The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (13 page)

“This place is crazy.”

“Crazy fuckin’ packed.” Of course it’s fucking packed when I’m looking for a single individual, soon to be a dead son-of-a-bitch.

I notice the stares and the looks Lennon’s getting. Every motherfucker in here sees her. Wearing jeans with more holes than a block of Swiss cheese, rips across the bottom right, just below her ass, and a tiny black tee stretched over her ample tits. She looks fucking sexy. I know it, she knows it, and every asshole in here knows it. It feels fucking good to be next to a beauty like her.

We walk through the crowded tables with Lennon on one side, Rock and Tyler on the other. I give the nod to split up. The farther we fan out, the better chance we got at locking this asshole down. 

“Can I watch the show?” Lennon asks me once the guys walk away. Stopping at a table dead in the center of the bar, she grabs the back of a chair, ready to plant her ass in it. As much as I’d get a kick out of watching Lennon watch the show, I’m here for business.

“As long as you don’t get yourself in trouble.” And I should probably add, “And stay the fuck off of the stage.” Lennon’s just the type of woman who needs that sorta rule enforced. She snorts a laugh and rolls her eyes, but there’s a little guilt on her face. “Not playing, darlin’.”

She’s completely unfazed. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

“No need to think about it, just don’t do it.” Some guys might be cool with their chicks working the pole, but I’m not one of those guys. My woman is my woman. Now Lennon might not be my woman, but by default she’s my responsibility, therefore no one sees her naked.

Smiling up at me, she does a little shimmy, shaking her ass as she plants it in the old chair. “Lennon,” I warn. I have a feeling she’s gonna do whatever the hell it is that she wants to do.

“Gotcha, big guy.”

Weaving through bodies, I’m on alert with my eyes going everywhere. Anyone wearing a cut outside of ours is getting a fucking shakedown.

Lennon

I don’t particularly enjoy naked women, but I also don’t hate them either. I’m pretty indifferent with the whole thing, but the way the bottle blonde is working the pole, it’s hard not to watch. It’s a craft, and she has clearly mastered it.

‘Bubble Butt’ plays through the room and she’s got my attention. Upside down, she slides down the pole, all while shaking her ass to the beat. Reaching the bottom, she tosses her legs out and puts them on the ground in some torturous back bend before letting the pole go and falling into an impressive split. She’s definitely earing her money tonight.

I’m not even sure talent describes it. It’s more like some black magic shit.

Sitting in the middle of the room, I watch Buck wade through the crowd, over to Rock. They lean against a wall and start to talk with their heads close together. I don’t have the slightest idea what they’re talking about, but they both look pissed. Buck’s scowling hard and Rock is glaring around the room as he listens to Buck.

Where Buck is harsh and manly, Rock is more handsome and put together, in a weird way. He’s dark-haired with dark features. He’s taller than Buck, but not as bulky. He’s more athletic in build.

Rock is handsome, anyone with eyes can see it, but Buck is something entirely different.

Twenty minutes later, watching the dancers on stage, I lose track of Buck. Sitting at my table, I sip my Bud and observe. The Love Lounge is bustling. Tables are full and bar stools are occupied with a constant rotation of asses. The music is deafening, but you couldn’t hold a conversation here.

I’m starting to get bored and that’s never good.

I decide to walk around the tables, making my way to the far side of the club when a man stands up too quick and I bump right into his back. I stumble a little before the man turns to look at me. Narrowing his eyes, he sneers, “Watch it, little girl.”

The jerk-off is wearing a plain leather vest. I can’t call it a cut since it’s missing its patches. I’m not sure if he’s a biker, but really, it makes no damn difference to me.

“It was just an accident.” Jesus, there’s no need to pop a blood vessel over it.

“Made me spill my beer, bitch,” he growls before turning his back on me. Now he’s calling me names. Sometimes my brain is quicker than my mouth, but unfortunately today is not that day.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” I grumble back, stepping away from him.

“What’d you say, bitch?” The lumberjack asks, turning slowly back towards me. It really might be the three beers I just had, or I could have zero sense, but my mouth is ahead of my brain. “I called you a fuckin’ asshole.” I couldn’t stop it. It just spilled right out of my mouth.

The guy throws a look over his shoulder at his table. The guy sitting there starts to laugh. It’s an ugly smoker’s laugh. His friend adds, “You gonna let that cunt talk to you like that?”

I could just walk off and let the jerk-off win, or I could stand up straight and wait for his witless comeback. I’m sure his arsenal of witty remarks is full of nasty names and crude body part observations.

“Wanna lick up the mess you made, bitch?” He hasn’t gotten past calling me a bitch, repeatedly. He’s a super cleaver one.

“Wanna cry a little more about your spilled beer?” I smart back. Hardly anything spilled out onto the table, nothing worth getting his panties in such a bunch over.

The guys face darkens a few shades and a vein bulges in his forehead. Getting up in my personal space, he gives me a stare down.

“You stupid fuckin’―” He doesn’t finish, but I watch as his eyes flash with fear.

With a step back, I bump into a hard body and hope like hell it’s a body I know, and not more of the icky lumberjack’s friends.

“Finish what you were about to say,” Buck growls, his chest vibrating with anger against me, “so I can break your fucking neck.”

I shouldn’t feel good, but I do. There’s no doubt that I feel better knowing Buck’s behind me.

I watch the guys head swivel around swiftly, looking for something―probably an exit. His features have gone from pissed off asshole to scared asshole in two-point-two.

It’s a quick getaway, but not quick enough. The man makes a run for it, but Buck’s faster. Snatching up the back of the guys vest, Buck jerks him to a halt. “Now where the fuck you think you’re going? You ‘n me got some talking to do.”

“I-I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” Buck laughs, and it’s scary. It’s not sexy and deep, but sinister and mean.

“My girl here,” he says, nodding at me, “can handle herself.”

Buck drags the guy back towards the empty hall before adding, “But you’ve been poking around, asking questions, and I’m here to answer them for ya.”

Shoving him against the wall, Buck holds him there with his forearm across his throat.

“You don’t belong to a club,” Rock says as he stands next to Buck. Tyler’s got the lumberjacks friends in another corner.

“We just like r-ridin’, man.”

“Why are you asking about the Disciples? Asking questions that aren’t your goddamn business.”

The man’s face drops and pales. I can practically hear his heart hammering in his chest. Buck is scary alone, but with his two scary friends behind him, they’re all three terrifying.

“I-I―” the guy stutters, searching for something to say. “I-uh...”

Standing at the end of the hall, I watch Buck work, questioning the guy within an inch of his life. With every wrong answer the man gives, Buck presses his arm harder, squeezing what little air is left in the man out. The dude’s a bumbling fuck-wit. He can’t come up with a lie that’ll satisfy Buck, so he’s stumbling over his words, and it only seems to make Buck angrier.

“You-you-you,” Buck mocks him, mimicking his panicked stammer. “You better get to fuckin’ talking.”

Dropping his arm away from his throat, the guy stumbles forward, grabbing at his neck.

“We were just wonderin’, that’s all,” he coughs. “Didn’t mean nothin’.”

“You guys hear this shit,” Buck yells to Tyler and Rock. “You believe the shit this guy says, babe?” He laughs, turning his eyes on me.

I’m not sure what to say so I shrug and shake my head once. This guy might be soft as cotton while Buck’s here, but I have no doubt he wouldn’t have been so soft with me.

In one swift move, Buck reaches back and brings his fist forward. It all happens in a blur. One minute the guy is upright, stumbling over the lies spilling from his mouth, and the next he’s slumped against the wall, clutching at his stomach.

“Should we kill him?” Rock chuckles, sounding like a kid in a candy store.

“Nah. Don’t feel like digging a hole tonight,” Buck says with a shrug. But he pulls his gun anyway and puts it to the guy’s temple. Shit’s getting real.

“Just because I’m being nice and not scaring my girl over there, doesn’t mean I won’t put a bullet in your head next time. Remember that shit and share it with whatever asshole sent you here to ask questions. You feel me, motherfucker?”

The guy’s head bobs vigorously, but it stops dead when Buck smacks him in the mouth. The metal of the revolver connects with skin and teeth in an ugly sound.

“Answer me, asshole!

“Y-yes,” he says as he groans, gripping his face now bloody face.

“Good.” Buck sounds mildly satisfied, if not still a little blood thirsty.

Wiping his gun with the lumberjack’s shirt, Buck mutters, “Fuckin’ asshole got blood all over my goddamn gun.” Dragging it down the guy’s chest, he wipes it clean. “Jesus Christ.”

Stuffing it back into the waist of his jeans, Buck dusts his hands off as he makes his way towards me. He stops and grabs my hand, “I’m ready to get the fuck out of here, and  I’m hungry, so let’s go.”

Tossing one last look over my shoulder at the lumberjack, I give a satisfied smile. He got what he deserved.

“What are you hungry for?” I ask. Buck just gives me a dirty little smile and mouths, “Something good.”

7 - Bed Crasher

Buck

Standing in the living room, staring down at the couch, I wonder how the fuck we got here. Lennon’s laid out on it, passed out and looking comfortable. I’m standing over her, watching her sleep peacefully with an old oversized T-shirt. It’s pushed up, barely covering her tits, and a pair of black panties covering her big ass.

After this fucked up night, this is the last thing I need. 

“Fuck.” Running a hand through my hair, I give it second and decide I’m back in my room. Lennon’s riding the couch tonight.

Standing in my room, staring down at my bed, I start to feel like a goddamn trespasser. All this isn’t really mine anymore, now that Lennon has rolled around in it, making it hers. But I’m not sleeping on the floor, and I’m not putting my hands on her to move her, so I don’t have much of a choice.

Throwing back the sheets, I get nothing but Lennon—pineapple, coconut, and all things fruity—hit me in the face, filling my nostrils with her scents. She smells like a damn fruit stand, and it smells so fucking good.

You know that moment between being asleep and waking up? That place you linger until your body fully wakes up and your brain fights for more sleep? Yeah, I didn’t get that fucking luxury.

Peeling my eyes open, I see a set of brown eyes staring at me. Lennon’s face is only a few feet from mine. She’s lying on her side, her legs curled up, and her hands clasped in front of her chest, watching me fucking sleep.

“The fuck you doing?”

“I heard something,” she whispers, gnawing on her lip, “and it woke me up.”

“What’d ya hear?” I ask, shifting farther away from her half-naked body. Lennon’s not making my life any easier showing up in my bed, missing half her clothes.

“Footsteps.” Footsteps? Could’ve been the wind, or a wild animal. Jesus, it feels like I just fell asleep. I’m not about to haul my ass out of bed to go and investigate. The front door’s locked.

“Probably raccoons,” I tell her, rolling onto my back and throwing an arm over my tired eyes. Up here in these parts, it’s pretty common for an animal to come wandering up to the house. 

“No, they were real footsteps,” she insists, completely sure of herself. “Like people footsteps.”

Sitting up, she scoots closer to me. I can feel her hovering close, looking down at me. Her small fingers curl around my wrist, tugging my arm from my face.

“Buck.”

“You’re not gonna go back to bed, are ya? Not until I go check, right?”

“Right.” She’s got to be shitting me. Tipping my head back, I look at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock. Two in the goddamn morning.

“Really?”

“Please, Buck.”

That please right there is bad news, like goddamn kryptonite.

Shaking my head, I heave myself from my warm, comfortable as fuck bed. Jerking my cold jeans from the floor, I tug them on, slip on my boots, and stomp towards the door.

“You comin’?” I ask. She’s standing behind me, hovering close to my back.

“Yeah.” Jesus.

I walk out the door and stand on the porch, giving the yard a scan. I don’t see a damn thing that looks out of place.

“You see anything?” She asks, peeking around me to look out into the woods.