Notorious (Rock Bottom #2)

by Jennifer Ann

  “Call back if you hear anything.” I hang up and meet Stone’s intimidating scowl. “His girlfriend and probation haven’t heard from him in days either.”

  “Dumbass,” he grunts out. “If he tried moving those guns, we’ll find his corpse hanging from a bridge somewhere like they do it in Mexico.”

  Where the hell could he have gone? Fear wraps around my spine as I grasp at ideas. No way we’re calling the cops. We could try searching for the place he dumped the SUV, but we’d risk drawing attention from its owner. Any questions we start asking around the neighborhood could do the same.

  Stone puffs out his chest. “We should call Rook. That smart bastard will know what to do, and his hot-ass wife could probably smooth things over with his probation agent.”

  I lean back in my chair, scratching the back of my head. “No fucking way.”

  He frowns, nostrils flaring. “Why? Because you’re still butt hurt?”

  “Because he hasn’t said a single word to me since Trask’s funeral five years ago. He’s not about to do me any favors.”

  “He would if Bender’s involved.”

  My smart phone vibrates across the desk, CALLER UNKNOWN flashing across the screen. With a sudden rush of relief, I eagerly answer, “Ben?”

  My ear’s assaulted by a cold, gravelly voice. “You’ve changed the security code on my house.”

  A strange mix of anger and elation washes over me as the office takes on an unusual slant. Not sure if I’m about to spew my last cup of coffee or scream with rage.

  It’s a blast from the past, a voice I never thought I’d hear again.

  He’s here?

  Why now…after all this time?

  Uncle Marty is back.

  2

  Zoe

  Five seconds.

  That's how long the sexiest, most intense blue eyes in existence have held my gaze, making my heart flip to an irregular beat. Forcing a sudden rush of blood to pound against my eardrums. Making me feel….alive.

  That’s how long it takes for the earth to stop rotating as I swoon over the striking man headed my way.

  That’s how long before I’m able to let go of the anger that brewed on my way to work this afternoon when it dawned on me I’m forever stuck in the South Side, working a shit job.

  That’s how long it takes for me to acknowledge the fact that a man that gorgeous possesses the power to destroy me.

  On the sixth second, something spectacular sparks down under that I haven't felt since last summer when Bobby Ward went down on me in the parking lot of a Kum and Go. And yes, the irony was enough that I actually giggled as I came.

  Ryker Blackwood’s eyes are so damn beautiful it should be illegal. I want to crawl inside them to escape my pathetic existence. Beneath thick eyebrows and a nest of dark eyelashes, they’re a fascinating swirl of white lightning bolts among a sharp, baby-blue hue. It's unfair when guys have eyes and lashes like his—the kind that are so unbelievably mesmerizing they render a person speechless.

  It’s not just their color that’s so extraordinary. It’s their severity, hinting at his highly complex story. It’s one I know well—one everyone who grew up in the South Side knows. He’s notorious like that.

  I’ve never directly spoken to him, although I’ve caught his band a couple of times at Slick Willie’s, and we had a class together in high school. Back then he was the South Side’s equivalent of a living god, the star of every heterosexual female’s dreams. The stories that circulated about Ryker and his crew made it clear he’s untouchable in every way.

  But oh, do I ever want to touch him in this moment. Every last gorgeous inch.

  He’s all man, made of hard features carved from stone, danger rolling off him in dark waves that a person as innocent as myself could so easily drown in. Lost in the mesmerizing gaze of the beautiful man standing before me, I see my next adventure waiting to be had. I see raw, indisputable chaos.

  His uncle was once the unofficial godfather of our kind—a man rich enough to buy anything his heart wants with connections deeper than the President of the United States. He kept his underground world of illicit activities safe from the arms of the law for decades. He’s the same man who paid me a significant amount to provide him with a private place to meet with his nephew.

  Ryker stops to bend down in front of me, expression pinched as if my shortness is an inconvenience. Tight jeans and a fitted black T-shirt, neatly trimmed beard, wild dark brown hair, leather cuff on his wrist, he oozes a rock and roll vibe.

  Beautiful eyes take in my bedazzled bra and bellybutton ring with a flicker of appreciation. When forced to suck in a sharp breath, his dark and manly scent slams into me, clenching my thighs hard enough to bust a walnut. Wild, deliciously dirty thoughts race through my mind as I picture the hairs of his beard rubbing my sensitive skin raw.

  I’m not surprised by the lack of recognition passing through those alluring blue pools, considering I went out of my way to avoid being noticed throughout all of high school, and once looked absolutely nothing like the woman I’ve become. I never showed up on picture day, hid behind baggy clothes, and made friends only out of necessity. I was a loner, focused on little more than survival.

  “You Zoe?” he asks in a dark, sultry voice that sends delightful vibrations through my belly.

  Shoulders squared, I dip my chin with a nod, deciding to play dumb rather than appearing pathetic like some kind of groupie. “You must be Ryker.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge that I’m right or wrong, even though I know it’s him. His expression doesn’t warm as he studies me carefully, like I’m a mystery in need of solving. “Where is he?”

  Sliding my tongue across my teeth, I motion for him to follow with a wiggling finger, noticing when it’s too late that I chipped my $1 clearance-bin-polish job. “This way, sweetheart.”

  I lead him deeper into Pinky’s where an Eminem song blares over our heads. A few patrons sip drinks while waiting for the first girl of the night. Hoping to give Ryker a show he won’t soon forget, I wiggle my ass while strutting my stuff best I can in platform stilettos. With any luck, he’ll decide to stick around for a private dance after he’s done with his uncle. Lord knows I could use the extra cash.

  Word on the street says he’s a generous lover, and that he never spends a night without a woman at his side. It’s not exactly the kind of reputation I would gravitate towards, but something about the beautiful man makes me wish I was included in his rotation.

  As we’re passing the empty stage, I’m stopped by a middle-aged man with a stained shirt stretching over his pot belly, and crooked teeth that are the most offensive shade of yellow. He’s a good six inches shorter than I am with a small cluster of hair, and not even remotely attractive. Eyes glossed over, breath foul with whiskey…this is one of those moments I truly despise myself for working in this shithole.

  When his stubby fingers wrap around my arm, I vaguely remember him coming around the club another time. One of the bouncers threatened to beat his ass for violating the no-hands policy.

  “Where you goin’, sexy girl?” he rasps. “I need a pretty distraction like you. Caught my best friend stickin’ it to my old lady this mornin’.” His lazy eyes travel down to my chest. “Could use me a private dance right about now.”

  Beneath his lewd stare, goosebumps break out over my skin. I’d give anything to knee him in the nuts and run away without looking back. But I’m not going to make this kind of money serving burgers.

  Attempting a friendly smile through gritted teeth, I try removing his grip from my bicep. “I’m a little busy now, sugar, but stick around and I’ll catch up with you later.”

  In the blink of an eye, Ryker pries the man’s fingers off and hooks his arm around my waist, hauling me against him. I’m momentarily stunned into silence by the sensual feel of his warm, hard body pressing into my exposed skin, and the enticing aroma of mossy leather.

  “She’s taken for the night.” The ominous growl of Ryker�
�s timbre causes the middle-aged guy to shuffle back. “Find a different girl.”

  My potential client scowls at Ryker before lumbering away, mumbling to himself.

  As Ryker begins guiding me forward, I finally snap out of his spell. I stop, turning to him with my chin lifted. “What the hell was that? That dance could’ve paid my electric bill!”

  He grunts in an unamused sound. There’s a tick in his jaw as his hard stare burns a hole right through me, dampening my thong even more. “Like I said, you’re taken for the night. I’ll give you double your usual rate.”

  Protest dies on my parted lips as I carefully consider his offer. No one has ever paid me for an entire night before. I wouldn’t begin to guess how much to charge for such a thing. And double? I’d be a fool to turn him down. I might be able to pay off Charlize’s last round of medical bills. There are far worse things than being paid to accompany a gorgeous man who oozes sex and danger, so long as he isn’t a sadist pig.

  I cross my arms under my breasts. “I won’t fuck you. The other girls here would be up for it, but that’s not my thing.” Hell, I don’t even want to be here, but I have a kid sister counting on me. “And just because you’re paying double still doesn’t mean you get to touch.”

  “I’m only looking for company. You can give me a private show.” Tension rolls off his face, shoulders, and neck as he holds my stare. “Name your price.”

  “Five hundred,” I blurt.

  Letting out a loud breath through clenched teeth, he reaches into his back pocket and produces a single-fold, leather wallet. He plucks out a wad of crisp bills and presses them into the palm of my hand. “That’s a thousand. Stay by my side and keep your mouth shut. Whatever you’re about to hear doesn’t leave the room. Understand?”

  I swallow hard and nod while shoving the money into my bra cup. He follows me the remaining distance to the private room, snatching my hand before we step inside. Bolts of immense pleasure strike my already throbbing pussy.

  For god’s sake, I’m a professional dancer. Why the hell am I reacting this way?

  My heartbeat’s deafening as Marshall Blackwood’s cool gray eyes narrow on Ryker.

  Like his nephew, I’d seen the South Side King many times back in the day. I’d never actually spoken to him until he appeared outside the club as I was unlocking the doors. He’s not as intimidating up close as I had imagined from someone of his stature. If it weren’t for his reputation, I would’ve regarded him as someone’s grandfather with a great sense of style. Neatly trimmed snow-white hair, solemn face wrinkled with age, tailored gray suit and bright green tie, he’s a classy bastard. The threatening way he eyes me, however, makes my stomach churn with unease.

  “It’s been a long time, son. Manhood suits you well.” King Marty’s gaze skips down to where Ryker holds my hand. “Following in your old man’s footsteps? Is it necessary for her to be privy to our conversation?”

  My younger self would’ve shrunk with embarrassment the way his tone indicates I’m trash. And what part about holding my hand reminds him of Ryker’s father? I jut my chin out, meeting the old man’s questioning stare in challenge.

  Ryker grunts, squeezing my hand painfully tight while tugging me toward one of the velvet couches beside his uncle. I steer him toward a plastic chair in the corner meant for wives, or paying perverts that want to watch us dance for others. I’m not about to break Ryker’s request to keep my mouth shut, but if he had any idea the kind of shit that happens on those couches, he’d avoid them at all costs.

  Ryker plops down into the hard chair, yanking me into his lap. I swallow a surprised squeak when a thick arm coils around my waist, holding me possessively. Like he’s a child and I’m his most coveted toy. What kind of game is he playing?

  “Where have you been?” The menacing rumble of Ryker’s deep voice against my back saturates my thong all the way through. It also sends a spike of fear straight into my heart. All at once I wonder if he wanted me in here to prevent him from throttling his elderly relative. “You could’ve at least left a goddamned note.”

  The old man’s paper-thin lips press together as he formulates an answer. “Got into some trouble with the feds. I would’ve reached out to you sooner, but they were monitoring my every move for years. It was necessary to lay low until the heat lifted. I thought it’d be best for us to meet somewhere inconspicuous until I’m sure they’re no longer tailing me.”

  Ryker’s chest heaves with elevated, deep breaths that warm my hair and erupt tingles against my neck. “Did it have something to do with harvesting organs, or maybe Trask’s murder? Pretty fuckin’ convenient you disappeared the same time it all went down. Made it hard not to believe you were involved.”

  I suck down a sharp gasp, remembering how the rumors first circulated after Trask Green—one of the four South Town Players—was stabbed to death while in jail. I thought that’s all they were, rumors, considering none of the shit that ever goes around the South Side ends up being true. But hearing Ryker question King Marty changes everything. The urge to bolt from the room becomes suffocating as I stare into the old man’s wavering eyes.

  He raises his palms, all at once appearing feeble. “I was sorry to hear about Trask, son. I know he was like a brother to you. But his murder was not on me. I swear it on your father’s grave.”

  A dark noise rumbles in Ryker’s chest. “He told Rook you paid him to scope out donors…said you threatened him when he wanted out.”

  King Marty shakes his head. “I’m not privy to exactly what Trask said to him, but it sounds like he was confused.”

  “You expect me to believe there’s an operation of that caliber on the South Side that your man, Terrance, was involved in and you knew nothing about it?”

  I flinch with the mention of Terrance’s name, shrinking back against Ryker a little more. My father tangled with King Marty’s replacement too many times, making poor gambling choices. Terrance Fisher is a cowardly bastard who would crucify his own family without batting an eye if money was involved.

  Ryker’s fingers dig into my hip. “What about Bender?”

  “What about him?”

  “Are you gonna claim it’s another coincidence that you returned around the same time my brother went MIA?”

  Whoa. Bender’s missing? This conversation is becoming more messed up with every second. I hold my breath along with Ryker, waiting for his uncle's reply.

  The old man’s eyes narrow into little slits. “Why would I have anything to do with that degenerate? I haven’t see him since I left town.”

  My ribs sear with pain beneath Ryker’s tightening grip. “Why did you come back?”

  “Like I said, I was waiting for the heat to lift.” Lips curling, King Marty sneers. “Wasn’t expecting to be locked out of my own home once I returned.”

  “You were gone a helluva long time.” Ryker’s words release with a venomous bite. “The rest of us moved on…you left us no other choice. The court granted me temporary rights to your property. Terrance has taken over your businesses. There’s nothing here for you anymore.”

  The old man’s smile falters. “I assumed you would’ve filled my shoes in my absence.”

  “Like I said, the rest of us moved on. You may as well go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. This meeting was pointless.”

  Ryker unceremoniously releases me, shoving me off his lap. I try to regain my footing as he rises, snagging my hand once again.

  “Ryker, wait!” King Marty calls as we start for the door. “You can keep the house and everything else. But I want you to take over my empire, and fulfill my legacy—what your father helped me build!”

  Ryker stops, throwing a dark glare over his shoulder. “I started my own legacy. I have no interest in getting caught up in yours.”

  He drags me out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind us and storming past the stage. I stumble along with his long strides while trying to digest their conversation. I had no idea Ryker was living in the Bl
ackwood estate. That monstrosity must be bigger than the Playboy Mansion. And if he turned down his uncle’s offer to take over the business, he must be doing well on his own.

  No wonder he didn’t bat those dark, thick lashes when he handed over a cool 1k for a night of my company. If I play this right, maybe I can entice him to return as a repeat customer. Luck seems to be on my side for a change.

  When I realize he intends to head all the way outside, I wrench my hand from his and dip my chin, giving him a seductive smile. “Where we goin’, sugar? We can grab another private room in back.” Ugh, my sweet tone sounds lame to my own ears, but I have to give it my best shot if this guy’s really loaded.

  Cold, flinty eyes capture mine, sending my pulse into double time. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip, glancing over my shoulder at the clueless bouncer on duty before returning to Ryker’s demanding stare. “I just started my shift.”

  “Quit. You’re too good for this place. Besides, I thought we made it clear you’re mine.”

  Both turned on by the compliment and angered by his assumption that he knows anything about me, I can’t imagine the kind of look screwing onto my face. “You think I’d work in this dump if I wasn’t desperate for money? You’re the only person I know from the South Side who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”

  The annoyed expression on his hard features stretches tighter. “Come work for me instead. I need someone in my auto repair shop who actually answers the damn phone.”

  He’s offering me a legit job less than an hour after we met. Does that mean he remembers me, or is he simply certifiable?

  Despite the hope fluttering in my belly, I curl my lips and set a hand on my hip. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not some princess in a tower waiting to be saved.”

  “Oh yeah?” He lets out a harsh chuckle. “Then by all means, head back in there and let that fat prick feel you up. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you when those thick hands of his go too far, because I offered you a way out, and you turned it down.”