3. Janelle
“I should kick your ass. I told you I wanted to do something low-key. This ain’t what I had in mind, Robyn,” I say, frowning as we maneuver through the heavy crowd.
“This is as low-key as it gets. Besides, I need my people to get familiar with you. This is neutral ground, without you feeling pressure to talk to the people around you.”
“Hey, Tinker Belle. Who is this?” a woman asks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, halting Robyn’s and my steps.
My face blanches, and my forehead wrinkles at the unfamiliar name the woman says while looking at Robyn.
“Hey, Sinful. This is my best friend, Janelle. She’s returned home, so I’m showing her my world,” Robyn says.
“Oh, I feel you. It’s nice to meet you, Janelle,” Sinful says, extending her hand toward me, causing me to connect our hands briefly.
“Likewise,” I say lowly. The smile on this woman’s face isn’t reaching her eyes, which puts me on high alert.
“I’m gonna go see if I can find my boo because I need some of his?—”
“Mhm. See you later.” Robyn cuts her off while stepping around the woman and pulling me along. “Some of these bitches only joined the club to freely fuck the guys. A pussy like Sinful’s can’t possibly contain a lick of elasticity. I get sick of how many boos she has in this club. Ugh. Let’s go to the bar so I can get you the drinks I promised you.”
“Good idea. On another note… Tinker Belle? Sinful?”
“Oh yeah, girl. While in the four corner walls of this building, Robyn doesn’t exist. I’m Tinker Belle, which is my club name. You’ll get used to it.”
“Not likely. Who comes up with the names you all have?”
“Most of us come up with our own names, but some people are given theirs by the officers of the club. Sinful got hers from the founder, who was the first man she let slip in her loose pussy upon joining. That’s another conversation for another day, though.”
Before I can respond to Robyn, or should I say Tinker Belle, the music echoes around the room, causing my head to bob as I concentrate on not bumping into anyone. Twenty minutes ago, when Robyn pulled into what looked like a deserted strip mall, I wasn’t sure what to expect. While I’m still not sure what will happen by the night’s end, the heavy bass filling the room has me momentarily focusing on something else.
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3-6-9, damn you fine
Hoping she can sock it to me one more time
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“Mhm, I see you don’t have a problem bobbing and jamming to this old-school music despite your reservations,” Robyn says when we reach the bar, and she turns to see me moving to the beat.
“Girl. Can’t nobody resist Lil Jon, and that includes me. No matter how old this song is, it still goes hard.”
“It sure does. What do you want to drink?”
“What do y’all have?”
“Shit. Everything. Name it, and I know we have it. So pick your poison. I got you.”
“Actually, I got her, Tinker Belle.” An unfamiliar male voice with an underlying sensuality within his words that captivate me and I unconsciously freeze unable to breathe for countless seconds from the chokehold his voice has me fighting to push through.
Heat penetrating my back has me nervous to turn and acknowledge the man behind the voice. The cheesy grin and nod from Robyn have me slowly turning to look over my shoulder as my head lifts in order to connect with the man’s face due to our height difference.
Damn, you’re fine.
My conscience screams the minute my eyes connect with blemish-free caramel skin and comforting, warm, dark brown eyes. My neck is unhappy with me from my position while observing this man. The earring in his right ear doesn’t turn me off as my eyes rake over his ruggedly handsome face. His medium size full beard has me curious about the type of beard oil he uses to keep it shining. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I allow my eyes to travel down, taking note of the ink peeking through his white shirt. The broad shoulders and muscles rippling through the fabric of said shirt have me unconsciously licking my lips. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to check out the bottom half of his body, I continue my perusal as a throaty chuckle hits my ears, freezing the descent of my eyes.
“I’m happy to know you like what you see because I’m more than satisfied with what you’re working with. Deacon.” The hand extending in front of me forces my eyes to reconnect with the man waiting for me to acquaint our hands.
The music and noise in the room seem to fade instantly when I place my hand in his, and an electric current surges through my body. The flash of something unreadable in Deacon’s orbs let me know he’s felt it too.
“J-mm-Janelle. Nice to meet you.” My pulse and heart are racing like an African drum, causing heat to fill my body.
“Trust me. The pleasure is all mine. Don’t be shy tonight. Whatever you want is covered. I hope to see you again, Ms. Janelle.” With that, he disconnects our hands. He walks away with a nonchalant grace and a commanding air of self-confidence, leaving me rooted in place.
“Lord, have mercy,” I whisper when Deacon fades into the crowd, forcing me to turn back toward the bar as a goofy grin covers Robyn’s lips. “I’ll take a double shot of Gentleman’s Jack, please,” I say to the woman behind the bar as Robyn starts laughing.
“Mhm. This is about to be fun,” Robyn says.
The hell it is. That man has the potential to further flip my world on its axis. I’m cool on Mr. Deacon.
Two days later…
“Damn it. Why am I still thinking about that man? Ugh.” Gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles whiten, I head toward my job.
Not only did the image of Deacon haunt me during the night, but here I am, thinking about him when I should focus on this drive to the office. Thanks to Patricia Stephens’s connections, a job was waiting for me when I returned to the city, and I’m grateful. I’m working as a human resources assistant, and I love that I’m able to put my degree to use. I hope to one day move up the ladder in human resources, so this position will allow me to expand my résumé.
“The better question is, what are you gonna do with the thoughts?” Robyn asks, reminding me that she’s on the phone, causing me to sigh heavily.
Robyn has been providing the same commentary about her club brother since that night, and like I did, I express what’s becoming my standard response for this situation.
“Nothing. A man like that is the reason my cousin is in Ribax Memorial Gardens instead of keeping my hair laid every week.”
Although I saw comfort shining through Deacon’s eyes the other night, I also saw danger hovering, which is why I ordered the Jack Daniels instead of something light. Seeing Deacon move through the club throughout the night had me drawn to his strength and the sense of danger within his swag. Yet, the multiple shots of Gentleman’s Jack I had kept me grounded and staying away from the potential storm engaging with him could result in.
“I’m not trying to dismiss your experience, so don’t take this the wrong way, but how long are you going to let this keep you employing Energizer?” Robyn asks.
The laugh I could release fights with the sob smothering my esophagus at the experience Robyn is referring to. Seeing someone die and being helpless to do anything to stop it has never been easy. It also doesn’t help that the person was related to me and my favorite. My cousin, Chelsea, was killed by her boyfriend in front of me when I was fourteen. Between the trauma and Chelsea’s blood hitting me, I had been unable to tell anyone who was responsible for taking Chelsea from our family. The guilt of knowing, thoughts of why the man spared me, and being unable to face my aunt Claire led me to flee Ribax after graduation. Not to mention running into Chelsea’s killer six months before I walked the stage. His eyes had left me with a chill that I experience to this day whenever the memory arises. It’s almost like the man kept tabs on me and sent someone to watch me, because his letters started a year after I settled in Georgia.
“This is exactly why I took you to the party because I’m not about to have you become a hermit. I also know my brothers will protect you from being connected to me. However, to ensure your protection, you’re coming to our meeting on Wednesday night. We have an open secretary position, and like it or not, your ass will be fulfilling it.”
“I’m not joining your club, Tinker Belle,” I say sarcastically.
“The hell you aren’t, Janelle,” she snaps in the same tone I used with her, causing me to roll my eyes.
“We’ll see because I’m grown, and you can’t make me do a damn thing but stay black and die.”
“Real fucking mature, but keeping your ass alive is what I’m planning to do. So whether I have to drug, kidnap, and drag you into the clubhouse in two days, your ass will be there as a Baxton Iron secretary candidate. Now, have a good fucking day.”
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Something ’bout your hands on my body
Feels better than any man I ever met
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Hearing Coco Jones blaring through my speakers has me gritting my teeth from Robyn hanging up on me without allowing me to rebuttal.
“Her ass better prepare to hogtie me because I bet I don’t walk into that damn motorcycle club willingly. She ain’t Patricia fucking Stephens, so I ain’t required to listen to her. Shit.” Ranting, I continue to work with a frown covering my lips, and tightness and wrinkling spreading across my forehead.