Part 4 (2/2)

Girl had been about to give it up to him, too. And not because he'd been coercing her into it but because she straight up wanted him. She didn't have the first clue how to kiss but instead of being timid like the teenagers he remembered from when he was a teenager, she'd thrown everything she had into it and when she came on his hand, f.u.c.k, but that was beautiful.

G.o.d dammit! What the f.u.c.k! How could he have lost control so completely? He was all about control. How could a sixteen year old have f.u.c.ked him up?

”Holy f.u.c.k,” He muttered, scrubbing his palms over his eyes. ”Holy f.u.c.kin' f.u.c.k I f.u.c.ked up.”

”Yeah you did.”

His hands fell to his side. Preacher stood a few feet away. Alone.

Not good. No witnesses to be seduced into ratting Preacher out if his body was ever found.

”Got cameras all over the club,” He informed him. ”Even in the stairwells.”

He nodded. If he'd been thinking clearly he would have known that and gotten the f.u.c.k out. He had cameras all over his club too. Security in this business was f.u.c.king necessary.

”You ready?” Preacher asked, pulling his piece. He watched him screw the silencer on.

Was he ready to die? No.

Did he deserve to die? Yeah. For a long time now.

Was he just going to turn tail and let Preacher kill him? f.u.c.k no.

”Alleyway, Deuce. Now.” Preacher pointed with his gun.

He faked a turn and went for his own piece. He wasn't fast enough and Preacher's first bullet took out his right leg. He stumbled backwards and fell on his side in a pile of garbage.

Preacher's boots pounded the concrete and he braced himself for the killing blow. f.u.c.king fitting that he was going to die in a f.u.c.king pile of garbage. His old man had always said he was garbage. He sure as f.u.c.k felt like garbage.

His body jerked as pain exploded in his shoulder.

”f.u.c.k,” He groaned. He hated getting shot. s.h.i.+t f.u.c.king hurt.

”I'll call your boys to come collect you,” Preacher said, surprising him.

”Unfortunately, I need you alive. Our boys are in too deep together, got too much ridin' on s.h.i.+t you got a hand in. That said, you come anywhere near my girl again, first hit's gonna be in that sick d.i.c.k of yours, second in your brain. Second, you even try for retaliation I will gut every last boy in your Queens chapter.”

”Understood,” He croaked. Since he liked both his d.i.c.k and his brain just the way they were and none of his boys deserved to go to ground for his f.u.c.king sins, he was never going to go near Eva Fox again.

But fate was one mean b.i.t.c.h.

And two years later she slapped him in the face.

CHAPTER FOUR:.

I loved dancing. I loved Club Red. And I loved my best friend Kami.

She was loaded, I was loaded. She was spoiled, I was spoiled. She was bored out of her mind and I was being suffocated to death.

Being the spoiled, bored, suffocated girls we were, with the help of another bored and spoiled rich kid, we procured fake I.D.s and were able to escape to our happy place every Sat.u.r.day night. Club Red.

Best part, Frankie had no idea where I was.

We were able to accomplish this with the help of Kami's s.e.xy chauffeur, Jacob, who Kami had been giving it up to since she'd been thirteen and Jacob eighteen. I'm fairly certain Jacob was head over heels in love with her but he'd gave up trying for anything more than s.e.x years ago.

Kami, being as starved for attention as she was, had convinced herself sleeping with a lot of different men was a good way to go about getting what she was lacking at home. It never worked but she never stopped trying Anyway, this is how my Sat.u.r.day's went. Frankie would drop me off at Kami's penthouse. If Kami's parents were home, we'd get prettied up, wait until they went to bed and then sneak down the back stairwell. Jacob would meet us in Kami's underground parking garage, drive us out the back exit that was only used by the penthouse occupants, deftly evading the tails Frankie put on me, and off we went.

Freedom.

Deuce hated New York City something fierce. Always had and always would.

Even more then he hated New York City was the New Yorkers that resided in it. Even more then he hated New Yorkers was New York City nightclubs filled with New Yorkers.

Two of his boys had rode up with him on business. They wanted a party and some p.u.s.s.y and since he sorta wanted to pick up some p.u.s.s.y for himself, he tagged along. He wished he hadn't.

He was standing against a wall in a packed nightclub with red satin hanging all over the place and red f.u.c.king dis...o...b..a.l.l.s twirling on the ceiling while surrounded by wall to wall drunk f.u.c.kwads grinding against each other to what he supposed was music but sounded a lot like television static with a c.r.a.ppy beat.

He was a simple man. He liked kegs, country music and down home p.u.s.s.y. He didn't see the need to dress up the fact that he was getting drunk and laid. It was all the same in the end. Sloppy kissing, skin slapping and a nasty hangover. Why the f.u.c.k put a decorative umbrella on it?

His boys had ditched him about an hour ago in favor of some s.l.u.tty club b.i.t.c.hes. He'd seen c.o.x disappear with two scantily clad Latinos and Mick had gone off dancing with a woman he was pretty sure was packing a c.o.c.k under her seriously short skirt. He was so f.u.c.king miserable he had momentarily considered taking pictures of them with their wh.o.r.es and sending them to their wives as payback for making him endure this s.h.i.+t.

”Hey,” A female voice slurred. He rolled his head left. Christ. f.u.c.king skinny b.i.t.c.hes everywhere in this city. No t.i.ts. No a.s.s. All of them wearing skin tight clothes that emphasized the fact that they had no t.i.ts and no a.s.s. This particular b.i.t.c.h, tall, skinny, and bleached blonde, was so f.u.c.king skinny her breastbone was on display through her skin. The napkin she was fronting as a dress was practically see-through and he could see she wasn't wearing any underwear.

”f.u.c.k off,” He said.

Her eyes went wide. ”What?”

”You deaf?” He asked. ”I said, f.u.c.k off.”

Her mouth fell open. ”What?” She whispered.

Christ.

”b.i.t.c.h, I don't wanna f.u.c.k you so I ain't gonna buy you drinks and tell you how f.u.c.kin' hot you are hopin' you're gonna spread those bony a.s.s legs for me, cuz one, you're not hot, you might be someday if you start eatin' but as it is right now, you're not. And two, I don't wanna f.u.c.k you so I'm givin' it to you straight. f.u.c.k off.”

She blinked. Then she leaned forward and placed a bony hand on his chest. And smiled. He stared down at her hand debating on whether or not he should break her fingers.

”Wherever you want it, however you want it,” She breathed. ”Right here, in the bathroom, behind the club. Where. Ever. You. Want. It.”

His eyebrows shot up. She had either major self-esteem problems or some serious daddy issues or maybe she was just plain f.u.c.king crazy.

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