by Jc Emery
“Roger Sloan,” I say with a slight nod of my head.
“When is the last time you talked to Roger Sloan?” he asks. I really hate that he’s baited me into a conversation, but now I need to know where this is going.
“Never,” I admit. “The club’s always handled it.”
“Nicole, I’m sorry, but my dad talked to Roger Sloan yesterday. He said the club hasn’t retained his services in over a year.”
I shouldn’t believe him. The club is all about brotherhood and family. They do what needs to be done to help one another out. They wouldn’t just leave Dad in there without any help—would they? I shake my head in disbelief. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Whatever I may think about the club and certain members in the club, this isn’t how they work.
“Hey, I could be wrong,” he says. “I mean, maybe they got a lawyer from another area? My dad hasn’t checked as far south as San Francisco yet.” Something in the way he says that, like he’s trying to be reassuring, but he’s not all at the same time, makes me even more on edge. Not that I like talking to him or spending time with him, but what if he’s telling the truth? What if the club’s figured they’ve done all they can do and now they’ve stopped pouring money down the drain?
“I’ll go easy on you. How about The 101 Club? That’s your kind of place, isn’t it?” he asks. I have half a mind to be insulted. The 101 Club definitely isn’t Darren’s kind of place. I’m dive bars and stale cigarettes. He’s flashy sports bars and hookah lounges. I know we’re different, but the comment just makes me feel like trash, and that’s one feeling I’m not in short supply of. His eyes narrow, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he tries to comprehend the fact that I’m turning him down.
“Come on. Show me that we’ve both matured,” he says. Us maturing was never the problem. I may have been immature, but the problem was always that Darren couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
“It’s just a drink. We can review a bit about your dad’s case and see what I can give to my dad that may help,” he says, flashing me that smile of his that used to melt me from the inside out. My heart drops a little at the realization that he’s found yet another way to get me to say yes to something he wants. After all of his charm wore off and his ability to control me waned, he searched high and low for ways to keep me in line. He’s baiting me, and I know it, but I can’t say no—for my dad’s sake. I hop from foot to foot before I finally nod my head.
“Eight o’clock at The 101 Club, okay?” he says. I nod my head again and rush to my car while trying to convince myself that Darren really is trying to help. As much as the thought of spending time, particularly time alone, with him frightens me, I decide to give it a shot just to see what this is all about. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I’m not the same girl I used to be, and I don’t need to fear him the same way I used to.
Once inside the car, I gently coax her to life then tear off down the street to step into the club’s world for just a few minutes. I put Darren out of my mind. I have other things I have to worry about right now. Like Duke and his bullshit. It’s a good thing the clubhouse is just a few blocks away or I’d never make it in under ten minutes. As much as I want to give Mr. Asshole the middle finger and ignore him for the next two months, I already know that’s not how this is going to play out.
This shit—me getting called to the clubhouse like a damn child—is exactly why I never wanted to hook up with Duke. He’s stuck in this sick cycle where he gets really fucking intense with any chick he’s into, and the more they protest, the more into the chase he gets. Nothing wrong with it, except he gets bored and then leaves a trail of chicks behind who all thought they had a chance to make him honest or something. And now, because I was too fucking drunk to stop myself, and way too fond of him, I’m one of those girls. I’ll just have to try to ride it out until he tires of me, I guess, and hope my heart doesn’t hurt too much when he leaves.
Chapter 3
PULLING UP TO the closed gates of the clubhouse, I brake while I wait for Rink, one of the prospects, to open them up and let me in. It takes a minute, but it feels like the entire world’s passed me by by the time I have enough space to squeeze my sedan through and into the secured Forsaken clubhouse. With the gate shut, I can’t even leave if they don’t want me to. This was a bad, bad idea. But I push myself to deal with it. I’m here now, and there’s no backing out.
Parking across the lot from the bikes that sit near the main entrance, I slide up next to Chel’s coupe and climb out. It’s still chilly as hell out here, and I’m not wearing a whole lot of clothing. Walking into the Forsaken clubhouse dressed like I’m ready to party is all any of the guys need to take advantage of my presence. And I’m really not up to party right now. It’s mid-afternoon and already I’m worn the hell out.
I cross the lot and open the heavy front door to find myself greeted by the sight of half the club sitting around on various pieces of furniture, drinking bottles of beer. Short windows line the uppermost part of the wall that curves into the exposed beam ceiling of the main room, streaming the only light into the room. Duke sits at a small round table in the center of the room. He turns just slightly and lifts his beer to his lips. Without looking away, he gulps down the remaining contents of the bottle then slaps it down on the table top. Across from him is Ryan, the club’s road captain. No clue how he earned that position since, last I checked, the boy couldn’t find his dick out of his own ass half the time. But I could be biased.
“Look who decided to grace us with her presence,” Duke says with a smile on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and sarcasm coats every word.
“Quit being an asshole,” I snap, temporarily forgetting who all’s in the room. Low chuckles sound from around me, egging me on. I place a hand on my hip and jut my chin out. The boys live for this kind of drama in a way the chicks never have. And they have the nerve to say we’re the nosy ones.
“You wanted me here, I’m here.”
“It’s about fucking time you do as you’re told,” he says, standing from his seat. My muscles tense immediately as my temper snaps.
“You’re kidding, right? You disappear for almost two months and now you’re giving me shit when I did nothing wrong?”
“I’ve been here, Nicole,” he says in a deep rumble as he takes several large steps toward me. He stops a few feet in front of me. “I was gone for barely a week, that’s it.” Such bullshit. Just because I haven’t stepped foot on Forsaken property doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on with the club. Chel’s kept me updated. Despite the few overnight runs he’s made to Nevada, Duke’s been here, and I’ve been sitting at home like a moron waiting for his ass. No more.
“And when you got back, where the hell have you been since? You sure as hell haven’t been looking for me. How dare you come to my job and start throwing your dick around like I owe you something after you ignored me for almost two months!” My voice raises with every word, to the point that I’m screaming. I can feel myself unraveling at the seams. Every breath comes out more ragged than the last, and the heat from his body, so close and muscular, isn’t helping any. His nearness is sending my hysteria in a whole new direction.
We’re putting on a real show, entertaining most of our audience members, who respond with smiles and laughs. If I were anybody else, or even if I was screaming at anybody else, they wouldn’t be laughing. Lost Girls are the bottom of the totem pole around here and are not to be smarting off to the club. I almost wish they’d punish me for this—maybe even ban me—but they won’t. If they were going to do that, they wouldn’t be finding so much amusement in my freak-out. I’m not that lucky. I’m just glad they’re getting a kick out of this, because I’m sure not. The guys disappear all of the time, and it’s never pissed me off before. I was always just a Lost Girl, and they were the club, and that was cool. We had fun, but Duke claimed me. I played my part, and he hasn’t played his.
“You don’t know
shit about shit, woman. You ain’t been around,” he says, closing the distance between us. I hold firm, refusing to cave under the intimidation of his size. Craning my neck, I stare up at him and try not to be distracted by his distinct smell. It’s not his leather or his soap. It’s in his skin and bones and everything that makes Duke who he is. Leaning down, he says coldly, “You got something else to say?”
“Yeah, actually I do,” I say in a huff. “We got rules for a reason. You had your finger in my pussy, and you claimed me. You know the rules because your club makes the rules, so how dare you get on my ass for not being around the club when I was staying away like I’m supposed to!”
“Anything else?” he snaps, his eyes all kinds of wild. I fight the urge to reach up and slap him. Slapping Duke might not get me banned, but it will get me in the kind of trouble I don’t want.
“Oh yeah—who the hell is Princess, huh?” The words fly out of my mouth before I have a chance to think it over and stop them. But it’s too late. Now that I’ve said it, I realize how big of a mistake it was. The entire room goes silent, and Duke’s jaw ticks as his eyes turn very hard, narrowing in the corners.
“My room. Now!” he snaps, taking me by surprise. Despite the sinking feeling in my stomach, I refuse to move. I’m so sick of this shit and playing by his rules—rules he can’t even be bothered to remember exist. I know the rules—I grew up knowing the rules—once you’re claimed you’re not supposed to be partying at the clubhouse unless you came with your man. That way the club avoids any unnecessary drama for the brothers—like Chief—who hook up with Lost Girls on the regular.
“No,” I say. Obviously, this ‘Princess’ chick means something to him if it touches a nerve like this. Why else would the entire room get so quiet? It’s not like it matters. He’ll get bored of her eventually. “Go bother that bitch and leave me the hell alone!”
I turn to leave, but I’m not fast or strong enough to get very far. There’s a scuffle behind me, and some cursing, but I can’t see what’s going on. Duke wraps his muscular arm around my waist and pulls me up against him roughly. Leaning in, he whispers in my ear, “We’re going to get over this privately, or we’re going to do it out here while I make you come. Your choice.”
There’s nothing I can say or do to change his mind or stop this from happening, so instead of fighting it, I just give in. And I feel like the biggest loser for being so angry one minute only to give in like a coward the next. Turning us around, Duke leads us through the crowd of men and the occasional woman and down the hall. On our way out, I see that everybody’s gone back to their previous conversations with the exception of two people: Ryan and Jim. So much alike, courtesy of their genes, the father and son look equally pissed off, and neither moves a muscle. Much too late, I’m starting to get the hint that something I’m unaware of is going on with the club.
It’s a familiar walk down the hall and into Duke’s room. The gray paint on the walls doesn’t look any different now than it did that night, a few months ago, that he led me here for a very different purpose. The lock sounds the same as the door closes behind me. The same stale smell of beer and leather fills my nose, only this time it doesn’t excite me. This time it makes me feel strangely nauseated. The fact that I’m even in this situation is just stupid as fuck—no other way to describe it. I face the outside wall of the room with Duke at my back, refusing to turn around.
I close my eyes for just a moment and picture my dad in his leather cut, his long, dark reddish brown hair hanging over his shoulders. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head just slightly to the side. He says, “Buckle up, Girl.” He was always my rock—the one person who made everything else better and a little less fucked up. He was strong willed and damn mean to those who crossed him. Saying I miss him wouldn’t do it justice.
The memory makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs and start hitting things at random. He’s been gone a long time, and there’s little chance he’ll be back anytime soon with the way he’s going. All I have now are my memories.
“Turn around,” Duke says, his deep voice steady and calm now. I open my eyes and blink away all thoughts of my dad. It’s just wrong to stand here and think about him while I’m in this room. As far as I know, he doesn’t know what I’ve become, and I don’t want him to know, either.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around and narrow my eyes at Duke. I may be complying, but I’m not about to be pleasant while doing it.
“What?” I say, drawing the word out. Letting out a huff, he raises his hand.
Remembering the way he looked when I brought up his precious little Princess, I flinch back at the movement. Steeling my jaw, I squint my eyes in anticipation of an impact that never comes. Strong hands cup my jaw and pull me forward. Holding my head to his chest, Duke strokes my hair and whispers, “You think I’d hit you?”
I say nothing. I have nothing good to say. It doesn’t matter how violent these men can be. They don’t like to be reminded of their cruelty. Instead, I opt for placing a light kiss on his cut, just above his SECRETARY patch. It’s the closest I can come to an apology. He pulls my head back slowly, his eyes searching mine for an answer. Keeping my face as carefully blank as possible, I don’t break eye contact no matter how much his attention makes me squirm.
“Who hit you?” he asks, surprising me. My lips part, and my brows draw together.
“Nobody,” I say. My lie comes far too quickly to be believable, but it doesn’t matter. This isn’t something I’m willing to talk about with anyone, much less Duke.
“One day you’re going to trust me,” he says. “But in the mean time, we need to get a few things straight.” Setting his feet wider apart, he leans in, whispering, “Do not ever speak to me like that in front of my brothers again. This can only work one way, and that’s you figuring out your place. You got that?”
“My place? I have to figure out my place? Oh, hell no,” I snap and push back off his chest. I don’t want to be that near to him anymore. I don’t want to be bullied. I just wanted that moment to last a little longer. It was calm and quiet and gentle, and I just don’t have enough of that in my life.
He grabs at my arms and pushes me up against the wall. I brace for a hard hit, but it doesn’t come. I know he won’t hurt me, but damn it, the panic seizes at my chest anyway. He’s so in control in everything he does, it seems. I’m about to say a hundred different things about being cornered here when I realize it’s all useless. I could scream at him until I lose my voice. I could try to push him away in every physical and emotional way possible, but none of it matters. He’s targeted me, and he won’t go away until he wants to. And he won’t give me any notice when he’s done with me. It’ll just be over, and my life will go back to being like it was before all of this began. Only, by that time I’ll be used to having a man promise me stupid shit he never intends to keep. And that’s the dangerous thing about having something worth losing—once it’s gone—and that always hurts.
“You over your shit, or do I need to fuck the attitude right out of you?” he says with a cocky smirk.
“Fuck you,” I snap and try to push him off me. His smile falls as he expertly twists my wrists with my arms up over my head and holds them in place with his right hand.
“Keep it up,” he says. “You won’t like where this goes.”
“No, I probably won’t,” I hiss and glare up at him. He drags his free fingers along the top of my jeans before flicking the button open. His tongue peeks out and licks his lips. My attention diverts from his eyes to his mouth. Wanting him despite everything just pisses me off to a point of irrationality. Two months. Two fucking months, and this is the shit he’s pulling? I’m not giving into him that easily. “Maybe Princess will let you fuck her royal pussy.”
His grip on my wrists becomes painfully tight, and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything. His ability to keep himself in check when he’s being taunted is aggravating, and words spill from my mouth before I can s
top them. Everything I want to say boils over and flies out. “Go find your whore, because I’m done.”
“I already got my whore, babe. Might want to think twice about the shit that flies out of your mouth,” he says. Slowly he drags the zipper of my jeans down, keeping his eyes on mine. “Princess ain’t who you think she is, but let me check you about a few things since you’re a slow learner.”
I don’t even know what the fuck he’s going on about. My lungs struggle to pull in enough oxygen to keep up with the angry way my chest heaves. For a moment my vision blurs as my eyes cross, and I try to push off the wall, but he’s not having it. He slams his hips into mine, making his attraction apparent, shoving me back, and this time I smack my head against the exposed brick with a loud thunk. My jaw locks, and the dull throbbing from the back of my skull sends me into a maniacal fit.
“You’re such a cock-sucking bitch!” I scream. My face heats and my ears are practically burning from the blood rushing to my head. I don’t even give a shit what he does anymore. I just want him to know that I’m not okay with this. “Don’t fucking manhandle me!”
From his left hip, he produces a long, black serrated edge knife that looks like something straight out of a war game. I’m so jacked up by his macho shit that I can’t even bring myself to be afraid until he brings the knife down to my open jeans. Refusing to let panic take over, I force my breathing to stay controlled. I don’t want to fall apart despite the circumstances. With a stiff upper lip, I take my eyes away from the knife and look him square in the eye.
“Do what you gotta do,” I say. “I get it. I’m just the club whore. I get no say. Cut me, beat me up—go for it,” I hiss in his face. My eyes well with unshed tears. Whether they’re from anger or fear, I don’t know. “But this is the last time you touch me.”
