F*ck Club: Riley

by Shiloh Walker

  He canted his head to the side. “There’s a bed coming. What do you think?”

  “I think you’ll go out of your way to make sure somebody you think you’re supposed to take care of is taken care of,” she said, a ghost of her former spirit showing in her voice. “You don’t need to be rearranging your life for me. You don’t need to be ordering furniture for me.”

  He didn’t see why not.

  But he doubted she’d appreciate him pointing that out so he went with the more diplomatic truth. “Look, there’s a spare bedroom, in case you haven’t noticed. I’ve been meaning to get a bed in there ever since I moved into the apartment and I just haven’t gotten around to it. Now I have. Problem solved for both of us.”

  “Hey, Mommy! There’s a bunch of pinball machines back here.”

  They both turned their heads to look at the little boy, who was peering around the door.

  “Honey, don’t go being nosy—”

  “He’s not,” Riley said, cutting Bree off as he reached into his pocket and fished out a couple of quarters. “You like pinball, buddy?”

  “Riley…”

  “Bree…” He looked over at her, matching her chiding tone to perfection. “You can’t go and put a boy around a bunch of bad…ah…amazing games and expect him not to want to play. I mean, I’ve got an Addams Family machine back there.”

  To his surprise, her eyes lit up. “You do not.”

  “I damn well do.” He didn’t realize the slip until after he’d already let it out. He winced and mouthed sorry to her.

  But she shook her head. “He’s heard worse,” she said softly, some of the pleasure already fading from her eyes.

  Riley could imagine, but he wasn’t going to let her start thinking about that prick. “Come on. I’ll let you play my games for a while, Miss Bree.”

  “What about me?” Toby asked.

  Riley found himself laughing.

  It was something he didn’t do much of.

  He’d forgotten how good it could feel.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Most of their connections came in via Facebook or email. A few happened in person or through phone calls, but Riley preferred online contacts, especially with new clients.

  He’d already spread the word that they were closed to new clients.

  Still, some people didn’t pay attention and the emails from one came in one after another, four of them in the span of an hour.

  He’d read the first one and responded that they weren’t actively acquiring new clients for the escort business.

  She’d responded that she was willing to pay extra.

  He’d deleted it and then the third and fourth.

  Hopefully she would let it go.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d replied to his polite decline, but most were with cute little pouts or emoticons.

  He would remember them and shoot them a call when things were level. But the pushy would-be client wasn’t going to happen. His job was making sure his brother and his friend were protected, above all and before all. To do that, if something seemed off to him, then he didn’t take chances.

  He had saved all the other emails for last. They tended to take longer.

  He wished he hadn’t waited so long though because earlier it had been quiet and now…

  Bam bam bam bam!

  Doors slammed and feet banged on the floors outside his room.

  Bree had taken Toby back to Turner Grove to get some clothes. She’d insisted on doing it alone. He’d been fine with that, because he’d double-checked. That scumbag was still in jail.

  If he had made these calls earlier, he wouldn’t feel as though he was…sneaking around.

  If he hadn’t already dialed the call, it wouldn’t be as much of an issue, but he couldn’t start rethinking how he did everything. Not now. That should have been done…

  Shit. There was no fooling anybody.

  It didn’t matter if he’d spent two seconds, two hours, two weeks or two months deliberating, he still would have made the same decision. He’d brought Bree here—and Toby—because it was the only thing to do.

  So he’d have to figure things out.

  When Marnie Weathers answered the phone, he shifted in his office chair and leaned back, keeping his eyes focused on the door. “Marnie…a pleasure.”

  “Hey, Riley. Thanks so much for calling.” Her voice was warm and soft, rough from years of smoking, but the gravelly purr was sexy. Marnie was a forty-two-year-old divorcee. She’d been thirty-nine when she’d first starting using his services.

  She had been one of his regulars and wouldn’t go to anybody else.

  “I was thinking about going out for a drink up at Down On The River. You remember that place?”

  He heard her soft laugh, but it was harder to hear her response because the noise outside his door kept distracting him. Fortunately, all Marnie had been doing was talking.

  When she paused, he shifted the conversation. “Saturday afternoons are still good for you?”

  “You know me so well.”

  He knew well enough to know that Saturdays were her one afternoon when she wasn’t taking care of a mother who was slowly dying from a disease that was robbing her of her memories, or rushing after kids who still resented her for not staying with a man who’d not only cheated on her but embezzled funds from the company her parents had left her.

  She’d managed to pull herself out of the dirt, but her pride had taken a beating.

  Normally, Riley enjoyed his time with Marnie. He never went so far as to try to fool himself that it was anything other than what it was—she paid him, not just for sex, but for the companionship, but it was a mutually satisfying arrangement and he liked her.

  Out of the three regulars he now had, Marnie was probably the one he liked the most on a personal level. But right now, he was caught between cringing and trying to rush her off the phone.

  Embarrassment was something he’d long since put behind him. He was a man who believed in doing what was necessary, and he’d been able to pay off the debts his family owed, pay for Charli’s college, keep a roof over their heads and get the pub established—things he wouldn’t have been able to do as just a bouncer.

  He’d given up on his plans of staying in school after his parents had died. The mountain of debt they’d left behind had made damn sure he adjusted to reality, and fast, so college and his plans had become a pipe dream and he’d focused on things he could do with little to no schooling. If he’d been a bit better at football, he would have tried to go pro, but he hadn’t been. He’d been big and fast, but so were a lot of other guys.

  So he’d put the big and fast to use in other ways—bouncing, mainly.

  Sometimes he’d fill in behind the bar and the tips were good that way, but it had been discovered quickly that he had a way for cooling things down before they got out of hand. Plus, ladies liked him. Men respected him.

  He was just good at what he’d done.

  He’d been talking to one of the regulars when she’d ended up propositioning him, and when she’d handed him the ten one-hundred-dollar bills, he hadn’t had to think twice.

  A thousand dollars if he promised to blow her mind.

  He’d done that, and then some.

  Now between him, his brother and Shame, they handled roughly fifteen select clients. Riley’s starting fee was still around one thousand dollars.

  That promised the lady a nice evening, or afternoon, and then the best damn sex she’d ever had, right up until the next time they were together.

  Riley didn’t believe in letting a lady go unsatisfied.

  It was one of the unwritten rules of his so-called Fuck Club.

  Marnie had never been an unsatisfied customer and she’d directed more than a few women in his direction.

  “I can’t wait, Ry.”

  “Me neither, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.” He disconnected and swiped a hand down his face before punching the appointment into his phone, taking care to
passcode it. Too many things could go wrong if the phone fell into the wrong hands. Not that he ever used full names and he didn’t store anybody’s information on the phone. All of that was kept in a separate database on his computer and it was one that would lock permanently if the wrong password was entered more than twice.

  He eyed the other numbers he needed to call and for the first time ever, he considered making the appointments via email. But he decided against it. The personal touch was one thing he knew his ladies liked and he wasn’t going to change that now.

  He had other ladies to call, other appointments to book and outside his door, things were sounding like a miniature version of WW III. He skimmed the emails once more, absently searching for a name he hadn’t seen in months. Candi. But she still hadn’t contacted him and he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to reach out to her anyway.

  He worried about her, but the woman fucked with his head something awful and right now, more than ever, he needed to be level.

  There was a crash outside his door, followed by Bree’s voice admonishing Toby.

  Yeah, no way was he making calls right now. He’d do it later, down in the bar’s office, instead of his personal office. And he’d also start doing the callbacks first instead of last.

  It turned out to be a wise decision because less than two minutes later, there was a knock at his door.

  He jumped, flinching as if his mama had caught him with a Playboy magazine all over again.

  Shame suddenly started to make its presence known and he didn’t like it—at all.

  Bree knocked again and called out, “Hey…um, I don’t want to bother you, but I thought you might like some lunch.”

  He glanced at the screen on his computer, eyed the emails, then logged out before responding.

  “Yeah. Sure. Lunch sounds great.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  She sat across from him, looking so pretty and sweet, and he didn’t know if he could take it.

  Of course, every time she looked up and glanced in his direction, it was a splash of cold water right in his face.

  He’d see that bruise all over again and the rage would pump up hot and fresh.

  It was a good thing he’d learned how to deal with his emotions, how to battle them down, beat them into submission over the years.

  “Do you like your sandwich? Do you need anything else?”

  Across the table, Toby sat demolishing the club she’d put together for him, dipping it into tomato soup that tasted like it had been homemade. How she’d managed homemade tomato soup with the stuff Riley had in his place, he didn’t know. He was already on his second bowl and might have licked it clean if he hadn’t had the ghost of his mom’s voice warning him to mind his manners.

  “Riley?”

  He jerked his head up and met her gaze. “Yeah?”

  “Did you need something else? Another sandwich? More coffee? I can—”

  He reached out and covered her hand with his.

  She froze and he immediately pulled away, feeling like the lowest piece of shit on earth. She’d just been battered, her son’s arm snapped like a twig. She probably wouldn’t ever want to be touched by a man again. What was he thinking?

  “I’m sorry,” he said, keeping his voice level. “But yes, I do need something.”

  “Oh… O-okay…” She stammered it out, her normally dusky, smooth skin going sallow. She started to push back.

  “Please. Stop.” He shot Toby a look but Toby was too busy eating and studying the doodle Con had added to his cast at some point between this morning and now. “You don’t… Look…”

  His tongue had gone and gotten tied into a knot and it pissed him off.

  Riley did not get tongue-tied. Even back when they’d been dating in high school, he hadn’t been one to get all twisted up and awkward like this. But back then, she’d been a different girl. Happy and full of life. Now she was nervous and scared.

  “You don’t have to wait on me. I’m not Donnie. I’m not anybody but me, and I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

  She flinched, her gaze falling away. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Riley got up, carrying his plate to the sink and rinsing it, taking care to think through everything he said before he said it. She was already so bruised and battered. “We’re friends, Bree. At least, I want to think we still are. Are we?”

  “Of course we are.” Her voice was sad. Closer, too.

  He turned around and met her eyes, staring at her over a span of just a few feet. Toby was at the table still, quieter though, and Riley suspected he was paying more attention now.

  “Sometimes I think you’re the only friend I’ve got.” She gave him a tired smile. “And sometimes, I wonder why you even want to be my friend after…”

  He reached up, not thinking about the action until he’d already completed it. She froze and he told himself to stop.

  But her skin was warm under his palm and her pupils spiked big and dark, slowly swallowing up the green of her eyes until just a thin rim of color remained. Her cheeks paled, her freckles standing out in stark relief, but it only lasted for a second, because she started to blush, a dusky hint of color washing in and reminding him of how she’d looked the first time he’d kissed her.

  He could still remember that in acute detail and it made him ache. Made him ache for all the time that was lost and all the things that were never going to happen again.

  “Don’t say that, okay?” He smiled and gave himself one last second to enjoy the feel of her skin before he let go. “Just…don’t say it, okay? I’m always going to be your friend. Even if you don’t need me or want me for anything else.”

  He turned away before he could do something stupid, like try to kiss her.

  He turned away before she could see something crazy…like how much he still loved her.

  “Riley.”

  He was almost out of the kitchen, but paused when she said his name. He glanced back at her and managed a casual smile.

  “I…” She wrapped her arms around her middle as she stood there staring at him. Then her gaze fell away, and when she looked back at him she had that blank, empty smile she’d given people for the past decade. I’m fine. How are you. Everything is fine. Oh, I tripped. I bumped into something. No, I’m okay. It was a fucking lie, that smile.

  He hated it.

  “I managed to get a few days off from work, but I have to go back in tomorrow. So I won’t be here when you get up. I’ll see you…sometime, though. Maybe Toby and I can come down for dinner before things get too rowdy.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  * * * * *

  “Mr. Steele.”

  The voice was familiar.

  The woman who slid onto the bar stool next to his as he was taking care of paperwork wasn’t familiar, but that didn’t mean much. He’d met a lot of women, and not just because he’d slept with quite a few. Bartending and bouncing tending to bring a man into contact with all sorts of new faces.

  Still, he didn’t think he’d met her at a bar.

  Or anywhere else.

  She set off a hundred internal alarms, so he wasn’t surprised when she pulled out a badge and laid it in front of him. It bore the letters LMPD on it and when he held it for scrutiny, the cop didn’t even blink.

  “Louisville Metro. A bit out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?” He smiled at her and tried to pretend he wasn’t at all nervous. “What can I do for you, Detective Chance?”

  He had no doubt this was the cop that had unsettled Shame. To do that was a pretty rare feat, but she’d also slid past his cop radar, so that was even more reason to be wary.

  She was cute, just as Shame had said. Riley had talked to him about her again and Shame had described her almost to a T. Halle Chance was a pretty thing—wide blue eyes and a heart-shaped faced, set off by a cupid’s bow mouth that would make a man think all sorts of dirty things. Riley was a man already disposed to dirty thoughts.

>   But Detective Chance had his guard up, not his cock.

  Especially after what had happened with Shame the other day.

  “I’d like to talk to you about your…business enterprises.” She gave him a polite smile. “Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure. I always got time for the fine folks in blue.” He’d known this would happen, had been preparing for it ever since Shame’s bombshell had dropped. He would have liked to have had more time, but then again, he would have liked a lot of things in life…for Bree to love him, for the Cincinnati Bengals to win the Super Bowl, and for his parents to still be alive.

  He’d long since accustomed himself to the fact that he’d never get most of the things he wanted, and half the shit he needed.

  “This is a nice set up you have. Must have taken a while to save up the money for it, considering you’ve got a sister in medical school.” She held his gaze levelly, without blinking. “Those school loans must have put you all in the hole.”

  “Actually, my sister is out of medical school. And she’s a smart kid—won all sorts of scholarships and grants. We’re only halfway in the hole, instead of all the way in.”

  A faint smile canted up her lips. “Still, halfway in…for medical school. That’s a lot of money. And this place? What did it set you back?”

  “I’d have to talk to my accountant.” Since she looked to be settling in, he closed the folder where he kept his paperwork. Couldn’t trust the cop eyes, even with benign, safe shit. Moving around behind the bar, he slid the folder under it and then hefted up an unopened box. “Hope you don’t mind if I work.”

  “By all means. Perhaps you could tell me about your…other line of work?”

  He sliced the box open. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Mr. Steele. I can make this easier on you or harder on you, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it.” A hard edge underscored her words.

  Riley looked up and met her eyes. “Is there a law against some wealthy woman paying me to accompany her to the opera or some high school reunion where everybody in planning on talking down to her? To my recollection, that’s not against the law.”