by Nicola Jane
Rebellion MC
Tag & Lucy’s Story
A Novel by
Nicola Jane
Copyright © 2020 Nicola Jane
Published by Major Key Publishing
www.majorkeypublishing.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage without express permission by the publisher.
This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Contains explicit language & adult themes suitable for ages 16+
To submit a manuscript for our review, email us at [email protected]
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CHAPTER ONE
Lucy
“I heard that after the fight, Tag sends out his security to pick out women for him.” My best friend Tyra, flicks her black hair over her shoulder. Her large brown eyes dart around before she adds, “Yah know, for sex or something.”
“That’s disgusting, if a man cannot be bothered to approach me himself, then he isn’t worth my time,” says Maribel firmly.
“That’s why you’re single Bel,” I grin, popping a straw into my glass of Gin and giving it a stir. “Why doesn’t he just come and talk with a girl he likes?”
“He’s tipped to be the next big thing,” says Tyra, “I guess being that popular with the ladies, kind of makes you big headed.”
We take our drinks from the bar and push through the crowd to find our table. It’s Friday night and my girls dragged me on a night out. Tyra is a journalist, she gets the best gossip on celebrities but she also drags us to a lot of functions so that she can grab the next story. Tonight, for example, an up and coming MMA fighter by the name of Tag is fighting a big fight. Tyra managed to get us front row seats, which she was really excited about, but personally; I’m not into watching men beat the crap out of each other.
I choose a chair furthest from the cage, I’d heard horror stories of getting splattered by blood from my assistant at work, he was probably just kidding but I didn’t want to take the risk.
“How’s Noah?” asks Bel. She always asks to be polite, but my two friends hate my boyfriend, they think he’s an arrogant ass.
“Busy with work,” I shrug. It’s my classic response when they ask me, because I know that they aren’t really interested, they’re just being good friends.
“Oh my god, he’s over there,” says Tyra, excitedly, while tapping Bel on the arm. I crane my neck to try and spot whoever she is pointing at, it’s not like Tyra to get excited, she meets celebrities all the time. “He’s so gorgeous,” she gushes, practically swooning.
The crowd parts slightly and I spot a large guy covered in tattoos from neck to toe, I don’t think there’s one part of skin that’s not covered in art. His hair is cropped short, shaved at the sides and slightly longer on top. His dark facial stubble adds to his sexiness. I like my men clean cut and shaven but there’s something about this man that gets my blood pumping.
“He definitely has something about him,” sighs Bel, dreamily.
“Can we take a moment to appreciate those muscles, the guy is ripped!” says Tyra.
I watch as he makes his way towards us, occasionally stopping by a table and chatting with the occupants. A female rushes past our table, headed straight for Tag. She hands him a pen and pulls her top down so that Tag can sign his autograph across her chest.
“I wonder if he’s girl spotting now,” says Tyra, straightening her hair again and crossing her long brown legs. Tag passes our table without giving any of us a second glance. Tyra looks positively outraged, “Rude!” I exchange a smirk with Bel, only Tyra would be insulted that she wasn’t picked out like a piece of meat.
The night drags, I’ve already drunk far too much and Tags fight is only just beginning. My cell buzzes to life and I glance down at a text from Noah telling me he’s gone for a few drinks with the business partners. Whatever, he’s never home anyway.
I try to get enthusiastic about the two men battering each other in the cage, I just don’t see the pleasure in it. Tyra was right, Tag is good, he hardly has a mark on him and the other guy is a bloody mess. When it’s finally over, the crowd erupts with excitement as Tag holds his hands up in glory. While all the fuss around me is playing out, a man in a suit approaches me. He leans in to my ear, “Tag invites you to an exclusive club after the fight,” he pushes a small white card into my hand, “Your friends are welcome to join you.” And then he walks away. I frown, watching him disappear into the crowd. I look down at the card. It’s thick and expensive looking with black lettering in the center showing an address and the number ten.
Ten minutes later we step from the building onto the wet, cold streets of London. The rain drizzles and I know if we don’t hurry to get a cab, my curly dark hair would soon be frizzy and flat. Tyra waves her hand frantically and a black cab pulls in. We all pile in, “Where to ladies?” asks the driver, his London accent thick.
“Actually, I have this,” I show the card to Tyra, “You can drop me home and then head on there if you’re looking to party your night away.” I didn’t fancy schmoozing at Tag’s after party but Tyra could get an exclusive story out of it.
“Oh my god, is this what I think it is?” she asks, staring down at the little white card.
“A man in a suit gave it to me at the end of the fight.”
“Well we have to go, you too.”
“Erm, no, it really doesn’t sound like something I want to go to,” I say firmly.
“Oh come on Lucy, you used to love a good party,” she argues.
“Leave her Ty, she doesn’t like that stuff anymore. It’s not her scene,” says Bel. I don’t miss the way she raises her eyebrows when she says the word scene.
“That’s not fair,” I argue, “I just don’t feel like it tonight.”
“Because it’s not full of your kind of people,” says Tyra.
“Look I hate to butt in here girls but if you’re not gonna give me an address would you mind stepping out of the cab so I can get on with my work,” says the driver.
“Yah know what, fine, let’s go to the stupid party.” I flop back into the cab seat, folding my arms across my chest and glaring out of the window.
It’s no secret that I come from a wealthy family. My step-father is CEO to a large energy company, since the world went crazy for global change, he’s been raking in the cash, selling energy saving solutions to large businesses. My boyfriend, Noah, has a similar back ground to me. We met in college four years ago when he was studying law. He’s now a partner in his father’s law firm and was recently featured in the times magazine as one of the new up and coming lawyers this year.
I don’t make a show of my wealth, in fact, I avoid it at all costs. I went to college and now I have my own business as a wedding/party planner. My step-father wasn’t impressed with my career choice and Noah often refers to it as my little project to keep me busy. I don’t care, I love it and its mine. I worked hard for it and I even went to the bank to get the starter loan, refusing to take my families money.
“Sorry Luce, we were just kidding,” mutters Tyra. I met the girls in school, before my mother met my step-father. I was twelve when they moved me to a private school but I kept in touch with the girls, we’d known each other since we were five years old.
“I hate how you always do that, when you don’t ge
t your own way you use that against me. You know the real me, you know I hate all that and it’s so shitty that as my friends, you’d bring it up to make me do what you want.”
Tyra takes my hand, “You’re right, I’m so sorry. We’ll take you home first.”
“No, we’re almost there now. Noah isn’t home anyway,” I mutter, sulkily.
“He’s not home?” asks Bel.
“Drinks with the partners at work,” I say. The girls raise their eyebrows but choose wisely, not to comment.
The cab stops outside a swanky looking hotel. Tyra wipes the condensation from the window and peers outside, “Are you sure this is the right place?” she asks.
“I’ve been a cab driver for twenty years love, I never fuck it up. This is the place.” We step out, handing the driver the fare. “Well I’ve never been inside this place before,” says Tyra, running for the shelter of the doorway. It’s a grand hotel with a brightly lit entrance.
“It’s expensive here,” I say. I’d heard of it from Lucille, one of my rich ‘friends’, her husband owned a huge accounting firm in central London and they would often have dinner here to impress clients.
I enter first, my heels clicking on the white shiny marble floor. The blond receptionist glances up and smiles widely, “Welcome to Hotel Martinez, how may I help you this evening?” Her perfectly straight white teeth almost gleam against her well made up face.
“I have this,” I say, handing the card over to her.
The receptionist glances at the card and she gives a nod, “Take the golden elevator to the top floor. Enjoy your evening.”
We get into the elevator, there’s a velvet covered seat inside and Tyra snaps a photograph on her cell. “Seriously, it’s just a seat,” I laugh.
“I have never been in an elevator like it,” she grins, “Someone could actually live in this thing it’s so big.”
“What do you think the number ten means on the card?” asks Bel.
I shrug, “Maybe a room number? It has to be something obvious because the receptionist knew exactly what it was.”
The elevator stops smoothly and the doors slide open to reveal a large foyer. We step out and glance around at the expensive area. Paintings are displayed on the white walls, the carpet is a deep purple colour and bouncy and there are four chaise lounges with golden legs, against the walls. “Well this looks promising,” says Bel.
“I was expecting a night club though, we’re not going to know anyone in here,” I say cautiously. “It’s all a little weird.”
“It’s exclusive Lucy, it’s exciting,” smiles Tyra, stepping towards a large double door. She knocks and my heart almost beats out of my chest, I hate doing stuff like this. No one knows where we are or who we are with, we could be murdered in there. The door opens and a man in a suit pops his head out, “Hey, we have a card,” says Tyra, holding her hand out to me so I can pass her the card. She holds it up for him to inspect and he gives a nod, holding the door wider for us to step inside. The room is just as amazing as the foyer and Bel gasps aloud.
There are lots of people inside. Men in suits with glasses in their hands and women huddled in groups, drinking Champagne. There’s a low beat indicating that there’s music in here somewhere but it’s not loud enough for me to make out the song. “Well, this is hardly an after party,” I mutter.
Tyra scowls at me. “I just want some pictures and then we can go,” she hisses, “If I get a good story then my boss might actually like me for a day.” Tyra got a job for the London Gazette when she left college at eighteen. Her boss is a jackass, always making Tyra feel like she’s incompetent.
A waitress passes holding a tray of Champagne glasses and before I can take one, a man with his back to me steps back, knocking into the waitress. The tray tilts and the glasses slide off, hitting the floor one after the other. “Holy shit,” I gasp, jumping out of the way to avoid the splashes of sticky liquid.
The waitress apologizes profusely, crouching down to pick up shards of broken glass. “Its fine, it wasn’t your fault,” I reassure her, also bending to give her a helping hand.
The guy that knocked into her huffs loudly, wiping down his jacket with a white handkerchief. “Incompetent little wench,” he grumbles.
“It was your fault,” I snap. The waitress touches my hand gently and shakes her head in warning.
“Please, it’s fine,” she says quietly.
The crowd parts slightly and a large man stomps through, he reaches down and grips the girl by the top of her arm, wrenching her from her crouching position so that she stands before him. She immediately hangs her head low and apologizes. I rise to my feet, wiping my hands on my ass. “It wasn’t her fault,” I say firmly and the man’s sharp, dark eyes turn to me. He’s scowling, his face is red and mean looking. “That guy bumped into her.”
“And you are?” he growls.
“A guest,” I snap, placing my hand on my hips, “And a founding member of ‘Treat your staff well’ you moron,” I add. I hear Bel snigger behind me.
“And you were invited here by?” he presses. I hold the card up and the guy smirks slightly. “Oh, number ten.” I frown in confusion but then the crowd parts again and my breath catches in my throat. Tag is standing before me, freshly showered, his hair damp. A black T-shirt clings to his tight muscles and it’s tucked neatly into his Levi’s. I silently beg for him to turn around so I can check out his ass in those bad boys.
“What’s going on?” he asks, giving the man a hard stare. I’m slightly offended that he hasn’t addressed me, seeing as it was quite obvious that I was talking to the guy first.
“Sorry Tag, this idiot spilled a tray of Champagne, showering our guests.”
“I’m so sorry Mr Corallo,” whispers the girl, tears in her eyes, “It was an accident I’ll pay for the damage.”
“Shit,” I huff, “I’ll pay for the damage.” I reach into my purse and pull out a handful of money. I’m not sure how much is there but I’m sure it will be enough. I stuff it in the man’s jacket pocket and pat it for good measure, “If it’s any more than that I’ll write a check, now let the girl go,” I say.
Tag smirks and raises his eyebrow, “You heard the lady, let her go,” he says. The large guy releases the waitress, annoyance crossing his features. “Now get the mess cleared away,” he adds. The waitress goes about picking up the glass, I’m about to help her when Tag steps closer. “You are?” he asks.
“Lucy,” I mutter, my face flushing crimson.
“Where’s your card Lucy?” he asks. I hold it up and he smirks again, “Hmm, number ten. Okay, let’s go.” He turns his back to me and starts to push back through the crowd. I glance to Tyra and Bel who are staring after him wide eyed.
“Well go then,” says Tyra, shoving me forward. I dig my heels in.
“No way!” I almost screech, “I don’t even know the guy and what’s the significance of the number?”
“Who cares, he’s a god among men, follow him,” encourages Bel. Instead, I bend my knees and help the waitress pick up the broken glass. I don’t know who the hell Tag is or what that number means and I don’t want to find out.
CHAPTER TWO
Tag
I make my way through the room, occasionally stopping to shake hands and accept congratulation’s for tonight’s win. I get to the bedroom and turn around to find number ten is nowhere in sight. What the actual fuck. Antonio is standing by the wall watching the room. He’s head of my security, not that I need all that shit. “Where did number ten go?” I ask.
He shrugs and then speaks into his mouthpiece, asking for the other guys to find number ten and bring her over. I spot number fifteen and smile, “Forget it Tony, I’ll take her instead.” I saunter over and she smiles when she spots me. I feel like a lion playing with its prey. “Number fifteen, step this way.” She giggles, the sound irritates me but I guess I’ll suck it up just to get ahead of Anton.
Fifteen steps into my room and looks around, her eyes are wide w
ith hunger. Another money grabber, but if that’s what gets them in here; then I don’t give a shit. “This place is lovely,” she says, running a well-manicured hand along the four-poster bed in the center of the room.
I nod towards the lone standing bath tub over the far side of the room. The water is hot and pink rose petals float on top of the water. “Let’s have a soak, my muscles are tight,” I wink. She grins wider and pulls at the tie around her waist. The knot unfastens easily and the dress falls open, revealing white lace underwear. I suck in a breath. Her body is perfect and her tan isn’t fake, something rare these days. I pull my T-Shirt over my head and throw it over a chair and then I kick the jeans down my legs. Fifteen strips out of her underwear and I watch the sway of her perfectly rounded ass as she sashays over to the bath tub. Call me weird but I have a thing about girls being clean before I go there. She steps into the water and lowers herself gracefully until just her head pokes out of the water.
I step out of my boxer’s and her eyes follow me as I approach. I know I look good, my body is tight, my muscles are in top shape with tattoo’s crawling across my body. I’m not exactly small in ‘that’ area either, in fact; it’s been a bit of a curse, often causing women pain more than pleasure.
I climb into the tub behind Fifteen and pull her back against my front. The feel of her wet silky skin against my own, gets me hard instantly and she gasps as my erection presses into her back. I run my hands across her flat stomach and up towards her breasts. They're easily a D cup and as I massage them in my palms; I’m disappointed to feel that they aren’t real. I have nothing against fake breasts but occasionally it’d be nice to feel a real pair, something else that seems to be rare these days.
Fifteen places her hands on my knees and uses the leverage to rub herself up and down against me. I close my eyes and rest my head back against the tub. She feels nice, way better than number twelve. Fifteen turns and rests on her knees, water and bubbles run down her breasts and I have the urge to lick them. She grips my erection and begins to run her wet hands up and down the length. I glance at the bowl of condoms over by the bed. I can’t let fifteen near me without one and I know that she wants to taste me, she’s licking her lips hungrily. I still her hands and she looks up at me, “Let’s take this over to the bed,” I say. She nods her head in agreement and I sigh in relief.
