Chapter Six
Hendrix
I flopped my ass back onto the stool and gripped the edge of the bar about as hard as I was gripping the edge of my sanity.
It was really her. Donna Mead—spoiled rich bitch, queen bee of Fulton Academy—had a dark side. A dark, sexy side that had her looking as if she knew her way around a bar I was pretty sure was owned by gangsters.
Gone was the pleated skirt and pristine white shirt of the Fulton uniform—replaced by a black miniskirt and halter top. In place of the sensible Mary Janes she wore to school was a pair of thigh-high boots that had my cock stirring in my pants.
I surreptitiously adjusted myself and got more comfortable on my stool. No way in hell was I attempting to leave until my sudden stiffy went down.
It had taken me a few seconds to place the gorgeous blonde as she sauntered toward the bar. She was wearing dark makeup, and her short hair was in a messy rock-chick style. I wanted to run my hand through the soft strands, mess it up even more, maybe grab a fistful and pull until her mouth was turned up to mine. I’d make her tell me exactly how much of a bad girl she was.
I blinked, forcing the sudden and vivid fantasy from my mind. She was on her way over, and I had to remember who I was dealing with. Come Monday, she’d still be perfect princess Donna, and she’d still be responsible for making my life at Fulton hell.
But as it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about what I’d say to her. She changed direction and went up to a guy ordering at the bar. I frowned, confused. Maybe it wasn’t her after all.
But then I dismissed the thought. She’d seen me, recognized me. There was no mistaking the rage-filled glare she’d thrown my way. I’d been on the receiving end of it countless times now.
A pang of annoyance had me grinding my teeth. It was the bullshit from school all over again. She was determined to make me feel as if my very existence was of no consequence to her.
I wanted to just get up and walk out. If she didn’t give a shit about why I was here, then I wouldn’t give a shit about why she was.
Instead, I found myself waving the waitress over and ordering another soda.
A few feet over, the bastard who looked like an enforcer for a motorcycle club handed Donna a drink and wrapped a meaty hand around her delicate waist, leaning in to whisper something in her ear. She smirked, a devious glint in her eye, and ran her hand up his massive arm as she murmured a reply to whatever vulgar shit he’d surely just said to her.
My hand tightened around my drink as I sized him up. I wasn’t sure if I could take him. We were about the same height, but I’d only just gotten back into the gym that afternoon, and he looked as if he bench-pressed his Harley every damn day.
His hand lowered to her hip, and Donna took a drink before lifting her gaze. Our eyes met, and she frowned slightly—at the fact that I was still there? Had she forgotten I even existed? Bitch . . .
I looked away first and mentally slapped myself. Why the fuck was I letting her get to me like this? And why the fuck was I thinking about the best way to put a guy—who I was positive was armed—on his ass? Especially considering I’d vowed never to throw another punch for the rest of my life.
Better to leave Donna to whatever fucked-up game she had going here. This was exactly the kind of drama I didn’t want. That guy was exactly the kind of trouble I was trying to avoid.
Shady had left for the night. The vague excuse he’d given made me think he was up to shit I didn’t want to know about. But I couldn’t be mad. He’d spent nearly two hours with me at the bar, talking about three times as much as I did, pointing people out, giving me his opinions on movies and recent events, making vulgar commentary on the women. He’d even managed to make me laugh a few times. It had taken my mind off my problems and made the risky decision to come here worth it.
If only I’d left five minutes earlier. If only I hadn’t seen her . . .
Now I couldn’t leave, couldn’t tear my gaze away as she finished her drink and let the biker dude lead her out to the edge of the dance floor.
Shady had pointed out a lot of people, and I wasn’t really trying to remember names, but this guy’s towering frame and mean mug had stood out. One of the very few times Shady had lowered his voice was when telling me to avoid this fucker—Bronson. He’d made it clear, in that way criminals had of speaking without coming right out and saying anything concrete, that Bronson was a murderer and basically untouchable because of the “people he rode with.” Yep—definitely an enforcer for an MC.
“But don’t sweat it!” He’d slapped me on the shoulder. “Davey’s is a neutral place. Only a select few people are permitted to do business here, and no other bullshit is tolerated. We don’t need the pigs sniffing around because some dickhead couldn’t take his fun elsewhere.”
He probably hadn’t meant to conflate murdering people with fun, but that was Shady for you.
Donna didn’t strike me as the kind of chick who did anything without knowing exactly what she was getting into, but behind all the annoyance and frustration, there was a sliver of worry deep in my chest too—very deep, buried behind all the other not-so-favorable emotions I had for this infuriating woman.
She may’ve been a bitch, but I still didn’t want to see her end up dead.
I sat on the damn stool and sipped my drink, frozen in indecision.
It was none of my business. I didn’t need this shit. Hell, maybe I could use it to get what I wanted from her down the road—I was pretty sure she wouldn’t want her devoted followers, or college admissions boards, finding out she was hooking up with lowlifes and criminals. The scandal . . .
On the other hand . . .
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. That guy was serious trouble. And I really didn’t like how he was grinding his hips against her in time to the music.
It really didn’t fucking help that she kept glancing in my direction.
At first, her gaze held nothing but contempt, but as the flirting between her and Bronson increased, her glances became more neutral—as if she was simply checking I was still there. By the time they were pawing at each other as though moments away from fucking in a bar full of people, her glances were . . . well, if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said she was looking at me with heat in her eyes. And if they were brief glances, I would’ve put it down to her being really into her hookup. But the way she looked at me—it lingered, our connection across the crowded room palpable. It was almost as if she wished it was me palming her ass, that it was my neck she was placing a sultry kiss to. Her eyes stayed glued to mine as she dragged those full lips up the column of his throat.
I was torn.
I didn’t come here to watch my new nemesis get it on with some douche—the anal kind, as Mena had put it. But my dick was convinced I should go over there and pull her out of his arms and into mine.
I forced myself to turn away. Placing both clenched fists on the bar, I took three deep breaths of the sweaty, smoky air and focused hard on the peanut shells littering the chipped wood.
You’re going to get up off this fucking stool, and you’re going to march to the exit. You will not look in her direction, and you will not stop until you’re in the goddamn car.
I gave myself a mental slap, then chugged what was left of my flat soda. Determined, I got to my feet . . . and my eyes immediately met her mismatched ones.
She smirked as she passed within a foot of me, her hand tucked into Bronson’s as he led the way past the bar.
My whole body tensed, refusing to do as I’d just decided. Instead, I stared like a creep after them. For a second, I was worried he was about to drag her to the back—where even Shady told me to avoid. But they didn’t turn down the dark corridor. He pushed open a back door, giving me a glimpse of the night sky and a dumpster as they made their way through it.
Just before the door swung closed, Donna turned her head and looked at me again.
I ground my teeth.
&n
bsp; Leave, Hendrix. Just go. You don’t need someone else’s problems making your life any more difficult. Let the princess get herself out of her own mess.
Except I was pretty sure she was exactly where she wanted to be, and that made me want to throw something.
Fuck it. I gave up. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left and she turned up dead in a few weeks. I’d just check that she was—ugh!—enjoying herself. I’d make sure she left safely, and then I’d use this information to blackmail the shit out of her. There wasn’t much I needed from her other than to get those bratty kids off my back, but I was going to milk it for all it was worth—payback for putting me through this mess of a night.
I made my way through the crowd, following their path past the dark corridor and to the back door. With my hand on the handle, I braced myself for what I might see—would sex or violence affect me more?
The music from the club faded as I stepped out into the night.
He had her up against the wall, right next to the dumpster, a string of condoms hanging from one thick-knuckled hand.
I clenched my teeth and let the heavy door slam shut.
Donna looked over his shoulder, but it was too dark to make out her expression. Bronson paused what he was doing and half turned his head. “Find some other place to piss, man. I’m kind of busy here.”
He lowered his mouth back to her neck.
He was going to fuck her in a disgusting alleyway, where people routinely pissed? Real class act, this guy.
A breathy moan escaped the darkness shrouding them, and I suddenly realized that was exactly what she wanted. The perfect princess liked to get down and dirty with dangerous men.
I didn’t even know where to begin trying to guess what her damage was, but it looked as though Donna was just as fucked up as me—albeit in a different way.
But I’d inserted myself into this clusterfuck of a situation, and I wasn’t about to walk away. If she wanted to be there, I’d have fun ruining her fun.
I rolled my shoulders—preparing, just in case this got violent—then relaxed and shoved a hand in my pocket, trying my best to look casual.
Bronson turned his head and shoulders, raising his voice. “What’s your problem, dude? Fuck off.”
“I don’t have a problem.” I shrugged. “Just making sure my schoolmate here is safe.”
Chapter Seven
Donna
“Schoolmate?” The biker dude sneered in my direction. In the distance, thunder rumbled.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, you suddenly want to know things about me?”
He smirked and gripped my waist. “I don’t give a fuck how old she is. Get lost, pretty boy.”
“Do you give a shit that her rich daddy will have half the police in the state on your ass if you so much as touch her?” Hendrix cocked his head to the side, his voice amused.
Biker dude growled, and not in the fun, sexy way.
I was losing my patience too. “Are you gonna man up and get rid of him, or do I need to get myself off?”
“Listen here, you little slut.” He jabbed a finger in my face while his other hand tightened into a fist, the leather of the fingerless glove creaking. “You know what? On second thought, I don’t need this high school drama bullshit.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned around and stomped back toward the bar, boots pounding on the concrete. I narrowed my eyes and gritted my teeth.
“You know what, asshole?” I yelled after him, taking a few steps in his direction.
His back stiffened under the leather vest, but suddenly Hendrix was taking long strides in my direction, eyes wide and mouth firm. The suddenness of the movement and the intensity of his stare made me pause long enough for biker dude to disappear back inside.
With my evening entertainment and outlet for my rage gone, I turned my ire on the jerk who had been a thorn in my side for weeks now.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I got in his face. The killer heels helped put me closer to eye level, but I still had to tip my head up.
“Saving your ass.” He huffed.
“My ass was just fine, thanks. My ass was about to get some ass, you arrogant, presumptuous, cock-blocking dumbass.”
“Your ass was about to get killed. Bronson has a reputation for leaving his girlfriends in dumpsters.” He wasn’t backing down. We were practically chest to chest.
“I’m not his girlfriend. He was just a hookup. What the fuck do you take me for?”
“Honestly, I have no idea what to make of this. What . . .” He shook his head and sighed. “Donna, what the fuck are you doing here? What are you wearing? Do you have any idea how dangerous—”
I cut him off with a shove against his chest. It took him by surprise enough to make him stumble a step back, but I followed, getting in his face. “Screw you and your assumptions.” I shoved him again, but this time he was prepared and hardly budged. “Screw you and your patronizing bullshit.” I shoved hard, but his whole body was rigid, muscles tense under my palms. “I’m not a fucking idiot. I know exactly what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with. I can take care of myself.”
Thunder grumbled again, making me wish I could growl like that—with the force of nature behind me.
Hendrix was breathing heavily even as he stood there, as still as a statue and as hard as one, but a muscle was ticking in his jaw, and his eyes narrowed. Something in me liked that. He’d been so dismissive of me at school, so blasé about everything I threw at him, that getting a rise out of him was like a drug. My favorite kind—unpredictable.
Like a junkie, I shoved his chest again.
This time his hands shot up to grip my wrists—not painfully, but tightly enough that I couldn’t wrench out of his hold. I tried anyway, thrashing against him as my adrenaline spiked.
“Let go of me, asshole.”
“I’m not going to hit you, Donna,” he growled, the sound low and controlled but with menace simmering just below. “But I’m not just going to stand here and not defend myself. Get your shit together.”
I leaned up and shouted right into his face, “Fuck you!”
The corner of his lip twitched, an almost smile. “I thought we established that wasn’t going to happen?”
I was getting more and more worked up, basically throwing a tantrum, while he just stood there like a pillar, getting calmer and calmer. It was maddening.
Well, I was over letting him feel as though he had the advantage. He could deny it all he wanted, but he was attracted to me. I could see it in the way his eyes searched my face. His lips were smirking, but his eyes couldn’t lie—those beautiful, intense gray eyes.
I used the leverage of his grip on my wrists, lifted up onto my toes, and kissed him.
For a second—a bare breath of a moment suspended in time—he froze.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the dirty alleyway and this thing between us. Then, as the thunder roared, he moved his lips against mine, his tongue darting out, his mouth claiming me.
He released one of my wrists to wrap an arm around my body and walk me backward.
I gripped his T-shirt, pulling the fabric as if the thin fibers could tether me to some semblance of control. I’d kissed him so I could prove something, but within seconds, he had the upper hand, and my head was spinning in the most delicious, most excruciating way.
My back hit the rough brick, and he lifted my other wrist above my head, keeping it trapped in his strong grip. His free hand went to my waist and made me arch—made my body mold to every hard, unyielding inch of his. He moaned into my mouth and kissed me harder until the back of my head ground into the wall.
His erection pressed against my front, and I wanted it inside me. I wanted him inside me—my body, my mind, my soul. I wanted him to consume every fiber of my being until all I could see, hear, smell was Hendrix Hawthorn. Until I forgot everything and everyone and there was only him.
It was exactly what I came here for—to forget, to lose myself in something
for a little while . . . but part of me bristled at the fact that it was with him. Why was my body responding to his more than it had to any other man in the past? I’d been fighting to keep command of the Hendrix situation for weeks. Now here he was, smashing through my careful control with one mind-shattering kiss?
I took his bottom lip into my mouth and sucked. Then I took it between my teeth and bit.
He hissed and pulled away, another bolt of lightning throwing his confused expression into sharp relief.
Some of the heady weight of his body on mine lifted, and he released my wrist. But I didn’t like that either. Fuck, I had no idea what I wanted with this infuriating son of a bitch. And I hated it.
Before he could completely back away, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him again. The thunder rumbled, so close now that the ground under my boots vibrated.
Hendrix growled too, his own thunder rumbling through his chest. I could taste his blood on my lips, the metallic flavor as distinct as the need coursing through my body.
He broke the kiss again and shook his head, breathing hard.
I gripped his T-shirt, my body clinging to his even as my mind screamed. “If you want to go, go! See if I care!”
“Listen.” He licked his lips. “I’m not into this rape fantasy bullshit. If you want me inside you, I’m gonna need to hear you say it.”
I blinked. I was not expecting that. Not once had any man I’d had dirty sex with bothered to check if I was enjoying myself. They didn’t give a shit, and I didn’t even care enough to learn their names. That was the whole appeal of the situation—I was using them as much as they were using me, and the edge of danger that came with the unknown, the uncertainty, was intoxicating.
Why the fuck did Hendrix even care? “You are such a pussy. You’re killing the mood.”
He watched me for a beat, shadows falling over his face, then pushed himself off the wall.
I didn’t doubt for a second he would leave. My hand shot to his belt to stop him. “What do you want, an engraved invitation into my cunt?”
Like You Hurt: A Standalone Enemies to Lovers Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 2) Page 6
