Fury: Sons of Chaos MC

by Paula Cox

  His throaty laugh vibrated over her flesh. “Yes, that is what they call it.”

  She was just about to give up on being a good girl, and push him back onto that massage chair to find out what fun they could have on it, when she heard the front door bell jingle. She let her forehead drop onto his shoulder for just one moment before finding her professional charm. “Hi! I’ll be right there!”

  “Aren’t we closed?” he asked.

  “Delilah would fire me twice if I ever closed the front door before six. Cross your fingers and hope it’s something quick.” As she stepped away from him, she let her thigh brush against his cock, semi-rigid in the scrub pants he’d chosen for work. “And feel free to keep that ready for me.”

  He let out a little growl as she stepped away from him, heading back into the main salon area.

  A woman was standing over by the counter, rummaging through the sale products Delilah kept in the front desk. They were samples, products they’d used partway through and then decided to discontinue, and makeup that was left over from big events. She was model-thin, with bright blonde hair that was pulled up into an tight, high ponytail at the crown of her head. Artful curls dripped down from the tight tail in a way that looked completely accidental, and so had definitely taken forever to arrange. “Hi,” Jessie said again. “What can I do for you today?”

  The woman turned, and Jessie was seriously impressed. The woman was masterful with makeup; everything looked completely natural, enhancing rather than covering, and giving her a dewy, fresh look that she probably hadn’t had on her own for a few years. Her eyes looked big, wide, and shockingly white, and her cheekbones were strong and elegant. Her skin was incredibly pale and totally unfreckled, something that was just unheard of in the California sun. Jessie loved SPF products, and still had a light, year-round tan on top of her naturally darker skin.

  “Hi,” the woman said back. There was something about her voice that instantly grated; it took Jessie a minute to peg it. “I’m so sorry to come by so late, but I’m about to head out to dinner, and I just can’t get my hair styled the way I want. Do you have time to put it up in a formal twist for me?”

  At least it wasn’t a color and cut, or something dramatic. The woman had a lot of hair, from what Jessie could see, but twists were only really hard when you were doing them on yourself. On someone else’s head, where you had the right leverage, it was nothing fancy at all.

  But a formal twist didn’t match anything about what the woman was wearing. Dark skinny jeans, worn lighter in the thighs, and an off-the-shoulder t-shirt, the strap and top of her lacy bra showing, did not look anything like a woman who was going out to a fancy dinner. Her make-up, too, was understated for a twenty-something going out somewhere a twist would be a sensible hair choice. And there was something about the woman’s tone that made her think she was being played.

  Jessie mentally shook the thoughts loose. None of that was the point. As far as she knew, the woman was a paying customer, and Delilah had strict rules about paying customers. Basically, you took their money, and you gave them what they wanted. The lady wanted a super formal twist with an incredibly casual outfit, and that was what she would get.

  “Of course,” Jessie said. “What’s your time frame? Are you looking to have it washed and dried as well?” Please say no. Please. I’m too horny for that.

  “No, definitely not,” the woman said. “We’d be here all night. And we both have places to be, I’m sure.” She laughed, and the laugh was false and mocking. Her eyes were cold. It made Jessie’s stomach turn inside out. She wanted more than anything to toss this woman out the door. Whatever came next wasn’t going to be a good thing.

  But that wasn’t how Delilah’s Do operated, and Jessie needed to get her shit together in short order. “Right over here in the first chair,” she said. The woman crossed the floor on black stiletto heels, and flopped into the chair in a calculated way. It only took Jessie a moment to follow her.

  Most clients, especially ones Jessie hadn’t met before, sat down in the chair and then fidgeted. They would set their purse on the nearby hook, or pull out their phone and adjust the volume of the ringtone, or reach for a picture that would show off what they wanted.

  This woman sat in the chair, lounging like a lingerie ad, and her gaze was fixed, through the mirror, on Jessie. It was incredibly uncomfortable. The stare was too direct, too intense. Too much, entirely.

  Jessie moved behind her, used the foot pedal to lift the salon chair up to the right height, and eased the ponytail holder out of the woman’s blonde hair. It had left a clear line; she’d have to spray it, maybe flat iron it to ease that out before she went on. The woman was still staring. “Sorry,” Jessie said, after a moment. “Do I know you from somewhere?” It was as close as she could come to actually asking the woman why the hell she was staring. Maybe she was just soft on personal boundaries? God knew that Jessie had met all kinds of people in her job, over the years, and she’d gotten along with most of them, too. She couldn’t exactly decide what it was that was throwing her off right now, but she also couldn’t shake the sense that it was all way too much.

  “Well,” the woman said, “I’m pretty sure you’re fucking my boyfriend. Does that count?”

  Jessie’s hands froze an inch from the woman’s blonde hair. The words dropped like rocks onto the floor, but the woman’s too-fake smile never faded, not even a smidge. “Excuse me?” Jessie said. Her voice cracked, and she had to clear her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Her brain was spinning a mile a minute. If Tex was cuckolding her—no, they’d never had a conversation, they’d never said they were exclusive, but he’d told her he’d been in love with her since they were kids, and that had to count for something, right? He couldn’t have said that, and then just be screwing some random other woman, right?

  The woman laughed, planted her stiletto heel on the floor and spun her chair so she was facing Jessie again. She stuck out a hand, and Jessie shook it on pure reflex. “My name’s Vanessa,” the woman said. “And I appreciate you acting all innocent. I wouldn’t want to get caught out, screwing the guy who belonged to another woman. That’s just trashy. And you know, maybe it’s not your fault. He’s a naughty boy, after all, and he loves it when I catch him being bad and, punish him.”

  This was the set up to a porn. The really nasty kind, too, with bad mikes and no condoms and everyone being horrible to each other. The women making out while the dude jerked off, and no one into it at all. Clearly. That was the only explanation that Jessie could think up, in the moment.

  So she said something that she’d never said, after all these years working for Delilah. “I’m sorry, but I think you need to leave.” She was pleased with the steel she managed to put in her voice. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

  The woman raised an eyebrow, and slouched down a little bit more in the salon chair, letting her knees fall just a little bit farther apart. There was no actual reason for it to be a more threatening position than the one she’d held just a moment before, but then, there was clearly nothing normal about this evening or this woman. “I don’t think so,” the woman said. “I am pretty sure we’re just getting started.”

  Jessie froze for a long moment, completely unsure of what she was going to do. She could grab the woman’s—Vanessa’s—arm and try to lift her bodily out of the chair and push her out the door. She could go to the front desk and call the police. Have the woman arrested for—what? Well, it was a private business, she had the right to tell her to go, and she had to go, right? But if she was one of the rich women from the resort, that would end badly for Jessie, and Delilah would have her head, and—shit. She had no idea what to do next.

  Tex came to her rescue. He appeared from the massage room, his brow tight and his hands at his sides. Jessie had no idea how much he’d heard, but his expression made her think he’d come out, ready to fight whoever was giving her a hard time. Because that was Tex.
That was who he’d been as a kid, and that was who he still was now.

  His eyes landed on Vanessa after just a moment—but then he froze, too. He stared at the blonde woman for a beat too long, and then his gaze shifted up to Jessie, and what she read in his eyes was pure, total panic. Which made her want to shriek, more than anything. Because the only reason for him to panic was if he was worried that Vanessa had told her something, and what the hell else could this random bitch have had to say other than a confession about her fuck-bunny?

  Jessie fell back a pace, and Vanessa clued in to the fact that something was happening behind her. She spun again, her stiletto pulling double time, and when her gaze landed on Tex, she let out a little squeal. She launched herself out of the salon chair and crossed the floor in a flurry of tiny, contracted steps that made her ass wiggle in a delicious way. Lifted up by the heels, it was easy for her to wrap her arms around Tex’s neck and slap a kiss on him.

  Jessie’s stomach flip-flopped, and she stepped back again. She dug the keys out of her skirt pocket and dropped them on the floor. “You two can lock up,” she said, and retreated. The only place to go was Delilah’s office, but she found she didn’t much care. She pushed into the tiny room, locked the door behind her, and sank into the corner, trying to fight back the tears that were struggling to take her over.

  She’d planned on giving Tex up eventually, but this was way too soon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Vanessa was in his arms so fast that Tex didn’t have a moment to step back, making her miss her leap. When she planted a kiss on him, it surprised him—and, whether he liked it or not, part of him woke up and growled at the idea of Vanessa in his arms. She’d been a wildcat in bed, up for anything, and it had been a fun and exciting time, but in the end, she’d been wilder than him, and meaner than him, too. They’d started hooking up right after his second tour, before he’d even begun to dig himself out of the deep, dark hole that experience had left inside him. When he’d decided to go onto a “normal” life, he’d asked her to come along with him. But whatever made Vanessa tick, it needed the blood and the thunder in a way he didn’t. In a way he couldn’t. So he’d walked away from her. Which had infuriated her.

  And now, she was here. Which was a huge fucking complication that he neither wanted, nor needed.

  He made his brain override the reaction of his dick and put his hands on her hips to push her away. She took that as a signal he was enjoying himself, apparently, and wound herself even closer, digging her fingers into his scalp as she tried to deepen the kiss and ground her hips against his. He heard Jessie’s shoes rushing away, and he cursed at himself. He pushed harder at Vanessa, and managed to get free of her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” For one moment, it didn’t matter that she was going to ruin everything; he had not wanted to be kissed, not like that, no matter how his body responded, and he felt a little sick in the aftermath.

  “Hey, baby. I missed you, too,” she said, stepping into him again.

  He shook his head, putting his hand out to stay her approach, but she didn’t seem to notice. “No,” he said, and she pouted. Her lower lip was deliciously bitable, and when he’d nipped at it during sex, she’d growled as she came. Dammit, you shit for brains, get her out of here and go fix things with your girl before they’re unfixable. “I didn’t miss you, Vanessa. What the hell are you doing in Castello?”

  She crossed her arms and popped a hip, rolling her eyes. “Well clearly, I’m up here looking for you, dumbass. When I heard you were in fucking nowhere selling drugs, it was perfectly clear you’d given up on those circle-jerking grease monkeys and planned on getting back to real life. I came up here to…” She stepped in again, and Tex took another step back. She finally seemed to realize what he was doing, and the pout intensified. “…welcome you back. If you want to be welcomed.”

  He racked his brain for an excuse that wasn’t going to make things worse. “Last I heard, you were with Gunner. Is he planning to welcome me back, as well?” His heart pounded, and he had to fight to keep his expression neutral. Vanessa could not know how much power she had over him in this moment, or everything was going to go to shit, and people would get hurt.

  “I am with Gunner,” she said. “For now. He got promoted, you know.”

  Tex did know—Gunner Masterson was the VP of the goddamn Racketeers—but it was better to act like he was clueless. After all, when he’d left LA, he’d left that life behind. Or at least, that was what people needed to believe. “I hadn’t heard. Shit.” He pushed his face to look disappointed, and Vanessa laughed, that wild cackle that used to turn him inside out.

  “Gunning for the second-in-command spot, huh? Good old Tex. What’s up with that stupid new name, anyway? Finder? You’ve been a fixer since I’ve known you.”

  “I’m done with killing, Nessa, I told you that. A long time ago. I can find all the shit that there is to be found, though; that skill set did not leave me.”

  “And what about the girl?” Vanessa stepped into him again and, this time, he made himself hold steady.

  God, he should have researched better; he should have known Gunner was in town, and had brought his girl with him. Goddamnit, he was a fucking moron. Blinded by pretty dark eyes. Shit. “It’s serious, Vanessa,” he said.

  “We were serious once.”

  “And then you left because I wanted the kind of life that might eventually lead to me having kids and a family.”

  “That’s not what I wanted.”

  He shook his head. “That’s your choice, and I respected it. I get it. But we’re walking different roads, Vanessa. And if you’re happy with Gunner, you should be happy with Gunner.” He paused long enough that he hoped it wouldn’t be incredibly obvious. “Did you tell him about us?”

  “No, idiot. Obviously not. A fucking patch to the Racketeers can’t have been the leader of a rival club. Even if you’re not going to fuck me all over again—and I invite you to come visit if the townie doesn’t work out, Gunner wouldn’t mind the company—I’m not going to mess up your chances.” She grinned and ran a single finger down the front of Tex’s shirt. He fought off the shiver. “After all, my best chance of convincing you that leaving me was the stupidest thing you ever did is to get to spend time together again. Remind you how much fun we used to have.”

  He gripped her hand, gently, and pushed it away from his shirt. “Thank you,” he said. “But please stop kissing me, okay? I’m serious about the girl. And I’m not a patch.”

  Vanessa shrugged. “Not yet. But you’re trying to sell drugs to the club. It’s just a matter of time.” She stepped away and settled in the salon chair, crossing her legs as ostentatiously as Sharon Stone. Tex found himself incredibly glad for her skinny jeans, even as he kept his gaze pointedly focused on her forehead. “So, I’m here to find out what you can access and what you can offer.”

  It was time to slip into the persona he’d sworn he’d never inhabit again. This is for Danny. He pushed himself into a grin. “Then step into my office.” He had no clue how he was going to get Jessie to forgive him, after what she’d just seen, but he had to remember that getting revenge was bigger than anything else. He’d made a blood oath that day, when Danny lay in the street, and he couldn’t walk away from that. Even if he could convince Jessie to love him, he’d be half a man. She deserved all of him, or none of him.

  Vanessa smirked as she followed him down the little hall into the massage room. “Kinky,” she commented, and draped herself elegantly over the massage chair in the corner. Most of his customers, he’d found, preferred the table, but sometimes, the chair was just a better choice, so he liked having both options. She patted the tiny space next to her—he would have fit about one ass cheek onto the seat next to her—and he ignored her, sitting down on a stool.

  “I have contacts in Canada,” he said. “Right now, I specialize in getting controlled meds across the border without the hassle of a prescription. It’s good for clients who don’t
have sympathetic doctors, plus those whose health insurance still hasn’t caught on to the idea of affordable health care.”

  She waited a moment, her eyebrows up. “Really? That’s what you have?”

  He shrugged. “What’d you think was going to happen, you’d show up, and I’d flip the Racketeers enough horse and molly to keep them rolling in dough for the rest of their lives? I don’t deal with that shit, Vanessa—never have, never will. I don’t have the skill set to make it, and it’s deadly if you fuck it up.” He paused. “But I do know folks that make high quality stuff, really excellent highs, and I will introduce a rep from the Racketeers to the people I know. But it’s just an introduction. I won’t be a part of that crap.”

  She shook her head. “Gunner won’t like it.”

  “Gunner can suck my cock if he’s unhappy. I don’t remember him getting a pharmacist’s degree so he could practice chemistry in his basement.”