Rotten Apple (Royal Bastards MC: NYC Book 1)

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Rotten Apple (Royal Bastards MC: NYC Book 1) Page 2

by B. B. Blaque


  Before I realized what she was doin’, my sunglasses had been snatched clean off my face and were on hers. She laughed and lit up a cigarette.

  “Oh, and what was so wrong with the girl I was before? Or is this my superpower, tour highn-ass, Mr. FOCUS?”

  For shit sure it is one of ‘em, but I want to see ‘em all.

  “Don’t forget, it’s your majesty you bratty little princess.” I grabbed the cigarette and my sunglasses, and then smiled. “You have a date with the Royals tonight before work. Girl, before you start, don’t ask too many silly questions. Just go with it and don’t gimme any sass.”

  Nixx rolled her eyes and started to weave her hair all back up into the sensible braid. “One silly question then. What does a girl wear for a date with royalty? I don’t have a crown or anything.”

  So, it’s gonna be like this, huh? I wanna smack that ass so bad.

  “Well, you royal pain in the fuckin’ ass, I think you should go totally fancy and wear a pair of jeans, boots maybe . . . not the boots you wear to go back and forth to work.” She was crawlin’ back into herself and twistin’ around like she did when her feet hurt. “What’s the matter? You don’t have those things?”

  She shook her head no, no, no and looked down.

  “Sweet baby Jesus, you have got to be shittin’ me! Jeans?” She shook her head.

  “Boots?” Nope.

  I waved her closer and when she was standin’ between my legs, I put a hand on each hip and ran them down over her ass. She shrunk back and I laughed. “I’m gettin’ your size, don’t worry. I’ve been a gentleman, haven’t I?”

  Nixx took the cigarette outta my mouth and flipped it back to hers.

  Fuck! Those lips! They’ll look awesome wrappin’ my dick. Any dick. Every dick.

  Cha-ching.

  “What are you gettin’ my size for?” Her eyes were narrow and the gorgeous lips were raised and puckered.

  “Gimme your boot.” I slapped at the edge of her leg and pointed to the ground. Daggers were shootin’ at me from those gorgeous eyes.“Oh, c’mon, I’m not gonna steal ‘em. Just give me the boot.”

  Her hands were on her hips, elbows locked, and just beggin’ me to tackle her to get the shoes.

  “Why the hell am I gonna give you my boots . . . or even a boot? I already told you I don’t have another pair!”

  Some girls look like monsters when they get mad—scowls, snakes where hair had been, snouts like wolves, and glowin’ red eyes like wild hogs. Others look adorable like poutin’ little pixies. Nixx was hidin’ them fairy wings somewhere. Her pissed off was downright cute.

  “Ya know, you trust me with your life every single time you get on the back of my bike. Day in, day out, you’ve had your ass on that seat.” I kicked at her boot with the toe of mine. “You really can’t trust me enough to give me one of your shoes?”

  She huffed, puffed, and started to grumble under her breath. “Fine, I’ll give you the damn boots if you can tell me why? My aunt said, ‘Nicolette, mark my words, that biker guy is gonna hurt you.’ And now you’re tryin’ to steal my clothes.”

  This is new information.

  Nicolette?

  They were talkin’ about me?

  “Okay . . . Nicolette . . . nice to meet you by the way . . . I want your boot so I can buy you another pair. I need your size. I’m gettin’ you some jeans too, in case you’re wonderin’ why I was sizin’ you up.”

  She covered her face and laughed with a shriek. “Oh. My. God! Seriously, FOCUS? Why didn’t you just ask? I coulda told you about both. And, yeah, my name is Nicolette, Nixx is a valid nickname . . . FOCUS!”

  I shoved my hand in the pocket of her jacket and grabbed the pack of cigarettes and started chuckling. “Ya know, it is possible I coulda done that, but it’s way more fun like this. I got to touch your hot little ass with the extra added bonus of seein’ how precious you look when you’re mad.”

  Nixx was silent and staring at me. Then she spoke, “I like your laugh. It’s real . . . like you.”

  Yeah, a real Royal Bastard.

  “So . . . since we’re gettin’ real . . . what’s your real name, or why do they call you FOCUS? You pick which one.”

  I was chewin’ the inside of my cheek and thinkin’ about how to play it with her. I could rile that girl up all day long, but she needed sleep before I picked her up later.

  “Okay, but you pick a boot to give me. I mean, dang girl, you’re standin’ there in your socks, ya might as well go all the way. When I have it in my hand, I’ll pick a question to answer. Deal?”

  I think she’d been so busy bein’ mad that she hadn’t realized she was standin’ on the sidewalk without boots. She’d have a lot of time to get pissed off at me and I’d get to see that cute little temper.

  “Fine! Take ‘em both! Since it seems like you’re gettin’ me an outfit for the ball.”

  Ball. Nice choice of words.

  “Spill it! Keep up your end of the deal, your majesty highn-ass.”

  Eventually that little spark is gonna get you in trouble with me.

  “Okay, here it is. Francis Patrick Flanagan is the full name given to me the day the doctor smacked me on the ass and I said fuck you!”

  She was giggling, but giving me a dry “Ha, ha, ha.”

  “The FOCUS part . . . I used to get called Frankie, never Francis, but when I got with the club they came up with my road name. Ya remember what I told you . . . I’m kinda like the bouncer for my chapter. I was also a bouncer when I was tryin’ to get into the club.”

  Nixx’s hands were cradling her chin like a kid waitin’ to be told a story.

  “Well, anyway, one night there was a guy at the bar I worked in and he was bein’ a total asshat. Ya know, he was as drunk as Cooter Brown, poppin’ off at the mouth and actin’ like a complete idiot. So, I snatched him by his head . . .” I grabbed Nixx’s head and her arms fell limp next to her as I started to imitate what went on with me and that dude. “I said, ‘C’mon, brother, you gotta focus . . . . focus’.”

  Her eyes were as big as pancakes, but she didn’t move away. She was givin’ me all her attention like that guy had.

  “Then I asked him, ‘You gettin’ it together . . . are ya focusin’?’ He nodded and had about the same look on his face as you do now . . . deer in the headlights. Anyway, I said, ‘Okay, good, brother ‘cause ya just gotta focus.’ He was so caught up in focusin’ that he didn’t see it comin’ when I yelled, ‘fuck off, ‘cause your stupid’ and head-butted him! They dragged the guy outside and I became FOCUS from then on.”

  That girl started laughin’ so hard I thought she’d pee her pants. It was great! Then she pulled her eyebrows together and curled up that beautiful mouth and zinged one right at me.

  “I shoulda known that night . . . you don’t know how to read either!” She was giggling and tryin’ to pull away from me. “Fuck off ‘cause you’re stupid does not spell focus. You’re starts with a ‘Y’! It’s okay . . . I can read for you. No shame in it.”

  She knew damn well that it was “Fuck Off ‘Cause Ur Stupid,” but she took it there. I wasn’t surprised. I grabbed the sides of her head again.

  “Oh yeah, focus . . . focus, baby.” I leaned in like I was fixin’ to head-butt her but landed right on those puffy pillow lips instead. It wasn’t a long kiss, just enough to give her somethin’ to think about when I rode off. “Take that kiss to bed. You need sleep since you’ll be meeting part of the royal court later.”

  I started up the bike and watched her get into the house. She was still giggling. All I could think about was how soft and sweet those lips were and how much money could be made with them.

  Yep. Royal Bastard to the core.

  NIXX

  NAUGHTY NAUGHTY

  Lord have mercy! What have I gotten myself into?

  When he started to leave, I peeked out and watched him ride away—like all the way away. I wanted to catch every little glimpse I could. I even waited until the sound of
the bike was long gone. I’d never paid attention to how he looked with his arms up and holdin’ those handlebars—mean, sexy, hot as city asphalt in the summer.

  Nicolette, that biker is gonna hurt you.

  Who fuckin’ cares!

  I had the house to myself. Thank God I didn’t have my aunt there asking a zillion questions. I love her and she’s done a lot for me, but we come from totally different generations. I wouldn’t say I’m wild or anything like that. I’m really not. There have been times when I veered off the normal path of things, but I always came back. Somethin’ about bad boys—I can’t even think “boy” and FOCUS without wantin’ to smack myself. Yeah, I always came back until I didn’t. Until FOCUS Flanagan.

  I tried to watch TV, but my focus—I mean attention—was still on him. I was completely distracted by the shiny squirrel of him and that shamrock motorcycle. The date with “the royals” was tap dancin’ around in my head. Was it the Royals, with a capital ‘R’? Was I going to actually meet the Royal Bastards?

  The Mounds Bar.

  When I thought of the bar he’d told me about on the first night, I started to panic. He hadn’t mentioned it since the first conversation, but what else could he mean?

  Why did I just say I’d go? Dumbass! Sure, why not, and while you’re at it, go ahead and buy me clothes.

  I’d fought harder for my stupid boot than I had when he told me he was gonna take me home that night. When he told me I was going out for the “date,” I didn’t blink. I was worried about those damn boots, though.

  Okay, Nixx . . . think it through. Jeans. Boots. Not a g-string and hooker heels.

  Oh, God! He kissed me! How could I forget that? Barely a kiss, but his lips were definitely on mine.

  It’s not like his dick was in me and I forgot about it. Oops!

  All day was nothin’ but tossin’ and turnin’, thinking about the whole FOCUS and the royals thing.

  FOCUS. He put me under a spell the first night when he stared me down.

  Girl, he is hypnotic. Don’t even try to pretend.

  I kicked the covers off, grabbed a drink on the way through the kitchen, and plopped down on the back steps. I didn’t dare go up front to the stoop because he might be sitting out there watching.

  You’ll just be bummed if he’s not.

  Keep dreamin’, girlie.

  It hit me that I might actually be going into a strip club.

  Gentlemen’s club? What is the right way to say it? Topless club?

  Oh shit, what if it’s totally naked?

  He said I could be a waitress and make more money. I could ignore what was goin’ on around me—maybe. I just had to go with it ‘cause clearly I was incapable of sayin’ no to him. FOCUS had taken all of mine.

  Bastard!

  Royal Bastard!

  When I was all alone, the paper thin wall I put up around myself was gone. I could get over on other people, but there was no fakin’ it with myself. I had to prepare for what I might be seein’. Me in brand new jeans and boots around an entire club of girls wearing God knows what, if anything at all.

  I ran upstairs to my room, locked the door, and threw on some music. If I was gonna be around them, I had to be able to be as good as them. How the hell will that happen in a few hours? Time to convince yourself to try it. The music kept playing but I needed a song that’d make me feel like I could be sexy. I skipped song after song on YouTube until I found something that would do the trick.

  “Porn Star Dancing.”Nope. Not even close.

  “Bad Girlfriend?” Yeah, if you asked my crazy ex-boyfriend, he’d agree 100%. He’d really freak out if he knew I was even thinkin’ about it.

  I cranked the song just to spite him. That could totally be motivation enough. I’d be the lowest form of scum on earth for being a dirty girl. Thinkin’ about all of that made me start dancin’ around and slowly strippin’ my clothes down. “Porn Star Dancing” came on and I started to get into it. Fuck Luke! I can do this song! I didn’t wanna see myself so I closed my eyes halfway and slid my bra straps down, pushed my boobs up, and squeezed my arms together to pop them out. Not horrible. My hips started to sway around and do figure-eights. FOCUS touched my hips and ass. Ooosh. I kept going, my rhythm was awful, but I wasn’t doing too bad.

  Girlie, you need some moves.

  A few more songs went by and I was exhausted again, finally. I wanted to go smoke, but decided to give sleep another try.

  You need sleep because you’re meeting part of the Royal Court.

  The sound of the bike and his voice in my head lulled me to sleep. It wasn’t good, but I slept here and there. Four hours is better than nothin’. When I got up, my aunt wasn’t home yet—thank God again, because he’d left a few bags on the back steps.

  How did he know?

  Maniac Marine.

  I hid the stuff behind me while I smoked in case she decided to come in the back door. She was gonna ask questions as soon as she saw the new clothes. I never get new stuff. My life is work and sleep for the most part. No sense in wasting the money.

  I need to save it. I gotta get away.

  Anywhere but New York or home.

  Can’t go back there.

  HELL ON HEELS

  “Lemme get this straight? You’re really gonna land that waitress chick from Brooklyn?”

  Rattler knew I didn’t back down from challenges. He just didn’t know I’d been seein’ her on the regular to warm her up. My mama didn’t raise no fool and I’d learned to hone my skills to a doctorate level. FOCUS, PhD—painfully, hateful, dick. I could be a painful dick in bed or out, dependin’ on the situation. I was almost always hateful, but most wouldn’t know it. That’s what makes me great when dealin’ with the ladies. They end up wantin’ me—a guy can’t help that. Eventually, they hate my country fried ass. I’m good with that as long as they do the dirty deeds.

  “I told ya, man. Did you really doubt my special talents? You fuck ‘em into the business . . . I, well, ya know, I use finesse before I fuck ‘em.” I downed my Jagerbomb and turned in the barstool. “She’s been pretty easy. I’m actually headed out to get her. We’ll be back later.”

  It was clear—Rattler was pissed off that he hadn’t gotten her. He started actin’ like a fuckin’ peacock. The first girl who strutted by in seven inch stilettos was yanked over and onto his lap. It was a whiplash blonde named Vicious. She’d been a fine piece of ass, but now was more than well used. Rattler didn’t mind, though. He’d turned her out and woulda grabbed any of them to remind me he could still get the job done. Vicious was just convenient.

  “Well, you go get your little waitress . . . the gawky one. Isn’t that what you called her?” He took a slug of beer and grabbed a handful of the skank’s worn-out tits. “Let’s see what she’s got. If she doesn’t cut it, she’s out on her ass. Hasta la pasta. This one’s on you, brother.”

  I stood, grabbed my cigar from the ashtray and threw Rattler a sideways glance. “Ya know, man, you really need to learn to be a gracious loser. While you’re at it, maybe you could bring in a new one . . . one who isn’t so far past the expiration date.”

  He snatched up a fistful of Vicious’ blonde hair and pulled. “Get yourself together or we might replace you with a new model. We want a twerker, not a tweaker.”

  I remembered when she first came in. She was hot and down to be ridden hard. Drugs had killed the beauty God gave her and there was no comin’ back from that shit. Nixx wouldn’t become Vicious if I had anything to say about it. My girls are kept on a tighter leash so they don’t go runnin’ off into that oblivion.

  Nixx is gonna be different.

  That can be a really great thing or the worst damn thing ever.

  When I pulled up at the house, she was waiting on the stoop. After what she said about her aunt, I wasn’t surprised. Keepin’ me far away from her was probably the best idea. I didn’t even shut the bike off and Nixx was walkin’ over like the awkward little foal I’d pegged her for.

&nbs
p; “First day with the new feet? Girl, you’d think you’d never been in heels before.”

  Damn, she looks fuckin’ hot!

  “Well, look at you havin’ ESP-N. I’ve only worn heels a few times ever in my life, so yeah, I’m not so sure of myself in these damn things. Why’d ya have to get such high ones?”

  No time like the present to learn.

  Cute.

  “I never expected there’d be a problem.” Of course I did. “It’s not like they’re stripper shoes. You look amazing in ‘em, girl, and the jeans look like I painted ‘em on with a roller myself.”

  Rattler, get ready to eat your heart out, motherfucker!

  “There ya go again. What was wrong with how I looked before?”

  I got one good look at the finished product before she started to tie up the flowin’ brown hair and put on the helmet.

  “There ain’t a damn thing wrong with how ya looked before, but right now you are smokin’ hot! Before you were pretty, but now . . . girl, we could put you to work at the Mounds as soon as we walk through the door. That ain’t a lie.”

  I heard a grunt as she kicked a leg over the seat. “We are goin’ to that place, aren’t we? Like for real?”

  She was nervous, no doubt about it. I guess if I was in her shoes, I would be too.

  “Relax, Nixx. We’re goin’ to a bar, we’ll have some drinks, and you’ll relax. It’ll open up a whole new world for you. I’ll even pay ya whatever you’ll lose on tips from the diner.”

  Her arms wrapped around me and she was up next to my ear as we started to pull away from the curb. “Oh. My. God. FOCUS, my boss is gonna be pissed!”

  I just laughed and rolled up to the stop sign. “You’re bein’ kidnapped, now what’s he gonna say about that? Nothin’, that’s what. Besides, I already called and your shift is covered.”

  She screeched and let out a big sigh. “How the fuck, FOCUS?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got ways of gettin’ things done.”

  I took the Long Island Expressway past the Queens Center Mall and hit the Midtown Tunnel. The city wasn’t bad compared to what it coulda been. It didn’t take long and we were pullin’ up in front of the Mounds Bar on 45th St. It was a smaller location and would be easier for her to digest on the first trip around the block. The downtown place woulda been too much of a dump to suck her in and Broadway woulda sent her runnin’ for the nearest train back to Queens.

 

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