Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
KING
Taking her hand, I grip it tightly and move out of the room, down the hall, then down the stairs with her trailing behind me. I know she’s reluctant to go to the party, but this is her life now, so she better get fucking used to it.
The music thrums through the bar, people talking and shouting all around me, and instead of walking straight up to Poison, I decide that I need a drink.
And I need a fucking drink now. Zombie is behind the bar.
Without a single word, he slides a beer toward me, then he flicks his attention to Shawn.
“What can I get for you?” he asks when I don’t place her order.
It’s not my order to place. She’s an adult, and she can order her own drinks and food. Bringing my beer to my lips, I take a pull as I watch the exchange of Shawn and Zombie. I almost laugh when she leans across the bar to ask for something sweet.
Zombie’s gaze flicks to mine, and I can tell he wants to say something else to her, no doubt flirty and possibly sexual, but because I’m standing here, he thankfully refrains. I don’t feel like getting in a fight tonight, so I’m glad.
“Best I got for you is some vodka and Sprite, babe,” Zombie mutters.
“Okay,” she says.
He jerks his chin, then scoops some ice, pours some vodka, and then tops it off with Sprite. Shawn naturally says a kind thank-you, then turns to me, lifting her drink to her lips and taking a sip.
“That was Zombie,” I explain. “He’s not a member of the club yet. He wants to be. He’s called a prospect.”
And that’s how the evening goes. I tell Shawn about every member of the club, only pausing when one appears at our side, and then I introduce them to one another. Everyone already knows Shawn, though. She made the amazing cupcakes. My little baker.
When the party is in full swing, I can tell Shawn is getting drunker by the minute. I don’t ask her how many of those drinks she’s had. She’s not going anywhere tomorrow. The bakery can stay closed for another day. It doesn’t really matter at this point.
“Need to talk to you,” Atomic mutters from my side.
I turn to look at Shawn. She’s throwing her hands in the air as she drunkenly talks to Gnaw. What the fuck they’re even saying to one another, I have no goddamn idea, but it’s cute as fuck.
Gnaw jerks his chin, his eyes finding mine. I mouth for him to watch her, and he jerks his chin in confirmation of my request. I lean toward her and touch my lips to her temple before I shift them to her ear.
“I’ll be back in a few,” I murmur.
I’m not even sure that she hears me, but I needed to at least tell her. Taking a step away from her, I turn and follow Atomic toward his office.
Fuck.
I did not want to work tonight. I’ve had a great fucking orgasm and some beers. I want to crash the fuck out with my woman, maybe come again before I fall asleep.
Atomic walks into his office, and I slip in behind him, closing and locking the door. He walks around his desk, sinking down into his chair, and I do the same across from him. Lifting my leg, I cross my ankle over my knee as I watch him.
“You called me in here,” I murmur.
He clears his throat with a nod. “I did.
“I figured out what we need to do to start our trucking company, and it’s a lot easier than I thought. I wanted to go over it with you, then bring it to a vote tomorrow.”
Atomic is a goddamn workaholic. He likes to party, but not as much as he fucking loves to work. It’s ridiculous, is what it fucking is. Leaning back in the chair, I run my palm down my face.
“Clients?” I ask. “We got those?”
He clears his throat. “We do. Donation store for now. We pick up the discards and drive them to the donation sites. It’s easy as shit.”
“Local?” I ask.
Atomic shakes his head once, his lips curving up into a shit-eating grin. “Distribution warehouse at the southern border of Louisiana.”
“So, we drive down south, then over?” I ask, wanting just the bare bones of the trip.
Atomic doesn’t speak immediately and instead watches me for a moment. “It’s an easy application, and startup is nothing except licensing and trucks. We don’t have to have any product other than what we’re trying to move.”
“Where do you propose we get it from or move it to?” I ask.
That’s when his lips curve up into a grin. “Got a line on a group in Beaumont that has been using a different company. They are looking to switch. They would be our first client. We pick up what is left for us from a different group and transport it down to Beaumont.”
“So we’re the middleman?” I ask. “I don’t think the brothers are going to like that.”
Atomic presses his lips together in a thin line, then lets a breath out slowly. “I don’t want to deal with a supplier or any of that shit right now. I think we’ll make more money a lot faster doing it this way.”
His words make sense, but it makes me feel a bit like we don’t have complete control over the situation this way. And if there’s anything I don’t like at all, it’s that I don’t like to feel out of control, and I don’t think anyone else in the club does either.
“As much as I want to say it’s a great idea, I’m a bit leery. It seems like we could easily be the fall guy for either side, sending or receiving.”
“We could,” Atomic murmurs. “But I don’t think we will. There’s no good reason for it. They need their shit moved, and we can provide a service. They won’t bite the hand that feeds them.”
“Or the hand that delivers the food?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Exactly.”
“Bring it up for a vote, then,” I mutter.
I’m not one-hundred-percent convinced that this is the way to go. That this new avenue is the right one. It doesn’t really matter what I think, though. What matters is what the club votes on, and with Atomic completely behind it, I have a feeling they’ll all agree.
“I need to know you’re on board,” he says.
There is a loud noise. It sounds like glass breaking, and I jump to my feet without answering Atomic and bolt for the door. I’ve never rushed at the sound of glass breaking before, but with Shawn right outside the office, in the bar, I’m on goddamn high alert.
Then I hear a scream, and that’s when I break out into a full run. What I see isn’t what I expect at all. In fact, I stay where I am, unmoving, frozen in my place as I take in the scene before me.
What the actual fuck?
SHAWN
Poison makes her way toward me as soon as Elvis walks away with Atomic.
I’m still standing at the bar, but I shift to the side, toward the wall.
In hopes I’ll disappear into the darkness of the corner and, in some strange turn of events, her eyes will lose sight of me, and she’ll forget her mission.
It doesn’t work.
Her mission is clearly me.
She stops in front of me, dipping her chin slightly so she can look directly into my gaze. With her four-inch heels, she’s several inches taller than me. At this point, I think she likes that fact.
Her lips curve up into a grin. “Heard your man went to the strip club while you stayed here and cleaned,” she purrs.
God.
I already hate her, and I don’t even know her.
And I know that it isn’t fair of me to think that about her, considering I don’t know her at all. But I also realize that the way she’s coming up to me, the way her body language is, she’s clearly looking for an argument. She’s ready to fight… or, at the very least, argue.
Pressing my lips together, I try hard not to speak. It’s not that she intimidates me. It’s more that I don’t even want to be around her. She’s overbearing and obviously wants to be a bitch to me to get a reaction, something I really don’t want to give her.
This woman obviously thrives on drama, and I want nothing to do with it. Except, I don’t think she’s going to let me get out of it at this point.
“He did,” I reply with a heavy sigh. “Is that all you wanted to say?” I ask. “You wanted to tell me something that I already know in an effort to upset me?”
She narrows her eyes on me, and it’s clear that I’ve pissed her off, but I don’t care. She can be pissed off all day long at me. I wish she would turn around and walk away, crawl back into whatever hole she came out of, but she doesn’t.
Lifting my drink to my lips, I take a sip. The vodka burns on the way down my throat, but it warms my belly and then my blood. I’m feeling spicy and just waiting for her to say whatever it is she’s all hot to say.
“Just thought that you might want to know that your legs are not the only ones he’s been between today. And they won’t be the only ones tomorrow, either. King is fucking amazing, and I don’t plan on letting that slip out of my bed.”
I tamp down the anger because, at the end of the day, I don’t know Elvis very well, and it’s clear that this woman believes she’s got some sort of hold over him. Maybe she does. Maybe he’s selling me a bunch of shit. But I’m going to choose to believe him until I no longer have a reason to.
Which means this bitch can kick rocks.
“You need to turn around and walk away. I believe you’re not allowed to speak to me, seeing as I’m an old lady,” I state.
Her eyes widen.
“A what?” she hisses.
“You heard me.”
I know that this means something, not just because Elvis told me but also because of the way she’s reacting. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and she sucks in a deep breath, holding it for a moment. Then she lets it out and what I can only describe as rage crosses over her face.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she asks. “You come here with your little fucking cakes, and you think you can just take a Dark Horse for yourself?”
I have no clue why she’s so pissed off, but she takes an aggressive step toward me, and instead of freezing, which is what I would do if it were my mother coming at me, I lift my glass and thrust it forward, splashing vodka and Sprite in her face.
She screams, and so do I, mostly as a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.
She grabs the empty glass from my hand and takes a step backward, pulling her arm back, ready to launch the glass at my face.
I duck just in time. It smashes against the wall behind me.
I think about laughing at her, but I don’t have an opportunity.
Without even taking a breath, she launches toward me, acrylic nails clawed and ready. I’m not a fighter. It’s not something I want any part of, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to defend myself.
I’m not my mother’s daughter without having learned a thing or two about defense and combat. Instead of allowing her to just come for me, I reach out, using my palm to slam against the side of her face and push her down as hard as I can.
She falls straight to the floor, but not before she grasps my shirt and brings me down with her. With me on top, my thighs squeezing her hips, I do not hold back. I hit. And I feel stupid with each swing because I know she’s fighting over a man, but that’s not what I’m fighting for.
I’m fighting her because she’s a bitch, and I’m not going to have her come at me. I’m not going to just lie down and take whatever she dishes me. I don’t even know her, and she sure as shit doesn’t know me.
I am sick to death of people assuming I’m something I’m not.
Sick of it.
So, I take all my pent-up anger and aggression out on her.
She asked for it, anyway.