Rumblin' Knights Boxed Set

by Bella Jewel

  She looks like I’ve slapped her.

  Fuck.

  That came out far harsher than I meant it to.

  “Fuck, that didn’t—”

  The look on her face right now hits me right in the gut. She looks so angry, but also so hurt. I didn’t mean it the way it just came out, fuck, I go to speak again but she turns, leaning down and grabbing her things. “I’ll find another way to work tomorrow. Let me know when the car is done.”

  She walks toward the front door, and like the fucking idiot I am, I don’t move.

  I don’t go after her.

  It’s like my stubborn pride is overtaking the fact that I actually want to go after her.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  ~*~*~*~

  NOW – LINCOLN

  “Shania, huh?” Damon says, typing on his laptop, trying to see what he can find about Nicolai’s girlfriend, Yana. Or ex-girlfriend. Either way, we’re hoping if we can find her she might know something.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, sipping my beer. “Fucked it up, again.”

  “Well, that usually happens when you fuck a woman and then tell her you could have fucked anyone, she just happened to be the closest.”

  When he says it like that, it makes me fucking cringe inside. Because that is not what I meant. At all. I don’t have a way with words, to put it mildly.

  “Fuck me, bro, way to remind me what a dick I am.”

  “Could always say sorry,” he points out, wiggling a finger in my general direction.

  “Fuck. Sorry. I don’t do sorry.”

  “We know,” Finn mutters, walking past with two beers in his hand.

  We’re at Slater’s place, which used to be our old house. Slater took it on when Ellie went missing and has refused to leave it since. I think he stayed here in the hopes that if she came back, she’d know where to find him. But, all is well because she found him, and they’re happy.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I throw at him, turning and following him out onto the porch where Slater, Maverick, and Koda are all drinking beer.

  Scarlett, Charlie, and Ellie are in the yard, under a tree, drinking some fancy ass pink drinks and probably talking about us. They talk about us a fucking lot.

  “Means you’ve never said sorry in your life, Linc,” Finn says, passing Maverick a beer and sitting down.

  That hits me harder than he means it to. I know I fucked up big time when we were younger. I started dealing, fucked it all up, Slater tried to fix it and then we ended up in serious trouble. Not to mention the fact that I put Dad into rehab for his alcoholism, instead of trying to help him at home. Doing that meant I couldn’t pay the mortgage and started sinking, hence the reason for the dealing of drugs. I spiraled. And I caused a big problem for everyone else.

  Finn and Damon had to live with the choice I made. They had to live with me running off the rails and doing stupid shit, only caring about myself, and Slater broken over Ellie and going off to work for a major drug dealer in hopes of finding her. We rarely saw him. And that fucking sucked, because it all falls back on me. Finn … I don’t know what happened to Finn. Came home one night and he was different. He was always quiet and withdrawn, always broken after Mom died, but then it just went really bad.

  He just … faded away.

  “Yeah,” I mutter in response to his answer, and take a sip of my beer.

  “Those women down there are no doubt talkin’ about Shania,” Maverick says, giving me a side glance.

  “What the fuck did you do to Shania now, man?” Slater asks, my just-slightly-younger brother, giving me a death stare.

  He likes to think he’s the alpha around here.

  He certainly is not.

  But he can try.

  Big scary fucker that he is.

  He grew into one hell of a man, big and powerful. Proud of him for what he’s lived through. Haven’t told him that, either. Maybe I need to start telling people shit.

  “He fucked her and then told her that he fucked her because she was the closest to him and it wouldn’t have mattered who it was,” Damon throws in, waltzing outside.

  “Fuck, Damon, way to make me look like an ass.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grins.

  “Fuckin’ brutal, man,” Koda says, grinning at me. “I thought I was a dick.”

  “I didn’t fuckin’ mean it like that,” I growl.

  “You certainly have a way with words, as we’ve all come to notice,” Damon adds in again, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Still your older brother, Damon. Will still drop you on your fuckin’ ass.”

  He waves a hand. “Try it.”

  “Heard all about it,” Slater tells me. “Shania rang Ellie last night. Listened to her cryin’ on the phone about what a douche you are.”

  Fuck.

  It made her cry?

  That stabs me in the heart. Right in deep. Because I never meant to make her cry.

  Something about making a woman cry really bothers me.

  I don’t know why.

  I just hate it.

  “Fuck,” I mumble.

  “Could always go over, say sorry,” Maverick points out.

  “Fuck you’re gay,” Koda throws at him.

  “Fuck off, Koda. Gotta learn how to treat a lady right one day,” Maverick shoots back.

  “Don’t need to be a fuckin’ pansy about it,” Koda stirs.

  I smirk. “Now now, you two, nothing wrong with showing your feminine side.”

  They all chuckle.

  “No, seriously, bro, go say sorry. Be a fuckin’ man about it. She’s a good woman. Don’t take much to see that. And take it from me, there ain’t a fuck load of those around anymore.”

  He’s right about that.

  Until Shania … I hadn’t met any. Gorgeous? Yeah. Good in bed? Fuck yeah. But a good hearted woman that you want to keep around and marry? Fuck no.

  “Yeah …” I mutter and watch as Charlie walks up to get the girls another drink.

  Fucking lovely she is, with that wild red hair. Koda is one lucky son of a bitch.

  “I heard you did a bad thing, Lincoln Knight.” She grins at me, her cheeks rosy from alcohol.

  “I’ve done plenty of bad things, sweetheart. Goin’ to have to narrow it down.”

  She grins bigger, and I grin back. Hard not to. She radiates confidence, and she’s cheeky as fuck.

  “Poor Shania, she’s a nice girl, you know?”

  She throws her hands on her hips now. Attitude. Nice.

  “Yeah, fuckin’ a she is.”

  “Then why do you have to be such a jerk to her?”

  “Seen how she is with me? It’s a two-way street, lady.”

  Charlie purses her lips. “You should go over there right now, and when she opens the door, grab her, kiss her so hard she can’t breathe, and then say ‘sorry’ just ‘sorry’ and then leave. Guarantee she’s going to be feeling better in a matter of minutes.”

  Fuck. Not a bad idea.

  “That’s if you want her to feel better,” she says, studying me. “Do you, Lincoln?”

  “Stop tryin’ to see if I’m into her, Charlie. We barely say a nice word. Move along.”

  Charlie grins and then swoops down and kisses Koda, long and deep, before turning and sauntering off. “Go to her house, Lincoln!” she calls.

  Well, fuck me.

  Maybe I should just go to her house.

  We do need to get along after all.

  Right?

  ~10~

  NOW – SHANIA

  Fuck Lincoln Knight.

  There. I said it.

  Not many men in my life have made me cry or feel so shitty about myself. Nicolai was one of them, and Lincoln is a close second. But I kind of feel like I have no one to blame but myself. After all, he just wiped pizza sauce off my chin and I had to go ahead and tell him how much I want him. Of course he was going to jump at that chance, he’s a man. And men aren’t about
to say no to a pretty girl giving them fuck-me eyes.

  And the sex.

  Oh, the sex.

  It was so fucking good. His big hard body pressing mine against that car, fucking me like the man he is. Hard and deep. No foreplay. Just raw, brutal sex.

  It was out of this world.

  I don’t regret it. I needed it.

  What I do regret is letting him see how much it hurt me when he told me it could be any woman in my position. Basically, I’m nothing special.

  That sucked.

  I’ve fought my own demons with insecurity for so long after Nicolai. And now, here I am, feeling the same way because of one comment a douchebag man made. And yet, I know deep down Lincoln isn’t Nicolai. He has a good side; if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be helping me.

  But dammit.

  It hurt what he said.

  I’m sitting on my couch, brooding. Ellie invited me over to her house earlier for a few drinks but told me Lincoln would be there as Slater had invited him. I wasn’t going. All we’d do is fight and ruin it for everyone else. Besides, I don’t even want to see him. The worst part? He hasn’t even tried to call. To say sorry. Nothing.

  Men don’t say sorry.

  Another thing I’ve had to learn the hard way.

  A knock sounds at my door, and I look over.

  Lucy is at work, but maybe it’s one of her friends. I’ve told all mine that I’m busy.

  I get up, putting my glass of vodka down, and walk over to the door, opening it to see Lincoln standing there. He stares at me, as he always does, slowly taking me in, and then he steps forward, curling his hand around the back of my head, and bringing me in until his lips smash against mine. He kisses me and, for a few moments, I’m too stunned to do anything but stand there, not really sure what’s happening.

  But his lips. Man. They’re good. They taste like beer, and Lincoln, and fresh fucking air. And I want to taste more of him. So I kiss him back, my hands going up to those big biceps, curling around them, kissing him until both of us are panting. Only then does he pull back and say, “Sorry.”

  I blink.

  Did he just say … sorry?

  Sorry?

  As in an apology?

  As in, I’m sorry for hurting you?

  I blink.

  “What?”

  “Only sayin’ it once, sweetheart. Now get your things, you’re comin’ back to Slater’s.”

  I blink again.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t stutter, we’re goin’ back to Slater’s, you and I, together, right now. So get ready.”

  I get ready.

  I’m not about to say no. Hell no I’m not. Lincoln Knight just came to my door, kissed me, and said sorry. Now he’s taking me back to Slater’s, with him. Together. I’m a sassy, smart-mouthed girl when I want to be, but I’m not stupid. When a man apologizes and makes this effort, you damn well shut your mouth, be appreciative, and accept it.

  Or I promise you they’ll never do it again.

  I rush upstairs and get changed in the quickest time ever, then I run a brush through my hair, thankful it is always really nice, I’m lucky like that, and then rush back downstairs. Lincoln is still waiting, this isn’t a dream, and we’re going out. I’m not entirely sure why my tummy is stirring? Lincoln and I barely see eye to eye, but I could swear my body is telling me something different, that maybe there is something, that maybe … Lincoln and I have a thing.

  Then I stop and frown.

  Last time my body told me that, it ended really badly for me.

  I read it wrong.

  So wrong.

  And I ruined my own life.

  Maybe Lincoln doesn’t like me at all, maybe he’s just being nice because he’s helping me and we need to get along.

  “Stop fuckin’ thinkin’ and let’s go. It’s all good.”

  I revert my eyes to his and hold them. Be smart, Shania. You don’t have to do anything silly, just be smart. Act normal. Be normal. You made a mistake once, doesn’t mean you’re going to make it for the rest of your life. Lincoln is being nice, and he’s doing the right thing. Accept it, and be done with it.

  The end.

  “Yeah, let’s go.” I smile, walking out the door and toward his truck.

  “You’re fine, I’ll lock it,” he mutters behind me.

  “Thanks!” I call.

  He snorts, and then joins me in the truck.

  I try not to stare at him as we drive toward Slater’s place. But it’s hard. He smells so damned good. And his arms are bulging out of his shirt. And his skin is so bronze. And oh fucking god, I’m crushing on fucking Lincoln.

  This is why you don’t screw men, because you get attached to them, even if you really don’t want to. It’s like your body goes hey, we had sex, let’s like him, a lot.

  No.

  Dammit.

  I focus on the road.

  What is wrong with me? My brain has some sort of glitch, I’m sure of it.

  Or maybe Lincoln and I have a weird connection, I mean, we have spent a lot of time together. Sure, it’s mostly fighting, but it’s time all the same.

  Stop.

  Dammit.

  I grit my teeth and think of something else, anything else.

  “So which girl made you come over and say sorry?” I say, looking to him.

  I’m only teasing, but I’m hoping to redirect my thoughts right about now.

  “Charlie.”

  Oh.

  I feel like I’ve been slapped. I was only joking, I didn’t actually think he got told by someone to say sorry to me. So he wasn’t going to say it, he got told to say it. That changes everything, and the soft feeling that was fluttering around in my chest crashes into my gut and frustration takes its place. I honestly thought he was being genuine when he turned up at my doorstep. I thought he meant it.

  But he was told to do it.

  If he wasn’t told to do it, rather simply, he wouldn’t have.

  I look out the window.

  God dammit.

  That’ll teach me for feeling anything.

  Ever.

  ~*~*~*~

  THEN – SHANIA

  I walk to the back door, it’s just on dark, and I’m about to start my shift.

  I come closer and narrow my eyes when I notice a woman lying just off to the left, on her stomach.

  You know that moment in life, where everything goes cold?

  That’s exactly what happens to me.

  Everything goes cold.

  Because she shouldn’t be there, laying like that. Not now. Not ever.

  I know something is wrong. Very very wrong.

  I rush over, dropping to my knees and rolling her over.

  It’s Pamela.

  No.

  I scream out for help as I lift her head into my hands, calling out her name. She’s got blood on her face, quite a lot of it. So much so that her hair is soaked. She’s also not wearing any clothes from the waist down. Those are tossed to the side. She’s unconscious, and no matter how hard I shake her, or how many times I call her name, she doesn’t answer.

  Someone has hurt her.

  And she’s not waking up.

  I scream, and scream, until my voice is hoarse.

  Finally, Eddie comes rushing out the back door. His eyes drop to Pamela, and he gasps out a curse, before pulling out his phone and calling for help.

  “What happened?” he says, dropping to his knees and checking her over.

  “I found her like this! Is she okay? Eddie?” I cry.

  His fingers find her pulse, and he looks at me, face white. “No.”

  What does no mean? What does that mean?

  Some other girls come out now, too. And everyone is screaming, and crying. And the paramedics arrive and take Pamela away after working on her for a while.

  But I know.

  I know before Nicolai comes over, and scoops me off the ground, holding me in his arms and carrying me inside.

  I know before
I hear the cries from the other girls.

  I know before he sits me on the sofa in his office, and holds my face in his hands.

  I know she’s dead.

  Someone killed her. Someone raped her. My dear, sweet friend.

  Someone took her life. Right there near the club.

  A place she trusted to keep her safe.

  I don’t say a word as Nicolai cleans me up, running a wash cloth over my body, wiping away Pamela’s blood.

  I don’t say a word as he pulls me onto his lap, and wraps his arms around me. And it feels so nice.

  So damned nice.

  I don’t say a word when he lets me fall asleep, right there in his arms.

  I just don’t say a word.

  Because my friend is dead.

  She’s gone.

  And I’m not okay.

  ~*~*~*~

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  The crowd screams as I finish my routine—money at my feet, men bellowing my name, some of them even begging. I’ve had more than one note tossed on the stage with a number, or a full name. They yell out their names to me a lot, almost like they’re hoping I’ll look them up and contact them. As if. I’m not stupid.

  God.

  Not stupid at all.

  I blow the crowd a kiss and then saunter off the stage and into the back dressing room. I’m sweating, it’s warm out there tonight, too many men in a not big enough space. It’s cheap night, which means there is double what there normally is out there. Good for us girls, though. We clean up. I take a towel and gently pat my brow, and then turn and see Harper chatting to another new girl, Amy. Amy took Pamela’s place. And I really like her, but it took a long time to look at her, and not think about Pam. I still think about Pam. Every single time I’m in this place. I swear sometimes, I hear her voice. Remember her laugh. I miss her so badly, but I have to keep going.

  We all do.

  I get changed out of my outfit, and then go over and join them.

  “Hey, Harper.” I smile at them.

  “Hey, sugar. Amy here was just telling me that she met a new man.”

  I smile at the new girl, plop my bottom on the dresser, and say, “Tell me everything.”

  She laughs and tells us about a new man she’s met, and how he is so sweet and doesn’t care that she’s a stripper. I feel genuinely happy for her; after all, most men wouldn’t deal with a woman stripping. I know if I was a man, I probably wouldn’t like it. Not that it’s anything to be ashamed of. We’re all just doing what we have to do. And in the end, it’s our body to play with, is it not?