Down & Dirty_Slade

by Jeanne St. James

  “Four.”

  Holy fuck. He needed to get out of there. He didn’t want to be daddy to number five, either. He hoped she was telling the truth about him wearing protection each time they fucked. Because the woman was apparently very fertile.

  “Got four kids an’ you’re strippin’?”

  She shrugged. “Pays the bills.”

  He pushed to his feet and searched for his clothes. He was relieved when he found them neatly folded up on top of what he hoped was a pile of clean clothes. His boots were nearby, and he spotted his cut hanging from the knob of her bedroom door. At least that hadn’t ended up on the dirty floor.

  He pulled on his clothes quickly.

  “So... breakfast?”

  “Gotta go.”

  “Gonna be at the club again tonight?”

  Ah, fuck. “No, gotta work.”

  “Thought you said you worked last night.”

  He froze as he pulled his long sleeved thermal shirt over his head. “Yeah.”

  “You stopped by after work.”

  That he did. “Yeah. Gotta close tonight. Gonna hit the rack after that.”

  “Another time, then.”

  He tugged his shirt down his torso and grabbed his cut. “Yeah, ‘nother time.”

  Shoving his feet into his boots, he didn’t bother to even lace them before yanking the door open.

  “It was fun,” she called out.

  If it was, he couldn’t remember. “Yeah,” he grunted, not looking back. He needed to get to church and take a damn shower to wash stripper off him. All these months he’d avoided actually fucking any of them. He’d done a couple sweet butts just to relieve the load in his nuts, but that was it. He tried not to stick his dick in anything that hung around the club on a regular basis. He didn’t need that hassle.

  And since Dawg tended to bring some of his girls to the club parties, he wasn’t in the mood to have one of them trying to lay their claim on him.

  At least most of the sweet butts knew the deal. They were available to any of the brothers simply for the opportunity to hang around the club. Why any woman in their right mind would want that, he didn’t know. But when he was sick of yanking on his own dick, he’d take them up on being available.

  Though, sometimes he thought he’d better double wrap it. Even though some of his club brothers were going down left and right, getting trapped with ol’ ladies, enough single brothers remained to keep them busy. Worse, some of the sweet butts had this notion that they might become an ol’ lady.

  Not his. No fucking way. He was not hooking up permanently with a sweet butt. Hell, he wasn’t hooking up permanently with anyone.

  And that included Diamond Jamison.

  Slade slipped in through the back door of church and groaned. He looked right into blue eyes framed by long dark hair.

  Diamond was heading in his direction like a woman on a mission. He braced as she approached but she ignored him and was about to blow right by him when she suddenly slammed on the brakes. He went solid since she was only inches from him, but facing the opposite direction. He turned his head, so did she, and her narrowed eyes met his wide, he-was-sure-as-shit bloodshot ones.

  Her nose wrinkled as she leaned in and sniffed him. “Smell like pussy.” He froze as she shifted even closer, her nose now barely inches from his neck. “And cheap perfume. Must like them easy.”

  “Nobody wants a ballbuster, princess,” he muttered.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Which one? Ballbuster or princess?”

  “Either. I’m not a ballbuster.”

  Slade snorted. “Right. What’re you doin’ here?”

  She arched a brow at him. “Getting shit together for my party.”

  “What party?”

  “My birthday party. The Iron Horse will be closed down for the night so us ladies can party.”

  “When’s that?” he asked, surprised at this news.

  “Thursday night. We won’t need your services.”

  “Wasn’t offerin’ ‘em.”

  “All the brothers will have to stay out. No men allowed but the strippers.”

  He cocked a brow. “What strippers?”

  “The male exotic dancers we’re getting for my birthday.”

  “What the fuck,” he muttered. So not only was Hawk allowing the women to shut down The Iron Horse for a night, the brothers were allowing male strippers to come in to entertain the club women? She had to be bullshitting him. They’d never allow that.

  No fucking way.

  “Going to bang one, too,” she announced with confidence.

  Slade put two fingers to his ear and rubbed it hard. He could’ve sworn she said she was going to bang a male stripper. “What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”

  “I’m going to fuck one of the dancers.”

  Every muscle in his body went solid. Even if Hawk and the rest were allowing male strippers to come in... “They won’t fuck you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they don’t do that kinda shit.”

  She planted her hands on her hips, her attitude seeping out enough that he swore he could almost see it. “Didn’t one of them just bang you?”

  He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.

  She made a little noise. “Thought so.”

  “Whatever,” he muttered. “Hawk know you’re bringin’ male strippers into his bar?”

  “Yep.”

  What the fuck? “Know they’re all gay, right? Ain’t gonna fuck you.”

  Her eyes snapped. “Why do you care if they do?”

  “They?”

  “Yeah, it’s my birthday, maybe I’ll have more than one.” She smiled. A big fucking one, too.

  Slade’s jaw tightened, and he sucked in a breath. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “You should talk.”

  He sucked at his teeth, feeling his temper rise. He was tempted to teach her one of those “lessons” Diesel taught his ol’ lady all the time. But Slade still had the remnants of another woman’s snatch on his dick, so that wouldn’t do.

  That reminded him, he needed to clean up. “Gotta shower.”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  He shook his head and headed toward the stairs. “Don’t be fuckin’ strippers, princess,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  “Maybe you should take your own advice.”

  Yeah, maybe he should.

  Chapter Three

  The thump, thump, thump coming from The Iron Horse shook the wall behind the bar at church.

  “For fuck’s sake, swear that music’s louder than when Dirty Deeds is playin’.” Jag griped, downing a shot of whiskey and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He slammed the shot glass onto the bar and as soon as it landed, Hawk filled it up again.

  Hawk poured more into his own recently-emptied shot glass then raised the bottle of Jack to eyeball how much was left.

  Slade should’ve left, that’s what he should’ve fucking done. He wasn’t needed tonight to bartend or even act as a bouncer since The Iron Horse was closed to the public. He had no reason to stick around.

  But he also didn’t want to head over to Heaven’s Angel’s Gentlemen’s Club. He wasn’t in the mood to run into Sierra... Sarah... fuck... Savannah. Whatever.

  He’d stayed out of the strip club the last few nights, working late at Hawk’s bar and afterward hitting his rack to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

  But, fuck him, here he was, sitting in church drinking with his club brothers whose women were over next door about to get down and dirty with some so-called male exotic dancers.

  Man-hos. That’s what they were.

  Probably going to be wearing microscopic banana holsters to keep their tiny pricks contained.

  Fuck.

  He held out his empty shot glass and Hawk splashed some more of the amber liquid into it.

  Diesel was on a tear, pacing back and forth behind them, his fingers clenching and unclenching into fists as he m
uttered to himself.

  Slade had to admit, he’d never seen the massive man so bent out of shape before. Well, maybe when that crazy-ass Warrior, Black Jack, snatched Jewel.

  “Brother, gotta calm the fuck down. Nobody’s gonna be touchin’ your ol’ lady,” Hawk called out.

  “Better fuckin’ not,” D grumbled.

  “All those male strippers are gay, anyway,” Slade mumbled, hoping that was true.

  “Better be,” Z said, next to him.

  “What do you got to worry ‘bout? Your ol’ lady’s already knocked up an’ about to pop,” Jag said. “An’ it was your genius suggestion to let ‘em have this over there.”

  Z swung his gaze to his cousin. “Want ‘em runnin’ wild ‘round the ‘Burgh dancin’ an’ drinkin’ an’ who knows what the fuck else?”

  “No,” Hawk grunted, slamming the Jack Daniel’s bottle onto the bar top and sliding it down to the other end of the bar where Grizz and Crow sat; Crow nursing his whiskey, Grizzly nursing a beer.

  “So glad I don’t got no ol’ lady over there starin’ at some strange,” Crow said into his liquor, then laughed. He turned his head in their direction. “You guys look like a buncha sorry asses.”

  “How long’s this thing supposed to last?” Hawk asked Z.

  “How the fuck am I supposed to know? Dawg set it the fuck up.”

  “Music only just started,” Crow reminded them with a snicker from his stool down the bar.

  “Maybe we should all head down to Dirty Dick’s an’ hang with the Knights ‘til this is all over with,” Jag suggested, raking his fingers through his hair.

  “Ain’t leavin’ the women here without protection,” D barked.

  “Got Jester an’ Coop standin’ outside the front door keepin’ watch,” Hawk reminded him.

  The two newest prospects were given the shitty job of standing guard outside the front door of the bar in the cold. Slade was glad he never had to prospect for the DAMC, since he’d done it once already for another club. He’d vowed never to do it again since prospects were treated lower than dog shit. Z had made an exception to him prospecting since Slade helped with some trouble the Warriors brought on the club’s women at a fundraiser the summer before. “Helped” as in knocked a Warrior the fuck out.

  “Don’t give a fuck who’s standin’ out there. Ain’t leavin’,” D insisted.

  Hawk came from behind the bar and shoved a glass of whiskey at his brother. D took it, downed it in one swallow and shoved the empty glass back at his brother, who whacked D on the back and let the agitated man go back to pacing.

  “Gonna pace for the next two hours?” Z asked him.

  D abruptly came to a halt, turned his dark eyes their direction and barked, “Fuck no.” He strode around the bar, opened one of the cabinets, and turned on a hidden monitor.

  Fuck! Slade forgot D had installed security cameras and a digital video recording system in The Iron Horse. He did it after the Warriors shot up bar during the club’s Christmas party almost three months ago. They had also reinforced the front walls of the bar during the reconstruction, but still... those cameras...

  He wondered if the women knew. Probably not. Because Slade worked there almost every night and forgot all about it himself. The cameras were small enough not to be noticed.

  “D, don’t know if you should watch,” Hawk warned.

  Diesel ignored him and flipped through the feeds until the one that pointed toward the center of the bar came into view.

  This was not a good idea. It was like waving a red flag in front of an annoyed bull.

  Nothing good was going to come of watching the woman getting all hot and bothered by oiled-up, buff men wearing G-strings while grinding against their women.

  Not one damn good thing.

  Diamond’s chair sat in the center of the large circle of women. It was a better turn-out than she’d thought. Kiki, Ivy, Jewel, Sophie, Kelsea, Bella, Jayde, and Ace’s wife, Janice, showed up. As well as Ace’s sisters, Annie and Allie. Even Di’s mom, Ruby, was there. And they couldn’t forget Mama Bear, Grizz’s ol’ lady. Some of the Knight’s ol’ ladies and regular pieces arrived, too, like Magnum’s woman, who, surprisingly, was a tall, pretty blonde named Stacy.

  But it was Di’s birthday and tonight she was the center of attention. Kelsea started bouncing anxiously in her chair when the loud, bass-heavy music started.

  Di had a flashback of the movie Magic Mike when a long line of hot men, unfortunately still wearing clothes, came running out of the kitchen’s swinging doors.

  She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and her nails into her palms to contain her excitement as they all climbed up onto the bar and began to dance in a row.

  All the breath rushed out of her as she eyeballed their bodies. Even in clothes, they were clearly not rough and tumble bikers. Hell no, they weren’t. Their hair was neatly trimmed, their faces not at all scruffy and their clean-cut clothes didn’t have oil or grease stains on them. Not at all. There wasn’t one leather vest in the room, either.

  And they probably didn’t smell like well-banged pussy.

  Hot damn!

  She groaned as one at a time they moved to the center of the polished wood bar and stripped down to skin-tight shorts that didn’t leave anything to the imagination. Their skin was tanned and shiny like they had rubbed baby oil all over themselves.

  Fuck. She wanted that job.

  Even over the loud music, she heard the women behind her whistling, cat-calling and shouting out their encouragement.

  Then as one, they ripped off their shorts and all leapt off the bar and began to circle the women, gyrating and thrusting their hips, straddling their laps, touching and rubbing anyone who was willing. Or anyone who held out a dollar bill. Or two.

  Then two of the dancers broke off and came right to her. One with dark hair and not a damn tat in sight. And the other a blonde with beautiful green eyes and silver barbells piercing both nipples. She sucked in an excited breath.

  Their bodies were perfect, muscles cut, thighs powerful as they danced around her. Di didn’t know which one to stare at first.

  Happy fucking birthday to her.

  The dark-haired one approached her from the front, while the blond from behind. She was about to be the center of a man sandwich. She couldn’t scrape the smile off her face even if she tried.

  She looked up at the dark-haired one. “What’s your name?”

  “Robby.”

  Di jerked her head toward the blond. “What’s his?”

  “Bobby.”

  No fucking way. She was about to be man-handled by Robby and Bobby. Fuck yeah, she was.

  A giggle slipped from her. She covered her mouth in shock. She never giggled.

  She raised the wad of ones she had in her fist. “What’ll you do for a buck?”

  “You’re the birthday girl, right?” Robby asked, his eyes twinkling.

  Another giggle threatened to spill out. “Sure am!”

  “Then whatever you want.”

  Hell, yes! “What’ll you do for a hundred bucks?”

  “You.”

  Di nodded and beamed up at him. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  Then Robby was straddling her, grabbing her head and thrusting his groin into her face with the music.

  Another giggle slipped out and she sucked in a breath. She wasn’t even drunk, but she was giddy as fuck.

  Who would’ve thought having male strippers would be so much fun.

  Di tucked a folded dollar bill into her cleavage and without hesitation, Robby pulled it out with his teeth, his breath hot skimming along her skin. Her nipples puckered to hard peaks under her deep V-necked top.

  Oh yeah.

  Fuck Slade and his statement that these men were gay. That man didn’t know shit. He only wanted to ruin her fun.

  Bobby switched off with Robby and the blond began to run his hands all over Di’s body, then he shoved his face into her breasts and motor-boated her.
<
br />   She let out a squeal of laughter, digging her fingers into his hair to hold him there as long as possible.

  When he finally came up for air, she turned her head enough so she could see the other women in the circle all enjoying themselves as the dancers stripped down to their G-strings and were bumping and grinding to the music.

  Not one of those women weren’t smiling and laughing.

  Not one.

  Diamond had to admit, Kelsea had finally come up with a good idea for once.

  “That fucker touchin’ my wife’s belly?” Z shouted, his eyes wide and his face red.

  Slade leaned over the bar a little more to see what the club president was freaking out about, but he couldn’t see shit since the monitor was surrounded by Z, Hawk, Diesel and Jag. And that combination of bulk was hard to see through.

  Might as well be a brick wall.

  However, he could see that their bodies were tense, and Jag had his hands wrapped around the back of his neck, like he was trying to keep his shit together.

  “What the fuck,” Hawk muttered as he leaned closer to the monitor. “That... No. He did not... fuck that. This shit’s gonna end.”

  D slammed his fist on the counter in front of the monitor. “Fuck that shit!” he bellowed.

  Slade slipped from the stool he was sitting on, his gaze meeting Crow’s amused one as he rounded the bar to join his brothers.

  “Can’t be that bad,” he said, pushing between Z and Jag. His eyes hit the screen and he froze.

  Then he squinted, shook his head to clear it, then looked more carefully at the color monitor.

  “Did...” he started, but then his brain exploded from what he was seeing. It looked like one of those gay men was humping Diamond’s face. He only wore one of those tiny banana hammocks in red and he was... Yes, he was thrusting his junk right into Diamond’s face and she was...

  Smiling and laughing, her hands wrapped around his ass, encouraging that shit.

  No, she wasn’t.

  Oh fuck, yes, she was!

  And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Another of those gay dudes was behind her, shoving his hands down her shirt and grabbing her tits!

  He twisted his head toward Jag. “See what they’re doin’ to your fuckin’ sister?”