Page 6 of Menace

A second time.

The first time had been easy, this time it wasn’t. Saying goodbye to Pixie was incredibly difficult because we wouldn’t see each other again until it was safe for me to come home. I was going to miss the birth of her baby. And I couldn’t take the chance to say goodbye to my friends at the studio and it hurt.

With his arm around me Asa helped me into the back of the black SUV waiting at the back door of the studio. I had the big bag the girl had carried into the studio over my shoulder. One of Dom’s men took it from me and placed it in the boot, next to my go-bag, thank heavens.

We were driven directly to the airport.

An hour later we were in the air.

I had escaped my brother but I had another problem now.

Lucky Boudreaux.

I had given him my word and it seemed like pretty soon I was going to be in his city.

Where I wasn’t supposed to be.

With my surprise.

Breaking my promise.

What the hell was I going to do?

THREE

Lucky Boudreaux

Savannah, Georgia

He missed her, he essentially missed someone he hardly knew.

At the most inconvenient moments she would pop into his head and his concentration went to hell. His brothers had started to notice he wasn’t his usual self.

For some reason he couldn’t explain he’d had his hair trimmed, the same with his beard. He usually left both wild, not giving a shit what it looked like, only going to a barber when it became too much even for him. He even agreed to have it styled, so now his hair was shaved short above his ears with the rest left long. Not that he wore it loose a lot, most of the time it was in a braid keeping it out of his way, or in one of those man bun things. His beard was trimmed short, much like the way Remy wore his, and if he was honest it looked a lot better than the bushy mess he’d had going on. With his new look he looked a lot like his brother, almost, but not quite, clean cut. On the barber guy’s insistence he had shit for his hair and beard…and he used it. Why? Because it controlled both and smelt good.

It wasn’t the only change he’d made.

Comments had been flying because he no longer fucked Candi, the bitch who used to be his favourite club slut.

When he got back from SA he had told her to back off. Her bleached blonde hair, too skinny body and fake tits no longer did it for him. His brothers were quick to tease but he laughed it off and said shit he shouldn’t have. Things like no longer wanting sloppy over-used sluts after having grade-A, tight SA pussy on his cock. Even worse, he shared that after fucking a tight pussy on a South African beach it made fucking the club’s sluts an impossibility.

Why the fuck had he said that shit?

Made out like Jo-Jo had been nothing but easy pussy. She was the furthest thing from easy pussy there could ever be. She was a forever kind of woman. Perfect old lady material.

It pissed him off because he knew the fuckers in Cape Town wouldn’t let her walk around unclaimed for long. Some lucky bastard was going to claim her, make her his old lady and give her his babies.

The thought pissed him off so much he had to go looking for a way to let off steam. Usually he would have gone looking for Candi but it was no longer an option. He couldn’t stand the thought of the over-used club slut on his dick.

The alternative was fighting.

Years ago he had found that climbing into the ring and beating the shit out of someone was another sure way of getting rid of the rage. It meant he was a regular at their illegal fights.

It was fucked up because the rage was self-inflicted.

He was fucked up, had been for years. Ever since shit went down shortly after he had been patched into the club. Because of it he didn’t deserve to have an old lady or kids. Not when it was his fault his good girl had died violently. She died because he had been too weak to stand up to her family and protect her from them.

After her he had sworn there would never be another.

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