by Jaci J
Not with Bailey, though. The bitch walks all over me and I take it like some limp dick bitch.
“Threatening me?” Wrapping her legs around my waist, she pulls me in closer, jerking on my cut with her hand, her face full of false bravado.
“Never. Just telling you like it is, baby.”
“Yeah? And how is it?”
“You’re mine, whether you like it or not.”
“Oh, really?”
“Been a year, Doll Face. You’re mine whether you wanna cop to it or not,” I tell her, punctuating my words with a hard kiss to her soft, willing lips.
She doesn’t want to want me.
But she does.
Bailey lets me kiss her, and she fucking melts when I do.
Her actions speak louder than her bullshit words ever could.
“No wining and dining?” she teases against my mouth, biting my lip and dragging it through her pearly whites. “Just wham, bam, thank you ma’am?”
“Who the fuck you think I am?” I chuckle, pushing my rock-hard dick against her soft cunt. “Some nice nine-to-five type of guy?”
She trembles, sucking in a breath. “No. You’re a fucking beast, an animal.”
“Goddamn right. Some motherfucker driving a sensible sedan doesn’t get your pussy wet, Doll.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m giving you time, but pretty soon that time’s gonna run out,” I tell her, looking her up and down, getting my fill. “And this body, this pussy, will be mine. You feel me?”
Her eyes grow soft, and I fucking love that shit.
“Tyler—”
“Don’t say my name like that. Just nod that pretty little head.”
And she does.
Feels like I just won the goddamn jackpot.
Hands on her thighs, I slide them up the inside of her leg to the spandex material that fails to cover her cunt. I can damn near see the outline of her pussy lips through the tight material, and that shit makes my cock ache, pushing against the fly of my jeans.
Slipping my hand under her shorts, I chuckle when she shivers against my hand.
My hands are fucking itching to get between her legs.
Lost in the moment, I’m jerked back by my goddamn phone.
“Fuck,” I curse, pulling my hand away from her pussy and jerking my phone out of my pocket, putting it to my ear. “What?”
“Got shit to do. Get down to 28th Street.”
It’s my pops.
Fucking asshole has the worst goddamn timing.
“Seriously?”
“Am I ever fucking kidding?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Give me thirty.”
Hanging up, I shove the phone back in my pocket.
I’ve got thirty fucking minutes with Bailey.
Thirty minutes to convince her to stop telling me no and start telling me, “Yes, yes, YES, T!”
BAILEY
“You have to go,” I say, knowing he does and hating how much I don’t want him to. I didn’t want him here in the first place, and now I don’t want him to go.
I’m acting like such a woman and I hate it.
The man messes with my mind.
He messes with my hustle.
He messes with my resolve.
T looks at me, watching as he drags his thumb along my lip, the pad pulling at the soft, smooth skin. “You gonna miss me or somethin’?”
Biting his thumb, I smirk.
“Are you going miss me?” I toss back.
“Always.”
“Always?” I don’t know if I believe that. And if I did believe it, I don’t know how I feel about it.
“You don’t believe me, huh?”
“No.”
“Action, baby,” he growls, eyeing me up and down.
“Action.”
“Fucking action.”
I yelp when his big hands grab my bicycle shorts and starts tugging them down, making me lift my hips and ass. T makes quick work of pulling them down my legs and leaving me naked from the waist down.
I fought him so hard up until this point, and now? Now I just give in because I can’t talk myself out if it. I’m going to give in because I want to, because I need to.
“Good girl,” he coos, putting his hands around my hips and pulling me to the edge of the counter. “You shouldn’t believe a goddamn thing I tell you.”
“Why?”
“Talk is cheap, baby. Action is where it’s at.”
“You could be a good actor.”
“Could be,” he smirks, and I hate how much I like it. Those full lips quirked up at the corners look sneaky. “But I’m not.”
“You sure?”
“All I can do is try,” he tells me with all the honesty in the world. His words are so sincere, I almost believe him.
Almost.
“I don’t know. People usually fail a few times while trying.”
“Then I’ll die trying with you.”
Crouching down in front of me, he pushes my thighs apart, wedging his wide shoulders between them. “Put your feet on my shoulders,” he commands, his teeth sinking into my thigh when I don’t instantly move.
“This is a bad idea,” I say, a soft moan slipping from between my lips.
“I know,” he agrees, his mouth finding my pussy. His tongue dips between my folds as his fingers spread me open, his eyes still on mine. “Let me show you how bad it’ll be.”
His hungry mouth on my body feels amazing.
His tongue.
His hands.
I’m lost.
Looking down at him, this massively strong man on his knees between my thighs does shit to me.
It’s fucking sexy.
T swirls his tongue around my clit, making me tense up, my body tightening.
It feels so goddamn good.
It feels better than making money.
It feels better than my independence.
It feels better than getting out of the trailer park.
It feels better than those nights I spent dancing for it.
It feels better than telling him no and winning.
“I need your fingers,” I moan, chewing on my lip as I watch him do exactly what I ask him to.
Looking up at me from between my legs, I can see the smirk in his eyes.
He’s won and he knows it.
I come hard when he shoves two thick fingers inside of me and sucks down on my clit, the tip of his tongue teasing me.
I keep coming, harder than I ever have before.
Sucking in air, I close my eyes, my head falling back against the cabinet behind me.
“Babe?”
“Hmm?”
I open my eyes.
“Good?”
I nod, at a complete loss for words.
T stands up, his eyes on mine, and a look of utter satisfaction on his face.
Without words or warning, he grabs the back of my head and pulls me in for a hard kiss.
His lips taste like me, sweet and tangy.
“How bad was it?” he asks against my mouth.
“Horrible.”
I feel him smile. “I’ll try harder next time.”
Pulling away from me, he starts for the door.
“T?”
Stopping, he looks back at me.
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, baby.”
9
T
“SHIT.”
“What?”
“Fuck!”
“What?”
We’re in some old-ass moving van, Rock riding shotgun, in between drop-offs after leaving the Russian’s warehouse. I left Bailey hours ago, and I was supposed to be back hours after that. We’re going on well over twenty-four goddamn hours. Skirting downtown, we hit the side streets, avoiding traffic lights and the public in this piece of shit car putting along, making me miss the fuck out of my bike, as it barely tops out at thirty when the pedal is to the floor.
Rock twists his neck, looking out the back win
dow. “Five-O just flipped a bitch.”
“Fuck.”
I glance in my rearview, and sure as shit, there’s a city cop on our ass. I know it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s flipping on his lights and pulling us over.
Normally, I wouldn’t sweat this shit. I’m not a saint and I’ve got a record, but at this moment, I’m clean. Well, as clean as a motherfucker wearing a Disciple patch can be.
No open cases.
No pending charges.
No warrants.
But we’re driving this fucking piece of shit and it’s not ours, so who the fuck knows what the asshole will find once he searches it?
Rock looks at me. “What are the odds we’re walking away from this shit?”
“Not very good.”
This is par for the damn course, but that doesn’t mean this shit doesn’t stress me the fuck out. This is the last goddamn thing I need right now.
And just like clockwork, the fucker flips on his lights, his siren chirping like I can’t see his red and blues in my rearview.
“How we gonna play this?”
“Like we don’t know shit.”
Rock nods.
We’re playing stupid.
Pulling over to the side of the road, cutting the engine and putting my hands on the wheel, I wait for what I know is coming. I know exactly how this shit goes. Been here more than a few times.
I could get belligerent, be an asshole, or I could comply and hope like hell this asshole doesn’t put my ass in cuffs and haul me off to county.
“Fucking bullshit,” Rock mutters.
I nod. “Thinking the same damn thing.”
The asshole in blue, a gun on his hip, gets out of his cruiser and walks up to the window, tapping on the glass with his flashlight.
I roll it down, keeping my mouth shut.
“License and registration,” he bites out, looking in at us, his eyes scanning my cut.
I still don’t say shit. I just hand over my paperwork.
He looks at my license and the registration, which are more than likely fake, and says, “You know this vehicle has been reported stolen?”
Fuck.
“Nah. A buddy let me borrow it,” I tell him, relegated to pulling shit out of my ass.
“Your buddy got a name?” he questions, looking down his nose at me. He doesn’t believe me, and that’s cool. I wouldn’t believe my shit either.
“We’re not that close. I call him Red.” That’s a lie I’ve used a time or two, and believe it or not, it worked.
“Red, huh? So, a buddy you’re not close with let you borrow his stolen vehicle?” He’s trying to trip me up and catch me in a lie. The stupid ass doesn’t realize I do this shit for a living.
I live and breathe bullshit.
“Guess so.”
The cop steps back from the door, talking into the radio at his shoulder. “Need backup out here on Cedar and Second.”
Goddamn it.
There goes me bullshitting my way out of this.
“Step out of the car. Hands on the hood,” he orders, hand on his hip, ready for me to get crazy so he can drop me.
I do what the asshole asks. Last goddamn thing I need is a bullet in my ass.
“Got any weapons? Anything that can poke or stick me in your pockets?” Grabbing my hands, he pulls them behind my back and cuffs me before patting me down.
I hate that moment when the cold steel of the cuffs hits my wrists.
I’m not going anywhere now.
“Nah.”
He starts to pat me down. “So, you’re a Disciple, huh?”
“Looks like it.”
“Seems a little suspicious that a Disciple is driving a stolen vehicle.”
I’m used to this shit. Cops and the government don’t seem to like us much. Think we’re some unstoppable force full of psychos.
We might be.
Or maybe we’re the good guys.
I don’t say shit as he walks me back to his cruiser, reading me my rights and shit before he grabs up Rock. He tells me that with my priors and my association with the club, he’s got to take me downtown until he can investigate further. I don’t believe a damn thing he’s saying, but that’s okay. In all honesty, I didn’t think this would go any differently.
_______________
“How the fuck did we end up here, again?” Rock groans loudly. He’s sitting on the small wooden bench in the corner, legs kicked out and arms crossed, staring at his boots.
We’re in a holding cell. Been here for hours. Figure we’ll be in here a few more.
Apparently, processing paperwork takes eight hours.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say the fucking Russians.”
It was their fucking car—their stolen car.
Could have been random or a set up.
Either way, I’m fucking irritated.
It’s one in the goddamn morning, and Rock and me are locked up in the city jail, holed up in a fucking holding cell at the local cop shop. No phone call, not to the club or our lawyer, while they do paperwork and investigate. In other words, they’re looking for a reason to hold us for as long as possible, hoping to get something out of us.
They’re not getting dick from either of us.
“Jesus Christ. They can’t hold us on anything other than a goddamn stolen vehicle charge.”
“Better fuckin’ hope that’s the only thing.”
“You think there were guns in that bitch?” Rock asks, jumping off the bench, mad. “You think that shit was a set up?”
“They better fucking hope not.”
I was supposed to be at the strip club to get Bailey, and I know goddamn well she’s there, wondering where the fuck I am.
She’s either mad or disappointed with me, and I’m not liking either, not after the shit I said about actions and shit.
I pretty much fucked myself.
“My old lady is probably pissed,” Rock mutters. “The crazy bitch hates when I’m late and don’t answer her texts.”
“At least your bitch knows how this shit works.”
Rock cocks his head, looking at me sideways. “You worried about Bailey?”
“Yeah. She’s working at that club where those fucking Russians are. They’ve got us in here, so who the fuck knows what’s going on?”
“She’s smart, yeah?”
“Yeah, but these goddamn Russians are a problem. Don’t want her in the middle of this shit.”
Rock nods, understanding.
If something happens to her and it has fuck all to do with these goddamn Russians, I’m killing every one of them.
Slowly.
BAILEY
It’s four in the morning, and I’m having a hard time sleeping. My mind won’t stop.
Tossing and turning, I can’t get comfortable. Wrapping my down comforter around me, I turn over and onto my back.
T never showed up at the club tonight like he told me he would. I’m not the type of girl to hang her hat on the shit men tell her. In my experience, all throughout my life, they’ve lied. Constantly. My deadbeat dad. My mom’s boyfriends. My ex’s. They were all liars. Bad liars and good career liars, but they’re all the same—liars.
That’s why I use them before they use me.
T will use me, abuse me, and then he’ll leave me high and dry, and heartbroken.
I’ve been told every story, fed every line, and given every excuse. He’s late because his car broke down and there was no tow truck around. He can’t come because he has to work, and then I catch him at a bar with friends. He didn’t answer my call because he didn’t have service, yet could update his Facebook. And those were the plausible lies. I’ve had blatant bullshit shoved down my throat too, like that hickey on his neck was a work accident. He was late because he was jumped and his watch was stolen. He forgot my birthday because he was in an accident and had amnesia.
Lies. I’m used to them.
But T seemed different. Real. Honest. Trustworth
y. When he told me he would be there, I thought he would be.
Is my heart broken? No.
Dreams crushed? Hell no.
Annoyed? Yeah.
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I hear the floorboards in my hall groan from the weight of a body.
The sound of his heavy boots on my hardwood floors soothe and disturb me.
I can’t believe how happy I am that he’s here.
I can’t believe how stupid I am for feeling that way.
I don’t move.
I don’t roll over.
I don’t sit up.
A moment later, my door opens and T walks in.
He doesn’t say anything to me, and I don’t ask how he got in here. He’s smart, and that’s all the explanation I need. The man in an unstoppable force, so it wasn’t like my door was going to keep him out.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him pull off his cut and set it on the overstuffed chair in the corner of my room before walking toward my bed like he’s done it a million times before. He’s wearing jeans and charcoal-colored sweatshirt with Hell’s Disciples printed across the shoulders. Sitting down at the foot of the bed, he scrubs at his face, and then drags his hand through his short hair, sighing. “You’re mad at me, yeah?”
“I’m not mad.”
“Disappointed?”
“No.” Disappointed would mean I expected something, and I didn’t expect a damn thing, even if I really did. I’ll keep telling myself I didn’t. He told me he’d be there when I got off and he wasn’t. It is what it is—bullshit.
I’m used to bullshit.
Bullshit is my normal.
He doesn’t look at me, he just stares ahead at my wall. But he’s talking to me when he says, “You’re a female. I don’t believe that shit.”
“Just like I don’t believe shit you say because you’re a man.”
He nods a few times. “Good. We’re all lying assholes.”
“Yeah. I figured that out by age five.”
“I won’t do that shit to you again.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t set yourself up for failure.” I don’t need, nor do I expect the world. Not from T. Not from anyone. I rely on me and me only. “Just keep trying, I guess.”
“Baby, with you that’s all I do. Try to get your attention. Try to get your time. Try to get you on the back of my bike and in my bed.”
“Goes two ways.”
He finally looks at me, a brow raised. “Yeah?”
