago, I would have loudly and proudly told her yeah, I am. I felt no shame in what I was doing because I wasn’t doing anything wrong. With T in the picture, it just doesn’t feel the same. Suddenly, I’m ashamed and embarrassed of something I shouldn’t be.

  I called Walt, a knee jerk reaction.

  I was done at The Pink Cat and I got desperate. I panicked. I needed money.

  Scared and worried, I did the one thing I wish I hadn’t. I picked up the phone.

  Out on my back patio, Stormi sits in the chair next to me. “I know you’ve saved money.”

  “I have.” But it just doesn’t feel like enough. It never will. Not when you grew up like I did.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  I’m insecure about money, scared I’ll run out and lose everything. And if I lose everything, I’m right back to where I started—destitute and fucking pathetic.

  “I hope so,” I murmur, looking out onto my yard.

  “You’re almost done with school, and once you are, you can forget all that shit and just work.”

  I look at her. “Can I? I’ve been doing it for so long.”

  “You can. You’ll be fine.” She smiles, bumping her knee into mine. “You’re a tough bitch.”

  Standing, she goes to leave. “I’ve gotta get to the babysitter, but if you need me, call me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you, girl. You’ll be fine.”

  “Love you too.”

  I fucking hope so.

  _______________

  I left T’s place this morning, early, after he left.

  I just couldn’t do it.

  I was mad at him.

  I was mad at my damn self.

  Standing in my entryway, I grab my purse and walk out my front door. There’s a black town car waiting for me at the curb, a car service. Walt never spares any expense.

  The driver opens the door for me and I slide in.

  The driver takes me downtown and pulls to a stop in front of some banquet hall.

  It’s a work function, and Walt wants someone on his arm. I’m that someone.

  “Coco, sweetheart, you look amazing,” Walt greets, taking my hand and helping me out of the car.

  I smile. It’s fake and forced, but it’s there.

  “You look nice yourself.” I smile, looking him over.

  He’s a handsome man.

  He’s distinguished and smart. Kind and giving.

  He’s not T.

  No one is.

  Walt takes my arm, threading it through his as he walks me inside.

  I’ve been to a few of these things before.

  I’m here to smile and nod.

  I’m here to be beautiful and quiet.

  Standing next to Walt, I smile when a man he’s talking to looks at me. He drags his eyes down my body, not hiding the leer in them.

  I’m used to it.

  But tonight, after everything, his stare is harder to handle than usual.

  “Excuse me. I need the ladies’ room,” I say quietly, removing my arm from Walt’s.

  Through the crowds of beautifully dressed posh people, I find the bathroom down a long hall and sneak inside, locking the door behind me.

  At the sink, looking in the mirror, I stare at my reflection. I look beautiful, perfectly done up, like always. But this time, I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything.

  Inside my purse, I feel for my lipstick, my hand brushing my cell phone and I think of T.

  Stupidly, I pull it out and check it.

  Three missed calls, all from T.

  My chest tightens and my stomach hurts.

  I fucking hate lying to him, and I fucking hate myself for doing it.

  I don’t call him back. I stuff my phone back into my bag and pull out my lipstick instead. I apply the beautiful creamy red lipstick with perfection, run my fingers through my hair and walk out of the bathroom, back to Walt.

  I want the money, I tell myself.

  I need it.

  I stay with Walt all evening, late into the night, dancing, drinking, and smiling agreeably. I stay with him until he’s handing me an envelope full of cash and kissing me on the cheek while putting me in the waiting town car. Of course, it’s not before asking me to come home with him. He always asks, but he’s never pushed.

  For a moment, the amount of money I could get from that flashes through my mind.

  I push it away.

  I can’t do that.

  For me and for T, I just can’t.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening, as always, Coco.”

  I kiss his cheek and get into the car. “Goodnight, Walt.”

  As soon as the door closes, I fight the tears, mad at myself and my situation.

  I’m fucked-up, and I hate myself for it.

  22

  T

  I’VE NEVER BEEN the type of motherfucker to go out of his way for a woman. I won’t show up at the bar you’re at. I won’t drive by your place. I won’t ask around about you. I won’t go above and beyond for you.

  Out of sight, out of mind when it comes to females.

  Not Bailey.

  I’m thinking about her when she’s away from me, and even when she’s sitting right in front of me.

  This isn’t who I am, but when I came home, my bed empty and my house quiet, Bailey nowhere to be found, I started to be that guy.

  Bailey lives on the nice side of town. Mini mansions, expensive condos, nice shops and shit. She lives on a quiet street, rows of townhouses lining pristine sidewalks with nice ass cars in every driveway.

  Her house is furnished out the ass with luxury shit, nice shit. Nicer shit than I’ve ever seen or had.

  I’m no broke motherfucker, but Bailey puts me to shame.

  Sitting in the dark, in her bedroom, I listen as her garage door opens. I hear a car door close and a door open and close inside.

  I bide my time, waiting.

  Bailey moves around downstairs, taking her sweet ass time, until I hear her walking up the stairs, heels on h
er hardwood floors.

  I check my phone, the time on the screen telling me it’s eleven.

  Sliding the phone back into my pocket, I continue to wait.

  A few minutes later, her bedroom door opens and she walks in.

  Her room is dark, but I can make out her figure.

  I resist the urge to get up and put my hands on her, slide them along her slim waist and thick hips, pull her against me, and show her how bad of an idea it was to slip out of my bed before I told her it was okay to leave.

  Moments later, she flips on the light and all but fucking screams, a hand covering her mouth as she stumbles back, her back hitting the wall when she sees me.

  “Jesus Christ, T. What are you fucking doing?”

  Getting out of the chair, I walk toward her, looking her up and down, noting what she’s wearing. “What the fuck are you doing, leaving my house, not answering my fucking calls? Don’t do that shit again.”

  Wearing some tight, short dress, Bailey looks fucking flawless. Her hair and make-up perfect.

  She’s not dressed this way for no fucking reason.

  “I had things to do.”

  “Like what? Your fancy fucking clothes have anything to do with what you were doing?”

  She looks down at herself, almost like she just remembered she looks fucking amazing, like she just stepped off a fucking runway. “No.”

  “No?”

  “T,” she sighs, walking away from me and into the bathroom attached to her tricked out bedroom.

  She stops in the middle of the big room and looks at me standing in the doorway, watching her.

  “You’re going to watch?”

  “I’m not leaving,” is what I tell her.

  I watch her shimmy the dress off, and under it is nothing but a lacy pink thong. Not a goddamn thing else.

  I fight the groan ripping at my throat from just looking at her.

  “I know I’m not some college educated motherfucker, but it looks like you’re coming home from a date,” I say, watching her reaction in the mirror.

  She won’t meet my eyes.

  I don’t like that shit.

  She’s mine, and I don’t fucking share.

  Caging her back against the bathroom sink, I lean into her, my nose inches from hers. “Were you on a date, Bailey?”

  Head high and eyes hard, she curls her lip and bites out a short, “No.”

  “Then where were you? Because it wasn’t the fucking mall lookin’ like that, baby.”