Royal Stripper

by Sienna Valentine

  “Hi there, hon!” she said. “How many’ll it be?”

  Maggie was caught a little off guard. She wasn’t there for the food. “Oh, I, uh…”

  “You can sit at the bar if you like, sugar.” The waitress handed her a floppy plastic menu.

  “I’m not here to…”

  “Lord, is that Maggie Oliver?”

  Celeste, one of the diner’s oldest and most experience waitresses, peered from behind the giant glass case that twirled the pies and cakes around like they were showgirls to be ogled at. She came around with her arms opened wide and sunshine in her eyes. So much for doing this my way, thought Maggie to herself.

  “Maggie, oh my Lord! I can’t believe it’s you!” said Celeste as she wrapped Maggie in a strangling but loving hug. Her uniform smelled like cigarette smoke, burnt coffee, and the lingering scent of the same cheap perfume her husband bought for her every year for their anniversary. Celeste always loved it.

  Maggie was surprised to feel her tension and worry melt almost completely away for that moment she was wrapped in Celeste’s arms. She hugged her back and felt tears pooling up in her eyes. For that brief moment, it was like she had never left LeBeau.

  “Honey, you look so beautiful!” said Celeste as she pulled away from Maggie to give her a once-over. “Look at you… you’re grown up into a proper lady. I can’t believe my eyes.”

  Maggie smiled, and felt a tiny tear run down her cheek. “Hi Celeste. Boy, I didn’t realize how much I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, sweet girl. We’ve all missed you. It’s been too long. Your pa hasn’t come into the diner yet today. Have you already seen him?”

  Mention of her father made Maggie’s tension resurface in her muscles, and she gave Celeste a tight smile. “No, not yet. Actually, I was stopping by to…” Something in the air made Maggie stop. She turned and looked out into the large dining room to her right. The place was filled with black leather cuts, the gathered members of the Black Dogs from several nearby towns in for a lunchtime break, laughing and drinking coffee. In the midst of them, one had stood up and was staring at her from across the room.

  It was Will Bowers. He didn’t look a day older than when she had left. Always a handsome man with boyish features, now he had supplemented them with a gruff chin-stubble and mustache the color of rust, same color as his soft curly hair.

  Will was never an emotional guy. It was only those who knew him well who knew how to read him, and right now Maggie was reading an entire novel’s-worth of emotion on his seemingly expressionless face. It was all in those deep brown eyes which stared at her, unblinking.

  Maggie slipped out of Celeste’s grasp and maneuvered around the chairs and tables into the dining room. She gave the waitress’s shoulder a tender squeeze as she did so, and Celeste didn’t interrupt or protest. The old woman was wise enough to know what was happening.

  Will moved to meet her halfway. Maggie’s nerves began to sing a warning song, unsure how he would react. She did not want to begin this new and terrifying chapter in her life by being publicly humiliated in this place.

  But when he finally got in front of her, Will just smiled his gentle, lopsided smile. “Maggie,” he said, quiet as always. “I can’t believe it’s you.” His eyes were searching her face, looking her up and down, as if he was trying to dedicate every detail of this moment to memory.

  “Hi Will,” said Maggie, giving him a small and shaking smile. She licked her lips, ready to launch into the speech she had been planning and rehearsing, over and over, just for the moment she would inevitably run into one of the boys from the MC. But before she could, Will wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug. At first Maggie only tensed up in surprise, but then she melted into it and hugged him back even tighter.

  When they pulled away from it, Maggie realized the entire group of Black Dogs had stopped whatever they were doing to watch the reunion. She didn’t recognize any of them, and doubted they knew who she was. They were simply shocked by Will’s public display of affection. Will didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “What are you doing here?” Will asked, though it was more gentle than accusatory.

  Maggie blinked a few times and tried to gather her thoughts. The entire rehearsed speech had flown from her mind. “I, uh… I decided it was time to come home.” She finished with another tight smile, “Things didn’t work out in Eagleton like I had planned.”

  “Henry didn’t say a word about you coming back,” said Will. “I thought you two were still on the outs.” The expression on her face must have answered his curiosity, because Will made a little “oh” noise and nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Maggie lowered her voice, insecure of being overheard by these MC boys she didn’t know. “I haven’t talked to Henry yet. He doesn’t know I’m back.”

  Will was thoughtful and quiet for a moment. The Black Dogs began to grow bored watching the conversation and started going back to their own. “You know, there’s still an unofficial APB from the club out on you. Dogs aren’t supposed to engage with you, just report back to him any word of your location.”

  Maggie swallowed against a tight throat and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like the old man. Controlling enough to supervise, but too proud to do it himself.”

  Will’s half-smile returned for just a moment. Then he grew serious and locked eyes with her. “I don’t want to make anything harder for you, Maggie. But you know I have to report this to him. I don’t know what you have planned for this homecoming… I’m going to guess it didn’t involve Henry and Beck kicking down your apartment door before you even got settled into town.”

  “No, no it did not,” said Maggie with a sigh.

  “You’ve always been smart. I’m sure you have a plan. If you want to get it going, you need to do it now. Henry should be at the clubhouse. You should go talk to him now, while you still have the element of surprise.” Will looked around at the members in the diner. “I outrank all these goons in here, so I can keep them quiet. But I can only give you until sundown to make your move. Then I have to tell Henry myself.” He blinked a few times and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “I understand,” said Maggie immediately, stiffening her back and taking a deep breath. “I came here half-hoping he was here to get it over with, anyway.”

  Will smiled again. “Henry would never blow his top in Dot’s. Smart girl.”

  “Not smart enough, apparently,” said Maggie more to herself than to Will.

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll be fine. You’re his daughter. No matter what he says to you, he’s glad to see you.”

  Maggie returned the smile. “Thanks Will. I’m glad I found you first.”

  “I’m glad to have you back,” he said.

  Maggie gave him one last small hug and turned to head out of the dining room. Before she could, Will grabbed her arm and turned her back.

  “One last thing,” he said, and now his eyebrow was raised, his brown eyes filled with genuine worry. “Jase will probably be there.”

  Hearing his name again made a shiver run through Maggie’s bones. Her heart skipped. She felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t find the words to reply to Will, so she simply nodded and squeezed his hand one last time before she walked off to face her fate.

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  Excerpt - PRIDE

  The final excerpt is from PRIDE, the first book of my 3 book series, The Brody Bunch. If you’ve never read any of the Brody’s, this is the place to start and although the series is best read together, each book is meant to also stand-alone.

  I’m also excited that the entire series is available on audiobook.

  Following this excerpt will be a number of full bonus novels.

  Chapter 1

  Reid

  Waiting around was not my strong suit. Not for anybody, but least of all for Ash. You were supposed to be patient with family, give them a wide berth and unlimit
ed second chances, but I didn’t give a fuck about virtues. Not back then, anyway. Back then, I was all about sin.

  And my favorite was pride.

  Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m the middle child, but I have what you might call a type-A personality. I can’t sit still. I’m always on the move. Like that Talladega Nights shit—“I wanna go fast.” And I do. I wanna go fast and hard and rough and show the world there’s nothin’ I can’t do. I am the best. I have to be. My ego demands nothing less.

  Oh, you think that sounds bad now? Wait until you hear the rest of the story.

  So there I was, sitting at a table at Trick Shots—a shitty dive I wouldn’t normally have agreed to even be seen at, were it not for my older brother’s low standards—waiting on his ass to show up while Wyatt slouched next to me, fucking around on his phone. It’s true—younger generations make for absolutely shit company, and Wyatt was no exception. Not that he was much better when he opened his mouth.

  As the minutes ticked by, I was devolving from annoyed to pissed, bordering on furious. I had better places to be, and better people to be seen there with. Yet here I was, suckered into some kind of “family meeting” on a Friday night, instead of dusting some college-kid jackoff at the drag racing track clear across town.

  My fingers itched to be curled around a gear shift. My arms ached with the desire to steer my suped-up ’69 Shelby around one of the track’s tight, luscious curves. So maybe racing classics wasn’t as turbo-fueled as racing some of the newer models—but for me, it wasn’t about speed. Not entirely, anyway. I was way more interested in the thrill of the chase, in the challenge.

  Me and Ash, the eldest, noticeably absent member of our brotherly trio, had something in common there. Only it wasn’t the roar of the crowd or some kind of prize he was after. When Ash imagined luscious curves, they didn’t belong to a stretch of road—they were all woman. Which was probably why he was late. That dirty man-whore was probably banging some hot piece of ass and had forgotten all about us.

  “Fucking Christ,” I muttered, as I finished up my third beer. “Wish he’d just zip up his pants and get the fuck over here already, huh?”

  “Uh-huh,” Wyatt murmured in reply. He’d finally looked up from his phone, but not to join the conversation. He was thoroughly engrossed in the MMA fight on TV. The bartender had just turned the channel.

  “So glad we took the time to have this little heart-to-heart,” I said, as I ordered another round. Wyatt didn’t even dignify that with a response; I’d have been better off talking to thin air.

  I was just promising myself I’d leave after this last, cheap Coors when I heard the heavy footfalls of a pair of boots approaching our table. I shifted my gaze and caught Ash out of the corner of my eye, ambling through the sparse copse of patrons with more swagger than usual. Damn, maybe he really was getting laid.

  “There he is,” I said, as Ash pulled out his chair. He sat, and I asked him, “How’s the syphilis?”

  “Fuck you,” Ash answered. Witty—I’d expected nothing less. He grabbed the wrist of a cute chick wearing an employee t-shirt stretched tight over her double-D tits, stopping her dead in her tracks. “Hey, babe, you mind grabbin’ me some whiskey? On the rocks.”

  Now, if I’d done that to a girl, she would’ve screamed bloody goddamn murder and probably hit me. Caused a whole scene and got me thrown out of the bar. But not Ash. When he manhandled a woman, she got all giggly and goo-goo-eyed and practically spat out her number like an ATM receipt. This particular chick was no exception.

  She smiled wide, her glossy lips parting over perfect, white teeth. “Sure thing, handsome. Any kind in particular?”

  “Surprise me,” Ash said, flashing her a wolfish grin. The blonde tittered and scampered away on her too-tall pumps, hips swinging, a spring in her step.

  I snorted. “Whatever they’ve got layin’ around, huh?” Ash answered with a shrug, like nothing in the world could bother him tonight. That pissed me off even more. He’d left us hanging for a good hour, and now he had the audacity to be unflappable? Fuck him. I took a pull from my bottle. “Well, you always were a man of discerning tastes.”

  “At least I have some,” he replied, following Wyatt’s gaze to the TV screen in the corner. “Real men drink liquor, Reid. Not Coors. And whatever the hell this is.” He turned Wyatt’s bottle around so he could see the label. “Pabst?”

  Wyatt, in the first display of giving a shit I’d seen from him tonight, pulled his beer away from Ash’s grasp. “Fuck you. I like PBR just fine.”

  Ash held up his hands disarmingly. “No skin off of my nose, bro. I’m just saying that if I didn’t know any better, I’d have to check your ID right now to make sure you weren’t a stack of toddlers sneaking in here dressed up in their daddy’s wife-beater and jeans. You know who drinks PBR?” Without waiting for an answer, Ash continued, “Hipsters. And nobody over the age of four.”

  “It’s cheap and it gets the job done. And anyway, how the fuck do you imagine a stack of toddlers are gonna sneak in here wearing a wife-beater? They’d need a trench coat or some shit, at least.”

  The waitress returned and set Ash’s tumbler down in front of him. He thanked her with a wink, then said, “I call out your manhood, and you’re worried about the realistic quality of the costume a pack of hypothetical toddlers are wearing? Damn, Wyatt. That’s fascinating.”

  “You know what’s not fascinating?” I said, setting my beer down hard enough to make the girl at the next table over jump in her seat. “This conversation. Which we could’ve been having an hour ago, if you gave a rat’s ass about wasting my time.”

  “C’mon, Reid,” Ash said, grinning and spreading his arms wide. “This is family night. You and your friends can play with your Hot Wheels anytime.”

  “Fuck you,” I sneered.

  Ash shook his head and took a drink. “Well, now that we’ve all got our fuck you’s out of the way, we can talk about the important things.” He eyed Wyatt hard. “Like how baby bro is well on his way to becoming a grade-A fuck-up.”

  Wyatt sucked his teeth. “Come on, you said you wouldn’t harp on this shit.”

  I frowned. “Why? What did you do now?”

  When Wyatt didn’t answer me, Ash continued, “Some of the Bright Falls Beasts’ prospects got busted a couple weeks ago for startin’ shit with one of their rival clubs—and in broad fuckin’ daylight, too. This genius…” Here, he pointed at Wyatt. “…got picked up with the rest of them.”

  “Fuck’s sakes, Wyatt,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Are you trying to put targets on all our backs again?”

  “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” he insisted, fingers curled so tight around his beer his knuckles had turned white. Kid always did have a temper, and Ash knew just what buttons to press to make him go nuclear. From what I could see, he was dangerously close to entering in the launch codes now. “I was just hangin’ around when shit happened to go south. That’s all.”

  Ash and I exchanged looks. Maybe Wyatt was a grown-ass man—barely—but damn if he didn’t still act like the kid who used to get the worst of our father’s belt. You’d think that would’ve made Wyatt want to distance himself from the kind of shit dear old Dad used to get into, but for years now, Ash and I had spent practically every waking moment making sure our youngest brother didn’t follow in Pops’ footsteps.

  It made no fucking sense. I’d always figured since Wyatt was so young when Dad went away, we’d gotten him out of that life of crime early enough to make a difference. If anything, it should’ve been me and Ash who had a hard time adjusting to life outside the criminal underbelly, but in comparison to Wyatt, we were adjusting fine. I shook my head, mystified, and not for the first time. Why Wyatt was so keen to self-destruct was something I’d probably never figure out.

  Wyatt broke the silence when he muttered, “They’re not even gonna charge me with anything, okay? Lay off.” But that wasn’t good enough for Ash, who had a way of making us both furious with his whole “s
urrogate father” act.

  We’d even made it into a drinking game, once. So whenever Ash leaned forward and pointed a finger at Wyatt, scowling, his chest puffed out, Wyatt and I both knocked back our beers in tandem and settled in for another one of Ash’s signature lectures.

  “I get it, Wyatt. It’s not exactly easy to get by in a shithole like Bright Falls. Especially if the living you’re trying to make is an honest one. I understand the allure of a job where you can make the kind of money Dad used to pull in, where if you keep your nose to the grindstone, you don’t have to answer to anyone but yourself.”