Chapter 3
KNOX
Ididn’t pick the name of the strip club.
My brother did.
The large sign above the door says Iron they double it in tips because of the caliber of clients we bring in.
They get health insurance and never have to have sex with any clients.
I do my part in keeping ‘em safe and protected and well-treated.
Gonna call ‘em strippers until I’m dead.
They can deal.
The ride back to the clubhouse is quiet tonight. Fewer people around. Even the clubhouse lot is less crowded. Vandal and Havoc are kicked back on one of the sofas.
Sunny is sitting at the bar, deep in conversation with Reaper, and as I get close, I hear Sunny say, “For fuck’s sake, if I die, don’t let them play country music at my funeral.”
Reaper laughs. “If you die on these floors after I cleaned ‘em, you’re not getting a funeral. You’re getting a ditch somewhere.”
I slap Sunny on the shoulder as I walk by. “If you die, I’m definitely playing country. Might even go bluegrass, just for you.”
Sunny mock vomits. “I’d rather have my ears drilled out, Prez.”
Vandal looks thoughtful for a second. “Bet that would work as a good technique to get people to tell you something. Like, the sound of it coming to your ear slowly. Especially if your head was stuck in a vise.”
“Remind me to stay on your good side,” I mutter.
Vandal lifts his beer. “Wouldn’t do it to you, Prez. Would be impossible to pin you down into a vise.”
Havoc laughs. “That logic shouldn’t make sense.”
As uncool as it might seem, I was a high school wrestler. Could grapple with the best of them and get a guy to tap out in seconds. When we fight, the men do everything they can to stay on their feet, but I take ‘em down fast. Sunny says it’s my superpower.
“Where’s Ridge?” I ask.
Havoc tips his head towards the corridor with our personal rooms. “Went back there with Steffi.”
Steffi is a newer club girl. Can’t see her going the distance. She’s too sweet. She’s gonna get eaten by the other club girls, the old ladies who fucking hate when fresh blood arrives, or by the men.
Can’t blame Ridge for fucking her, though. She’s in her mid-twenties with a tight figure and a pretty face.
Maren Caldwell flashes into my head as I think it. She’s in her late twenties. Some would say that’s too young for a man in his forties like me, but fuck it.
Bet she’d look hot riding my dick. And it would certainly piss her father off.
“Think he’s settling in until the hurricane’s passed,” Sunny says.
“Good,” I say. “You should all think about doing the same.”
“Meh, I’ll sort that out tomorrow,” Havoc says.
The latest forecasts say we’re in for a rough ride, but we won’t be hit by the worst of the hurricane. That’s a blessing, but these things are unpredictable and could change.
“I’m pulling forward departure time for the morning.
Let’s go real early so we don’t get caught out coming back.
” We have a run tomorrow to hand some of the Honduran’s cash to our brothers from Georgia.
They supplied the weapons, we ran them. “I know it’s not supposed to land until Thursday, but I don’t want to still be on the road twenty-four hours out. Not with the expected wind speeds.”
Havoc groans. “Sure thing, Prez. I’ll make sure Ridge knows.”
When I reach my room, it’s with a weary sigh. I don’t even bother turning on the light because I know every gnarled floorboard and piece of furniture in this place. Instead, I walk to the bathroom and click the small light over the vanity.
The shower rattles when I turn it on, but then it settles as steam starts to mist the glass.
It takes a minute to strip. Another to check out my reflection in the mirror.
I lean in closer and notice another gray hair at my temple.
While I know I can’t stop aging, I’m vain enough to wish I could.
Debated dying it for a hot minute, then decided to just roll with it.
I work out hard to keep my body agile, and apart from the alcohol I drink and the cigarettes I smoke, I fuel my body well.
The water hits my back hard enough to sting when I step beneath it. I brace a hand on the tile and bow my head, letting the water pound against my neck.
It should wash away the day, but it doesn’t.
Because thoughts of Maren linger.
I see her like she’s right here in front of me in the shower. Something that will never, ever happen in my lifetime. Her eyes are sharp, and that stubborn mouth looks like it’s about two seconds away from saying something it shouldn’t.
I scrub a hand down my face and blow out an aggressive breath, which should be enough to stop me from crossing the line I’m about to. But my willpower and commitment and the years I have on her fail to stop me for reaching for my cock.
Water runs down my chest, over my stomach, as I try to think of anything to take this hounding spark of arousal away from me.
The rat in the club.
The hurricane.
Instead, I remember the way she looked at me after nearly hitting my bike: Sun catching her hair, and a look of fury in her eyes. Not scared of me. Not backing down.
Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d even think there was a spark of interest. The kind that comes when you know there’s tension, but the world isn’t going to let the two of you stay in the same orbit long enough to explore it.
“She’s Caldwell’s daughter,” I manage to say, although I know it would piss him off if I touched her.
But not even that thought can kill the twist in my gut that tells me she wants me too.
I know nothing about her, even though we’ve lived in this small town our whole lives. I never see her out at any of the bars or restaurants. Only at the bait shop and the marina. Occasionally on the water, and rarely at the grocery store.
She’s like a fucking hermit crab, living on the water’s edge by herself with the bait shop as her shell.
As I stroke from root to tip, I try to remind myself that we’ll always be connected by an ugly history. Her father killed my brother. But in my head, I jump to an unexpected place.
The two of us in bed together at my house. The one I never take anyone home to.
I squeeze my cock more firmly and I try to remind myself it’s just tension. That I don’t need to sensor my fantasies.
But when I close my eyes, it’s her. Back against the office wall at the bait shop. Or sitting on the counter. My cock thrusting in and out of her, raw, feeling her tight cunt squeeze and pulse around me.
My jaw tightens.
The feeling is so good.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
I look up at her face, and she wraps her arms around me. The words are whispered, breathy. “Kiss me, Knox.”
And I do. I smash my lips to hers.
Here in the shower, I try to drag myself into a different kind of consciousness. I attempt to switch her out for Destiny and her long legs. Or tittie-fucking Steffi. But it never lasts.
My imagination always winds its way back to her in the days after I’ve seen her. Even though I shouldn’t be thinking about her or imagining the feel of her beneath my hands.
Pressure builds low and tight in my gut. My legs shake as the orgasm hammers down my spine. And when the release hits, it’s hard and sharp enough to blank my mind for ten blissful seconds.
“Maren,” I whisper as cum hits the shower wall.
I work hard to catch my breath and then tip my head back beneath the spray of the shower.
Wanting Caldwell’s daughter is a reckless but powerful fantasy. One that’s tempting enough to follow through on, consequences be damned. Hell, the woman is basically a recluse, holed up in that apartment above the bait store.
It’d basically be a public service to…well…service her.
A night. Maybe a week.
No more.
Because I’m a lifetime biker. A serial non-monogamist.
Thinking of anything more than that is dangerous.
More is the kind of shit that changes a man. Makes him question the goals he’s built for himself in life.
And I don’t know if any of us are ready for me to do that.