He Doesn’t Care_A Bad Boy Secret Baby Motorcycle Club Romance

by Naomi West

  “Hey,” said the man in a voice that was even, calm, and collected.

  Honey felt terribly nervous, but at the same time, something about this man’s confident, calm demeanor put her at ease.

  “You waiting for orders or something?” he asked.

  Oh shit, Honey thought. I’m supposed to be doing a job here. Get your head in the game, Honey.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she said.

  Honey watched the man’s eyes drift up and down her body, lingering on her breasts and curves. Normally, it grossed her out a bit when customers eye-fucked her like that. Something about this guy, however, made her feel sexy as his gaze lingered on her.

  “They call you Honey, huh?” he asked.

  “They do,” she said, beginning to move her hips slowly to the music. “And I’m sweet, just like it.”

  A little laugh-snort left his nose.

  “First time you use that line?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “Probably the four-hundredth.”

  Her eyes went wide at her own words. Part of the job was maintaining the illusion of her being some kind of mindless sexual being, a creature put on earth for the pleasure of whatever man she was currently dancing for. A behind-the-scenes quip like that was not something she should’ve been saying. Still, something about this guy made her feel comfortable enough to be herself. Kind of.

  “And what’s your name, handsome?” she asked.

  “Grit,” he said.

  “Does that mean you’re all sorts of rough?”

  “So I hear,” he said.

  “Then I’ll be sweet, and you can be rough,” said Honey, making her way over to him. “How does that sound?”

  “Sounds good,” he said in that smooth voice of his. “Why don’t you come here and sit down?”

  “Sure,” Honey said, figuring he was about ready to put his hands all over her.

  Depending on the customer, Honey could establish ground rules about how much touching they were able to do. If they were the disgusting type, she could say that it was a strict “I touch you, but you can’t touch me” policy. And if they objected, well, a guard was right outside the door to make sure they knew the rules up and down. This guy, on the other hand, she was ready to let do things that she wouldn’t normally allow just any customer to do.

  Honey took a seat on the couch, tucking her hair behind one ear as she did. She was only a foot or so from Grit, and the heat radiating from his body was doing things to her that she wasn’t prepared to have happen.

  “You been working here for long?” asked Grit.

  “About a year,” she said, the truth slipping out again.

  What is this guy doing to me? she thought. How is he having this effect on me?

  “Pretty girl like you,” he said, “shouldn’t be working at a place like this.”

  “I get that a lot, actually,” said Honey. “Um, people saying that I oughta be working in modeling or something. I don’t know.”

  The sex-bomb act was faltering by the second, and Honey found herself just being, well, herself. Grit reached over to her and ran his fingers along the bare skin of her upper arm, his touch like electricity. Honey took in a sharp breath as he touched her, closing her eyes and savoring the sensation. She felt his hands move down, slowly, down to her stomach. His hands came to a rest for a brief moment on her hips. Then, with an effortless motion, he lifted her up and placed her on his lap.

  “That’s much better,” he said.

  Honey looked down and saw that she was straddling Grit. Her eyes locked onto his crotch, and she could see the outline of what was assuredly a massive cock. He breathing was short and her heart raced. She’d never felt like this with a customer before.

  Grit moved his hands along her body, coming to a rest on her breasts through her robe. His fingertips toyed with her nipples for a moment, getting them good and hard. Honey closed her eyes once again, her lips opening just a bit, her tongue moving over them. Kissing was normally a total no-go for customers, but at that moment, Honey felt like this man could do anything she wanted with her.

  With a quick tug, Grit undid the sash of her robe. He pulled the fabric off over her shoulders, exposing her breasts. Honey felt herself get wetter by the second, and part of her wanted this man to just take what it was that he so clearly wanted.

  “What … what are you gonna do?” asked Honey, the tension running through her body almost too much to bear.

  “I’m …” said Grit. “I’m gonna talk to you for a minute. That’s all.”

  “What?” asked Honey. “What could you possibly want to talk about?”

  “Here, nothing,” said Grit. “’Cause this place is wired with cameras.”

  “What?”

  That was a shock to her. No one had told her anything about cameras; these were supposed to be private rooms.

  “Yup,” said Grit. “Spotted them as soon as I opened the door. There’s one in the dresser over by the bed, and the other one’s in the fake bookshelf. But don’t look; they’ll know you see them if you look right at them. Probably wired for sound, too. That’s why I need you nice and close.”

  “O-okay,” said Honey. “But why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want to talk to you, but this isn’t the place to do it. I want to talk with you about something very, very important.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Don’t stop doing what you were doing,” said Grit in a low whisper. “It’ll look suspicious.”

  Honey checked herself and began grinding on Grit as she normally would on a customer.

  “I want you to meet me at the Sunset Hotel after your shift. What time you get off?”

  “Um, in a couple of hours,” she said, still rubbing her body on his.

  “Perfect. I can’t tell you how important it is that you meet me there,” said Grit. “Do I have your word that you’ll show?”

  Honey would normally never meet with a customer off-hours like that, away from the eyes of Fantasies. But nothing about this encounter was normal. And something told her that Grit was telling the truth, that it was, in fact, very important that they talk.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll show.”

  “Good,” said Grit.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small keycard. Then, he slipped it into the little pocket on Honey’s robe.

  “That’s for my hotel room. I’ll be there all night. Come by as soon as you’re done here.”

  “Sure,” said Honey, feeling like she was in some kind of a daze.

  She continued to dance, turning around and rubbing her ass on Grit’s crotch, sighing softly as she felt his cock harden through his jeans.

  “Now, turn around,” he said, his voice taking on a commanding tone.

  Honey obeyed without a word. Grit narrowed his sexy green eyes and looked her over once again; this time there was a hunger in his eyes, something primal and animalistic. He clamped his hands onto her hips once again, but this time pulled her close, so close, until her face was only inches from his. She looked at him with wide eyes, her mouth slacked open just a bit. Then, he closed the distance between them and kissed her hard on the lips. Honey fell into the kiss instantly, her body going slack as she allowed herself to drop into Grit’s lap. They kissed hard and deep, Honey’s arms wrapping around his neck and Grit’s hand moving up to her breast.

  Then, after a few moments of this sensual kissing, Grit lifted her up from his lap and set Honey back onto her feet.

  “Now get going,” he said. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  With that, Honey stepped towards the door, opened it, and went back into the hallway.

  “All good in there?” asked the bouncer as he followed her back to the dressing room.

  “Yeah,” said Honey. “All very, very good.”

  Chapter Four

  Grit

  As he stood on the balcony of his room at the Sunset Hotel, a cigar in his hand and the city of Las Vegas spread out in front of
him, all Grit could think about was that kiss. He’d lost control—he knew that. The plan had just been to get in the private room, arrange a meet-up, and get the hell out. But once he was there with Honey, just the two of them, her body clad in nothing but that thin little robe, he’d worried that he might not be able to help himself. Sure enough, once she started dancing and getting close, something inside of him had taken over. Truthfully, he’d wanted more—much more. But at the last moment, he had been able to scrape together a little bit of restraint and had gotten out of there before he gave in too much to his desires.

  “What you think, boss?” asked Stone from inside the room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “You think she’s gonna show up?”

  Grit turned and rested his body against the balcony railing. Stone and Razor were seated in the luxury suite, each of them a little unsteady on their feet from their night of drinking. Grit was a little disappointed—not one of them had come back to him with any information on the possible goings-on of the club aside from just reports that things looked suspicious. But it wasn’t entirely his crew’s fault—if that place was run as smoothly as Grit got the impression that it was, then they wouldn’t let anyone poking around a little bit see anything that they shouldn’t.

  “She’ll show,” said Grit, taking another sip of his whiskey.

  “You sound pretty fuckin’ sure about that,” said Razor. “She’s just a fuckin’ stripper after all; she’d probably say anything to anyone paying as much money as you paid her.”

  Grit knew that Razor wasn’t talking out of his ass—strippers weren’t exactly the kinds of girls to keep their word, especially when it came to possibly endangering their source of income.

  “She’ll show,” said Grit.

  “If you say so, boss,” said Razor.

  Then, as if on cue, a chime sounded in the room—the sound of the front desk trying to contact them. Grit walked over to the intercom and pressed the blinking button.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Gallagher,” spoke a woman’s voice through the speaker. “There’s a woman here to see you.”

  “Send her up.”

  Grit turned to the men and made a motion with his head for them to leave.

  “Just me and her,” said Grit. “You boys go hang at the bar.”

  “Sure we can’t stick around?” asked Razor. “Wouldn’t mind seeing this piece of ass up close and personal.”

  “Plenty of pieces of ass downstairs to get your hands on,” said Grit. “And this one might be freaked out if she comes into a room with three fuckin’ bikers waiting for her, two of them lookin’ at her like horny high-schoolers.”

  “Sure, sure,” said Stone.

  The two of them left, and Grit freshened up his drink and took another puff of his cigar. A few minutes later, a soft knock sounded from the front door.

  Keep your shit in check this time, thought Grit to himself. Keep your fuckin’ hands off of the girl; doesn’t matter how good she looks.

  He opened the door and, sure enough, it was Honey. She was dressed in an outfit of a simple, fitted light blue T-shirt and blue jeans that accentuated her every curve. Grit could tell that she wasn’t dressed to kill, but with a body like hers she didn’t have to try hard to look damn irresistible.

  “Hey,” said Grit. “Come in.”

  “Hey,” said Honey, clearly nervous about what was happening.

  Grit shut the door behind Honey and watched as she entered the room, holding her purse close.

  “Let me get you something to drink,” said Grit, stepping over to the bar.

  “Oh, no,” said Honey. “It’s fine.”

  “You’re shaking like a damn leaf,” said Grit. “I know this is all strange, but you’re not in any danger. A drink will do you good.”

  “Okay,” said Honey, now sold on the idea.

  Grit made her a vodka cranberry and took a seat in the chair across from where Honey ha sat down. He reached over and handed her the drink, and as soon as it was placed in Honey’s hands she took a long sip.

  “See?” said Grit.

  Honey smiled a bit and seemed to relax a little.

  God fucking dammit, she looks good, thought Grit. Gonna be hard to focus. But I really wouldn’t mind giving that bed a workout.

  “So,” said Honey. “You want to tell me just what’s so important that we just need to meet?”

  Grit nodded.

  “Before I tell you what’s going on, I need your word that not a word of what we talk about leaves this room.”

  “Wait,” said Honey. “Are you a cop or something?”

  “No,” said Grit. “Not a cop.”

  “Then what are you? And is ‘Grit’ even your real name?”

  “Guess that’s as good a place to start as any,” said Grit. “Grit’s my real name, and I’m the president of the Vegas Vandals, a motorcycle club in this town. And as far as what we need to talk about, the long and fuckin’ short of it is that I have reason to believe that your strip club is operating as some kind of drug distribution center.”

  “What?” asked Honey, so surprised that it looked like she might drop her drink. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You hear about that strain of bad shit that’s been going around the city? The one that’s been killin’ junkies left and right?”

  “I have,” said Honey. “Something like a hundred dead in the last month.”

  “That’s right,” Grit said, nodding. “My crew’s been lookin’ into that. See, we do distribution, but we make sure that our shit’s clean and pure. Got no interest in people dying off of our shit. And besides, dead customers don’t come back for seconds. Meanwhile, some crew’s been moving in on our territory. Not only have they been selling where they shouldn’t be, they’re also pushing shit that’s killing people. So, my boys and I are gonna put a stop to it.”

  “And you think Fantasies is where it’s all coming from?”

  “That’s where the evidence has been leading. We were there tonight to scope out the place for information, and you struck me as the type who might be open to helping us out.”

  “Oh, really?” asked Honey. “And what makes you think that?”

  “I’ve known more than a few strippers in my time. Most of them are damaged goods from the get-go, and the rest harden up from the life pretty quick. Between the easy money, the drugs, and the men who give those things to them, the girls are usually lost causes after a while. You, on the other hand, have something different. You’re not hard—I could tell just by looking at you.”

  Honey looked away and sipped her drink. Grit could tell that her words were ringing true.

  “But … so what?” she asked. “So what if my job’s selling drugs? What difference does it make to me? I can just go there and work, and just pretend that it doesn’t even happen. Maybe I could even turn you in and get some money.”

  “You could try that,” said Grit. “But I’ve seen enough of the drug trade to know that no one, not even those working in the front business, gets out clean. Even if you don’t find something out that you shouldn’t and end up looking like a liability, even if you don’t get shot in some gang violence that spills over one night, even if you don’t end up hooked on that shit that they’re pushing, you might one day end up on the wrong side of some cop looking to toss some accessories in jail to fill his arrest quota. You’re gonna get caught up in this, one way or another. At least with me and the rest of the Vandals, I can promise to keep you safe. And when we’ve gotten the info we need, I’ll pay you fifty thousand in cash. You can take the money and start a new life, away from all this shit.”

  “And,” said Grit. “You’ll be doing the right thing, if that matters to you. We get this shit off of the streets, and that’s junkies that aren’t gonna be dying when they shoot that poison into their veins.”

  Honey finished her drink in one gulp, now apparently realizing that she was totally in over her head.

  “What if I just got up, left right no
w, quit my job, and never said a word about this to anyone?” she asked.

  “It’s too late,” said Grit. “You quit that abruptly and your bosses will be doing everything they can to bring you back on board. And if you say no, and they get the impression you’re saying no for the reasons they’re afraid of, then they might just decide that you’re a liability that they don’t want to deal with. Trust me—this is the best chance you’ve got.”