Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)

by M. N. Forgy

  “What’s wrong with it?” Looking down at my attire, I feel like it’s fine.

  Alessandra places her finger on her chin and raises a brow.

  “I’ve got an idea.” She rushes out of my bedroom, and I take my top off. I don’t know what to wear, and it’s aggravating me.

  “Maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t even want to go anymore,” I complain. “Can’t we just stay in, order some pizza?”

  Alessandra steps back into my room, scissors in hand.

  Dropping to a crouch, she starts shredding my jeans at the knees and up the thighs.

  “What the hell, Alessandra!”

  “There, that looks sexier.” She stands up and smiles. “Oh, and wear this.” She grabs a black shirt out of her purse and tosses it at me.

  “Why do you have random shirts in your purse?” I eye her awkwardly.

  “I figured your wardrobe consisted of uniforms, lounge clothes, and nothing risqué. So I came with a backup, just in case.”

  Glancing over my shoulder at my closest, I sigh, because she’s almost right. “I don’t have to dress like a slut to get a guy. Besides, if you dress like that, what kind of guy are you attracting anyway?”

  “Just… Just put the damn thing on,” Alessandra huffs.

  Pulling it over my head, I turn and look in the mirror. It falls off my right shoulder, leaving it exposed, and hugs my left shoulder loosely. The bottom is snug on my waist, and the back of the top dips down, showing off most of my back.

  “Oh, wow,” I whisper, not sure of the top or my jeans. “I don’t know, it doesn’t look like me.”

  “You look sexy. Just grab some heels and maybe not look like you’re about to pepper spray someone.” She grabs the ribbon holding my hair into a tight bun and pulls it out, my hair falling down my back instantly.

  “I’m about to pepper spray you,” I huff, trying to pry her grabby hands off me.

  “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair down.” She plays with my hair, the ends of it curling just above my breast.

  “I hate you,” I mutter, looking in the mirror. Hell, I don’t even recognize myself. I’ve dressed up before, but this is a whole other level.

  “You’ll thank me later.” She smiles.

  “Do you have heels?”

  Rolling my eyes, I head to my closest. “Yes, I have heels, I’m not that bad.”

  Laughing, she leans over to the mirror, running her fingers under her eyes to pick up the extra eyeliner. “Let’s go before all the booze is gone.” She smacks her lips together and leaves the room.

  I step in front of the mirror once more and turn, looking at my exposed back. I can see the dimples there. Yeah, I can’t do this. I grab the bottom of the shirt and yank it over my head. Quickly, I dart in my closet and pull out the cute little flannel button-up shirt I bought just last week. I pull it over my head and slide some red heels on my feet as I stumble out of the room.

  I grab the small satchel that holds my ID and reach for my gun. Shit, there’s no way it will fit.

  “Come on!” Alessandra yells.

  “Is your purse big enough to fit my gun!?”

  “Seriously, Jillian!” Her voice is irritated, dripping with the suggestive notion that I’m being ridiculous. Conflicted, I put my gun to the side and hurry out of my room.

  “Let’s take a taxi,” Alessandra yells over her shoulder, stepping onto the sidewalk.

  “Why? We can take my Jeep,” I offer, locking my door.

  “I don’t plan on either of us being sober tonight, Jillian.” I’d argue with her, but a drink sounds kind of nice. I’ve been working so hard to make it into the department I don’t think I know how to breathe anymore.

  A taxi pulls up, and Alessandra glances over her shoulder before doing a double-take.

  “You took the shirt off?”

  I shrug. “It wasn’t me.”

  She laughs and gets in the car.

  “Fair enough. You look more relaxed in your Farmer Joe shirt anyhow.”

  I furrow my brows, tugging on my shirt.

  “This is not a farmer shirt. I got it at the mall,” I defend, climbing in the back of the taxi with her.

  ZEEK

  After some light gambling, I head to the club. I suck at gambling; I must not have gotten the gene from my uncle, that’s for sure. I pass a couple of half-naked girls, who are trying to carry one of their drunk friends to the elevator. They stop and smile big as I pass by. I give them the smirk, nodding at them as I continue to the back of the casino. Entering the club, I stop by the bar and spot Tinker bent over, putting bottles into the ice bin. She has on short little shorts, the globes of her ass cheeks peeking out at me, and some red top, showing off the sides of her small tits.

  “You bending over like that, I see it as an open invitation for me to take you from behind,” I suggest, grabbing the rounds of her ass roughly.

  She doesn’t respond, which is odd; she’s usually more than willing for a little rough play. Turning, she glances at me with watery eyes.

  Her bottom lip is split and bruised, a dark circle sitting on the apple of her cheek.

  “Damn, what happened to you?”

  Rolling her lips onto one another, she turns her head.

  “I don’t think we should play around anymore,” she mutters, looking the other way.

  I stand straight, confusion and anger rising in my chest. “Who hurt you? You tell me now!” I demand, my words sharp. Even if she’s not with a patched member, and is just a club ho who tends the bar, she’s ours. I won’t let someone else put their hands on what’s ours.

  Her face snaps toward me from my tone. “‘Cause your fucking girlfriend made it very clear what would happen to me if I did,” she smarts.

  My eyes widen, and my mouth pops open. “The fuck? What girlfriend?”

  She scoffs, shaking her head.

  “Silly boy, don’t you know. Whether you see it or not, that little whore Dolly is claiming your ass. Bet if I get close enough to you I can smell the piss she’s tracking you with.”

  “Hey, brother,” Felix states, walking into the club room we conduct Church in. My eyes never leave Tinker’s, my nostrils flaring.

  “Dolly ain’t my bitch, and you know that!” I seethe, pointing at her.

  Her bravery fades quickly, and tears fill her eyes.

  “Damn, Dolly do that to ya?” Felix questions, resting both hands on the bar.

  Tinker turns quickly and grabs two beers, slamming them between us.

  “Here,” she mutters. I grab the beer and raise a brow at her.

  “You better watch that tone, little one,” I reprimand, having about enough of it.

  She swallows hard and looks elsewhere.

  “Man, that bitch Dolly is psycho.” Felix laughs. I turn where I stand and lift a brow at him. His hair is down today, and he’s wearing a black wife beater.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. The boys in Church waiting?” I question, changing the fuckin’ subject. Church is where the patched men of the Sin City Outlaws meet, discussing drops, money, runs—everything.

  “Yeah, they’re in there. Haven’t heard anything from Uncle Frank in a while,” he states, taking a sip of his beer.

  “That’s good. Only time he shows up is when shit goes wrong.”

  Felix and I head into the club, and the men slowly stop their idle chit-chat.

  “Brothers,” I announce lazily, finding my chair at the head of the table. It’s gray marble, with leather cushioning lining the sides. Chrome thumbtacks are pushed into the leather here and there. I love this table; it’s one my father got us before shit went down. Before I questioned his loyalty to the club, and the beginning of my soul rotting into damnation.

  Taking my seat, I look around the room and see all eyes on me. The ceiling fan’s blades slowly turn from above the table, the walls filled with memorabilia from members before us.

  Grabbing the gavel, I slam it.

  “What’s new, boys?” I smile,
leaning back in my chair.

  This is it, the fucking life.

  Every one of these patched men would lie down and die for me, and I would them. I often feel like I don’t have blood here, that my family is nothing but traitors, except for Felix. But this club? If I didn’t have it and the loyalty of my men, I’d be a dead man. My own flaws, my craving for violence, would be my own demise. Too many times have one of these men saved me. A rival walking up behind me without me knowing, or a rogue club trying to take me out to claim Vegas as their own. My men were there, taking me out of the line of fire when I was the one who took the oath of putting myself in it.

  “Got that meeting later.” Felix shrugs.

  “Remind me.” I close my eyes, trying to remember.

  “The Gentry boys are scrapping cars, trucks, boats, all of it. Want us to help move it, giving us forty percent of the profit.”

  “Hey, you get the right car, get the guts from it, that could sell pretty high,” Machete adds.

  I nod in agreement, rubbing my cheeks. I need to shave.

  “How well do we know the Gentry boys, though?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer.

  Felix twists his lips and gives a half nod. “We’ve done some light dealings with them with some Mary Jane. They pushed it well, made us some cash. Other than that, I don’t have much to go on.”

  “All in favor?” I question, looking around the table.

  “Aye,” is announced from everyone.

  “Hell, what could going and checking it out hurt?” Mac adds at the back of the table, everyone nodding in agreement.

  “Next order of business.”

  “Dues are all paid, except Felix.” Bones, our Treasurer, points at Felix. Bones is a tall, beefy fucker. He has tattoos on his left arm of all the bones in his arm, like an x-ray. He’s bald and burly; kind of looks like Stone Cold Steve Austin to me. Bones is good with money, always watching the club’s spending and where shit would be most profitable.

  Lifting my beer, I stop right before the bottle touches my lips and grin.

  “Better stop hitting up them hoes at the Blackwell Estate and pay your dues, brother.” The Blackwell Estate is an escort service that a family runs out of the city limits. They have some of the hottest pussy, but it comes with a hot price, too.

  Felix laughs and sits back in his chair. “Hey, they love the Felix and what he has to offer.” He grabs his crotch, acting as if he’s as big as James Fucking Deen.

  “I’ve seen that thing. Them girls are more excited over your wallet size, brother,” I tease, taking a pull from my beer.

  “Which apparently is lacking.” Machete laughs.

  “Enough talk about Felix’s dick.” I point at him. “Stick to the pussy around here. It’s free. Get your dues paid.” Felix grins and gives a knowing smile, ‘cause we all know that ain’t going to happen. Shaking my head, I look back to Bones. “What about others, everything paid?” We have buyers, those who are in our pockets, and now that my uncle has dipped his fingers into my business, we have small businesses we shake down for what we call a trade in ‘protection.’

  Bones opens a notebook and looks over it. “Yeah, I think we’re good.”

  “I restocked the ammo in the armory. We’re getting pretty low, though,” Gats states. I flick my gaze toward him. His brown hair is a mess today, bags under his eyes. He hasn’t been himself the last couple weeks, but won’t talk to anyone about it. Felix thinks he’s gay, but Gats always has a chick in his room at the parties. I think Felix is just jealous. Maybe that’s why he’s in a funk—he’s pussy whipped.

  “All right, I’ll place an order.” I nod at Gats. “Guess I’ll see you boys later tonight at the Gentry’s.”

  “Supposed to be a party. Said they’d have ass and grass.” Felix smiles.

  “Yeah, ‘cause that’s what you need at your disposal.” I slam the gavel down and stand, the boys following suit.

  JILLIAN

  After driving for fifteen minutes, the cab stops at the end of a driveway; this is the only house I’ve seen for miles. There are a bunch of cars parked out front, a couple motorcycles, trucks, and even a golf cart. My mouth curves into a small smile, the golf cart is so out of place I can’t help but laugh.

  “Keep the change.” Alessandra hands the cab driver some money, and I get out of the car.

  “You sure this is okay?” I question, straightening my top.

  “Will you loosen up already?” she huffs. I swallow hard, my nerves on end. “Let's go get you a drink to relax.” She grabs my hand and looks me over. “Maybe we’ll get you two, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

  “Alessandra, don’t you think this is a conflict of interest or something. Look at this place, nothing good can come of us being here. We’re law enforcement,” I remind her. She turns, her fingers flying at my hair and face, attempting to primp me.

  “Yeah, we’re law enforcement, but we didn’t join the convent. We’re not nuns. And can I just say that because we are law enforcement, as you so kindly put it, we should live our lives to the fullest because you never know when it’ll all be over.”

  Her words hit home. Her father died unexpectedly on the job, so she’s seen a life cut short before. If I died tomorrow, there wouldn’t be much to say about my life. 'She was a sweet girl.' 'She was such a good girl, it wasn’t her time.' 'She lived for the Sheriff’s department, being killed on the job was the best way she could have gone.' Not the way I want to be remembered.

  She huffs after my hair refuses to sit in my eyes. I think she thought it would look sexy, and it probably does on her, but I just look like I started head-banging.

  Heading up the stepping stones, I can hear the house thumping with music, groups of people standing near the front door and off to the side of the house. Taking my eyes off them, I look the place over. It’s a two-story house, most of it made up of floor-to-ceiling windows. Palm trees are planted around the corners of the house. It’s a nice place, but from the sound of it, it won’t be by morning.

  The front door is open, so we head straight in. The place is packed; I can’t see where to go. The smell of smoke is strong, and perfume and cologne are lingering in the air.

  “Alessandra!” I holler, trying to get her attention, second-guessing this whole idea. She doesn’t look my way; instead, she tightens her hold on my hand and pulls me through the crowd.

  We pass some stairs leading up to the second floor, where a man is lying on his back and two naked girls are rubbing their bare tits along his chest, one kissing him hard. Two men have their phones out taking pictures and recording.

  My heart accelerates as I take in more of my surroundings—lots of sex and drinking, possibly drugs. Looking over, I spot a guy standing against a wall, a girl on her knees, with a girl under her. Oh, my God, that guy is getting a blowjob from a girl who's getting her pussy eaten out by another girl! This isn’t like any party I’ve been to before.

  “Here, drink this!” Alessandra hands me a shot glass, a smile on her face.

  “Alessandra, we shouldn’t be here!” I shake my head and glance down at the amber liquid. I've had shots before; they taste like shit, but make you feel like a goddess. When I drink the hard stuff, I get word vomit—no filter. I say what I’m feeling and what’s on my mind, which is why I try not to do it very often.

  “You okay?” She squeezes my shoulder, and my eyes flick to hers.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” My voice is tight, showing I'm anything but.

  “Hey! We're not doing anything wrong. We’re off the clock and are enjoying ourselves at a get-together.”

  I laugh; this is hardly a casual get-together. People like us don’t go to parties like these. “So what, we're just supposed to overlook everything illegal?”

  Her face scrunches into one of sympathy and irritation. “Jillian, you can’t go around trying to save the city every chance you get. You’ll never have any fun that way. Don’t you want to have some fun?”

  I twist the gla
ss in my hand, the liquid swishing around. I've always been labeled the boring, rule-abiding citizen. I want to break the rules, want to live on the edge to some degree. Every time I do, though, guilt rides up my back telling me I know better. My father would be furious, my job could be gone, and what would people think of me? I get this gut-clenching fear that riddles my lower half, making me side-step the wild side and stay where it’s safe… and numb. The only time I feel is when I’m on the job. Adrenaline rushing through me, blue staining my veins with righteousness. But I’d be a liar if I said I never wondered what it felt like to be the one being bad.

  “I do, I just...” I pause, not sure what holds me back to the point I don’t live, that I can’t live.

  “You’re scared.” My eyes pop from the glass to Alessandra’s. “You’re scared, I get it. You've never been outside the box. You’re like that puppy that's been on a leash all its life, and when you’re finally set free, you’re scared as hell, wanting the leash back."

  I frown, her comparing me to a leashed dog not very appealing, but accurate.

  “You’re kind of a bitch.”

  “I didn’t mean it as in you are a dog. I just mean your parents have warped you into this person who...” She shrugs, downing her shot. “Who doesn’t have any fun.”

  Swallowing hard, her words hit my chest. It hurts, because she’s right.

  “Let’s stay for a couple of songs, then we’ll go.”

  Looking around me, everyone is dancing and having a good time. Maybe I am over-thinking it. I can do a few songs, a few drinks.

  “Come on! Drink up, dance, and mingle. Let loose and stop worrying about how many crimes everyone’s committing.” She laughs, making me laugh because I’ve counted fifteen discrepancies already.

  Gripping the shot glass, I toss it back. The fire burns my throat, warming my stomach.

  “Damn!” I holler, fanning my mouth like it’s actually going to take the fire away.

  Alessandra giggles and hands me a bottle of Sprite.

  “You should probably chase it, it helps with the cheap liquor.”

  Grabbing the Sprite, I take a huge swig.