Page 2 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

A laugh escapes his throat, his hand coming up to rub the base of his chin as he continues to eye me up and down. Almost like he’s analyzing me, stripping me bare. It’s unnerving. I don’t like it.

“Ten more seconds and I’m dropping her, dude,” my voice snaps in annoyance.

He glances over his left shoulder, and for the first time I notice two men flanking either side of him. With a flick of his head, Tweedle Dee on the left snaps into motion, scooping my little drug-dazed accessory out of my grasp and whisking her out of the club through the steel exit door reserved for staff off to the side. I shake out my right arm, trying to alleviate the pins and needles which have erupted under my skin as the blood flow begins to return.

“Have a drink with me,” he calls out, his massive frame encroaching further into my space.

“I’m good. Thanks.” I cautiously scan the immediate area for familiar faces. Nicky’s gonna lose his shit if he’s sees me with him, and I’m not trying to incite a fucking war tonight.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes twisted in confusion. “You’re saying no to a drink with me?”

“Wow,” I mouth, laughing at his arrogance. “That hard to believe, huh, big guy? Don’t get turned down much, do you?”

“I don’t get turned down… ever.” His eyes darken as he continues to peer down at me.

I snort, but the music is so loud I doubt he hears it. “Well, there’s a first time for everything. Trust me, you’re dodging a bullet. I’m a walking red flag.”

“Oh, but baby, red’s my favorite color.” His mouth expands from smirk to all out full-fledged smile, and it’s as though he sucks the air straight from my lungs.

I revel in it for all of two seconds before I regain my bearings, shaking off the effects of his hold.

“Come on.” His voice slips out like a dangerously sexy melody. “Just one drink.” He continues to flash a smile I would imagine has the power to disintegrate most girls’ panties. Hell, in another life it probably would have worked on me too. Not anymore, though.

I offer a coy smile of my own, eyeing him up through my lashes. Confident he’s got me, he backs away slightly, turning to guide me toward the bar. I seize the opportunity to shut shit down. “Have a great night, Bishop.” His head snaps back toward me, the smile dissipating from his face. “Hope your girlfriend doesn’t OD.” I shake my head as I turn to make my retreat.

“Hold up.” He lunges forward, his massive hand easily encircling my forearm, halting my escape.

The second his skin touches mine, sparks erupt. I jump back at the contact, pulling my arm into my chest. He releases me without contest, his eyes briefly alternating between his palm and my face, his brow furrowed by what seems to be confusion, or perhaps…surprise?

“Who are you?” His voice comes out low, so low I’m surprised I even hear it over the ridiculously obnoxious volume of the beats the DJ is pumping out.

“No one you need to concern yourself with.” I shake my head, spinning and hauling ass out of there before he has a chance to react.

I maneuver my way through the sea of bodies, refusing to look back out of fear of what I’ll find. As I continue to push forward, my eyes land on Rico. He’s swaying back and forth on the dance floor with some chick’s ass grinding up on his crotch, a dopey ass smile plastered across his face. I make my way to him, calling out over the girl’s head when I’m within reach.

“Rico!”

His head snaps up.

“Where’s Nicky? I wanna go.”

The girl he’s practically riding like a pony pops upright, eyes glaring, her lip curled in disgust as she eyes me up and down. I have to resist the urge to outright laugh in her face. Not because I’m anything special, but at the realization she thinks Rico is even hers to get territorial over.

This happens a lot. Often enough that I’m used to it by this point. Skanks sniffing around my brother and his friends, each one hoping they’ll be it—that special one-of-a-kind pussy that locks down a Queen City Duke. Many have tried; to date, none have succeeded.

My brother—well, stepbrother—is Daniel Nicholas Conners or, as most people know him, Nicky C. While best known as the local motocross celebrity daredevil and heir to the Conners family fortune, depending on what circles you run in, you may be better acquainted with him through one of the various illegal activities he’s involved in or substances you can buy off him and his boys.

Twenty-one years old with unrestricted access to a decent size bank account, a bad boy rep, and the looks of a young David Beckham? Yeah, safe to say we’ve been knee-deep in the slut brigade since before I even hit puberty. These bitches don’t scare me. And God forbid one of them is stupid enough to mouth off to me. Nicky gives zero fucks aside from three things—his business, his boys, and me. Especially me.

Rico laughs, shaking his head when he takes note of the smirk on my face at the sight of his former hump toy posturing at me. He discards her to the side with a shove, approaching me with a playful grin. The girl looks over at us, mouth agape at the blatant display of disrespect before scurrying off to lick her wounds.

“Damn, Jones. You just couldn’t let me bang it out before calling it a night, could ya?”

“Yeah, okay.” I roll my eyes. “Let’s pretend like with Mom and Mitch gone for the weekend that there won’t be a slew of people at the house waiting when we roll up.”

Rico throws his arm around my shoulder as we make our way toward the VIP lounge. “What can I say, Baby J? It’s good to be royalty.”

He’s not lying. In our town, that’s what these boys are the equivalent of—royalty. And my brother? He’s the fucking king.

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