Brute’s Property_A Motorcycle Club Romance_The Blazers MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  I only just realize that I’ve been holding my breath the entire time and suck in desperate air as he heads back toward the kitchen.

  “What are you going to do with me?” I ask, thinking that there’s no end game here. At least none that I can see. He can’t use me for leverage over Mark when neither of us knows where he is. And he can’t get that kind of money out of me as quick as he needs it. So why keep me?

  He pulls down a few more bowls from the cupboards and pours some more cereal into them. Without looking up at me, he says, “I’m going to see Enrique tomorrow. He’ll decide what to do with you.”

  I swallow hard. “Enrique? Who’s he?”

  “He’s the guy your brother owes the money to.” Taking a spoonful of dry cereal into his mouth, he explains as he chomps, “He’s the one who’ll decide if you live or die.” Ha, clearly no one ever told him it was rude to eat with your mouth open. Then again, why am I not surprised? Typical beefy Alpha male behavior.

  A few silent minutes later, he tosses the empty bowl into the sink, walks out, grabs the dog by the collar, and yanks me by the arm so that I’m practically being dragged. I try to protest, but he wouldn’t listen even if I kicked and screamed my way down the hallway. He opens the door to the bathroom and leads the dog inside. Bugsy happily sits down on a towel near the tub. I stand there, confused, as he grabs my bag of clothes and a musty blanket from what I assume is his bedroom across the way.

  “You can’t be serious...” I say as he then throws a pillow at me.

  “If there’s one thing you need to learn about me—it’s that I’m always serious.”

  “No! No way. I’m not going to sleep in here!” My heart races at the thought of sleeping in the bathtub or up against a dirty toilet. But he doesn’t seem to give a shit. In fact, he’s grinning again; that darkened smile that makes his smug face look so punchable. I instantly regret not getting that slap in while I had the chance.

  “Sleep tight, darlin’. I’ll wake you up if I need to use the bathroom.” He turns toward the dog and says in an almost cutesy voice, “You let me know if you need anything.”

  Rev shuts the door behind him, cackling to himself. Before I can chase him down, I hear the click of an old-fashioned key turning inside the lock.

  “Prick!” I shout out, and sink down onto the cold bathroom tiles, next to Bugsy. Someone wake me up from this bizarre, torturous nightmare already.

  Chapter Four

  Rev

  I don’t sleep. Well, not like most nine-to-fivers do. I work late into the night, forcing myself to stay up while others are tucked in their safe little beds, and dream about how safe their perfect lives are. But no one is safe when I’m awake.

  Except for tonight. This girl—Jenna—she’s smart. Most of the men they send me to pick up are meatheads, stoners, pill chasers. They couldn’t put together a sentence, let alone figure a way out of their situations with me in charge. I wouldn’t have any problem leaving a person like that locked in my bathroom while I go about my business.

  However, Jenna is different. She seems resourceful enough that if I left her alone, I doubt she’d still be there when I got back. She’d MacGyver her way out of that bathroom using my toothbrush, her dog’s collar, and some hair clip she’s been hiding.

  I’m stuck with her until I figure out my next move. She was right when she said there wasn’t an endgame. Her brother is probably lying in a ditch with shit stuck up his nose, and her bank account probably has less than what I have stashed in this apartment.

  My only option is to take her to Enrique. Maybe she’ll be of some value to him. He’s always looking to recruit new girls. Jenna isn’t exactly the type he goes for—no big tits, chunky ass, or dark skin—but she’d still be able to tick off countless sick fuck’s kink boxes.

  Still, even with that being a viable option, this whole clusterfuck is keeping me up. First of all, pimping her out is not going to fill my pockets anytime soon. It would take her months, if not years, to earn that kind of money back from her clients—if she lands any. If Enrique cut me a deal, to pay for my part from what she earned, I bet I’d never see that money. And that’s the most important part of this. I put in the work; I need to get paid.

  Secondly, she just doesn’t seem like the type that can be pimped. Seeing her with that douche Teddy made it clear that she couldn’t screw her way out of a paper bag. Pretty girls like her take it how they’re given. In and out, one and done, then move on. The girls who make the most money don’t do it on their backs, but on their knees, satiating a man’s every, erotic desire.

  I’ve been with a few of them. I hate to admit it, but when part of the perks of the job is enjoying the spoils, you take it. Those girls know how to get their tips too. Jenna is so far from that. She’s feisty but there’s an air of innocence there too, and I’d love nothing more that to fuck that goodness right out of her. Hmm, I still remember her silky-smooth thigh against mine and her warm breath panting against my ear and neck as we drove together back to my place. I can still smell her flowery perfume and the softness of her lip from when I teased her earlier. But, for now, I have to keep my throbbing cock in my pants and play the part of hardass hitman until I figure out what the hell to do with her.

  “Not this one,” I scold myself as I turn over on my side, still freaking restless. “Don’t even think about it.”

  A few more hours pass as I stare at the peeling paint on the shadowy walls. I listen for any signs of life from the bathroom, but all I get is the sound of a bulldog dog snoring so loud that I can’t imagine how Jenna could sleep through it.

  When sunlight hits the end of my bedsheets and then travels up to my head, I force myself to get up. I’m not a morning person. I-could-literally-kill-someone-before-ten-am-way. Facing the sun feels even worse when I’ve only managed to about an hour of shut eye from the night before.

  I check the clock. Seven a.m. Enrique should be up by now. He’s one of those guys who runs his business like a captain on the ship. He’s all hands-on to a fault. Nothing gets past him. And if someone tried, there would be hell to pay.

  I grab my phone on the bedside table and head outside. As I listen to the phone ring on the other end, I find shade under a small, wilting tree. There’s nowhere to sit with all the trash and debris from the party crowd that takes over the complex every night. I instead have to pace back in forth in a field of glass, paper, and discarded condoms.

  “Enrique, it’s Rev. I’ve got an update on that Mark guy.” I try not to sound too desperate for his help. I’ve never failed him before, and there’s no reason for him to believe I have now, but I’m in uncharted territory with this Jenna chick.

  “It better be good. That son-of-a-bitch owes me big. I’m done waiting on him.” Enrique’s as much of a sniveling little weasel on the phone as he is in real life. I can just see him now—leaning back in that old metal office chair, staring out over his kingdom.

  I let out a heavy sigh. “Well, here’s the thing—he wasn’t there. When I got to his apartment, his sister was there. She doesn’t have that kind of cash, so I took her.”

  There’s a long pause where I vaguely consider repeating myself to be sure he’s heard me, but I can hear him breathing on the other line.

  “What the hell do you mean?” he finally says.

  “You fucking heard me... I took her,” I reply. In my defense, I add, “It’s not like I could just walk out of there like it was nothing. I didn’t have a damn choice in the matter.”

  “So, what do you need me for? I hire you to do a fucking job, and I damn well expect you to do it without this bullshit happening!”

  I lean my head to the side, forcing it to crack. It’s a tic of mine. When I feel like I’ve hit boiling point, I have to break something, even if it’s a part of me.

  Gritting my teeth, I answer back, “I called you because I thought I’d see if she was of use to you. If you don’t want her, I’ll figure it out, but you’re gonna have to give me some time to make
some arrangements. You hear me?”

  Another few seconds go in silence. I can’t tell if he’s thinking it over or trying to put some heat on me. I resolve myself not to give in to this asshole. I don’t work for him. I owe him nothing.

  “Kill her,” he finally says. “Dispose of her. I don’t need her, and she’s getting in your way of finding my guy. Do her in and be done with it.”

  “You serious?” I ask, somewhat taken aback. I knew this was a possibility—hell if I didn’t consider it myself a few times last night.

  “Do you know who the hell you’re talking to, son? When I give an order, I expect you to do it,” Enrique barks.

  That’s it. He’s done it. Raging towards my bike, I shout into the receiver, “Listen to me, Enrique! You don’t own me. I got no loyalty to you or your gang of little pussies. You need me to do your dirty work, that’s fine, but I expect to get paid for this.”

  He agrees. “You kill the girl, and I’ll give you an advance on half. Find my guy, and you’ll get you the rest. Do neither, and... Well, you know what happens to those who defy me.”

  I know all too well what happens to Enrique’s enemies. I’ve captured many of them—dragging back men to his offices, as they beg for their lives, only to never see or hear from them again. But I don’t get attached. That’s rule number one. Rule number two is that I don’t let them know anything about me either. It’s too dangerous if they know who I am or where I’ve come from.

  I’ve already broken the first rule with Jenna. My eyes set on the open door to my apartment, I hang up on Enrique and head back inside. The place is still quiet. The dog snores are the only thing I can hear as I lean my head against the bathroom door.

  “Jenna?” I watch the light beams streaming through the gap between the door and the floor go dark. She’s awake. I might as well let her out so I can get this day over with.

  I fish the rusty copper key from my back pocket and unlock the door. I open it half way and a flash of silver metal races by me. “Fuck! What the hell?”

  “Ugh!” Jenna yells as she takes another swing at my face with the end of the curtain rod. I try to reach inside, but she’s too quick for me and instead catches the door so it flies open. It’s enough for me to dive at her while she smacks me in the chest and arms.

  “Get off of me!” she shouts as I pull her down towards the bath. We both land hard against the porcelain tub and tile backsplash. My hips pin her down while I pry the long rod out from under her firm grip.

  “You really think this would stop me?” I say, panting. “Do you know what I fucking do for a living?” The metal clashes on the floor, waking up the dog who has managed to sleep through the entire incident. He props himself up at the side of the tub next to me, eager to join in the game.

  “Yeah. I know what you do for a living. You get off on locking up innocent people in your damn bathroom all night!”

  “Apparently, I had good reason to, darlin’. Who knows what the fuck you would’ve tried if I’d left you alone with the kitchen knives.” I hurl myself off of her, taking a seat on the toilet as she collects herself.

  I could do it right now. I could reach over with the knife in my pocket and slit her throat. Or ring her thin, delicate neck with my bare hands. Either way would be quick and relatively painless for her. But I can’t do it. Those damn doe eyes of hers are too intoxicating. Shit.

  “Do you want some fucking breakfast, or what?” I find myself asking her, inwardly seething at myself for going so soft.

  Jenna’s head tilts to the side, and she peers at me. “Whatever.” She holds out her hand, and I instinctively grab it to pull her up.

  I didn’t think this through. I’m not the kind of guy who makes a girl eggs and toast after a night together. In fact, a girl hasn’t spent more than a few hours here in years. My one steady woman made it six months before I grew tired of her talking about the future and moving in. I don’t share my personal space. I don’t do breakfast in the morning, but for Jenna, I wander around the kitchen pretending like it’s a possibility that I’m about to break out some freshly squeezed orange juice for her. Luckily, she registers no disappointment when all I’ve got is a box of stale cereal and some nearly-expired milk.

  “I’m starving,” she says as she takes a spoonful into her mouth. “You could’ve at least let me eat last night before you locked me away.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like I had a choice.” I gesture towards the curtain rod still lying on the floor. “I should’ve known you’d be stupid enough to try something like that.”

  She places the spoon down beside her bowl and leans back in the chair. “You could just let me go? Save yourself the hassle of keeping me here?”

  “You’re not a hassle,” I say, though I’m trying to reassure me more than her. “A goddamn inconvenience? Sure. But I can handle a girl like you.”

  “So why keep me then? Who am I going to tell?”

  “Oh, I don’t know...” I say with dripping sarcasm, “Your brother, maybe? Or how about the cops?”

  “I don’t deal with cops.” She looks down at the table, avoiding my glare.

  “What does that mean? Someone like you can’t be afraid of them?”

  “I’m not afraid of them. I just don’t deal with them outside my work. After my dad OD’d... Look, I just can’t deal with cops.”

  I watch her expression grow dark and heavy. What she said bears a weight that I understand too well. I’ve been there. I’ve seen brothers fall to drugs or get picked up and never seen again. It’s why I ride solo. No clubs mean no attachments. No family means not having to care.

  I take a deep breath. “Then what about your brother?”

  The corners of her lips flinch a little. “I think we both know he’s already too far gone to care about what happens to me. Honestly, he’d probably be thrilled that you got to me first.”

  “That’s messed up.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s the truth,” she snaps. There’s a break where all she does is stir the contents of her bowl. Finally, she turns to me and asks, “What about you? Why are you here?”

  “Because it’s my apartment...”

  She sighs at my sarcasm. “That’s not what I’m asking. Why are you doing this? How does a guy become a drug dealer’s debt collector?”

  “I’m no one’s fucking anything, lady. I run my own business. It’s not pretty, but it pays the bills.”

  “Does it?” She turns her head from side to side, scanning my barren space with an unconvinced smile. At least she can give back as much as she gets.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as I go to put my bowl in the sink. “I got the one thing I care about, and it’s sitting outside my apartment.”

  “Your bike? That old thing?” She stands, moving towards the window.

  I don’t look back at her. “Yeah. It’s a classic. Not that you would know a damn thing about bikes, but it’s a Road King Harley. A buddy of mine drove it around for years before he got killed. When he died, I had to track the damn thing down. It was already broken into parts and pieces and sold off to all these chop shops on the south si—”

  The front door slams. I turn as fast as I can, but Jenna’s already gone. All I see are her bare feet racing down the sidewalk toward my bike. The keys I left on the counter are missing too.

  “Fucking hell, Jenna!” I scream as I run out after her. She’s managed to start the bike up but is struggling to back it up with her tiptoes just barely scraping the ground. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  She shoots me a look before rotating the bike toward the road. The beautiful little bitch is really going to try this. I sprint towards her, making it just in time before the bike sputters forward.

  “No! Get off of me!” she shouts as I drag her off the bike and onto the ground.

  “Stay down!” I hiss at her. The veins on the side of my neck feel as if they’re about to pop. I walk the bike back to the parking spot before heading over to her again. “Did you really
think that would fucking work?”

  “Don’t touch me!” Her body balls up on the sidewalk, with her knees tucked into her chest; the perfect position for me to scoop her up into my arms. She tries to fight, but she can barely get a punch in before we’re back inside the apartment.

  I throw her down on the couch, and she goes to get up, but I force her back down onto the cushions. My rough hands accidentally catch the top buttons of her shirt, popping it open to reveal her chest and red bra. That tight black skirt of hers doesn’t stand a chance either as it too rips from her attempting to kick me.

  “Rev! Get off!” she shouts, not even trying to cover herself up.

  “I’ll let you go when we make me a deal.”