Down & Dirty: Dawg (Dirty Angels MC Book 7)

by Jeanne St. James

  “What the fuck!” Dawg bellowed, jumping up from his seat, his face a mask of pure unadulterated rage, his hands clenched tightly into fists. “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

  Emma dropped her face into her hands and shook her head. She couldn’t talk about it anymore. She couldn’t put it into words. Those words cut her like a million shards of shattered glass.

  Dawg rushed over to her, dropped to his knees, grabbed her face in his big hands and forced her to look at him.

  His furious expression, the hardness in his eyes, his flaring nostrils made a shiver of fear skitter down her spine.

  He gave her a slight shake. “Emma! What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

  She breathed, “They took her.”

  “Who?”

  “My husband and his... his girlfriend.”

  “When?”

  “A year and a half ago.”

  “Why didn’t you stop ‘em?”

  If it had only been that easy. “I couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He snuck out in the middle of the night and disappeared.”

  Though, her husband was kind enough to leave a note explaining why and that she shouldn’t be worried, that her daughter would be safe with him. And, by the way, not to bother looking for them since she’d never find them. Bastard.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “What do you mean you don’t know!” he shouted.

  “Exactly what I said,” she shouted back in frustration. “I have no idea where they are.”

  “What the fuck! That’s impossible. Hire someone to find ‘em.”

  “I did! I fucking did, Dawson! I spent all of my money on investigators. On attorneys. I did...” She ground the heels of her palms into her eyes and took a shaky breath.

  “Have to be somewhere...”

  “No. They left the country. They disappeared somewhere other than the States. The trail went cold in South America and I ran out of money. I lost my house. I lost my car. I lost everything because I spent every cent trying to find them. Trying to bring my daughter home.”

  Dawg sat back on his heels, dragged a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. Then he pushed to his feet and began to pace restlessly.

  “That is why I need this job, Dawson. I need this job. I need cash.” She rose to her feet and stepped into his path, gripping his leather vest within her fingers and shaking it. “I need to find my daughter!”

  Dawg stood staring down at her, his breathing fast, his eyes narrowed. “You’re fired.”

  “What?” That was the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth.

  “Gonna find your daughter.”

  And that was the second to last thing. “How?”

  “Know people. Cops. A lawyer. Men who are good at findin’ people who don’t wanna be found.”

  Emma shook her head. “I can’t let this become your problem.”

  “Too late.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He cupped her cheeks in his hands and stared down into her face. “Knew the minute you walked into my club, baby girl. The second I looked into those eyes when you were in my bed, when my dick was inside you... you were mine. I take care of my girls...”

  But she wasn’t one of his girls, he... “You just fired me.”

  “An’ I take care of my girl.”

  His girl? What was he saying? “I’m not your girl, Dawson.”

  “The fuck you ain’t.”

  “I need you to be my boss not my... boyfriend.” Even the word tasted weird on her tongue. “I just need a chance to earn enough cash to rehire the investigator. So he can continue—”

  “No.”

  Her head jerked back. No? Just no? “No what?”

  “No, got it covered. Got you covered. Gonna get your daughter back.”

  Emma tried desperately to tamp down the hope that bubbled up from his words. He sounded so confident. Like he could do it. Like he could actually find Lily and bring her home. But he was a biker. A strip club manager. What kind of connections could he possibly have?

  What could this man do that the police, the FBI and even INTERPOL couldn’t? He was delusional to think he could do something they haven’t been able to.

  “I don’t want to be in debt to you, Dawson. I can’t be.”

  “No debt. Doin’ it for you. For your girl.”

  “But you don’t even know me.”

  “Fucked you. Know you.”

  They had sex once and now he knew her? Really? “That simple?”

  “Yeah. That simple, baby girl.”

  “I can’t afford—”

  “Already said you ain’t payin’ shit, baby girl. Got you covered.”

  “I can’t just allow you to help me and not do anything in return.”

  “Ain’t gonna strip. You’ll chase away my customers.”

  She blinked at his honesty. “You don’t sugar coat anything, do you?”

  “Fuck no. You need to pay me back, you’ll do it in a different way, got me?”

  “What do you mean? How?” He better not had meant sex. She was not going to sell her body, even to get her daughter back. Not to this biker or anyone else.

  Though, she had to admit, during her most desperate times she’d considered it. Even though she had been appalled at the thought, she’d considered anything that would mean getting her daughter back. Anything.

  So far, the police hadn’t been much help, FBI could only do so much, and INTERPOL didn’t have her missing daughter at the top of their priority list. What was more, the investigator she had hired didn’t work for free.

  “Gonna rehire you,” he finally said with a frown.

  “You just fired me,” she stated, surprised.

  “Yeah, as a dancer. Gonna hire you as a hostess. Wear a sexy dress, show some cleavage, get the girls to show you how to wear some makeup to highlight your girl-next-door look, nothing slapped on too thick. Work the room, make sure the girls are doin’ what they’re supposed to be doin’, make sure the customers are happy. Comp ‘em a drink if they’re tippin’ heavily. Flirt, smile, but no dancin’. Make ‘em feel welcome.”

  She could do that! And she didn’t have to get naked!

  “Gotta learn to walk in heels. Gonna set you up with one of the girls to go shoppin’.” He lifted his hand before she could interrupt him. “Gonna cover your expenses like your clothes an’ heels. Any makeup you need. Got me?”

  “Yes, so how much is this going to pay?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Nothing?” He expected her to work for free? That wasn’t going to happen. Not as long as she was in her right mind.

  “Gonna get your daughter back. No matter what it costs. This is how you’ll make it up to me. Got me?”

  “But... I have rent... expenses.”

  “Nope.”

  What? “Uh, yes.”

  “No. Gotta spare room. You’re movin’ in. Livin’ expenses will be covered ‘til we get your daughter back. Once we do, can find your own place again.”

  “Wait.” She lifted a palm and glanced around the living room. “You want me to live here?”

  “Yeah. Gotta spare room.”

  He already said that. That didn’t mean she was just moving in! Into a stranger’s apartment. Someone she’d only known for not even a couple of days. “Yes, but—”

  “No shit, woman. Wanna find your daughter?”

  “Yes!”

  “Willin’ to do whatever you gotta do to get it done?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then gotta do what I say. No lip. No backtalk. No nothin’. Got me?”

  “Uh...”

  “Gonna get some prospects to move your shit into storage if you got too much. Basics come here for now.”

  “Um...”

  He lifted his hand again to stop her. “No lip. Got me?”

  No matter what he wanted, she was asking this question: “You don’t expect me to sleep with you
?”

  “Bedroom door will be open. You wanna climb into my bed an’ fuck me, ain’t gonna complain. You don’t, ain’t gonna complain. Ain’t takin’ payment out in sex. Never needed to pay for pussy an’ ain’t gonna start now. You wanna climb on my dick, it’s on you. Do it ‘cause you wanna, not ‘cause you gotta. Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she echoed him on a breath, her heart racing at everything he just said.

  She just got a job, sort of, a free place to live, sort of, and this man, this biker, stated he was going to get her daughter back. She hoped that wasn’t “sort of.”

  This couldn’t be real.

  None of this could be real. She had to be caught in some sort of alternate reality. She was just having some weird dream.

  She reached into the black leather vest with the dirty patches he was wearing and pinched him.

  He jerked. “What the fuck?”

  “I’m just making sure this is all real.”

  “By pinchin’ me?”

  “Yes. I can’t very well pinch myself, right? If I’m dreaming, I’d only imagine myself doing it.”

  He snorted. “You’re crazy, woman. But got a better way for you to tell this is all fuckin’ real.” With that, he dropped his head, jerked her closer and crushed his lips to hers.

  He took advantage of it when she gasped, slipping his tongue in between her lips and exploring her mouth thoroughly. She clung to him as her knees went weak. His rough beard scraped against her skin, his tongue took control of her mouth, his erection pressed into her belly. He grabbed one of her hands and shoved it between them, curving it over his hard-on. He lifted his head slightly, his lips just above hers.

  “Real enough for you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, his heat, his hardness making her squeeze her thighs together.

  He let her go and stepped back. “Good. Door will be open at night. Your choice what room you end up in. Got me?”

  “Got you,” she answered, her voice a bit breathless at the thought.

  “Not obligated to do anythin’ but be the club’s hostess, baby girl.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can help keep shit clean ‘round here, though. Ain’t gonna bitch if you do.”

  “Okay,” she repeated as if in a trance.

  “Got the rest of the night off. Go home an’ pack. Need your address. Prospects will be there first thing in the mornin’ to grab your shit. Party at church tomorrow night. Will get Moose to run the club. Gonna take you an’ introduce you ‘round. Gonna talk to Diesel an’ Kiki. Maybe even Bella’s ol’ man, who’s a pig.”

  She had no idea who he was talking about. And before she could ask, he continued.

  “Cover yourself up for the party at church. This club you can let it all hang out. That club, no. Got me?”

  She shook her head. “I’m confused.” This club, that club. A church. A pig. She had no clue what the hell he was talking about. Her head was spinning.

  “Won’t be for long, baby girl. Promise. If you got a lease, break it tomorrow an’ let me know how much I need to pay.”

  “But—”

  “No lip.”

  Right. No lip. She wasn’t allowed to argue with anything he said or did. But he was going to get her daughter back. That’s what he said. So for now, she’d follow his rules.

  Then once she had Lily back in her custody, she could go on with her life as scheduled. Find another teaching job, find her own place. Tip her life back right-side up.

  She could deal temporarily with his overbearing bossiness.

  Who knew her savior would be wearing a leather vest, big black biker boots, worn jeans, a bunch of clunky silver jewelry and sporting a heavy beard, as well as a plethora of tattoos?

  Not her.

  Chapter Six

  Dawg eyeballed the blonde with the killer curves, stunning blue eyes, and a mouth that could make a grown brother cry, as she worked the floor. She’d borrowed a slinky midnight blue, cling-to-every-curve, low-cut dress from Savannah and had bought herself a pair of strappy, sexy heels with the cash he’d given her before she’d left this morning.

  And he’d been sporting a raging hard-on almost all afternoon. Hell, almost from the minute she walked out onto the floor.

  Jester and Rooster had brought over some of her shit earlier. In fact, he’d still been in bed and half-asleep when they arrived. They carried her stuff into the spare bedroom and quickly split after telling him they had left her in the rental office of her complex breaking her lease like he told her to.

  He was sure that was going to cost him a pretty penny but watching Emma talking to his customers, making them feel very welcome... he knew it would be worth every fucking cent.

  His patrons could have Ember in the afternoon and evening, but come late night and early morning, Emma was going to be all his. And only his.

  He had told her it would be her choice to climb into his bed and that would remain true. But if it was up to him, she’d be underneath him, and sometimes on top, too.

  He checked the clock hidden behind the bar and then said to Cubby, “Got a party at church. Moose’s in charge. Any problems, text me.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  “Just make sure there ain’t any problems.”

  Cubby gave him an answering chin lift and a grunt as Dawg walked from behind the bar and over to where Ember was talking to one of his regulars.

  The man’s eyes were glued to the pale globes of flesh that were practically spilling out of the cups of her dress. He stepped up to Jack and slapped him on the back. “She treatin’ you well, Jack-o?”

  The man reluctantly raised his eyes to Dawg. “Sure is. Though when I asked her for a private dance, she refused.”

  “Yeah, she’s just here to make sure you’re happy. But not that happy.”

  Jack laughed, and his eyes landed back on Emma’s tits. When the man licked his lips, Dawg fought the urge to smash his fist into his face.

  “Now I gotta steal her away, my man. Got business to take care of.”

  Jack smirked. “Sure. Business. No wonder she isn’t agreeing to a private dance.”

  “Right. To get over your disappointment, givin’ you a drink on the house.”

  “Not sure if that’s a fair trade, Dawg.”

  “Agreed. Ain’t a fair trade, but will have to do.” Dawg lifted his hand and caught Cubby’s attention. He lifted a finger, tipped his chin toward Jack, and the bartender nodded in acknowledgment.

  Dawg slipped an arm around Emma’s waist and planted a possessive hand on the curve of her hip. “Now, we gotta go. She’ll be here tomorrow night, Jack. See you then.”

  “Yeah, Dawg, you lucky bastard.”

  Dawg shot him a grin, then steered Emma away from the stage and toward the back of the club. Before he opened the door to the private hallway, he tipped his head down and said in a low voice, “Gotta go upstairs an’ change outta that dress, baby girl. Jeans. Regular shoes. Cover up your tits. Got me? Goin’ to church.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “What kind of church do you attend?”

  He grinned again, this time in amusement, and shook his head. “One for hellions.”

  He escorted her through the back area, out the back door and up to his apartment.

  “Prospects moved your shit into the spare room. Gotta share a bathroom since this ain’t no high-dollar penthouse. So keep your woman’s shit to a minimum in there, got me?”

  “I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

  That wasn’t quite what he wanted, but he didn’t correct her. Instead he went into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and knocked the cap off on the edge of the counter. “Wear closed shoes. Boots, if you got ‘em. Gonna take my sled.”

  “What’s a sled?”

  He paused, the bottle halfway to his lips. “My bike.”

  “Should you be drinking before we get on your motorcycle?”

  He snorted, then took a sip of his beer. The cool brew went down smoothly. “Yeah. Makes me ste
adier.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Never doubt me, baby girl.”

  With her lips pursed as if she was about to backtalk him, she pinned him with a stare for a moment, then headed down the hallway to her room.

  Not even an hour later, Emma was handing him her helmet after dismounting from his Harley. She pulled the elastic band out of her hair to let it fall around her shoulders.

  That did not help his throbbing dick. The ride over wasn’t long from Heaven’s Angels to church, but having her pressed against his back during the ride had him almost purring as loudly as his sled’s engine. She had done well for never being on a bike before.

  Not that there was a lot to do. Just hang on tight.

  That she did.

  He placed the helmet on the seat, yanked his skull bandana down his face and tucked his glasses into the collar of his T-shirt.

  “This doesn’t look like any church I’ve ever seen before,” she said staring at the steel door that led into the clubhouse. “What does the sign say over the door?”

  Her hand felt so tiny in his when he grabbed it and pulled her over to the entrance. “Read it now.”

  “Dirty Angels MC... Down and dirty ‘til dead.” She dropped her gaze to him. “What does that mean?”

  “Family. Brotherhood. That’s what it fuckin’ means.”

  “Is that your club motto?”

  “Yeah, baby girl, it is.”

  “You have that tattooed over your heart.”

  His head jerked back. “Yeah.” He hadn’t realized she’d inspected his tattoos that closely.

  “How long have you been a member?”

  “Long time. Now, enough with the fuckin’ questions.” He reached for the door handle. “Stick close, got me? Want you in my sight at all times.”

  She pulled back on his hand. “Is it dangerous?”

  “No. But you’re fresh meat an’ some of the hang-arounds an’ prospects might come sniffin’.”

  She frowned. “Sniffing?”

  “Any of ‘em get pushy, you yell for me. Might think you’re one of my girls.”

  “You bring the dancers here?”

  “Normally, yeah.”

  “To do what? Entertain?”

  Dawg yanked open the door and the music being piped into church from the outside courtyard hit them hard since the volume was louder than normal. But then Dirty Deed’s, Nash’s band, was playing I Drink Alone by George Thorogood. So that made sense. That was always a turn-it-up-to-full-blast song.