Don’t You Dare: A Bad Boy MMA Fighter Romance

by Claire St. Rose

  Vinny’s mind caught up to him. Junior had said something much more valuable than he had probably thought. He stopped Junior as he turned and lumbered towards the other men in the room. He sat down next to the Benni, the club’s President.

  “I know what he’s talking about, Benni. That red box, the steak place. That’s where we pick up stashes too. It’s the Cattleman’s Ranch. The owner, Johnson, he’s a friend.” He paused thoughtfully. “Or, I guess, he ain’t, if he’s double-sellin’.”

  Benni studied Vinny and then once again looked at Junior. “Are you sure? That’s a pretty big accusation. Johnson’s been a good provider for us for the last year while we’ve been getting settled here. Accusing him of cheating is not going to go well if that kid is lying.”

  “I ain’t been doing this for long, but I don’t think Junior’s lying. He’s been with the Devils for years now, since he was a teenager. He knows things—he’s seen things. And if he says he saw those red boxes before he left, I believe him.” Vinny was not really attempting to save Junior’s life, but he was trying to get Benni to think past what he thought he knew.

  “And what do you think we should do with him?” Benni rarely let enforcers decide the fate of the men he brought to these chairs, but he felt more respect for Vinny. He was smarter than the other half-witted meatheads they used to punish their enemies and keep their members in line. He had potential.

  “I think we let him go. He stays a young’un. No title. But he gets to ride. He took a beating like a man. I’ll give him that. Not everyone would be able to do that. Plus, he was quick to talk. He’s obviously not loyal to the Devils anymore.”

  “And how do you know he won’t pull the same shit on us?”

  “He won’t. I’ll mentor him.” The words slipped out of Vinny’s mouth before he could even consider them. He didn’t want to babysit anyone, let alone some wannabe with a backstory involving betraying a former club. If Junior slipped up again, it wouldn’t just be Junior in the chair getting a beat down.

  “If you vouch for him, he can stay.” Benni got up to stand and slowly moved towards where Junior sat slumped over with his head falling forward unnaturally. Blood dripped out of the side of his mouth and on to the floor. Benni turned directly towards Junior and said, “What you’re saying is of value to us and, for that, we’ll let you not only live, but stay. That is, if you can get us more intel. No information, no riding, no protection, and we will come after you if we find out that anything you say to us is bullshit.

  “Intel?” Junior could barely get the word out of his bruised mouth. He continued to look down at the floor, counting the seconds as waves of pain pulsed through his body.

  Benni continued, ignoring Junior’s obvious inability to process it all. “Yeah kid, intel. You apparently know a whole shit ton of good info and we want more of it. So we’re setting you free, sort of. But know this: Vinny is gonna be watching you, mentoring you. When we think you’re worthy, we’ll let you back on as a full member.” The Horsemen’s president spit on the ground at Junior’s tennis shoes and then turned his focus back to Vinny. “You’ve proven yourself, kid. I’m going to make you my enforcer. No more running drugs or selling. You’re going to do this full time now. One of the men will contact you with your next assignment. Keep your phone on.”

  He turned toward the other two men flanking him as he continued to walk up the stairs and out the door. Before he could leave, Benni shouted down, “Clean up the mess in here before you go. Red ain’t my color.”

  As soon as it was clear, Vinny quickly undid the knots around Junior’s arms and legs. The release caused the kid to fall forward, off of the chair and on to the floor. Vinny stood him up and propped him up against the wall. He wasn’t done with the boy just yet. “You listen to me, you little shit. You get me in trouble, you dare to pull some bullshit like this again, I will fuckin’ kill you myself, and I won’t need the orders. The next time you think you can be big man in the club, you call me first and run it by me so I can beat you to a pulp first. You ain’t getting me killed. Not tonight, not ever. We clear?”

  Junior nodded slowly, sleepily as he fell into a haze. Vinny dropped him, letting him fall back down to the concrete floor. He walked towards where he kept Junior’s duffle bag and threw it at his body. “Call your old man. Tell ‘im to come get you here. And while you’re here, do some fuckin’ cleaning. It’s the least you can do for me tonight.”

  The young man shuffled through his bag with closed eyes as he attempted to find his cell. Vinny sat on the couch listening to him reassuring his father that he was okay, that he had survived. No cops were needed. He gave him the address and told him he’d wait for him outside.

  Vinny lit a cigarette as he listened. At one point in his life, he was just like Junior. He was alone, cocky, and a total novice to this whole thing. Joining a motorcycle club had seemed like make believe rather than something actually dangerous and deadly. But Vinny learned quickly that it wasn’t just about scoring extra chicks or making out with some cash from a side job for the gang. It was a lifestyle, a pledge. His own mentor, Tony, had taught him that. And after years of just being a wannabe, he got his tattoo, his patches, and his privileges. Now, after tonight, he had managed to move up ranks once again. Becoming an enforcer had always been part of his plan, but he had no clue that he would earn that trust and the right so soon. It normally took enforcers years and years of dedicated service and loyalty shows to prove their merit.

  For Vinny, he had been brought on with a trial that ended up with the man in a body bag. That had to be worth something. But from then on, he was just given these small tasks of kicking asses and intimidating young members who had stepped out of line. He was lost trying to figure out what Benni wanted to see from him to move him up to full-rank enforcer. So he just did his thing, obeyed his orders, and still did the running and selling on the side when requested. Keeping his head down and straight was the best way for him to keep his profile on the up and up. Whatever it was that he did must have worked. Benni had trusted him, had seen the loyalist in him. And now, he was going to live out the rest of his life as the enforcer, the body, the fist of the club. There was no one more powerful, nor tougher than him.

  As he stood to hand Junior a mop and bucket, he remembered just what he had risked and had given to get to where he was. He was not about to let some man, any man, let alone this young gun screw this up for him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  To be with me you’ve got to have

  A little bit of a wild side

  Because I’m like the wind

  Floating through the trees

  And you’re just the sea

  Always chasing my breeze

  Gloria was workshopping one of her one of her original songs at her Tuesday night show. Tuesday was always the perfect time to break away from the classic cover songs she was known to do. It was her day to be free, to be her, to concentrate on the one thing that truly made her happy -- singing. There was no worry of impressing a new crowd or pleasing the locals. Life was just easy on Tuesday nights.

  Tonight’s new song was called “In the Wild.” She had written the lyrics a few weeks prior while she sat up in her bed listening to the sounds of Jordan messing around on his guitar. It was another Saturday night, and she was beat tired from performing and running her regular scheme earlier that evening. But her racing mind would not let her sleep. It wasn’t unusual these days or her to miss a night of sleep here and there. She just wasn’t one to let go enough to fully fall asleep. There was too much to think, too much to plan, too much to be afraid of in the darkness of her empty bedroom. She usually soothed herself to some sort of restless drifting by curling up in her bed as she mindlessly watched a good late night talk show where vapid celebrities were paraded across the stage.

  But that Saturday night was different. Despite Jordan being a full two floors away and her windows sealed shut for the colder fall evening, the sounds of the random melody Jordan was working on seeme
d to magically make their way to her bedside. It was transfixing. The notes shifted in her ear as she began to hum a complimentary harmony along with his notes.

  The lyrics came secondary. Like most of the music she wrote, the words were all inspired by her own life, her own struggle with relationships. It wasn’t, of course, a love song. That was not Gloria’s style or scene. Plus, she knew better than to write one of those. Anytime she had attempted to write a love song, it was corny and totally void of actual emotions and feelings. What was worse was that everyone who heard these few and far between attempts knew that the words were not genuine. Hell, she couldn’t even put feeling or passion in them when she sang.

  So like her other pieces, the ones about how she struggled with relationships, fidelity, and sexual desire, the lyrics she penned formed a song about her own life, about how no man could ever catch her regardless of how hard they tried. She was the wild creature she described to the core. No man, no person, could ever begin to tame her.

  After two weeks of playing it over and over again in her head and experimenting at her weekly band practice with the boys, she was finally feeling steady enough to give it a go with an audience. She hadn’t really expected much from the crowd. It was Tuesday, after all, and not many people were there except for the regular weeknight drunks that hunched over their chairs and seats for support.

  But in the overly familiar scene of addicts and gangsters, Gloria had spotted two new, very attractive faces. The two men had wandered into the bar as she was setting up her row of whiskey shooters, a pre-performance ritual she required-- three clear shot glasses lined up on the wooden bar by Casey. Gloria watched carefully as she poured the whiskey straight into the glasses, not spilling a drop in between. As she grabbed her first glass, she spun in her seat to check in on Jordan and the rest of the band.

  And there he was. All man, all right. And from the way he walked with his black boots taking huge strides across the hardwood floors, she could tell he was all wrong, too. Decked out in a tight flannel shirt and a pair of jeans that had to be one size too small for his thick, rippling thighs, he pushed through the bar’s black doors like he had owned the place. He did not hesitate to look around or survey the empty tables for an appropriate spot. Instead, he walked straight, eyes up, towards a booth in the corner.

  It was Gloria’s booth, the same spot where she did business with old and new clients. Anyone taking that spot would have piqued her interest. A man of that quality, sitting in the spot where she wheeled and dealed, positively fascinated her.

  Gloria licked the lip of the glass resting in her warm hand as she studied the newcomer. He never looked down or away. His steely eyes were fixed forward at the empty seat across from his own leather seat. His facial expression read relaxed, but the way his jaw moved back and forth slightly told Gloria that he was not there to just hang back and enjoy a show. Tension seemed to roll off his massive shoulders and down his arms to where his fingers balled up into fists resting on the wood of the booth’s table.

  Gloria had to give him credit. Most men who dared to walk in a place like this drew instant attention, enough to at least set the bar junkies talking. And just has she had predicted, when he walked in, the regulars lit up like it was Christmas and his presence was the present everyone wanted to unwrap. Whispers started almost immediately with others turning their heads wildly to get a glance or two more at him. Names and affiliations were tossed out. But the man just sat there as if he was totally untouched by the attention he was getting.

  When a second, younger man followed behind him minutes later, the crowd was practically going wild. Despite the cuts above his eyes and the bruises covering his face, he looked vaguely familiar to everyone. Yet, no one seemed to be able to place the youthful hair or the strong, v-shaped jaw. No one, that was, except for Gloria. She recognized him almost immediately. He was the spitting image of the man she just wrangled into her blackmail scam. It was Calvin Jr. No doubt about it.

  As Gloria watched Junior saunter slowly, uneasily towards the booth where the mystery man sat, she took hold of her second shot and pulled it back fast and neat. She wiped her mouth with her hand, carefully dabbing around her ruby red lipstick. She ran her hands through her curly blonde hair as she could feel the bits on the back of her neck spike up in curiosity.

  The last she had heard from Calvin Sr. was a week ago. He had told her, as she sat in that very same booth, that he had gotten word from Junior. He was all right, but he was mixed in with some bad company. His efforts to save him that night, to get him out of dodge, weren’t exactly successful. For Calvin’s family’s sake, he knew he would have to keep paying Gloria for her knowledge. At least, he had to while Junior made Calvin and his wife vulnerable to attacks from both sides.

  Despite being sympathetic for Calvin’s plight and Junior’s obvious idiotic attempts at playing both sides of a bad coin, Gloria was not about to let Calvin slip away. She had learned that putting emotions first and becoming the “nice gal” didn’t exactly mean good business or a better profit. No one paid their blackmailer more for good customer service. Instead, she had to be more ruthless, more unforgiving.

  And with Calvin Junior sitting in her booth, obviously conversing with a motorcycle club member, Gloria was seeing dollar signs. As she tilted her head back and took her third shot, she made a decision. She was going to find out more about the men and their shady business dealing in the tavern. She was going to turn this into a profit.

  With a wide, red smile planted on her face and liquor coursing through her veins, Gloria spun herself on her barstool, nodded a bit of thanks to Casey, and joined Jordan and the rest of the band on stage. It was time to make her money in two ways, rather than one.

  Adrenaline was at an all-time high that performance. She sped up the lyrics, pushed the beat, and used the stage to move and sway with the rhythms of her drummer and guitarists. It was a dance and she was following the right steps. All eyes were slowly turning on her as she shook her chest and jumped wildly with the fast songs. As she crooned the few slower numbers, she turned her body into an entire instrument. The length of the notes reached from her outstretched hands to the toes she stood upon. Her tiny body pulsated seductively as she hit the highs and the lows.

  The whole time, she kept her eyes on her booth. The two men were having some sort of tense conversation. The unknown man was hunched over the booth now, but his hands still rested in fists. She could see Junior taking the brunt of whatever the discussion was about. His head rested in his hands and he occasionally shook as he took in deep breaths of air. He was running scared and the man at the table was not taking it well.

  But halfway through Gloria’s two hour long set, she noticed something. The man in the booth wasn’t exactly keeping his focus anymore as time passed. Instead, he had slowly gone from his imposing position over Junior to slowly inching his way back in his seat. A beer was nuzzled in his hands now. But it was his eyes, the cold eyes that occasionally glanced up and over Junior’s jet black head of hair and over to the stage, that had Gloria hopeful that she was going in the right direction. Seduction was her favorite angle.

  With the last notes of “In the Wild” finishing, she managed to lock eyes with him. A small, almost unremarkable grin crept over the man’s pale lips, giving her the acknowledgement she needed. She was in.

  Vinny had, indeed, noticed the singer on the stage, the one dressed in all black from head to toe, the one looking at him nonstop since he had walked in. He was pretty used to the attention, especially from women like Gloria. They’d fawn after him, almost making it too easy for him to enjoy it. It was the perk of being the big guy in the room.

  On days when he was “on duty” with the gang, he tried not to indulge. He was supposed to remain alert and keep an eye out for Junior. But the way she had licked her lips when she downed that third shot was keeping him from staying on track. Now that he had heard her voice with its caramel sounds that flowed out of that gorgeous, tight-lipped mouth, he c
ouldn’t help but make plans for a different kind of business affair that evening. He just had to finish with giving Junior his assignment for the week.

  “Benni ain’t givin’ you an out on this, got it? You do it, and we move on. You don’t do it, and we’re both gonna have problems. And if I got problems, kid, you better hope and pray I don’t get to you first.” Vinny voice was stoic and even keel, but inside, his mind raced on how he somehow became this scamp’s keeper.

  “I don’t know how I’m gonna do it. I don’t do this stuff. I stay true.” Junior’s voice continued to shake and tremble. It wasn’t giving Vinny any confidence that they were going to come out alive.

  “Stay true? Bullshit, kid. You turned on your first club with just a couple hits. No one believes you, but Benni is givin’ you a second chance to prove your worth. Do this tonight, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll survive another week.”