The clubhouse looks, and smells, like ours when we walk inside. There is loud music playing, men and whores milling around the space as well. Inhaling deeply, I look over to Skinner. He is furiously typing something on his phone, and I chuckle. He’s so far gone for Gracie, he probably doesn’t even notice the women who stop to eye us.
Clipping his shoulder with my own, I lift my chin toward the bar. I need at least one drink before I can crash out. The president of the club is bellied to the bar, so I make my way over to him.
“Hey son, you made it,” he murmurs as I sit down next to him.
Lifting my hand, I point to the bartender. The prospect immediately slides a cold beer toward me. Wrapping my hand around the bottle, I lift it to my lips without hesitation. Taking a long swig of the brew, I close my eyes and finally attempt to relax.
“I made it,” I admit, after a moment of silence.
“You need anything while you’re here, you let me know,” he says, clearing his throat.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Keeping my eyes focused on the beer bottle in my hand, I can sense his gaze on me, he watches me, but he doesn’t say anything else. I wait for a beat, but he still doesn’t speak. He slowly rises, then leaves me to my bottle.
I want nothing else but to be alone right now. In this bar full of people, I just want to be left alone to wallow in my own shit. Although, hasn’t that been what I’ve been doing for weeks, no, months. Now, not only am I wallowing in my own shit with Roxie, I’m also worried about her safety and too far away to make sure she’s okay. It’s a complete fucking shit show is what it is, and I’m allowing her to control the whole goddamn thing.
“Hey baby, Pres said you may want some company,” a rough voice says next to me.
Turning my head, I see the girl standing there. She’s petite, her voice obviously abused from years of smoking, drinking and probably a couple dozen dicks being shoved down it. She smiles, her long dark hair similar to Roxanne’s, but that’s where the similarities end.
“Not tonight, sugar,” I smile.
She bites the corner of her bottom lip, looking down to her feet, then lifts her gaze back up to me. “Nothing has to happen. You just look like you could use someone,” she shrugs.
Thinking about her offer, I look from my beer bottle, then back over to her. I should tell her no. I should tell her to fuck off, but I’ll be damned if my lips don’t turn into a smile and my chin dips to the empty chair next to mine.
“Beer?” I ask.
She smiles, giving me a short nod. Lifting my fingers to the prospect, I don’t have to wait too long for another two cold ones. Downing the dregs of my beer, I set it to the side and take a pull from the fresh cold one. I watch as she does the same, her throat works the liquid and I imagine that’s how she looks taking a dick down there too. Goddamn, I need to get laid.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Houston,” I grunt.
“Necee.”
My evening is spent talking to Necee. Nothing happens, except some laughter and a few flirtatious touches. I have to admit it’s one of the nicest talks I’ve had in a while. She’s easygoing, happy-go-lucky and sweet.
I know she’s a whore, and usually I wouldn’t spend time with them like this, but fuck, she was right. I needed someone. God knows, Roxanne won’t fucking talk to me, and everyone at my clubhouse gives me a wide fucking berth because I’ve been a grouchy asshole for months.
The evening is almost, nice. If I wasn’t so worried about Roxanne and was able to truly relax, I would be able to call it pleasurable.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROXANNE
Inhaling deeply, I sigh at the scent of Houston that surrounds me. God, I’m a glutton for punishment. I can’t help myself, being around his things, smelling him, it stirs all those feelings that have never gone away inside of me. I miss him even more. I desire every part of him, and if he were here, I’m not sure that I could deny him.
There’s a knock on the door, and I sit up, tugging the shirt down over my hips as I stand. It’s Houston’s. I snagged it from his dresser drawer, and I’m not sure if I’m even ashamed of the act. Without reservation or hesitation, I open the door.
Carson is on the other side. Her eyes widen when they travel down my body, then her lips turn up into a sad smile. Thankfully, she doesn’t mention the fact that I’m swimming in Houston’s t-shirt. Instead, she reaches for me, and although she only saw me yesterday, she wraps me in a huge hug as if she hasn’t seen me in weeks.
“Carson,” I rasp.
She doesn’t speak, her arms just holding me tighter. “Nothing will happen to you,” she finally whispers as she releases me. I watch her wipe tears from beneath her eyes. Reaching for her hand, I squeeze as I pull her farther into the room.
Carson takes two steps, then stops. I look at her, confused as to why she hasn’t finished making her way into the room. “Did you clean last night?” she asks as her eyes glance around, taking in Houston’s space.
Unable to hide my smile, I laugh a little. “I’m a shit maid. Houston is a neat freak, to the point where I think he probably has OCD,” I explain.
His room is spotless, and if I’m not mistaken, the man has dusted as well. I’ve never known a man like him before, never experienced someone made from the cloth that he’s created from. He’s not only different, he’s beyond that, he’s unique.
“Wow,” she breathes. “And you don’t want to be with him? Because if Ace would allow me to have a second husband, I think I’d snatch him up based off of his cleaning skills alone.”
I’m unable to hold back my laugh, but it quickly dies. Sadness immediately fills my entire being. I do want to be with him.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it,” she quickly blurts.
Inhaling, I take in a cleansing breath. I know she didn’t mean anything by it, but she did mean it. How could I not want him? I do, that’s the shit part of the whole situation. I want him more than anything else in the whole world. I just can’t have him—I can’t keep him.
“Yeah, you did,” I smile. It hurts to force my mouth to turn up. I wish that I could go back to bed, my mood instantly shifting. “Hey, let’s go down and see what everyone is up to. I can’t stay up here, I want to visit with everyone,” I ramble.
Carson watches me, she’s smart to keep an eye on me. She obviously knows that every part of me is a loose cannon. Up and down, highs and lows, I’ll never be a person who has an even temperament. I will never be focused, or normal. I will never be right.
It doesn’t take long for me to get dressed for the day. I grab a pair of tight jeans and even tighter shirt. I shouldn’t dress this way, especially when Houston isn’t around, but I can’t help myself. I crave the attention. Even if it’s just eyes on me, I want it. It’s fucked up, I know that it is, but I can’t stop myself.
Carson and I walk down to the bar area. I’m not surprised to see most of the club, and whores, milling around. It’s after noon, drinks are flowing, business is being handled and everyone is gearing up for what promises to be another fun-filled night.
“There’s some lunch in the kitchen,” Carson offers.
I glance from her to the bar, my mouth watering just thinking about taking a few shots. Yesterday, at her baby shower, it was easy to resist. At work, it’s even easier, because although I’m surrounded by liquor, I’m too busy running around to even think about taking a shot or two. Today is different. Today I’m here, with nothing to do, temptation all around me.
A tingling sensation fills my entire body at the thought of the trouble that I could get into here. The delicious trouble. Shaking my head, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I need to fight the temptations, the impulses that I want to jump right into head first.
I can’t do it, I can’t undo all that I’ve done in therapy. I can’t hurt Houston that way, because if he found out, he would indeed be hurt—furious and hurt.
“Let’s get some lunch,” I grin.
; Carson eyes me, her suspicions on high alert as they undoubtedly should be. Following behind her, we make our way toward the kitchen. I push the voices out of my head, the ones that beg and plead for booze and fun. The ones that scratch at my brain, they claw at me.
Taking my medication, I reach for the sandwich that is sitting in the middle of a plate on the counter, surrounded by three others. They’re from the baby shower yesterday, I recognize them.
Carson takes one of the others and together we eat in silence. Then I watch her go to the fridge and grab a bowl, bringing it over and setting it on the counter between us. It’s fruit. She hands me a fork and together we dig into the bowl.
“Are you okay?” she chances asking a few moments later.
Inhaling deeply, I look from the now almost empty fruit bowl, then back up to her. “I will be,” I lie.
She shakes her head, thankfully not calling me on the lie. There’s a commotion, her eyes widen, and I stand to my feet.
Rushing into the bar. I scream.
HOUSTON
Skinner frowns, looking at his phone as I drive toward the clubhouse. “Stop by my place first,” he announces as soon as I hit the first stoplight in town.
“Your place?” I ask.
He nods. “Gracie says she can’t get ahold of anyone at the clubhouse. One of the kids is sick, she’s been trying to get ahold of someone down there all afternoon. Whatever is happening, I’m not pulling in there unprepared,” he states.
My blood turns to straight ice in my veins. My breath falters. Roxanne. Whoever it is, they’re there for her. It’s happened.
I want to tell him no, that I am going straight to the clubhouse, but he’s right. We need to be prepared, and as much as I want to barrel in there, I need to be smarter. My instincts kick in, and my fight begins to take over. I am a soldier. Before I was a Notorious Devil, I was a Marine. That will get me through this, I can fall apart later.
Pulling up to Gracie’s house, I’m not surprised to see her, Lea, and Whitley in the yard with the children. Skinner’s eyes lock in on his woman’s and he’s out of the truck in an instant. I’m a little slower, my hangover and lack of sleep keeping my head a little groggier than I prefer. I stayed up too late, drinking and shooting the shit with Necee last night when I should have been sleeping.
“What’s going on?” I ask once I reach the huddle. It’s Whitley, Gracie, and Skinner, all three wearing matching frowns.
“I can’t get ahold of Free. I called the clubhouse and nothing. Gracie even tried calling Snake,” she offers.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “You call down at Cash Bar? See if you can get ahold of anyone there?”
Whitley has her phone out and against her ear before I can even blink. I can hear it ringing, but nobody picks up. My already ice cold veins, they turn to blocks of ice inside of my body. Fuck. This is not good. Really not fucking good.
“What kind of hardware you got in here?” I ask Skinner, lifting my chin toward his house.
“Whatever we need, and then some,” he grins.
Turning to Gracie, my eyes scan the small children who are obliviously playing in the yard. “We don’t know what’s going on. Take them inside, black out all of the windows and don’t answer the door after we leave, not to anyone, not unless it’s one of us,” I instruct.
Gracie nods as Whitley turns and begins to gather up the children. Without knowing what to expect, we have no clue what to prepare for. It doesn’t take us long to gather the guns we need, hopefully they’re all we need.
Once the women are safely in the house, locked inside, we leave. I don’t want to leave them, and I can tell that Skinner doesn’t either, but I can’t go to that clubhouse alone, not without being able to get ahold of anyone, member or prospect alike.
We don’t pull through the front gates, instead, I drive the truck through the unmarked area behind the clubhouse. It’s all wooded, there are no driving paths, so hopefully it doesn’t get stuck, but it’s our best plan of action right now—the element of surprise.
Silently, me and Skinner climb out of the truck and slowly scale the fence. Not that it’s very tall, sitting at less than six feet in height, it doesn’t take us long to get over the fencing and head toward the eerily quiet clubhouse.
A few moments later, I tug open the back door and the two of us slip inside. Together, we search for signs of life. Then, I hear it. I hear a blood-curdling scream. It sounds again, and again, it’s hoarse and I know that she’s been screaming for far too long.
I know the sound of that scream. It’s Roxanne. Rushing into the bar area, I freeze at the sight in front of me. It looks like a goddamn massacre. There is blood everywhere. Roxanne is screaming. Carson is bent over Keys’ lifeless body. The rest of the whores are the same over some of the other men.
“Anyone call the fuckin’ doc?” I shout.
Carson’s body jerks, her watery eyes meet mine and she sucks in an audible breath. “I did, he’s on his way, but we need paramedics,” she whimpers.
Skinner lifts his phone to his ear, jerking his chin toward me and I know that he’s on it. “Shut that fucking cunt up,” someone’s voice groans in the room.
Turning to Roxanne, I begin to make my way toward her. She’s got her hands over her ears, her ass on the ground and her back against the wall, and she’s just screaming. Lowering down on my haunches, I reach for her wrists and gently tug her hands down off of her ears.
Her eyes open, her mouth closed, and she looks straight into my eyes, except I can tell that she can’t see me. She’s looking directly at me, but she doesn’t see me. She’s seeing whatever image is in her head, whatever she’s fabricated to cope with this fucking nightmare.
“Firefly,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “It’s time, they’re here.”
“Who is, Roxanne, who’s here?”
Her wild eyes blink in one slow movement, then her jaw clenches, before she releases it. “They are. But ssshh, or they’ll hear. Let them just take me, Tanner. Just me. I think they’d be happy just taking me. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” she rambles.
Then she goes off, speaking far too quickly for me to understand her. She’s rambling at hyper speed, and I know that this is part of her illness, part of her mental disease, but my heart breaks for her. Whoever did this broke my Firefly. She was doing so well, so fucking strong and capable and now this.
Picking her up, I carry her into Snake’s office. I don’t want to lock her away in the bedrooms, I need her close, but she doesn’t need to be in the same room with all that fucking splattered blood everywhere. I hear the ambulance in the distance, and I let out a breath.
“Can you be in here, will you be, okay?” I ask, trying to break through the rambling. She doesn’t say anything, so I set her down on the sofa and attempt to take a step backward.
Her arms extend, her fingers grab my cut and curl around in a vise-like grip. She holds me, her wild eyes unable to focus. Then as clear as crystal she speaks.
“Don’t leave me, yet. Hold me until they take me away from you.”
Immediately, I sit down on the sofa and pull her into my lap. I hold her against me, her face buried in my neck as I run my fingers up and down her back.
“Nobody is taking you anywhere, Roxanne. They’ll have to go through me first, Firefly, and I won’t let them touch you, not ever.”
She shakes her head against my neck, then lifts her face, and her wet eyes meet mine. She looks gone, so fucking sad and lost that my heart crumbles into a million pieces right here in Snake’s office. “It’s okay. Melodie said they weren’t too bad to her. If it makes them happy, if they leave everyone else alone, I’ll go willingly,” she breathes.
My fingers grip her skin tight shirt at her back. The mention of her roommate sends a chill up my spine. The girl was off, and not just because she and Roxanne met in the facility they met in, but because she was just fuckin’ weird.
“Melodie?” I ask.
Roxanne
nods, blinking, as she begins to nod out, probably exhausted from everything that’s happened. She curls against me, her face in my neck again. She begins to shut down, and I know that her mind can’t cope with everything so she’s going to fall asleep for a while. I’ve seen her do it in the past, she sighs once more and then speaks.
“Yeah, the compound people. Melodie’s people.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
HOUSTON
Roxanne is asleep in the office. Snake, Crooner, and Free are finished being evaluated, their heads being the biggest part of their injuries. All of them were thumped with the butt of a gun, so hard that they passed out.
The rest of the men have various types of gunshot wounds. Ace’s being the worst. The EMT pointed out, before they rushed him off, that he’d lost quite a bit of blood, and he didn’t sound too fucking hopeful.
“What the fuck?” Snake hisses as soon as the paramedics are gone.
Whores start cleaning up the blood around the room, Carson is sitting in Ace’s pool of blood, in complete shock and I know that one of us should make sure she’s okay but goddamn. I lift my hand, running my fingers through my hair.
I don’t know what to do, what to say. This is all so fucking weird. “Nobody was kidnapped, right?” I ask.
Snake shakes his head. “Ginger is safe and sound at home, Traci’s at the bar she said she didn’t answer because it was swamped earlier. Everyone is accounted for.”
“Melodie,” I mutter.
The room is quiet for a moment when I don’t continue, Snake clears his throat. Lifting my head, I look at him.
“Melodie,” I repeat.
“Do I know who the fuck that is?” he barks.
Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. “Roxie’s roommate, she was saying, or what I could understand of what she was saying anyway. Melodie is a compound girl.”
Twisted with Chaos: A CASH BAR NOVEL Page 9
