A Lil' Less Hopeless (5 page)

CLINK

The chick is crazy. I know she's not from around here, and doesn't know the lifestyle, but I think she's plain old crazy some times.

According to Lil's, she's having some sort of freakout session. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear she must be on the rag. But, I can safely say that's not possible. I made that girl scream my name so fucking loud last night, the prospects even blushed when they saw her the next day.

Not only did she leave without saying a word to me after dress shopping with the girls, then I come to find a folded check wedged under my helmet when I get to my bike.

A perfectly neat check in the amount of $238.67 from a Miss Charlotte Anderson made out to cash. I tear up the check into a dozen pieces and throw it into the wind. I stomp back into the clubhouse and step just far enough into it to spot Jay sitting at the bar, Lil's spread out in his lap making googly eyes at him. These two need to knock this shit off.

“Hey, brother!” Every man in leather turns to me. My bad. Should have been more specific. “Jay! That detail that's running later tonight?”

He nods.

“Yeah... I changed my mind. I want in on it.”

I slam the door behind me, throw my shades on and take off on my bike, ready to take out my anger on the asphalt. My mind races as I head over to Pippin's, a local bar on the other side of town.

This broad has some damn nerve. I've taken my time, been open-minded. I know she doesn't know how things run around here, but there's only so much I can fuckin' take. I spend my money wherever, whenever, and on whoever I goddamned well please.

If she needs a crash course in Kingsmen 101, it's time to stop pussyfooting around and just start the schooling already. Tonight is lesson #1.

In the meantime, I have work to do. We've gotten word that the fat fuck we found unconscious in the upstairs bathroom of the farmhouse the night we rescued Lil's has been released on bail. We've been coming up empty handed on almost all fronts and time was nearly running out. Our informants have gotten word that they're getting ready to arrest Lil's soon on suspicion. If we don't get our shit together before then, this is going to have a pretty shitty ending.

Pippin's is a tiny little pub, mainly for the blue collar crowd. Great fucking burgers, though. Word on the street is that the fat guy is renting one of the efficiency rooms upstairs. I think I'll go pay him a visit.

******

“Medium well, darlin. And throw some bacon on that bad boy, will ya?”

The waitress nods and jots down my order. “Ah... you've got a little... blood on your shirt.”

I look down. Well looky here. Guess I do. “Nasty little cut before. I'll take a Guinness while I wait for my burger. Bathroom?” I hold out my finger pointing around. I forgot where the damn john is in this place.

The forty-something woman points to the far right hand corner and forces a smile before hightailing it to the kitchen.

The bathroom is empty and I manage to soap up some paper towels and scrub at the spot on my shirt. Doesn't really matter if it comes out or not. I'll buy another. I move the scrubbing over to my hands. The tricky thing about blood is, once it's scrubbed off, it still leaves a stain behind for a while. That fucker upstairs is gonna be scrubbing himself for weeks.

Back at my table, I nurse the beer bottle. I reach for my phone and check in with Jay.

ME: TOOK CARE OF THE PROBLEM

NO WORD ON PRETTY BOY

GOT A POSSIBLE LOCATION

FOR THE POLE QUEEN

FORWARDED IT TO LEO

The big guy wasn't exactly happy to see me, once he saw the patches on my cut. Even though he wasn't wearing his own anymore. The Slayers have pretty much disbanded or gone underground after what's happened with Shade. But once a Slayer, always a Slayer. He could've saved me a hell of a lot of trouble, not to mention some sore knuckles and a ruined shirt if he just cooperated in the first place.

In the end I got what I needed and left him needing some stitches. We knew he wasn't the shooter, unless he somehow managed to shoot the asshole, race back upstairs, knock himself out cold and then lock himself in a room from the inside. But... there was a good chance he knew where his fellow Slayer, the Pretty Boy, was.

Turns out, he didn't. But, he had a good idea where Vicky was. Somewhere in Texas. Leo, will use whatever superhuman cyberspace bullshit he does to try to get an exact location. My burger finally arrives and I take a huge bite, a bit of the grease dribbling down my chin. The waitress brings me some extra napkins and I give her a wink.

I watch her as she struts away. Nice ass for a forty-year-old. Speaking of nice ass... I wipe the grease from my fingers and pick up my phone once again.

ME: YOU SEEMED TO HAVE

MISPLACED A CHECK

I polish off my beer and most of the burger, and settled the bill. The sun is setting as my phone buzzes and I reach my bike.

SUGAR TITS: JUST PAYING YOU BACK

I DON'T NEED A SUGAR DADDY

The thought of her calling me daddy right now is doing things to my dick. It's been less than a day since I've been inside that girl and I was aching to do it again.

ME: GOOD TO KNOW

I RIPPED UP THE CHECK

AND KEEP CALLING ME DADDY...

I LIKE IT

I stash my phone back in my pocket and take off toward my place. I haven't been there much lately, either spending the night with Charlie at the clubhouse or crashing at her place. The lights are on when I pull up the drive, the automatic timers obviously working well.

I quickly shower and shave, taking a little extra time to groom the southern region. Sugar likes it trimmed neat, and, man, I fucking love when she appreciates the goods. So if that means I keep it short, then it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for her kind of appreciation. It usually ends with me marveling at her lack of gag reflex.

A little cologne, some hair gel, a hot new pair of jeans, and, a muscle shirt top off the look. It takes me a few minutes to track down the first aid kit, but I manage to find it and lather on the antibiotic ointment to my shredded knuckles.

I grab a handful of condoms from the top drawer, shoving them in my pocket and throw my cut on, while heading out the door.

******

CHARLIE

Damn him. I throw my phone back into my bag and curse him under my breath. I keep trying to distance myself from him, push him away. But, somehow it always lands me in his bed. I only need him to stay close to the club, I tell myself. To do that, I shouldn't need to spend every damned night with him. Yet... that's where I find myself again and again. In his bed, or in my bed with him. He infuriates me more than I thought possible.

The more of a bitch I am to him, the more he seems to like it. I need to rethink my strategy. But... I don't need to think about that tonight. Tonight is a girl's night. No Clink, no spying, no telling cover stories. Just the girls, some booze, a couple of strippers, some good music and a chance to dance. That neanderthal and his archaic, warped sense of chivalry can wait till tomorrow. I'm not even going to bother writing him a new check. I'll go to the bank, withdraw the cash and shove it so far up his....

The doorbell rings just as I'm imagining what I'd like to do to that hot-ass bad boy.

“Can you get that, Charlie?” Lil's call out from her bedroom where Sunny's busy dolling her up.

I make my way through the gaggle of half-naked girls buzzing around tramping themselves up. The doorbell rings again. Come on! I take my aggression out on the innocent shoe in front of me and kick a stiletto out of the way.

I swing the door open, and plaster the best “hostess with the mostest” grin on.

Hell to the no! Two bikers stand on the porch, leaning against the railings. And who do you think is front and center. Yup. Mr. “Do as I say and like it”. I slam the door shut.

I barely make it ten steps before I hear the door open and close behind me. I bite my lip... hard. Strong arms pull me back into a rock hard chest.

“Good to see you too, Sugar.” He growls into my ear, his wandering hands greeting me in their own right.

I elbow him and push myself away.

“Why are
you
here?” I demand.

He closes in on me, trapping me in a corner. One of the girls I've just met tonight, Christine, I think her name is... rolls her eyes in disgust and walks right by us holding her hands up as if we're contagious. Bitch.

“I'm on duty tonight, Sugar,” he drawls out.

I squint my eyes. “Then you should probably get out of here and get to work.”

He laughs. It's not necessarily a friendly laugh. “Baby... I'm already working.”

“I thought they were sending prospects?” We both turn to the bubbly blonde holding a red Solo cup behind us.

Clink walks over and kisses Sunny on the cheek. “Sorry little lady... the boys are busy tonight. It could've been worse.”

She pops her hip out, and throws him attitude. “Oh yeah? How's that?”

He smirks. “It could have been Tiny.”

Sunny rolls her eyes and leans to look past him, to me. “Good luck!” She takes another long sip of her drink and stalks off.

“You wanna clue me in here?” I bring his attention back to me.

He trails his eyes ridiculously slow up my body. “Guard duty, sweetheart. Blue's here to watch over the girls.”

His eyes settle on my chest and his hand moves over his denim covered dick, adjusting himself. Ugh.. I think I just vomited a little. His whole manly-man thing just smacks you in the face sometimes.

I point my finger to him. “And you? Why are you here?” As if I don't already know the answer.

He slits his eyes and continues to visually undress me. “
I'm
here to watch over you, Sugar.”

******

The music is loud, almost too loud. The preppy-looking guy grinding his way over to me is relentless. He's already offered to buy me a drink, have a dance, and take my phone number. All of which are promptly followed by my: “I don't drink,” “Maybe later,” and, “I lost my phone.”

What do I have to do to drive the point home? Lil's and Sunny are chatting it up with some of the other MC girls in the VIP area. Christine is flirting with the bartender, and I'm
trying
to enjoy the music and dance. But this fucker just will not let up. I turn to move, getting out of dodge, and see Clink watching me, grinning from his perch by the front door. Ugh!

This fucker wants a show? Well, then I'm gonna give him a show. I reverse course and head right into the arms of my stalker. He looks pleasantly shocked and immediately pulls me close pressing us together while slithering around. He reeks of bottom-shelf liquor, and his movements become more and more sloppy.

His lanky arms clumsily reach around attempting to feel me up. I close my eyes and try to imagine stronger arms, arms that can really hold onto a woman, arms I can get lost in. I try to imagine his slender frame growing in size until it dwarfs me, powering over me, intimidating me in the sexiest most surreal way possible. I reach my hands up blindly and slide them into his short buzz cut, but fool myself into feeling the thick silky strands that beg to be held onto, and tugged, enticing him further.

I veer myself around using my hips to steer our movements. He instantly falls in line, letting me take the lead, and I find myself purposely skipping the beat, baiting him to seize the chance and take control. He just bides his time, rocking in place... lost, until I guide him further.

I give up and grab his hands, pulling them up to my chest and place them where I need to be touched. I imagine his fragile hands to be the big, strong, dominating hands that I want. The ones that know how to touch and tease me, claiming me for his own.

I need the scent radiating from this standin to be the musky sweet, smoke-filled, earthy scent that is only his. But it's not. I can try to trick myself, convince myself that his body is the one I want but it's not.

“Agh!!” I scream under my breath in failed frustration and storm off the dance floor, abandoning the fool. I walk, determined, past the man I yearn for and out the main entrance.

In the humid night air, I walk further... trying to shake off the realization that's setting upon me. “Fuck!” I call out, projecting my hostile disappointment in my own weakness. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Whoa!” I hear his voice. I turn to face the culprit himself. “You want to stop ranting like a damn lunatic in the middle of the street?”

I am so mad at this point, I'm shaking. “YOU!” I accuse him. “This is
all
your fault!”

He holds his hands up in innocence, ignoring the passers by and continues toward me. I stomp my foot on the ground like a petulant child and pull at my hair in blind madness.

He finally reaches and stands over me, waiting for my tantrum to end. I reach the bottom, the last bit of anger and let it out. He takes it as my clenched fists land pathetically on his solid chest. I drop my head in exhaustion, my shoulders heaving irregularly.