The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (12 page)

“Okay, so it was more like warning me,” I concede. Nodding, he leans back and takes a drink from his beer.

“Sounds more like the bitch.”

“You’re not friends? Not dating any of the sweet butts?” I joke, but he glares. A serious look crosses his face briefly before he ends the conversation with a terse, “Fuck no.” Alrightly then ... and we’re back to cold.

I look at him, and I mean I really look at him. His glasses are on his head, a beer at his lips, and a large tattooed arm thrown over the back of the booth. He’s all hard-ass. He doesn’t give much of a fuck, you can see it on his face.

And I can’t help but to wish he liked me more. I don’t know why, really. I’m not sticking around for the friendship to live on, but sometimes, every once in a while, I wish I had a few more friends. I like Buck, I really do. It’s that something about him I’m drawn to.

“You ready, darlin’?” Buck’s deep voice cuts into my thoughts.

“For?” I ask him carefully. Has he been talking to me this whole time I’ve been staring like a tool at him?

“The big ass anniversary party this weekend. Got the whole fucking tribe coming.” Everybody?

“Does that mean Lil, Peaches, Cali, and Lala?” Nodding, he takes another drink of his beer, smiling around the bottle. The bulky muscles of his neck work the liquid down and my stomach does a little dance at the sight. Damn his stupid, sexy tattooed neck. 

“Yeah, Lennon.”

“I can’t wait.” I smile an honest to God happy smile.

“Glad you’re happy, darlin’. Got a favor to ask you.” 

My stacking duties are done, and I’ve washed and rinsed. Buck had needed a favor and who am I to deny him? He’s putting me up and keeping an eye out for me. Plus, he said please. A little light domestic work never hurt anyone, well, expect for the guys who are bitching like girls about it.

Leaning my hip against the bar top, I watch Buck work a broom. Brushing it from side to side, he’s making more of a mess than he’s actually cleaning.

It’s priceless. All six-foot-three, cut wearing, badass working a small dainty broom handle.

“You trading in two wheels for a broom?” I joke, walking back around the bar towards him. Watching the muscles in the back of his arms work, a shiver runs up my spine. He twists his head around with his lips tipped in another smile.

“You wanna do this?” He mocks, holding the broom out towards me. Putting  my hands up, I shake my head. Oh no, I’d much rather watch him do it.

“No, you’re pretty good at it.”

“I think it’s your turn.”

“Yeah, no.”

A big stained, calloused covered hand snatches up my arm and jerks me right into him. My body lands right up against his, hip to thigh.

“I wanna watch you do it, babe,” he growls, his voice dipping low. The broom is placed in my hand and Buck takes a step back. He’s no longer smiling, he’s grinning. A big toothy, shit-eating grin directed right at me. My heart skips a beat.

“Get on with it,” he commands.

For a solid minute I stare at him, wondering how the hell I ended up with this job. Buck had one task, and that was to sweep. I told him I’d do the rest, but he had to pick one. Sweeping was his choice and now he’s bitching out on me.

“Buck.”

“Don’t know how to sweep?” I think he’s teasing me. I’m not sure what’s happening here ... hot and cold. He’s smiling and joking with me. Now he likes me.

“Babe,” Buck chuckles, taking a large step towards me, his boots clomping against the wood floors. He comes and stands behind me, putting both his large tattooed arms around me, and I melt. With his hand at my stomach, he pulls me back against him. A breath catches in my throat and I damn near stop breathing when his fingers sweep against my skin.

Settling me against him, he goes for my hands next. I’m stuck wondering what the fuck’s happening and obsessing over how good it feels to have his hands on me. I’m afraid my panties might spontaneously burst into flames.

Hands wrapped around mine, my back against his front, and his face hovering near my ear, a shiver shoots down my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Oh God. Guiding my body, he shows me how to sweep. I know how to fucking sweep. The only thing he’s showing me is how goddamn good his body feels against mine.

From side to side, he shows me how it’s done. “Just like that, babe, side to side,” he rasps, chin rested on my shoulder, lips still at my ear. My body sags and my blood pressure spikes.

“You good, Lennon?” He laughs softly when I sag into him. Fuck no, I’m not okay. I’m sweeping and all I want to do is jump him right here.

“Y-yeah,” I sputter stupidly.

“Good, babe, because you got sweeping duty, seeing as you’re real fucking good at it.”

And just like that, I’ve sobered up and my burning panties are doused in cold water. That Buck magic fades instantly. This motherfucker just played me.

Buck takes a step back from my body, beaming proudly. He thinks he’s won. Bringing the broom up, I swipe at his shin, knocking him in the leg.

“You fuckin’ sweep, asshole.”

I drop the broom to the ground in my own dramatic fashion. Turning on my heels, I take my ass back to the bar while Buck laughs, rubbing his shin.

“Come on, babe. You know you were enjoying it.” The hell I was.

“I’d rather watch you do it.” I make myself comfortable on the bar. “I might be better at sweeping, but what you lack in skill you make up for in enthusiasm, so get to gettin’, darlin’.”

A laugh bursts from his mouth and he nods. “Fuck it, I’ll sweep.” Damn right he will.

6 - Tits and Ass and Lennon

Buck

“Did she make ya bleed?” Rock chuckles, watching me rub at the nice little knot Lennon just gave me. Damn, I’m gonna have a limp now.

“Almost.”

“She’s quick with that broom.”

“Yeah, she is.” She’s like a ninja.

All these bitches are doing the bare minimum. No one wants to clean, not that I blame them. Not sure there’s enough bleach in this state to make a dent. Gas and a match might do the trick.

But these women aren’t helping themselves. Jess is in the corner by the bar, pretending to clean, and Cinnamon is walking around aimlessly, carrying an empty box. At this rate, not a goddamn thing is getting done, which will only serve to piss Dan off. He’ll start cracking skulls if shit doesn’t start happening.

“These bitches are lazy,” I tell Rock, like he doesn’t already know. The only person doing anything is Lennon, and she’s dancing while doing it.

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Oh yeah, Tyler’s lookin’ for ya,” Rock adds before walking off, back to the front door with a giggly Cinnamon on his heels, still carrying that empty box.

Making my way over to Tyler, he levels me with some serious shit when he says, “Someone’s at the Love Lounge, askin’ questions.” Shit. Sitting down next to him, he slides me a beer.

“Fuckin Christ.” It never stops. Right now, the frosty bottle is like Christmas fucking morning.

“Are they asking about Lou?” Losing a brother cuts deep, but having outsiders poke around adds salt to the wound. In my opinion, it’s nobody’s business but his family and us, his brothers. Anyone else getting in between is just looking for trouble.

“Yeah, askin’ ‘bout what we know ‘n what we’re plannin’ on doin’.”

“The girls know who it is?” I need to shut this shit down real quick like.

What he says next is all I need to know. “Some motherfucker in a cut.”

“Where we goin’?” Lennon asks over my shoulder. I chew on my answer for a second. Lennon and me are starting to get to know each other and I don’t think she’ll care, but she’s a woman, so there’s a fifty/fifty chance I don’t know the shit I think I do about her.

“Titty bar.” Lennon shifts, her front pressing into me, but she doesn’t say anything.

I wait for it. I wait for a long few minutes, but nothing comes. I start to doubt that I know anything. I wouldn’t even be taking her with me if it weren’t for the fact that the bar is in the opposite direction than the house. There’s no time to take her there, and I’m not interested in leaving her alone at the bar with Jess and her hoard, so I loaded her up and I’m taking her with me.

“A titty bar, or a strip club?” she asks.

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe.” I can hear the wheels up there turning, and I’m smelling trouble. Swear to fuck, she was brought into my life to kill me. At least it’ll be a beautiful death.

“Well, it’s all the same damn thing.” Okay, not really, but that’s neither here nor there. There are tits and there is ass, and there’s some dancing that lonely motherfuckers pay to see it all. One place is just more extreme than the other, not that it makes that much of a difference. Shady shit happens at both.

“Its not the same thing,” Lennon says seriously. This isn’t a matter of life and death, it’s a matter of butt-ass naked and half-naked women.

“Anyways, you gonna be okay?” I ask her, knowing damn well women are a sensitive bunch and assholes like me are always walking a fine line with them. One wrong move, word, or look, and I might wake up with a shotgun to the head.

“Sure,” she chirps happily. “Can I dance? Ya know, do a little guest appearance?”

“Fuck no.” Has she lost her goddamn mind? This is hard enough without having her beauty crammed further down my fucking throat. Looking at her with clothes on is hard enough, but any less clothing, I’d die of a heart attack.

“Come on Buck,” she starts begging, her chin resting on my shoulder. She’s too damn close to be asking these kinds of questions.

“Not fuckin’ happening.” Not while she’s with me and I’m breathing.

“We’ll see.” Yeah, we will. We’ll see her staying right by my side.

Unlike most assholes, I don’t get a thrill from sitting on my ass watching hungry women shake their shit for my hard earned cash. It reeks of desperation, and I’ve had about all I can take of desperate women.

The strip joint is a place for business in our world. A lot of shit goes down here under the neon lights. Discretion and obscurity are offered up here in spades, something we can’t get many other places. The unspoken rule that whatever happens here, stays here, extends to clients and business partners. We tend to find that shit appealing, and even some brothers enjoy the free show with their drinks and business, but I’m just not one of them.

I appreciate the women’s hustle. They’re doing what they’ve got to do to survive. We have that shit in common. The almighty dollar calls to us all. Clothes on or off, we’re all trying to get by and they’re just doing it with what they know best. Can’t really shit on that, but I’m just not looking for that in a woman, if I were looking for a woman.

The Love Lounge isn’t a dive, but it’s not upscale either. Blue collar and you’re average joe frequent the place. There’s a main stage with a few poles front and center, a long bar to the left, and private rooms to the right. Tables are in between and bathrooms are in the back. It’s all neon signs, ‘80s rock, and cheap booze. It’s exactly like you’d expect.

Average doesn’t seem to faze Lennon because the second we walk through the doors, she’s smiling, excited as hell. 

Walking in next to me, Lennon says, “I love this song,” as she bumps into my side with her hip. She’s looking around from side to side, fascinated, her hair swaying back and forth.