Caleb: A Black Widow MC Romance

by Jones, Olivia

  “Now Caleb, that is one chick I've never had.”

  Caleb slapped me on the back. “Go get em' champ.”

  I lifted my butt off the bar stool and had to hold onto Caleb to steady myself. My stomach was turning over and over again and it took all the willpower in the world to keep myself from throwing up. I took a deep breath and waited for the nausea to pass. I swaggered over behind the girl and slipped my hands around her waist.

  “How about you come home with me and I'll show you what heaven looks like.”

  She turned around and flushed, her chest heaving up and down. My pants tightened as my erection stiffened. This chick was smoking hot. Tonight was going to be fun.

  A voice came from behind me. “Get your hands off my girl, motherfucker.”

  Me? A motherfucker? Nobody talks to me that way.

  My hands left the girl's waist and I clenched my right fist. I spun around, swinging my elbow in the air until it connected with the man's face—except he stopped me. The whiskey must have made me slow, because next thing I know I'm on the ground and his fists are pummeling my head. I try to block as many of the blows as I could. Good thing about alcohol is that the more you drink, the less pain you feel.

  I gather myself and throw the attacker off me, slamming him into a table. Glasses of beer fall to the ground and shatter. A crowd has formed around us they're all cheering. Everyone loves a good bar fight. The MC has taken notice and they're taking bets. I better get a cut of the money after I smashed this little guy into the ground.

  I stood up and wiped blood from my lips. This guy was going to pay. The girl we were fighting over looked right at me and gave me those doe eyes. A new fuel powered me. I swung right and left, hitting him over and over again in the jaw. My knuckles became bloodied and broken. I wouldn't be able to take much more.

  Caleb threw me a beer bottle and I smashed it over his head, sending broken pieces of glass flying. The man doubled over and fell to his knees. I used the opportunity to spit blood onto his head before ramming my knee into his face, knocking him on his back. I raised my hands over my head like a boxer winning the title.

  I didn't even notice him grab a piece of the broken bottle.

  Sharp, scolding pain hit my side and I screamed. I looked behind to find the boyfriend stabbing me again in the back. Another spike of pain and blood leaked out of me everywhere. My rage was uncontrollable. I swung around and broke the man's nose. The crunch is clearly heard throughout the bar. My vision is getting blurry and I'm able to get one more punch in—dislocating his jaw. I fall to the ground, my own blood staining my white wife-beater. My MC comes flying in, kicking and spitting on the boyfriend.

  Randy bends down over me and whispers into my ear but I can't hear a thing. Everything goes black.

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  Chapter One

  Brooke

  Shit! I arrived at the Nautilus Club fifteen minutes late again. The seedy building stood in an abandoned complex right next to the jammed freeway. A gigantic neon sign repeated girls three times and a long pink awning jutted out from the front door. I stumbled out of my car, carrying my purse and bag of school books. In between dances, I could get a little homework done if nobody bothered. Jerome stood at the front door looking menacingly as always. He was an over-sized black man with the softest heart and a hug that could crush every bone in your body. He grinned and let me right in.

  The club lights were dimmed and Cherry danced on stage to Britney Spears' “Womanizer”. A bar sat along the far right wall and Johnny was there tending to the drunks. A shot of whiskey sounded good right about now. I took a hard right through velvet curtains that stated employees only.

  Joe, the owner, came barreling towards me. His hair had receded to the very back of his head and he wore the cheapest suits available. He wasn't as soft as Jerome but he took care of his girls. “Brooke! You gotta be kidding me. How could you be late again after we just had that talk?”

  Damn! I thought he might not have noticed this time.

  “I'm so sorry, Joe, but I got caught in traffic.”

  Joe checked his watch. “There's no traffic at eight o'clock.”

  “I promise it won't happen again.” I gave him my best puppy dog eyes. Joe was a sucker for a pretty girl.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Cherry offered to switch. You go on in twenty minutes.”

  I really owed Cherry a big one. This was the fifth time she had covered for me. Maybe I could buy her some makeup as a thank you.

  Joe continued, “I also need you to cover Jasmine's shift on Saturday night.”

  Double Shit! This Saturday I promised my mom I'd come visit her. But I couldn't negotiate with Joe without him firing me on the spot.

  “You got it, Joe. Whatever you need.”

  Joe clasped his hands and bowed before me. He really wasn't all that bad. I just needed to be on time more often.

  I walked into the makeup room and sat at my station. Exposed light bulbs surrounded the mirror and pictures of my family were taped to the edges. I wanted my area to feel a little more homey—a little more personal. I went to the open rack behind me that held the few outfits I owned. The dancers at Nautilus were required to pay for their own costumes which meant I couldn't afford too many.

  I pulled out a blue bikini that was bedazzled with little sequins. It looked really cheap but you couldn't tell in the dark club. I quickly changed and stuffed my big breasts into the bikini top. I sat down at my station and opened the drawer full of makeup. I brushed my hair and darkened my eyes with black liner and eyeshadow. I added the biggest fake lashes and overdid the lipstick.

  Helena strutted into the room wearing a long dress and platform shoes. She was very thin and tall with small perky breasts. She could've been a model if she wanted to. Most of the women were so jealous of her body.

  “Joe seems angrier than usual. Were you late again, Brooke?” Helena sat down at the station next to mine. She had been dancing at the Nautilus for over ten years. When I started dancing, Helena helped me through the basics.

  I capped my lipstick and pursed my lips in the mirror. “Only by fifteen minutes. I could be one minute late and he'd still go ballistic.”

  Helena laughed. “Joe is Joe.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “We just got in a big group of bikers.”

  “I hope they have deep pockets.” I winked.

  Cherry came back from the stage all sweaty.

  I got down on my knees and groveled at her feet. “Thank you so much, Cherry. I owe you a million times over.”

  Cherry's fake red hair burned brightly. “You better believe you owe me. I barely got any tips out there and a group of bikers just came in right after I finished.”

  “How about I split my tips with you tonight. Will that make up for it?”

  Cherry smirked. “Yeah that might work.”

  My phone buzzed on the counter. I checked my message and it was from my roommate.

  Jenny: You better text me when you're on your way home.

  Brooke: Don't worry I will :)

  Jenny didn't have a job so she made it her life's work to make sure I was safe. She was so worried that one of the customers would try to kidnap me. Jerome was always around and would never let that happen.

  Joe popped his head in. “You're on in five, Brooke.”

  “Knock em' dead, Sapphire.” Cherry kissed me on the cheek.

  Sapphire was a name I quickly came up with right before my first dance. I needed a stripper name that radiated class. Diamond was already taken so Sapphire became mine. Most girls went by their real names backstage and some lucky girls like Cherry were already born with a fake stripper name.

  I took a deep breath and went to the back of the stage. I peeked through
the curtains and spotted a ton of guys surrounding the stage. They were all covered in tattoos and wearing leather vests. Tonight might actually be a good night.

  The announcers voice boomed through the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Nautilus Club proudly presents: the mysterious, the insatiable, the lovely—Sapphire!”

  My song: “Pour it up” by Rihanna blasted through the speakers.

  I burst out of the curtains with fire in my eyes. The overhead spotlights focused on my body as I made my way down the raised walkway. The boys cheered my name, throwing one-dollar bills onto the stage. I ran my hands up my stomach and grasped my boobs, flaunting them to the crowd.

  “Take it off,” one of the bikers screamed.

  I pouted my lips and shook my finger to the crowd. I faced away from the audience and slowly undid the string around my back. My bikini top hung loosely against my chest and I held it in place with my hands. The men hollered at me. I turned around and danced for the bikers, not letting them see it all yet. Dancing was the art of seduction.

  I dropped the bikini top and let my large breasts free. The boys cheered and whistled at my tits. I went up to the cold steel pole and pushed it against my cleavage, rubbing myself up and down. I bent over all the way, hugging my ankles and giving the best view of my thong and ass.

  My eyes caught one of the bikers and my heart skipped a beat. He wasn't like the others. He sat quietly and stared at me. This guy had long slicked-back hair that was shaved on the sides. Intricate tattoos covered both of his strong arms and broad shoulders.

  The mysterious biker's dark gaze focused in on me. I became flushed and lost my way for a moment. I climbed high up the pole, wrapping my legs around and locking myself in. I leaned back and swung around, slowly dropping all the way to the stage floor. I flipped my blonde hair back and locked eyes with the biker.

  This is way too hot.

  Rihanna's words slowly faded away and the crowd cheered. I gathered my bikini top and all the tips off the stage.

  “One more round of applause for Sapphire,” the announcer yelled.

  I gave the audience a curtsy before disappearing into the back—but not without getting one last glance at the biker. He sat in his seat, blanketed in shadows, with one finger slowly tracing his lips.

  “How much did you make?” Cherry asked.

  My head was all cloudy and my cheeks were bright red. Who was that man?

  “I said, how much did you make, Brooke?” Cherry repeated.

  “Oh sorry. Thanks again for covering for me.” I didn't even bother counting the tips. I handed her the majority of the crumpled up cash in my hands and her jaw dropped.

  Cherry fanned out all the bills. “You made all this from one dance?”

  I shrugged.“I guess they liked me.”

  I sat down at my station to calm myself down. I didn't have another dance for a couple hours and desperately needed a drink.

  Joe came in. “Great job, Brooke. You got a guy out there requesting a lap dance.”

  I nodded and touched up my makeup. Could it be him?

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  Chapter One

  Charlotte

  I slowly creaked open the door to Cultural Anthropology 301. Mr. Capshaw's back was to me, writing with marker on the white board. It was becoming a habit of mine to be fifteen minutes late—it was impossible to find a parking spot at my college.

  I hunched down and went down the row of desks, scanning for any empty spots. Students watched me as I sneaked by, some giggling and others scoffing.

  Why did the whole world only pay attention to me when I was late?

  A vacant seat sat all the way at the end of an aisle. Everyone shifted their feet to make way for me as I shuffled through. I passed by Kyle and my heart almost jumped out of my chest.

  I was sitting so close to him! He threw a smile at me and I almost melted. Why couldn't I get a guy like him?

  I wanted so badly to tell Kyle how I felt, but I'd never even spoken a word to him before. I only watched him from afar, studying his figure closely.

  I gently laid my backpack down and took my seat. Mr. Capshaw's back was still turned away— the teacher didn't notice me.

  “Nice of you to join us, Ms. Turner,” he announced, turning around to face me.

  Busted.

  I flushed scarlet and sunk into my chair. The students around me laughed. Kyle smirked at me. This had to be the most embarrassing moment of my life.

  “Like I was saying before Ms. Turner interrupted us, it's time for your final paper.” Mr. Capshaw wrote Final Paper on the white board with a sad face next to it.

  A collective groan echoed throughout the room.

  Mr. Capshaw put up his hands in defense. “I know, I know. Most of you have been dreading this since the beginning of the year, but I assure you, it's not as bad as people have told you.”

  My palms were sweating and I shifted in my seat. I'd heard that Capshaw graded these papers with an iron fist. Since it accounted for fifty percent of your grade, some students failed the class because of it.

  “Let me explain what it's all about and then you guys can judge it. I think a lot of you will actually enjoy it.” A kid on the other end of the room raised his hand. “No questions yet. Let me talk first.”

  The kid put his hand back down. I pulled out my notebook and flipped to an empty page.

  “Each and every one of you will go out in the field and study a culture that I assign you,” Mr. Capshaw said in his booming voice. The students looked at one another in confusion. “You're going to use everything that you've learned over the course of the semester. I want you to interview people, observe them in their natural habitats, and record any profound discoveries. Don't just write what you think I'd be interested in, write what you're interested in.

  This is what anthropology is all about. We could read endless books about what others have done before, but until you do it for yourself, you can never really appreciate it. Now I'll take questions.”

  A girl in the back raised her hand. “Yes, Ms. Harper?”

  “What cultures will we be studying?”

  “I'm glad you asked.” Mr. Capshaw walked over to his desk and pulled out a long sheet of paper. Depending on what you get, you're going to be assigned a fraternity, sorority, or a club that's in or outside this school; for example, Ms. Harper, you will be studying the mysterious and wild Anime Club.

  The students all laughed.

  A student in the front row raised his hand. “Have you ever done field work, Mr. Capshaw?”

  The teacher looked offended but then smiled. “Of course I have. You think they'd let any old man come in and teach? I've been to Africa, South America, and the tiniest islands you can imagine. I've studied KKK groups and even tribes that practiced in cannibalism.”

  Mr. Capshaw taped the paper to the white board. “Come on up and see what you got. Mr. Shavers you can stay seated.” Everyone turned their head and looked at the meat-head jock in the middle row. “Don't worry, I assigned you the Sigma Zeta sorority.”

  “Fuck yeah, thanks Mr. C!”

  The class stood up from their seats and began shambling over to the front. I followed the crowd and waited patiently while each student found their name and what club they were assigned. My finger trailed down the list until I found my name.

  Charlotte Turner Wheels of Ash Motorcycle Club

  A motorcycle club? Is this his idea of a joke? Do they really have clubs where people just talk about motorcycles all day?

  “That's it for today. But I want you to get in contact with your clubs and set up times to meet with them. You only need a few days to observe them. We'll skip next week's class and come back in two weeks when your paper is due. If you
have any questions during that time, feel free to email me.”

  Everyone started gathering their things and leaving while I stayed at the front of the class. I approached the teacher as he crammed papers into his briefcase.

  “Mr. Capshaw, I don't quite understand my assignment.”

  The teacher grinned. “Ms. Turner, you got the motorcycle club. I've been trying to get them to participate in this program for years—for some reason they said yes to me this time.”