2. Chapter 2
Hook’s was hopping, but it’s past the witching hour. The bar’s serving last calls and the crowd’s starting to thin. I’m not a regular club guy, not really interested in sitting at the bar watching tits flap and drunk assholes.
I do the nightshifts, not because I love the chaos because I don’t, but my business partner is Eight, also a member of Hell’s Jury. He’s the guy who sponsored me after I was done serving nine years in Ely State Prison for voluntary manslaughter. Eight and I are like real brothers, me stepping in for his dead one, and him becoming the one I never had.
He also has a kid who needs looking after. Oscar’s 12 years old, and like his dad, quiet and mistrustful. Eight’s been raising him since the day he was born and while the mother is still in the picture, she only shows up when she needs something.
The Jury has owned Hook’s for six years and it was a relief for Eight when I partnered with him. With me picking up the slack, he can be home or at the clubhouse when his kid’s out of school. At least some of the time. The businesses the Jury owns are a front for criminal activities we’re involved in. Money-laundering, gun-running, extortion, and so on. That’s where the real money is.
Even when I’m on the night shift for Hook’s, I don’t always hang around the place. Don’t have to. We have Bannock, the floor manager, who has a background in service management, but his other skills come in handy too. He spent time as a fighter in the underground mixed martial arts circuit. He has a caved-in face, scarred knuckles and a frown that would turn Medusa to stone. On the other hand, he’s good with staff and customers, not just because he’s a scary motherfucker. At times, he’s actually friendly and charming.
Unlike me.
He nods at me as I step inside, then his eyes flit past me to the nightmare attached to my side. He glares as he barrels towards us, slamming to a stop a few feet away.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarls, not at me, but at short stuff who’s stepped directly behind me, her head peeking out from my right side. “I told you to keep the fuck away from him.”
He goes to grab her and she ducks back, then sticks her head out from my left side. “Like I said before, I don’t need your permission to talk to anyone.”
“Everyone needs my fucking permission to talk to the boss.” He snatches at her, but she jerks away, then leaps out from my left side.
“He’s talking to me, isn’t he?” she challenges as she evades yet another attempt of his to grab her and ends up on my right side again.
“Doesn’t look that way to me.” He almost knocks me down in his effort to get his hands on her.
I intervene, more to avoid getting stomped in his determination to get to her than to break up the tense encounter. “I said she could, Bannock.”
“See?” she jeers at him as she steps out from behind me, thinking she’s safe.
He stabs his finger at her. “I said no before; you gotta respect that. The next time I see you around, I’ll toss you out the door so far you’ll earn air miles.”
I flatten my hands toward him. “Let it go.” My voice is cool, almost disinterested.
He understands the vibe, but still looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. I should hand her over to the big guy and let him throw her to the curb, but it’s not often anyone gets the better of my manager, which I find entertaining. “I’ll talk to her,” I tell him. “Then when I’m done you can turn her into a football.”
The huff beside me suggests that if Bannock tries to pick her up he’ll find himself on his ass. I look down at her. She has her hands on her hips, her chin jutted, her eyes challenging. I’m not convinced she couldn’t do it.
He shrugs. “Let me know when you want me to chuck her.” Another thing about Bannock is he doesn’t waste time in debate.
“Will do,” I tell him as he dismisses us and walks over to a couple of ladies who have emptied their wine glasses. He nudges them towards the bar.
“C’mon,” I say to the hellion who is once again glued to my side. I wind my way around a few people, careful not to touch them or catch their eye, but then Joseph Moliter, an associate of our club, steps in front of me, blocking my path. He grabs my hand and shakes it like it’s a fucking maraca.
“How the hell’s it hanging?” he asks, a slight wobble to his extra chin.
It’s hanging just fine, I think as I liberate my hand. “Joseph!” I try to infuse my voice with enthusiasm because Hangman, the Jury’s prez, seems to like this fuck for some reason. “What brings you here?” It’s not just small talk – Joseph doesn’t do the titty circuit.
It’s clear by the flick of the old guy’s eyes that he’s about to lie to me. “Gotta dust off the old bones once in a while. Take the wife out for a night on the town.”
He’s full of shit bringing his wife to a stripper joint. I scan the room for the telltale shock of red hair, find Lorraine sitting at a tall table with two of Joseph’s thugs. The three are chattering like they’re best friends but keep glancing our way.
“This is your idea of taking her out on the town?”
Joseph once again sidesteps the question as he focuses on the irritating woman next to me. “Who’s this creature?” He smiles widely. “You’re a looker, aren’t you, honey?”
The looker in question doesn’t seem amused by the compliment. “Loving the creature part. Women must fall at your feet.”
Joseph’s face freezes for a second, then he laughs as if she’s amusing. “You got pretty teeth, honey. Hope you have a good dentist.”
I don’t like the implication, but let it go. They’re not likely to cross paths again.
He returns his attention to me. “Nice to see you, buddy. Gotta get Lorraine home.” He waggles his eyebrows, the douchebag universal innuendo for a future fucking. He heads towards his entourage without waiting for a response.
I stand for a moment, contemplating the strangeness of the meeting, trying to sort out whether I’m reading more into it than there is.
“Ahem.”
I turn towards the living, breathing cliche standing next to me. “This way,” I indicate with a jerk of my chin as I head upstairs to a roped-off mezzanine that no one crosses unless invited. No brothers around tonight and I feel a twinge knowing there’s shit going down that I’m not part of. I love the action and this fucking club is sometimes a shackle around my leg.
At one of the tables overlooking the floor below, I pull out a chair for the girl and take a seat opposite her.
Poppy, one of the servers, is on me like a stalker. In fact, I think she followed us up the stairs. She’s good at her job, but I’m not convinced she can be trusted.
“What can I get you, boss?” She breathes the words like she’s practicing for a CPR test. Like I’m about to become the fucking dummy.
I look past her towards nothing. It’s what I do to put distance between myself and others. “Beer’s fine.”
“Knew it.” Poppy grins triumphantly before turning her attention to my fun-sized companion.
Little Miss TNT holds Poppy’s eyes, her jutted chin issuing a challenge. “Ice water please.” I can’t figure why the little ball of energy sittin’ across from me is so hostile. Then I remind myself I don’t give a shit.
Poppy leaves and I lean towards her. “You don’t drink? What are you? A nun?”
“Yeah,” she shoots back. “The order of the Celestial Virgins. Besides not drinking, we don’t have habits.” She smirks at her pun.
I have to hand it to the chick, she’d be a hard one to forget. “Listen baby—” I start but she interrupts me.
“Ximina.”
“What?”
“My name is Ximina, not baby.”
My lips tip up. “You’re kidding right? Jimina?”
“No.” She furrows her eyebrows and a couple of lines show up on her forehead. Must be something she does a lot. “Not a hard J. Ximina.” She says it all breathy, like Poppy did a moment ago, but I don’t mind it coming from Yhemina. “With an X,” she adds.
I think she might be fucking with me, which is never a good thing on my best days. And this isn’t one of those days. “Where the fuck’s the X?”
“Silent. At the front. It’s Mexican.”
“For fuck’s sake. You must’ve been an ugly baby for your parents to call you that.”
If looks could kill, I’d be bleeding out on the carpet. I’d die laughing, but still….
She says something under her breath. Sounds like fuck off.
“Sorry, precious. Didn’t hear you.” My tone implies that I fucking well did hear and she’s an inch away from being hurled over the banister.
She looks at me, her face red, and I feel bad for being a prick until she says, “At least I grew outta my ugliness.”
Fucking pint-sized woman with the big attitude and bigger mouth. Time to change the topic before the conversation ends up in the sewer. “Sounds like you’re here to ask a favor. Maybe you oughta start treating me with some respect.”
X—Y… Z, whatever, purses her lips, and I can tell she’s holding on to her temper. “You force my pop to pay protection, so damn much that he barely has enough to make ends meet. But sure, I’ll respect you.”
Poppy returns with the drinks and sets them on the table, tossing me a huge smile. The bright flash of her pearlies bother my eyes and I find myself liking the X-girl more because she isn’t fake.
I take a long swig of the beer, appreciating the hops before swallowing it down. X apes me, bringing her glass to her plump lips, then swallowing, the bob of her throat making my dick thicken.
Jesus, Reaper.
It hasn’t been that long since I’ve done my girl. Casual Chrissy, I like to call her, because that’s all she is. I’m not a man-whore – I do one woman at a time and don’t get them confused like some of my brothers. Chrissy’s not the kind of girl I would bring home to my mom if I had one who actually lived in a house and not a jail cell. I’ve made sure Chrissy understands the relationship is going no where.
At least as much as women understand anything.
She probably thinks because I don’t stray I’m more serious than I am. She’s a warm bed, a place to park my shoes, to nut off. Nothing more.
The X-girl drinks most of her water and Poppy’s on her like a vulture on roadkill. “Want more?”
“No,” X tartly declines.
“Why don’t you have something worth drinking?” I say, not understanding why anyone would drink water when there’s a shelf of booze sitting right behind her.
Poppy hovers, waiting to see if the crazy chick changes her mind.
X-girl shakes her head at Poppy and flaps her hand like she’s a fucking queen dismissing a commoner.
Clearly, Poppy takes it that way too as her face turns a holy hellfire shade of red and her mouth gapes like a fish.
“Go,” I growl at her, then watch in bemusement as she stomps off. I lean towards the little tormenter, picking up her scent. Honey-lace sweat mingled with baked goods, the whiff of vanilla growing on me in a way that speaks to my dick. Not a full-blown boner, but enough to be embarrassed should I have to stand in the next couple of minutes. “Since you don’t want another, and that one’s almost done, you’re running out of fucking time. What’s your story, X?”
Not much of a nickname. I’ll have to think of a better one. Then I stop myself. My thoughts imply I’ll see her again and I hope to god that never happens.
“I got this guy that’s bothering me.” She picks up a coaster on the table. It must be fascinating because her eyes are glued to it as she toys with it. “Ex-boyfriend. Pissed off at me.”
I feel something ball up in my stomach at the idea that this woman is fucking some guy. Past. Had a boyfriend. “Why’s he your ex?”
She shrugs, drops the coaster on the table. I shudder at an image in my head, of her under me, nails digging into my back, moaning while I fuck her. Fortunately, she can’t read my mind.
“He was sleeping around on me,” she says, then looks up, her angry eyes holding mine like I’m the asshole.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell her. “I’m not fucking around on you.”
She doesn’t seem convinced. “Caught him with a friend of mine. Classic cliché, isn’t it? In the bed we bought together. I had to burn it. Tried to, with him in it.”
I laugh, thinking about X catching the boyfriend in the act. I wouldn’t have wanted to be in that bastard’s shoes no matter how hot the friend was.
She isn’t seeing the humor, so I sober up out of some misguided respect for her. “If it’s any consolation, you don’t seem like the type men would cheat on.”
“I know, right?” Her rich brown eyes flash as she responds. “First time it happened to me.”
Not a humble bone in her tight little body. My groin tingles as I imagine her on her knees, my dick stuffed down her throat. Wonder what those full lips would feel like wrapped around me.
“First time you had a boyfriend or first time one cheated?” The answer matters to me for some fucking unfathomable reason.
Her upper lip curls like I’m as dense as well… as I actually am for thinking Jesus’s mom is sitting across the table. “Sure. I was a virgin. Touched for the very first time.” She shakes her head at me. “First time I had a boyfriend cheat.” Her eyes get teary. “It hurts.”
I don’t like the feelings that are popping up in me. I’m half-angry that someone hurt this crazy woman and half-pissed off that she would care about a fuckin’ asshole like her ex. I move the conversation away from the topic. “So you didn’t burn him in the bed. Clearly you did something to piss him off if he’s harassing you.”
A flush creeps up her neck and spreads across her cheeks. Unbidden, my gaze drops to her nipples and as it does, they pucker. I glance up, catch her watching and my lips curl into a slow, predatory grin.
“The usual,” she says as she holds her eyes steady on my face. “The usual.”
“You fucking keyed his car.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, her face heating up again. “Not exactly. I sledgehammered it right after I filled it with garbage.”
I raise my eyebrows, thinking I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of this little hellion. “Now he’s pissed.” Master of the obvious, aren’t I?
She nods. “I didn’t see it coming because nothing happened for a few days. Then one night, I’m closing up shop?—”
“How come I’ve never seen you at the Deli?”
“Bakery,” she corrects, pressing her lips together. “I wear my magic cloak. Assholes can’t see me.”
I shift in my chair, my pose casual, but the intent deadly. “Let’s pretend for one second that I’m interested in solving your man problems.” I feel like biting the Chiquita’s head off but keep my voice steady and cool. “Going forward, everything that comes out of your blow-up doll lips is going to be filled with so much respect people are gonna think I invented the bible.”
She drops her eyes. “Sorry,” she mutters. “Men aren’t my favorite right now.”
She exhales a little puff of breath as she struggles to pull her emotions back inside. She’s like an unlit powder keg and fuck if that doesn’t get me heated though I can’t figure out why. I like order in my life, not the chaos she clearly represents.
She wins her internal battle. “Three nights ago, after I finished the prep for Pops, some guy was waiting outside in the alley.”
“What time was it?” The details don’t fucking matter to the story, but the thought of her stepping out alone into a dark alley at night leaves me cold inside.
She shrugs. “Two, three in the morning. I don’t really pay attention. I work ‘til I’m done, then I go home and sleep for a few hours. Get up, go to my classes?—”
“What classes?” What the hell am I doing asking all these fucking stupid questions? They’re irrelevant and the sooner she gets her story out, the sooner she’s gone and the sooner I can get over to Chrissy’s.
“Taking some courses at the college.” She glances down at her bright red nails, and I’d bet all my money that it’s some sort of aesthetician course. That’s how much of a cliché she is.
“Accounting. Marketing. Getting a commerce degree.”
Okay, maybe I’m generalizing. “What kind of degree is that?”
She glares. “Why do you care, anyway?”
I shrug, refuse to answer, mostly because I don’t know why I care. “Then what? Back to the shop after school?”
“Yeah,” she answers. “Sometimes I gotta get there before noon to help my pop out.”
“Why doesn’t he hire someone to pick up the slack?”
Her lip curls. “Why do you think?”
I sigh inside. The Jury can be indiscriminate in their activities. We like to spread the love around, but we keep it impersonal. Eight and me especially. It’s easier to do what we do when we don’t know the people behind the businesses.
“It wasn’t Miguel,” X says, interrupting my moment of self-awareness.
“Who the fuck is Miguel?”
She looks upward in that ‘I’m dealing with an idiot’ way. “The ex.”
“Miguel? Mexican?” The sneer in my voice isn’t meant to sound bigoted, but she takes it that way.
“You got a problem with Mexicans? My mama’s Mexican and she could’ve kicked your ass!”
I narrow my eyes, reminding her to pretend she’s the Virgin Mary. “I don’t got a problem with Mexicans.”
“Right.” She presses her lips together and doesn’t follow up with what was sure to be something pissy.
I admire her restraint. “So who was this guy if he wasn’t the asshole ex?”
She shrugs. “The guy was taller than Miguel and stunk like sour milk.”
Weird thing for a guy to smell like. “Sour milk?”
“Yeah. Might have been the jizz from his balls backing up to his throat when I kneed him in the junk.”
I shift uncomfortably for every man in the universe. “Hard?” I ask despite innately knowing that the little demon across the table from me doesn’t do things half-way. My throat sounds a little hoarse.
She nods. “I’m a reactor?—”
“Nuclear,” I observe.
“Kinda,” she agrees. “A guy comes up to me in a dark alley and grabs me, I don’t politely ask for his name and number so I can text him after he rapes me.” She holds my eyes to see if I got her.
I nod. I got her all right. I rub the back of my neck, swallow down the rest of my beer and bang the glass on the table a couple of times to get Poppy’s attention. She’s there in a flash, fresh pint in hand.
I thank her, wondering why she rubs me wrong. She’s fucking good at her job.
“So how’d you draw the link between the boyfriend?—
“Miguel—”
Mig-fucking-uel. “Yeah. How do you know this has anything to do with him?”
“He called me the next day, ripping me a new one for beating up his friend, who apparently was doing him a favor by dropping by to get his apartment key.”
“Who the fuck drops by at three in the morning?”
Her eyes widen as she throws her hands up. “That’s what I said. Doesn’t the asshole operate in the daylight? What is he – a vampire? Know what he said?”
“I don’t.” I’m conscious that she has me captivated with the story. If my brothers could see me now, I’d spend the next ten years listening to them joke about how the little Mexican chick was the one that finally got me to have a conversation.
She grins at me. “He said he was afraid my pops would kill him if he showed up during the day.”
“Was he right?” I think about Paulie. A bull of a man, maybe 50, maybe older, but nothing soft about him.
She shrugs. “I don’t need my pop fighting my battles for me.”
“And yet you’re here.” I shift, pretending I’m bored. “Solution’s simple. Give the cheating bastard back his fucking key.”
“I did.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. Went over to his place, let myself in, wrapped the key in a steak, and fed it to his Dalmatian. Dumb mutt.”
“Miguel or the dog?”
She furrows her brow, but a grin teases her lips. “Don’t go disrespecting Spot.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Spot?”
“Yeah. Miguel’s that clever.”
Something about the conversation coils in my gut. “And yet you were fucking him. What’s that say about you?” I say it mean-like, pissed for some reason.
She matches my tone. “It’s not fucking when you’re in a relationship.”
I think about Casual Chrissy. It is fucking. “It is until he puts a ring on it.”
X’s jaw drops. “Holy shit. Are you channeling Beyonce?”
Heat rushes to my face as I try to think about how to backtrack. “Saw your ass, thought of her.”
The girl grins brightly. The first genuine smile since she accosted me outside. It lights up her face like the morning sun, radiating warmth and promises. “That’s the nicest thing any guy has ever said to me.”
“Hope you’re lying about that.”
“Not really a liar, unless it’s an ugly baby.” She grins again, showing a row of even white teeth.
I glance at my watch, then yawn. Truth is I’m tired, and it’s almost 3 AM. Time to wrap it up. “Let’s hear the rest.”