I STOP SOMEWHERE WAITING FOR YOU
JONSIE
I swear to Christ, public bathrooms should come with a warning label. I make quick use of the facilities, being careful to hover considering it doesn’t look like this particular bathroom’s been cleaned since the nineties. Heading over to the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror, my reflection distorted by the warped speckled glass. For once, it matches how I feel. Flawed, damaged, tainted.
A groan sounds out from behind me, and I spin, glancing down to find the source huddled in the corner on the floor. There on the dingy disgusting tile is a girl, older than me but not more than twenty-one, twenty-two tops. She has long bleached-blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail. Her dramatic eye makeup is badly smudged all over her face, and her pleather purple tube top is two seconds from sliding all the way down and giving a free show.
A thin layer of sweat clings to her skin as her eyes stare up at me, though the bag with residual powder in her hand leads me to believe she’s so coked up I’d be shocked if she’s actually registering my presence right now. What the fuck, man. These stupid girls are so quick to shoot, snort, or swallow whatever any loser hands them and then are shocked when they end up in positions such as this. Judging by her lethargic state, God only knows what that shit was laced with.
I briefly debate leaving her ass here. Not my circus, not my monkeys. But I know I won’t. Why? Because I can’t mind my own fucking business. That’s why. It’s possibly my biggest flaw. And trust me, I’ve got a lot of them.
I gnaw on my lip in annoyance, assessing the trainwreck in front of me before I say ‘fuck it’ and reach down to scoop her up. She’s not only dead weight, she’s also taller than me, which makes this entire process that much more awkward and cumbersome.
Propping her up against the sink, using my hip for support, I slap her a couple times in an attempt to rouse her. “Yo!” I grip her chin, giving her head a slight shake. “Hey!” I slap her once more, and her eyes snap open to center on me. “There you go, girl. What’s your name?”
“Amber,” she slurs. Her hand grips the corner of the basin, taking some of the pressure off, allowing me to breathe a little easier.
“Amber,” I repeat. “Hey, Amber. I’m Jonsie.”
She scoffs. “That’s a stupid fucking name.” Her hand swipes at her chin, successfully wiping the drool but smearing her lipstick in the process.
Awesome. I don’t know why I expected the coke whore I helped off the floor to be a decent human being, but oh well, we’re committed now.
“Yo! Regina George!” I give her another slap when I notice her head start to loll to the side, this time not feeling bad about it. “While I really wanna leave you here to sleep it off in a puddle of piss and used needles, it’s just not my style. So, who’d you come here with?”
“My man,” she snaps, trying to push up but almost falling on her ass in the process.
I catch her, sighing as I utter profanities while dragging her toward the door. “Great. Listen, we’re gonna walk out there and you’re going to point out Prince Charming so I can hand you off, deal?”
“You’re weird,” she snorts before breaking out in a chuckle.
“Yeah, normal people don’t pick unknown coke whores up off herpes-infested club floors, so trust me… I’m aware.”
I somehow manage to throw open the door without dropping the Amazonian-sized hooker and thrust us forward into the dimly-lit club pulsing with bodies. I hate this shit. The whole place stinks of sex and sweat. As soon as I return this chick to her keeper, I’m finding Nicky and we’re out of here. He’s had more than enough time to conduct whatever business he had. At this point, he’s probably off getting his dick sucked, and he can do that anywhere. I didn’t even want to come tonight. Not to mention, at seventeen I’m not even old enough to be in here. But there’s no way Nicky’s letting me out and about on a Saturday night unsupervised, so here I sit, along for the ride.
I work my way over to the railing overlooking the dance and lounge areas to conduct a quick scan for my older brother, but I come up empty. Between the constant strobe and green laser beams that sprawl about the walls and floors, it’s a miracle no one’s having a seizure in here.
“Alright, princess!” I shout over the thump of the bass. “Where’s your boy?”
“Goddammit, Amber!” a deep voice calls out from behind. “Can we go one fucking night without you shoving shit up your no—”
I spin. The deep timber of his baritone-weighted words trail off as my gaze travels up to meet his.
Fuck, he’s tall.
Like there’s tall, and then there’s you could slap my five-foot-eight frame in four-inch heels and still not even touch his height kind of tall. Man’s topping out somewhere just shy of six and a half feet for sure, his broad shoulders taking up every inch of the immediate space in front of me. His black hair is cropped short on the sides and slicked back on top, though several strands fall into his face on his left side, resting right in front of his eye. On his right side, a small scar reveals a slice of skin, cutting through the hair right where his brow arches.
His gaze slips lower over my body and I allow mine to do the same as I take in the sight of him. Even in the dark, I can tell he’s covered in tattoos. They peek out above the collar of his black fitted tee, sprawling onto his neck, while also snaking down the entirety of his left arm into a full sleeve. His skin is so covered it’s hard to tell where the sleeve of his T-shirt ends as it blends into the blackness of the ink. The images even span onto the back of his hand and knuckles, which he flexes before bringing up in front of his chest to crack. He sinks his teeth into the cushion of his bottom lip before his eyes sweep back up to my face to meet my own.
My mouth runs dry as my stomach bottoms out.
Maverick fucking Bishop. Time to go.
“Is this yours?” I gesture my head toward the bimbo still in my grasp. Alarm bells are screaming internally, though I lock that shit down. Never show fear. Nicky taught me better than that.
Maverick’s head cocks to the side, the corner of his mouth tipping up while he continues to hold my gaze. “Fifteen seconds ago, I would have said yes. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Well, while you figure it out you think you could take Street Walker Barbie off my hands? She’s fucking heavy.”
A laugh escapes his throat, his hand coming up to rub the base of his chin as he continues to eye me up and down. Almost like he’s analyzing me, stripping me bare. It’s unnerving. I don’t like it.
“Ten more seconds and I’m dropping her, dude,” my voice snaps in annoyance.
He glances over his left shoulder, and for the first time I notice two men flanking either side of him. With a flick of his head, Tweedle Dee on the left snaps into motion, scooping my little drug-dazed accessory out of my grasp and whisking her out of the club through the steel exit door reserved for staff off to the side. I shake out my right arm, trying to alleviate the pins and needles which have erupted under my skin as the blood flow begins to return.
“Have a drink with me,” he calls out, his massive frame encroaching further into my space.
“I’m good. Thanks.” I cautiously scan the immediate area for familiar faces. Nicky’s gonna lose his shit if he’s sees me with him, and I’m not trying to incite a fucking war tonight.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes twisted in confusion. “You’re saying no to a drink with me?”
“Wow,” I mouth, laughing at his arrogance. “That hard to believe, huh, big guy? Don’t get turned down much, do you?”
“I don’t get turned down… ever.” His eyes darken as he continues to peer down at me.
I snort, but the music is so loud I doubt he hears it. “Well, there’s a first time for everything. Trust me, you’re dodging a bullet. I’m a walking red flag.”
“Oh, but baby, red’s my favorite color.” His mouth expands from smirk to all out full-fledged smile, and it’s as though he sucks the air straight from my lungs.
I revel in it for all of two seconds before I regain my bearings, shaking off the effects of his hold.
“Come on.” His voice slips out like a dangerously sexy melody. “Just one drink.” He continues to flash a smile I would imagine has the power to disintegrate most girls’ panties. Hell, in another life it probably would have worked on me too. Not anymore, though.
I offer a coy smile of my own, eyeing him up through my lashes. Confident he’s got me, he backs away slightly, turning to guide me toward the bar. I seize the opportunity to shut shit down. “Have a great night, Bishop.” His head snaps back toward me, the smile dissipating from his face. “Hope your girlfriend doesn’t OD.” I shake my head as I turn to make my retreat.
“Hold up.” He lunges forward, his massive hand easily encircling my forearm, halting my escape.
The second his skin touches mine, sparks erupt. I jump back at the contact, pulling my arm into my chest. He releases me without contest, his eyes briefly alternating between his palm and my face, his brow furrowed by what seems to be confusion, or perhaps…surprise?
“Who are you?” His voice comes out low, so low I’m surprised I even hear it over the ridiculously obnoxious volume of the beats the DJ is pumping out.
“No one you need to concern yourself with.” I shake my head, spinning and hauling ass out of there before he has a chance to react.
I maneuver my way through the sea of bodies, refusing to look back out of fear of what I’ll find. As I continue to push forward, my eyes land on Rico. He’s swaying back and forth on the dance floor with some chick’s ass grinding up on his crotch, a dopey ass smile plastered across his face. I make my way to him, calling out over the girl’s head when I’m within reach.
“Rico!”
His head snaps up.
“Where’s Nicky? I wanna go.”
The girl he’s practically riding like a pony pops upright, eyes glaring, her lip curled in disgust as she eyes me up and down. I have to resist the urge to outright laugh in her face. Not because I’m anything special, but at the realization she thinks Rico is even hers to get territorial over.
This happens a lot. Often enough that I’m used to it by this point. Skanks sniffing around my brother and his friends, each one hoping they’ll be it—that special one-of-a-kind pussy that locks down a Queen City Duke. Many have tried; to date, none have succeeded.
My brother—well, stepbrother—is Daniel Nicholas Conners or, as most people know him, Nicky C. While best known as the local motocross celebrity daredevil and heir to the Conners family fortune, depending on what circles you run in, you may be better acquainted with him through one of the various illegal activities he’s involved in or substances you can buy off him and his boys.
Twenty-one years old with unrestricted access to a decent size bank account, a bad boy rep, and the looks of a young David Beckham? Yeah, safe to say we’ve been knee-deep in the slut brigade since before I even hit puberty. These bitches don’t scare me. And God forbid one of them is stupid enough to mouth off to me. Nicky gives zero fucks aside from three things—his business, his boys, and me. Especially me.
Rico laughs, shaking his head when he takes note of the smirk on my face at the sight of his former hump toy posturing at me. He discards her to the side with a shove, approaching me with a playful grin. The girl looks over at us, mouth agape at the blatant display of disrespect before scurrying off to lick her wounds.
“Damn, Jones. You just couldn’t let me bang it out before calling it a night, could ya?”
“Yeah, okay.” I roll my eyes. “Let’s pretend like with Mom and Mitch gone for the weekend that there won’t be a slew of people at the house waiting when we roll up.”
Rico throws his arm around my shoulder as we make our way toward the VIP lounge. “What can I say, Baby J? It’s good to be royalty.”
He’s not lying. In our town, that’s what these boys are the equivalent of—royalty. And my brother? He’s the fucking king.
We make our way up the steps of the platform as the bouncer unclips a velvet rope, allowing us to pass. I saunter across the stage, making my way over to Nicky, who’s posted up on an orange Victorian-style couch. It’s gaudy as shit, and he looks ostentatious just sitting on it, but it’s who he is. When it comes to style, Nicky’s all for the flash and show. Anyone else, I don’t think I could stomach it, but with him it’s honestly just part of his charm.
Two girls rest into him, one on each side. I’ve seen them before. They’re club rats and two of his regulars, so they know the drill. As I approach, they hop up without needing to be told. Nicky looks up, smiling at the sight of me. I can’t help but smirk back.
“Hey, sis!” he calls out over the music, extending his arm and signaling me to join him on the couch.
My smirk remains firmly in place, though I shake my head at him while crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s 2 AM. I wanna go home, Nicky!”
“Say no more.” He hops up without hesitation, maneuvering around the glass tabletop and slinging his arm around me before motioning to Rico and the rest of the crew. My brother may be king, but he’s still my brother, and our bond runs deep.
Rico hands me my black leather jacket before falling in line behind us with Tommy and JP on his heels. The five of us make our way through the still-packed club, bodies parting as we pass. As we hit the entryway, I don’t know why I have a sudden urge to glance up, but I do, catching a glimpse of the balcony before we pass under it and out the door.
There, standing against the transparent glass railing, is Maverick Bishop, leader of the Renegade Rebels. A king in his own right, though one who clawed and brawled his way to the top, being from much lesser means, who just happens to be my brother’s number one rival in the shady-ass business he’s caught up in. My brother glances up as well, scoffing while raising a middle finger to Maverick as we pass, but I’m not sure he even notices.
Because while all the club is staring at them, Maverick is solely fixated… on me.