Chapter 10
Ten
Hella
We pull into Redmoon, the strip joint we own, and I hang back, removing my helmet while Beast pauses.
“Everything good, brother? You've been a little off your game lately. A blonde have anything to do with that?”
I scoff. “Nah, nothing to do with her.” Bullshit. “I need to talk to you about something though, something that doesn't fucking add up.”
Beast nods. “Yeah, what’s it about?”
I swing my leg off my bike and flip my cap on. Pulling my wallet from my pocket, I flip it open and hand it to him. He looks down at the picture, then back to me, eyes widening.
“What the fuck? That looks like...”
“Yeah, I know.” I take the wallet back, slipping it into my pocket.
“How'd you get that?”
We start walking toward the black doors that open into Redmoon.
We poured serious cash into establishing this joint, and we're fucking glad we did.
It brings in enough to keep the club afloat plus some.
The girls are all high quality, with around twelve of them running their own shit here.
Shelby, Beast's former dick-warmer and the boss bitch, keeps them in line.
Don't fucking like her much. Can't say why, but I don't.
We push through the doors, midafternoon daylight streaming in and illuminating the dark interior, which is otherwise dimly lit by neon lights lining the walls.
“I knew a man once,” I say, letting the explanation hang. “Before Vanguard.”
“Well, one thing's for sure,” Beast mumbles as we make our way to private rooms. “You need to lose whatever shit you have with Melissa.
Drama we can't deal with right now, and you're not thinking straight when she's around, brother.
You're fucking distracted because you're too busy pissing all over her.”
I stop in my tracks and cock my eyebrow. “First of all, fuck you, I don't give a fuck what she does. She's Yana's friend. I would think you'd want her to be safe. Second, I'm not fucking distracted. I could fuck a thousand bitches and still be ready to cock my Glock when needed.”
We continue up the stairway when Frost appears at the top, an AK in his hand. He dips his head to the hallway. “Layla’s having another episode.”
Fuck.
I stomp up the stairs and push Frost aside, pushing the bedroom door open to find Layla curled in the corner of the room , knees drawn up, rocking silently. Her dark brown hair falls over her shoulders, eyes smudged black, makeup running down her face.
I approach with heavy, careful steps. “Layla? Babe, it's me.”
Her rocking halts as she slowly lifts her head. When her eyes meet mine, she launches off the ground and wraps her little five-foot petite body around mine. I pick her up with one hand until her legs encircle my waist and her arms hook around my neck.
Everyone in this room knows the deal with Layla.
I fuck her regularly, yeah, but she's not a club whore.
She works at Redmoon because her stubborn ass won't listen to me and get out.
Aside from our bedroom activities, there's nothing else between us.
She's like my annoying little sister, who I happen to fuck regularly.
I care about little in this piece of shit world, but when I first saw Layla, I took her under my wing instantly. She needs saving though, and I can't, and don't want to, be that man for her. I can't even save myself, let alone anyone else.
“Hux, I lost control,” she whispers against my neck.
“Yeah, I know, babe,” I soothe before placing her back on her feet.
Layla and her sister, Asha, have been Redmoon fixtures since age sixteen.
Little strays Shelby scooped off the street after finding them huddled under a bus stop with their bags, all bones and nowhere to go.
She dragged them in, put them on tables and behind the bar, let them play good little workers until they were old enough to upgrade.
Layla glitches sometimes. Panic attacks. In her head the room fills with smoke, her lungs lock up, whole body goes to war with ghosts.
Fire did that.
Parents gone. Little sister too. She was five. House went up, everything burned to the fucking ground. No answers. No investigation from us. Why it happened isn’t Woodsman business. Not unless Layla or Asha patch in as an old lady to one of the brothers. Until then, they’re just… here. Earning.
And me and Layla? That's simple. As simple as anything in this fucked-up place gets. Yeah, fucking her is one of the craziest rides I’ve ever had—bitch matches my kink like she was built in a lab—but once I’m done, I’m done. Dick away, feelings gone. Zero interest past the sweat and the mess.
“You gonna be okay now? Or do you need some dick to help you pull through?” I smirk down at her.
She shoves me playfully. “I'll be fine, perv.”
“You sure?” Ripper steps up in front of her, cocking his head. “I mean, I'm up for a crazy fuck.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Calm down, young one. She may be little, but she will hand your ass to you. I don't think you're packing the right equipment to handle her.”
He smiles at her. “Shall we test that out?”
Layla cocks her eyebrow, her hand flying up to his chest when he steps toward her again. I step back, stifling a chuckle.
“No, homeboy, no. Sorry, you're not my type.”
His hand comes up to his chest in mock hurt. “Oh, I'm hurt, baby. What does that mean? I'm everyone's type.”
“Not mine,” she states matter-of-factly, rubbing dried tears from under her eyes.
“Sorry, the whole boy-next-door thing doesn't do it for me. You remind me of my ex-boyfriend from high school. He was a cocky Prop for our First Fifteen.” She scans him again.
Ripper smirks, his eyes darkening, his stance shifting. Her expression falters.
She flicks her fingers over his face. “Everything apart from that smirk and those eyes which, I shit you not, sort of terrify me. How old are you?”
Ripper laughs. "Old enough."
Rolling my eyes, I walk toward Beast to see if they've loaded the van with the guns we need to pick up.
The warehouse air shifts—perfume cutting through motor oil and gunpowder. Shelby's heels click against concrete, her suit pressed sharp enough to cut, blonde hair catching the overhead fluorescents like polished brass. Her eyes dart to Layla, then to Ripper. "What's going on?"
"Nothing, I'm okay now," Layla reassures her.
"Good, we have a full house tonight and I need to call in all the girls."
"Anything special?" I ask, eyeing her.
Her gaze slides away from mine before she shakes her head. “No, just a full house. As you know, the Blood Razors are coming through tonight, so no doubt they'll be hungry.”
My eyes dart to Layla as I shake my head. I couldn't give a shit who she fucks, but it's still fucked up to witness. The girl is like one of those porcelain dolls that sit on mantels, only she has cracks all over her body.
I bring my hand to Beast's shoulder. “Let's ride, brother, before I steal one of Shelby's girls.”
He looks at me as we walk out. “That might not be a bad idea. Give Melissa the push she needs.”
The fucker is right. When we were in Vanguard, we did everything together.
I was a recruit. Beast was born there, for their purposes only, but we were brothers from day one and, I hate to say it, but he's always been right.
It's why he's feared, because not only is he staunch in how he carries himself, but he's fucking intellectually smart, too.
But fuck, could I get her out of my mind?
Her fire, her defiance, the way she challenges me when everyone else backs down or runs crying.
I push these thoughts aside. Getting tangled with her would be a complication neither of us needs.
But the image of her in that those tight shorts, deliberately pushing my buttons, refuses to fade.
Maybe Beast is right. Maybe I need a distraction from my distraction.