Kennedy (The Phoenix Club Girl Diaries #1)

by Addison Jane

  Stepping out, I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the light after being buried in an engine bay. “It’s just the kid!” I called back over my shoulder. Tyler pulled in the front gates, hitting the brakes hard when he spotted me to slow the bike down. He pulled up right beside me, and I frowned. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” I called over the rumble of his engine. “Turn that shit off!”

  He fumbled with the keys but quickly shut it off, so I could at least hear his dumbass excuse for driving like an idiot. Tyler was a prospect, and he was a pretty good kid, but he was still real young and had a lot to fucking learn.

  “Do you know where Shotgun or Shake are?” he asked, his eyes scanning the inside of the workshop. His leg was bouncing, and it was obvious that something either had him shook or he was nervous.

  “They’re at a meeting to do with some security shit,” I told him, raising my brow. “You knew this. We had fucking church about it this morning.”

  He licked his lips before he spoke, “I was heading home from visiting my mom. She lives just across the river. So I drove past Sammy’s bar down there on South 24th.”

  I narrowed my eyes and folded my arms across my chest wondering if the kid was ever going to get to his point.

  “There were some guys there wearing Red Riot MC colors, and about eight bikes lined up at the curb,” he finally spat out.

  “Motherfuckers,” I cursed instantly, looking over my shoulder at the clock on the far wall. It was only just after four, and the meeting the boys were in was gonna go until at least five.

  My blood fucking boiled to know that these dumbass bastards were sitting just a few minutes away from our clubhouse at a place we fucking frequented, just having a beer. Disrespectful little cocksuckers.

  I pointed at Tyler. “Give me five to clean up and then you and I are going down there.”

  He sat a little straighter, and I could tell he was fighting a grin. The kid did good.

  I rushed upstairs and went straight to the bathroom to try and get the black streaks off my hands and arms. I fucking scrubbed at them. I was fucking pissed.

  I patched in with this club as an enforcer. It was my responsibility to deal with threats to club. It was my responsibility to make sure that clubs like Red Riot, who thought they could just waltz through our land with their shit, got what was coming to them so they wouldn’t do it again.

  My road name came from my job.

  I took what the fuck the club was owed, but I also wanted a little bit of whatever the hell else they had because they made me come to them and fucking get it.

  Not only did you not fucking pay your damn debt, now I had to deal with your dumb fucking ass. So you can bet your ass, I’m gonna get something for my time.

  I protected the club’s name essentially. I made sure that anyone who fucked with us, or at least anyone who tried, learned pretty quickly why they shouldn’t. Which is one of the reasons it fucked me off that not only had these bastards decided not to acknowledge how stupid they were, they also had not apologized like the little bitches that they should be.

  But now, they thought they were gonna ride down here to our fucking city and hang out at one of our goddamn bars, just a few minutes from the fucking clubhouse?

  You dumbass motherfuckers.

  I made my way back downstairs to find Tyler eagerly waiting where I left him. “What’s the plan?” he asked, strumming his fingers on his leg.

  I stopped beside him. “We’ll park a couple blocks away, and I’ll walk down to the bar.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea you down there by yourself.”

  I reached out, patting him on the back. “It’s good, man. I have a plan.”

  I could tell he wasn’t exactly convinced. Tyler was still new to this shit, and even though he looked like he was about to shit his pants, I’d also seen him in tense situations at Empire with drunk guys, and he’d handled himself and them perfectly well. To me, he was just one of those guys who worried their ass off beforehand, but in the moment, became perfectly calm.

  “Let’s go,” I ordered, rushing across to my bike and climbing on with ease.

  I needed to know exactly what I was dealing with here.

  These guys, were they cocky or were they just stupid?

  There was a huge difference, especially if they were cocky and had the numbers or the clubs behind them to back them up. There was a difference between an asshole who thought he was fucking king and an asshole who could prove it.

  This situation—it could honestly go a few different ways.

  This was why it was best if I went in alone to begin with, instead of grabbing the entire club and walking in guns blazing. The reason I was good at my job was because my mission was essentially to protect the people I cared about, and I knew that didn’t always mean balls to the wall. Sometimes that meant strategy. It meant taking the time to discover an enemy’s weakness and being completely sure of what you’re up against.

  I needed to figure it out, though. Get in. Get a feeling for who the Red Riot MC was and what they were about, and then decide what to do with them.

  KENNEDY

  “So what do you think we’re doing here?” I asked, leaning into Ashley’s shoulder and lowering my voice to a whisper. All we’d been told was that we were heading away for a few days, and the girls were expected to come.

  That alone caught me as strange.

  The club girls very rarely left the club with the guys.

  They didn’t like us hanging around while they were on the road because that was their chance to pick up new pussy and fuck their way through small towns across the country. Not that any of us girls minded. It gave us a break, gave us some peace and quiet, and often allowed us to lick our wounds for a little bit.

  “I heard Dip mention something about a shipment not making it to St. George,” Ashley whispered, looking straight ahead as she spoke to me and forcing a smile, trying to make it seem like we were just talking casually. If we were caught discussing club shit, Lord help us both.

  “That would explain the call for church the other night and why Crow seemed like he was on the warpath,” I murmured, putting some of the pieces together. “Well, more than usual.”

  She dipped her head. “I think Crow’s looking for the guys who took that shipment.”

  Jesus Christ.

  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Crow was out looking for someone else to destroy.

  “If this trip is for club business as serious as that, why the hell would they bring us with them?” I questioned. It didn’t make any sense. We were whores. The boys weren’t gonna hand us guns and expect us to have their backs.

  “Maybe they want these other guys to think we are non-threatening and just here for a chat. Everyone knows you don’t take your whores to a gunfight,” Ashley mused, rolling her eyes.

  I huffed out a laugh and looked at her pointedly, wondering if she actually wasn’t far from hitting the mark. “No, you leave them at home, so they can tell the cops you were there the whole time and not committing murder.”

  She turned her body to me, her hands gripping the picnic table we were sitting at. “They wouldn’t…” I could see the short flash of fear in her eyes.

  If that was what they needed us for, then things were about to move to the next level. We wouldn’t just be the ignorant whores screwing the bad guys anymore, we’d be helping them. Fucking accomplices. And we both knew that if push came to shove, they wouldn’t hesitate to use us or point fingers to keep the spotlight off themselves.

  “They would, a hundred times over,” I confirmed, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

  Just six more months.

  Then I can take Brooklyn and get the hell away from here.

  Ashley hadn’t been at the club as long as I had, but she’d learned pretty quickly that the shining light they offered to begin with, wasn’t the sun like they made it out to be—it was just a fucking flashlight. They’d brought
her in a year or so ago doped up to her eyeballs and addicted to meth. The club offered to get her clean, protect her from her dealer who she owed money to, and feed and clothe her. To an addict, that sounded like a fucking good deal. Until you’re sober, and you figure out that maybe that old saying had some merit—better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

  “Kennedy!” Crow’s deep growl from across the small garden area had me scampering to my feet trying to act like we weren’t just delving into club business. I thought I had it figured out, they were planning something catastrophic, and to get away with it, they would need us to lie, for us to be their story.

  But as I walked over to Crow, his eyes on me, watching the sway of my hips, I realized he would never see me as someone who he could trust to have his back. I was an object. I was a way for him to get off. I made him feel like more of a man because I allowed him to have power over me and let me bend to his will.

  I would never be his equal, he would never put his life in my hands. But what he would do was use me to hurt someone else. And that made me feel fucking ill.

  “Go to the bar and get me a beer,” Crow demanded when I finally got within reach. His hand snapped out and wrapped around the back of my neck, dragging me in awfully close. “And while you’re there, have a chat with the bartender and see what he knows about the club that runs around these parts.”

  When I didn’t reply right away, his fingers pinched at my skin, digging into my muscles, the pressure making me cringe.

  He liked that—the sadistic grin on his face was one I knew all too well.

  He liked watching me curl in on myself, he liked pushing me to the edge and hoping that one more second would force me to fight back. Because when I fought back, he had a reason to put me back in my place.

  Not that Crow needed a reason to hurt me. He felt like he had the right. As far as he was concerned, I was club property, and that meant he could treat me however the hell he liked. Most of the time that meant when he wasn’t fucking me, he was either ordering me around or beating the shit out of me.

  Over the years, he’d discovered every damn way possible to bring me to my knees. And he’d perfected every single one.

  “Yeah,” I murmured, pulling away from his death grip.

  He tucked a couple of bills in my jeans pocket. “Hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

  I ignored the collective chuckle from the boys as I headed for the door that led inside. The boys had taken over the outside bar area, the ten of them were more than intimidating and instantly scared away anyone who was already out there.

  Even the bar inside was reasonably quiet, but I could tell by the way the barman eyed me as he walked over, that he wasn’t exactly happy about the fact we were there. “What can I get you?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. I didn’t blame him for being slightly suspicious. We weren’t from around here, and we’d basically barreled in like we owned the place, scaring off all his other customers.

  “Two beers, whatever you have on tap,” I announced, taking a seat and placing a twenty on the bar.

  He nodded and pulled two glasses out from beneath the bar. “I don’t know if you realize, girly…” he started, his voice low and his eyes focused on the amber colored liquid as he poured, “… you can’t just walk into this area flying your colors like you are.”

  He was right, being here right now was only begging for fucking trouble.

  Being around Red Riot for the past four years, I’d learned a lot about how this other world lived, and the rules that they lived by. One of those rules was that you stayed the hell out of another club’s territory unless you had permission to be there. Stepping on someone else's turf without letting them know was a big hell fucking no, and because of that, I’d seen more than my fair share of wars started. And most of them were because Crow was one of those stupid motherfuckers who felt like he was a level above every other bastard, and that the rules and laws didn’t apply to him.

  The bartender placed two full glasses on the bar, and turned to the till to get change. I licked my lips, suddenly feeling a little nervous. Crow wanted information, and he wanted me to dig for it for him. I guess he thought they were more likely to be open to a pretty girl than a fucking biker with a bad attitude and a short fuse.

  “So there’s another club in the area?”

  The bartender looked up at me, brushing his thick black hair back from his face, allowing me to really see his eyes for the first time. They were the same color as the drink he’d just poured, a warm amber color, but they were dark with warning. He nodded. “There is, and if you’re smart, you’d already be riding out of the city limits by now, heading back to wherever the fuck you came from.”

  Someone climbed onto a barstool one over from where I was sitting, but I was so focused on the bartender and what he had to say, I didn’t have time to waste on even a glance, afraid I might not get what I needed.

  A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I could appreciate someone like this guy. Straight up, no beating around the bush. “Before they figure out that we’re here?”

  The way the corner of his mouth twitched—his smile instantly matching mine—was enough to strip the amusement basically straight from my lips.

  “They knew y’all were here the second you rode into town,” another voice said from a couple of stools down.

  The bartender chuckled under his breath before grabbing his little bar cloth and tossing it over his shoulder. “You broke it, you bought it, that’s the rule, Reep.” He laughed, looking pointedly at the guy who’d spoke, like I was suddenly invisible. Then he was gone, slipping out the back of the bar.

  My eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and I turned my body toward the guy on the next stool, folding my arms across my chest.

  Crow wanted information, and the bartender had given me a whole lot of fucking nothing.

  I couldn’t walk back out there with nothing.

  And this guy seemed to know what he was talking about.

  At least, that’s the excuse I used when I finally took him in.

  His hair was shaved at the sides but long and scruffy on the top. It almost had a slight curl to it, which could have been cute if it wasn’t for the fact that he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy you called cute.

  I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the way my body was warming. “Were you talking to me?”

  His hand was wrapped around a half-empty glass of beer. There was one little drop of condensation pooling at the top of his palm, ready to drip down over the side of his heavily tattooed hand at any moment.

  The corner of his mouth quirked, and he looked around dramatically before his eyes finally settled on me. The icy blue color struck me like a lightning bolt—they were beautiful, the shade of blue so light that it could almost pass as white. My mouth fell open which only made his tenacious grin grow wider. “Seems like you and I are the only ones here.”

  He was southern. The accent wasn’t strong, but it was there. It was mixed with a deep and almost melodic tone that was low and rich like a bass guitar. I felt for a second like I’d taken a shot of whiskey, and I was feeling its warmth spread through my body, its attack smooth, slow, and torturous.

  I couldn’t help but shuffle closer to him, an old, tattered barstool the only thing holding the space between us. “What do you know about the club that’s around here?”

  “You ain’t ever hear that expression… curiosity killed the cat?”

  “I don’t really see myself as a cat.” I laughed, cocking my hip. “I’m more of a dog kind of girl. A poodle maybe.”

  His grin only grew wider, and he raised a curious eyebrow. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why a poodle?”

  “Cute… but extremely intelligent and underestimated.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “So tell me about them,” I urged again, now that I had his attention locked in. I folded my arms across my chest and tried to fight this weird pull which was dragging me closer to him. His five o'clock shad
ow, the tattoos that decorated his arms, and the devil-may-care attitude all screamed at me to turn and walk away. But the pristine white t-shirt and dark wash denim jeans seemed to say pretty boy who thinks he’s a badass. When he didn’t respond right away, I pressed harder. “Who are these guys? Why should I be so scared of them?” I taunted playfully.

  Over the past four years, I’d fucking heard it all, and I knew this guy was about to tell me just how big and bad the club who ran this area was—something I’d heard a million times over. Every club out there made out like they were the kings of the MC world. Crow was the first one to tell you that his club could take on any club in the country and come out on top.

  He huffed out a breath and shook his head, turning away again and dismissing me, and sending both my curiosity and agitation slightly higher. “This ain’t your fight. So if I were you, I’d get the hell out of here before you get dragged into the middle of it.” Too late. “Because if that happens, we both know that your old man out there ain’t gonna protect you. He’s gonna cover his own ass.”

  “He’s not my old man,” I responded instantly. I don’t know why those were the first words to come out of my mouth, but part of me needed him to know that. His head whipped back around in surprise, and I couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up. I shook my head and leaned my shoulder against the bar. “I’m a club whore.”

  His eyebrow rose on one side and he tilted his head just slightly.

  “Surprised?”

  “A little,” he confirmed through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing.

  “Why?”

  He ignored my question, and instead climbed to his feet and threw one right back at me. “What do you owe him?”

  My smile slipped, falling into a frown, and unconsciously I wrapped my arms around my waist, hugging myself tightly. “What do you—”

  He leaned in, one hand on the stool in front of me, one on the bar. I was stunned, completely intoxicated with his smell for a few brief seconds before he started talking. “We both know you aren’t hanging around for his sparkling personality.”