Finding Redemption (Rollin On Book 5)

by Emilia Finn

  I wish they’d just die. I wish I had a legitimate reason to slit their throats, to end their miserable lives, but I can’t. I won’t risk Sissy. Or my brothers.

  Unlike stealing books in my youth, killing in cold blood will likely land me in prison.

  The music pumping through the speakers is loud, deep bass you can feel in your chest and the lights are colorful, mesmerizing in the patterns they cast on the walls. This is a cool club. Fairly new to town, opened by some dude that lives clear across the country.

  Frankston, an industry giant with interests in every possible consumable good opened this club and a bunch others across the country this year. I guess he’s moving from white goods and illegal shit, to clubs too. Probably makes it easier to move his product straight to the end consumer.

  Surprising me out of my contemplative mood, another beer is sat down beside my hand, drawing my gaze away from my torn knuckles, a result of Bobby being a smartass today, and I look up into the beautiful green eyes of the tiny babe behind the bar.

  Her arrogant smirk taunts me and her pretty eyes dare me. “Hey. Jon, right? I’m Casey.”

  I study her for a long moment before I finally take the small hand that she has poised over the dark bar, her fingers long and dainty and my large hand envelopes hers. The size difference makes me feel huge, like a god, like she’s instantly become my responsibility to protect even though I don’t know her. She’s small enough, I might just put her in my pocket.

  I squeeze her hand “Yeah, I’m Jon.”

  I sit up straighter on my stool and take one last glance at my brothers as they scan the room. Bobby has already slipped away from our group, wandering arrogantly toward some chick in a black dress as she nervously studies her empty glass. Good luck to her.

  Aiden and Jim meander into the dancing crowd, bored already and off to make their own fun.

  “So you’re the brother from another mother?” Casey, christened moments ago by Bobby as Tink, since she’s a tiny spitfire, asks as she blatantly checks me out. She’s not shy and she doesn’t give a shit that I know she’s checking me out.

  That’s alright. I’m checking her out too. She’s hot, with her skintight tank pushing up the luscious boobs that are slightly on the bigger side for her small frame, though I’m sure they’re real. The mini skirt that I glimpse each time she walks away to serve someone else has my mouth watering, and the amazing legs that end in heels that are at least four inches tall has me thinking some filthy, body contorting thoughts.

  Even with the heels, the top of her head would still barely clear my armpits. She’s tiny like a doll, though there’s nothing childlike about her allure. She’s sexy like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

  Bobby wasn’t far off with the nickname; she’s got this erotic Tinkerbelle thing going on. Tiny, but with the sexy smoky eyes and the lips that are colored so deeply I wonder if someone sucked on them recently, bringing the blood to the surface and puffing them up.

  Her hair is short, not even touching her shoulders and she has the ends teased out, almost spiky. Very edgy, lots of attitude.

  She’s trouble.

  Even knowing she’s trouble, I’m pretty thankful me and the guys were working out only a couple hours ago. My chest is still pumped full of blood, my muscles are thrumming and look good under my shirt.

  I’m not sad that what she’s checking out looks good. I’m even half tempted to drop to the floor and push out another fifty pushups, just so my chest fills out more.

  “Yeah.” I grudgingly drag my eyes away from her tits, beautiful as they are, and I refocus on her question. “Yeah, I’m the brother from another mother.” I pick up my almost empty glass, emptying it in one swig to make room for the fresh one she dropped down. “Thanks for the beer, by the way.”

  Casey leans against the bar, making herself comfortable, uncaring that there are a hundred thirsty guys shouting out their orders around us. “You looking for a new best friend, Jon?”

  I look into her pretty green eyes, the gold flecks distracting me for a moment before her question penetrates and I find my brows pulling low over my eyes.

  I turn toward Bobby as he arrogantly leans in over that chick, then I look back to Casey. “No, I’m good. I’ve got a best friend.”

  She flashes her beautiful teeth in a smile. “Looks to me like your best friend and my best friend just became best friends with each other.”

  I smirk as I study her luscious lips. “Nah, I think mine’ll be back. He’ll be okay.”

  Casey’s sparkly eyes turn flat. And a little scary. “Bobby gonna hurt her?”

  I bite my lip in an attempt to slow down and think through my words. Bro code dictates I can’t drop him in the shit, and I’m fairly sure this chick is the shit. “Not like how you think. They’ll have their fun, then he’ll make her think she asked to finish it up.”

  “He’s gonna use her and send her for the walk of shame?”

  I shake my head even as I try to hide my smile at the chihuahua trying to be a bulldog. “Nah, he’s not a complete asshole. He’ll give her a lift home tomorrow.”

  Her eyes narrow and glare at me. “Kit’s not one of those girls. She doesn’t just give it up to anyone.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask triumphantly as I watch the couple in question stand hand in hand and walk to the middle of the dance floor. I spin on my stool, letting my eyes track their movements for a minute, then I turn my smug face back to Case. “Looks to me like your girl has it covered. Then tomorrow, he’ll get her home safe and I’ll get my best friend back. It’s a system. It works every time.”

  Casey’s eyes narrow to slits. I swallow nervously. I didn’t think I’d ever see the day, but I genuinely think this girl could eat my bitter ass up and spit it out.

  She’s definitely trouble.

  “What’s your last name, Jon?”

  Kincaid. “Hart. Why?”

  She shrugs her dainty shoulders, the bones popping a little and making her appear delicate despite the fact her fiery eyes say otherwise. “Just taking note of who I’ll come looking for if my girl comes home used and abused tomorrow.”

  “Me?” I laugh at her pissed face. “I didn’t do anything to her, and B can fight his own battles.”

  “If you knew he was a player, why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you say something before I gave him the green light?”

  “Are you insane?” I laugh, though I cut it off when she leans closer and continues to glare. “Ah, that is, we come out to see girls. Why would I stop him from approaching a girl?”

  “Because she’s different.” Casey’s eyes turn tender with her words. “She’s special and she’s already hurt. I forced her to come out tonight after months of moping around, and now look what I did.”

  I sigh at Casey’s defeated face. “Listen, he’s not an asshole. He’s a perfect gentleman. He won’t hurt her. Hell, she’ll have a good time and she’ll think of him fondly. She just won’t get a second night is all I’m saying.”

  She continues to glare at me a moment longer, then looking over my shoulder she smiles softly. I spin in my chair and I smile too at the couple as they dance slowly as they chat, laughing at some such thing. That’s not usually Bobby’s thing; chatting, that is, but whatever. They’re both smiling, and now Casey is too. Works for me.

  I spin back to her, deciding that we’re done talking about another couple for now, and I wait for her eyes to meet mine again.

  She smirks arrogantly. “You looking for a new best friend, Jon?”

  I shake my head again, smiling at her bubbly personality. “Do you get a break soon, or you’re on all night?”

  “I can take ten minutes.” Casey throws down a dish rag with a wide smile, breathtaking in its beauty, then she turns to the barmaid we met earlier. “I’m taking my ten. I’ll be back.”

  “No problem,” her coworker smiles, as unruffled by the hordes of shouting orders as Casey is. They really just don’t give a shit. You’ll be served when these gir
ls are good and ready.

  Casey walks to the end of the bar then hitching herself up, she climbs up and over the top and doesn’t appear to give a shit that she flashes her panties as she plops down on my side. “Follow me, Jon.” She takes my hand in hers as though we’ve been best friends for years, and she leads me down the side of the club, past hot dancing bodies and to the main entrance.

  We slip outside into the fresh air, the throbbing bass of the music muffled as soon as we clear the doors, then I turn when I hear a deep chuckle from the bouncer.

  “I’m taking my ten, Mike.”

  “That’s cool, doll. Normally I’d tell my club girls to stay safe and all that jazz,” he laughs a mocking belly laugh that years of school and training together has taught me equals bad news. “I feel like these girls are my little sisters, just like Sissy, you know?” he asks me. “But I know you, Jon. You’re in safe hands, doll. But you…” he laughs again. “Stay safe, Jon.”

  He turns toward a group of girls as they approach the door with their ID’s in their hands and I turn in time to see Casey roll her eyes. “Don’t listen to him.” She pulls me along until we stop at a short brick wall at the far end of the club. She sits on the dirty bricks, not giving a shit if the dirt messes her clothes or that her hair ruffles in the wind. She just looks happy to be breathing clean air.

  She slumps down and lets out a deep cathartic sigh, then after a silent minute she turns to me. “You gonna sit down? I’ve got about eight minutes left till I have to go back in.”

  Nodding again at this chick that continuously has me on the back foot, I lower myself beside her and let out my own deep breath as I get my long legs comfortable. Hers are short enough even with heels that her legs form a perfect ninety degree angle. Mine peak sharply with my knees almost as high as my chest, and taking the opportunity for what it is, I lean forward and rest my elbows on my thighs.

  Casey taps my knee with her dainty hand and cute glittery painted nails. “Who are you, Jon?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you’ve got seven minutes. Tell me who you are.” She angles her head toward me, her green eyes still easily bright green even in the dark. “What do you do in your spare time? What’s your job? Do you have siblings?” She smiles again, arrogantly so and I feel my own lips lift. “Consider this a speed date. We have six and a half minutes till I have to go back in, then your boy is gonna break my girls heart, then we’ll probably never see each other again, but if we do, I’ll be obligated under best friend law to hate you and try and run you down with my car.”

  I turn on my smug charm, having field tested it plenty over the years. It always wins the girls over. “Would you actually run me down though?”

  “Hell yes I would!”

  Oh my god, she totally would.

  “I’d do anything for Kit. She’s my best friend.”

  I believe her. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment while I consider her. “Alright then. In my spare time I fight.”

  Not impressed like I hoped she would be, she sneers at me. “Like, you’re a street brawler? Because I’ve spent plenty of time with guys who think they’re the shit, and mostly they’re annoying loudmouths.”

  “Not a street brawler,” I laugh. Though I’ve fought in the street a million times in my life. With my brothers. With other people. “We train for real fighting. We compete.” Both Bobby and Jimmy now own world championship belts, just like we always worked for.

  “We even have trophies and shit,” I finish with that arrogance in my voice again, my inner thirteen year old giddy and trying to impress the girl at school.

  I never really tried to impress the girls at school. That was Bobby. Mostly I just stood behind him and rolled my eyes and cleaned up his feathery mess.

  “Trophies?” she pretends to gush. She brings her hands to her chest, clasping them together and batting her lashes. “Can I pretty please see your trophy case?”

  “You’re a smart ass.” I laugh, dropping my eyes from hers and I study my shoes instead.

  I’ve moved on with my obsession with Jordans, but I haven’t gotten over new shoes in general. I probably own more than any straight man should, but for a kid who never had any shoes bought specifically for him, where I always had to wear whatever I found and usually the soles were already worn through and my feet were calloused where they touched the road when I walked, I don’t give a shit. I have money now. I have power. I’m at no one’s mercy and if I find shoes that I like, I’m going to buy them.

  “So you’re saying I can’t see your trophies?” she snorts inelegantly, oblivious to my inner musings. “Figures, you were probably lying. You haven’t won any, have you?”

  I’m tempted to shove her smart ass over, just to watch her scramble. She doesn’t come across like a prissy whiny chick. She’d play along. “You come to my house, I’ll show you my trophies.” She comes to my house, I’ll fuck her in front of my trophy case.

  “Alright,” she nods with a side grin. “Siblings? You have about five minutes.”

  I clear my throat and try to stop thinking dirty shit. “Ah, I have a sister. She’s nineteen and the most amazing girl I’ve ever known. She’s smart, books and streets.” I knock my shoulder against hers again. “She’s a fighter too.”

  “I bet she has more trophies than you, too.”

  “You’ve got a serious smart ass streak, you know that?”

  “Yeah,” she continues with a soft laugh. “I know that. I’ve been working on it.”

  “You’ve been working on toning it down?”

  “Hell no!” She looks up at me like I’ve gone crazy. “I’ve been working on making it sharper. I pride myself on my wit and bullshit.”

  I would never have guessed.

  “Quick, we’re running out of time. Show me your hands.” She snatches my hand from my knee, opening it palm side up and she studies it.

  “What are you doing?

  “I don’t trust any man that doesn’t have work roughened hands. If you’re manicured and too smooth, I already hate your guts.”

  “Are you kidding?” I can’t say that I’m not sad my hands are calloused and rough, my knuckles red and torn. My hands have definitely worked.

  “Not kidding, Jon. What’s your job? I’m not interested in your money, whether you have any or not, but I need you to have a job. Something to keep you busy and away from drugs and booze and too much spare time with other girls.”

  I frown at her words, words thinly veiled under sarcasm. “Sounds to me like you know a guy who was unemployed and liked to drink and smoke and fuck other girls.”

  “Yeah, he was my boyfriend at the same time he did those other things. Asshole.”

  “Sounds like an asshole. How’d he get out alive? You seem like the type of girl to cut a guy’s dick off.”

  Casey shrugs. “I wanted to, but like I said; I’d do anything for Kit. She begged me not to go to prison and leave her here all alone, so I swapped out all his shampoo for hair removal stuff, I sprinkled itching powder in all his clothes and sheets and I keyed his car. Haven’t heard from him since, and I didn’t go to jail, so…” she shrugs, letting the sentence hang and I find myself laughing.

  “You’re a little scary, you know that?”

  “I’m glad you noticed. It’ll keep you on your toes and my heart intact.”

  Her heart? Seems to me my heart might be the one in danger here.

  “So you didn’t actually answer. Job or no?”

  I smile at her dogged attitude. “I’ve got a job. I already told you, I’m a fighter.”

  She glances away from her study of the street and back to my eyes. “Your job is to fight?”

  “Yep. The guys and I all own a gym. I’m there all day, all week. No time for bongs or girls.”

  She nods sharply though her eyes continue to dance. “That’s good. Means I didn’t waste my ten minutes on an asshole. But, either way, times up.” She stands, rising above me and fixing her skirt. “Walk me b
ack in?”

  I stand too, meeting her gaze for a microsecond as I raise my body, then I smile down at her and she gawks up at me. “You’re taller than I thought.”

  I eye her off as even in her heels, her eyes only meet my chest. She’s tiny. I could pick her up and carry her all day and never get tired. “You’re smaller than I thought.”

  Casey rolls her eyes. “Like a little kid.” She turns on her heel to step away. “I can see how that’s sexy for a guy.”

  “Wait, what are you talking about?”

  “Nothin’.” She takes my hand again, dragging me along despite her little kid comment. “Come on, I gotta get back.”

  “Wait.” I pull her to a stop twenty feet from Mike. I just want another second before we go back inside, back to the noise and the smell and the people. Back to my best friend breaking her best friend’s heart. For the first time ever, I think Bobby’s just about to unintentionally fuck something up for me. “Can I see you later?”

  “Later?” She angles her chin up to study my eyes. “Tonight?”

  “Yeah.” I came here looking for a pretty girl to spend the night with. Casey is definitely a pretty girl, and her sense of humor will make sending her home in the morning a little easier. I hope. She doesn’t appear to be looking for anything serious. She seems like fun. We could be fun together then go our separate ways. “What time are you off?”

  “Ah, no. I can’t see you tonight.”

  I blink and angle my head. “Why not?”

  “Cause I’m trying not to be a slut.”

  I step back as my eyes flare wide. “Come again?”

  Case transfers her weight from one heeled foot to the other as she considers her words. Her nose wrinkles when she looks back into my eyes. “Since my ex-idiot, I was kinda in ‘fuck it’ mode, where I kind of just, well, I wasn’t too particular about the men who took me home. Some shit has gone down in my world the last couple months, it kinda put life into perspective, so now I’m turning over a new leaf.”

  “Okay…”

  “So, if I see you later tonight after work…” she lays her tiny hand on my bicep and I feel my muscles bunch and release. Fire zings through my system, at her touch or at her rejection, I’m not sure. “If I catch up with you again without work or Kit playing interference, I’ll probably end up in bed with you.”