Falling for you

Chapter Eight

TW: Violence

JAGUAR

“Who’s the skanky gash?!” Amber, lacking any sense of basic manners, stomps through the kitchen.

Hearing the clacking of two sets of hooker heels, I can only assume she’s not alone.

“Wow, there’s a lot to unpack there... But for starters, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Snorting out a snicker as my pitch stupidly rises to match the predictable, snappy breath that had her gaining speed moments ago.

She’s a high and mighty, full of hot air tornado about to dump a full load of her white trailer trash all over me, and still I can’t help myself…

Choosing to play her game is Russian roulette with a sawed-off shotgun—so wrong, messy, and a b***h to clean up. Yet, a man’s gotta do, what he’s gotta do, right?

“Eat s**t, you prick!” The mouth on her…

She ain’t wrong. She knows the s**t-eating grin creeping onto my features is a challenge accepted.

For the most part, I’m very chill. Yet, something about her—and only her—causes my composure to plummet like it’s 1929. She makes it so f*****g hard to cling to the edge, but if I give her enough rope she’ll hang herself.

“Because if it ain’t you, I’m not sure who you mean. The only skanks I saw out there tonight were you two; even Alex and Candy are behaving. Which begs the question, should you really be calling your fellow woman ‘gash’ and ‘skank’?

The fire in that dead-eye stare, as bright as her hair once used to be, sears holes in the back of my head.

“f**k you, Jaguar!” Her shrill voice, irritating my eardrums to new dizzying heights.

“We've all seen you stoop so low. Please have some pride or a measure of self-respect, woman.” Those fire-breathing huffs become shorter and quicker with every point I make.

But it ain’t a weekend if Amber ain’t fuming.

“You f*****g wish I’d get on my knees for you!” I don’t bother to stifle my laugh.

“Nah, thanks. Been there, done that, remember? And it’s not for me—not with you, at least.” While continuing to peruse the shelves as if they’re not even there.

Ah, there it is.

“Tell. Me.” I think she forgot to form the sentence into a question, because we both know the concept of please is above her.

“No offense, but I ain’t a prospect no more, Amber. And even back then, I was higher in the pecking order of things than you'll ever be. So do yourself a favor and show some restraint, or, at the very least, an ounce of common sense.” Sparing her a glance as I retrieve the box.

The audacity doesn’t escape her. People always follow ‘no offense’ with a punch to the gut.

“Stop f*****g with me, Legally Blonde!” She barks again, rather annoyingly, looking like a yapping Chihuahua nipping at my feet.

She'll never be Bruiser Woods though...

That smack talk—a familiar drug flooding my senses with a spiked rush—takes me straight back to being on the floor. Rearing to go, ramping each other up with cheap shots and that ’kill or be killed dog' backchat. Trades opening. Screens jumping. And for a split second there… Everything moves in slow motion and a long forgotten adrenaline takes over.

“Who is she?!” I almost miss her open palm, inches from slapping me across the face.

Maybe I have it all wrong, and she is hard of hearing. The girl shouts enough for that to be a real possibility.

“Amber. Read. My. Lips.” Eye to eye to avoid any confusion.

“It’s. None. Of. Your. Fuckiiiing. Business. And if it bothers you so much, why don’t you take it up with Judge or Roadster in that tone? I’m sure they’ll love that.” My tone, clipped and loaded with sarcasm.

I know I shouldn’t be stoking the fire, but one’s gotta enjoy the simple things in life.

Kiki’s face pales at the thought. Her imagination runs away with her, but maybe that will make her think twice before agreeing to one of Amber’s cooked-up schemes.

And I do mean schemes. The stalker never runs out of innovative, pathological, and hair-raising ways to assault Judge’s right to privacy.

“You and Kiki should f**k off before I lose my patience.” I try to sidestep around them, but she blocks the exit.

The flick of a switchblade garners my attention as she tries to seductively snake her arm around my neck.

“Do those fake eyelashes and makeup come in different colors? Because I’d love to see you try that s**t again, blue in the face.” My sham of a snicker, as false as the notion that all justice is blind, and making her recoil when she realizes this s**t won’t fly.

“He’s mine.” Her words are spat with venom dripping off every syllable while raising her weapon to sit below my chin.

I know who she’s referring to, and everybody knows he ain’t.

“Are you taking the piss right now?” I don’t swallow, feeling my blood warm the cool glint of the blade.

“Who’s having fun now, huh? Me.”

“You—you should calm down, Amber.” Kiki stammers, but it’s no use. She can see as well as I that this crazy b***h is escalating the situation way out of her control.

“Don’t. She knows what she’s doing. Don’t you?” I warn, knowing that Amber’s acid charm lasts as long as it eats through the skin. Equally corrosive and stinging to the touch. So much, I’d let her stab me rather than listen to her bullshit one more second.

Her jealousy is unwarranted and completely out of order. The guy slept with her—once—three years ago. Never did he give her the inclination to believe it would ever happen again. Then she went on to f**k half the club in some twisted scheme to make him want her, and all it did was blow up in her face when she became Rocket’s regular. Yet, here she is claiming he is hers.

So why form such an unhealthy attachment? Beats me.

The position of bartender that lends a sympathetic ear to my brothers and sisters does grant me a lot of insight on matters one would prefer to keep to themselves. That said, it did and still makes me wonder.

What does Judge do to keep them obsessed?

I have eyes, but the man is like Pringles. Once he pops, you can’t stop.

Amber had been sweet on him since day one, but he was married and didn’t know she even existed.

The night of his thirty-seventh birthday, he got blackout drunk, and she finally pounced on him. After that night, she became shrine crazy. Sneaking into his room. Offering to do laundry so she could sniff his draws. Falsely reporting on fellow brothers to get his attention. Putting her hair in his food. She even got surgery to look more like his ex, and the list of batshit stuff just went on and on.

I hate the term ‘club w***e’, but in this case, it’s not misplaced. I offer a rebuttal in my head.

I respect women too much to even drop that on Amber. And Kiki doesn’t deserve that, even if she should vet her friends more carefully.

However, seeing Judge talk to Sweetness must have awakened the next level of psycho. She’s never threatened with violence before.

Well, this went nowhere fast as predicted.

“I will do it.” Those go-f**k-yourself eyes tell me she ain’t kidding around no more. And if I don’t intend to smoke through a hole in my throat, it’s now or never.

I am a lover, not a fighter. Simply because I wasn’t on the A-team like Roadster, Judge, and Killer doesn’t mean I do not have some moves of my own.

I ain’t getting shivved in no-meat locker by a Polly Pocket with an attitude problem and one too many screws loose. Being a pretty boy in prison toughens you up real quick, even if you only went in for a white-collar crime.

To everyone else, I was just another rich boy. A nepotistic, groomed sociopath who had gotten caught shorting stocks; however, the truth was much more sinister than the tabloids could ever fabricate. ‘Innocent till proven guilty’ was wrong on all accounts.

When your own family takes the time to falsify a long, incriminating paper trail; leads a personal smear campaign; and, bribes judges, officials, and even your own damn lawyer to see you take the fall on their behalf. And to top it all off, somehow, they get the Capitol’s unimpeachable knight in shining armor, Senator Russell, on board because nobody second-guesses the word of a hero and veteran. In short, you're screwed.

Hence, the old saying, want justice—go to a brothel. Want to get f****d—go to court.

Perhaps I was a patsy for thinking family was more than just business. Judge and his MC showed me what it was to have family, and since then, I’ve had his back like he has mine. I wouldn’t abuse such a privilege, which too many people take for granted. Unlike the brood of vipers suckling on my dad’s tit that I call my biological brothers and sisters.

So, no, Amber. You will not ruin this for me by making me do something stupid.

“Don’t—.” I move without hesitation, taking advantage of Kiki’s distraction.

“Look, I don’t have time for this.” Years of squeezing that stress ball at my desk make for a powerful grip as my fingers curl around hers.

“Some of us have work to do. Now move, before I do it for you.” I tower over her pocketing the threat.

I’m done playing nice.

She stomps her foot as if that’s meant to intimidate me for the last time. All it takes is a few twists and turns with rope in hand. And pretty as a picture, they are subdued and restrained on the floor like a pair of Christmas turkeys ready for the oven. Because this guy right here ain’t taking any chances.

Nobody needs the headache of two dead bodies next to perishable goods.

Think about the health and safety regulations alone… Now, that’s a nightmare worth calling up Gordon Ramsey for.

“You girls can stay here and think about your actions.” Feeling her icepick stare carve her revenge in my back.

“Take a chill pill, and don’t worry; you won’t freeze to death before the boss comes in here to have a word.” Picking up the fruit that went astray.

“This isn’t over, puss—.” I do what I should’ve done at the start, and shove an apple in her mouth.

“There, much better. That's enough gobble gobble. ” Patting her cheek, slow and condescending.

"Hopefully you learnt you shouldn’t threaten, if you plan on coming half-c****d and can’t back it up.” I take my time washing my hands to let the severity of the situation sink in.

“But Amber…. If you ever pull a weapon on me again… so much as a toothpick... your membership to the club will be the least of your worries. You dig it?” She nods, but the malice in those unhinged eyes chills me to the bone and tells me otherwise.

The nutcase doesn’t get it.