Page 56 of Flint

I guess I wasn’t the only one who looked baffled by what was going on. Enough so that Law spoke up for the boys to hear, without taking away from the performance.

“The new prospect was on her today, the one Bulldog brought in. He sent me a text, told me it was something we shouldn’t miss. Guy was right.”

I’ll say. For the rest of the night, my eyes are glued to her ass, her tits, her legs—fuck, just her. She isn’t in every number, and even when she is, she isn’t onstage the entire time. So I focused on the others, seeing her entire crew.

There’s a moment when Bailey does a number with Meekail, and they literally look like they’re fucking onstage, but all choreographed and shit. I swear Gator was about to storm the stage. Bass noticed, too, and put a hold on his shoulder to keep him seated.

And then the worst thing happens.

They’re dancing on the stage one second, and then they’re in the audience. Kitten weaves and sways, and at least a dozen men try to reach out for her. Now it’s the boys’ turn to hold me back. I’m fuming, pissed at her. Pissed that she makes me feel this need to protect what’s mine. Never been this possessive over anything but my officer position and my bike. It’s a new feeling to have it for a person—a woman at that.

The waiter arrives just as the dancing troupe seems to have disappeared, and I focus on my beer. Got to admit, the setup and attentive waitstaff are on point, even for a pop-up venue.

“Fucking cut it out,” I grumble as the table wobbles and my beer spills over the top and onto my hand.

Casper nudges me. “Dude, look up,” he whispers a second before a sultry voice says, “Sorry.”

And that’s it. I’m done for. Stick a fucking fork in me and call the others for dinner. I’m out. I got nothing else. Because there’s absolutely nothing I want more than the girl dancing on the table right now.

We’re talking old-school black leotard that’s like a long-ass thong, showing her high hip. Parts are shimmery see-through, and with the amount of glitter she has on, it fucking draws the eye. And I ain’t the only one who notices. But I don’t give a damn right now. How can I when I’m too busy looking at her myself? She shakes, slides, and dips. The lyrics claim that’s the ways she wants it, and damn if I’ll be the one to deny her.

When I finally get to looking past checking her out, I see she’s got the sexiest smirk on her face. Getting caught checking someone out probably should make me stop, but it doesn’t. I swear she puts an extra sway in her hips and focuses just on me a bit more than I bet she was meant to.

“So, you claiming that ass or what?”

I don’t answer Bass, just punch him straight in the face while still staring at her. She steps off the table, walks up to the stage, and does a fucking spinning thing on a pole.

Fucking hell, she even knows how to pole dance? I’m the luckiest bastard in the world right now.

“Take that as a yes, Bass, and keep your trap closed before it gets wired shut.” Casper chuckles on the other side of me.

I don’t feel bad for hitting my friend. He’s laughing through it and knows he deserved it too.

“About damn time.” I think it was Bulldog’s grumble, but it could have been any of the others at the table, which is massive for a very good reason. He’s got his woman snuggled by his side. He’s got his good thing in his arms; doubt he cares about what I’m going to do with mine.

Another forty minutes, and then the show is over. Thank fuck. Never had my dick this hard for so long before.

The club stays around while those not wanting to stay and greet the cast filter out. Even Gator is staying. Surprise, surprise.

Of course, I doubt he expected the apple of his eye to walk out on the arm of another guy, all cozy and shit. He says nothing, but I know they caught eyes for a second.

“Um, Jules will be out in a bit. Just finishing getting dressed,” she tells us.

“Need a ride?” Gator grates out.

I eye him over my shoulder. Fucking icy the way he’s talking to her. Hell, it’s actually the first time I’ve seen him act like this with a chick before. Even when he declines their advances, he’s nice about it. Guy’s a regular Casanova when he wants, and does it so smooth that they just smile when he says no.

“Nah, man, I got her. Ready, babe?” The guy, who can’t be more than a few years older than her, is lacking. In several areas. He’s cocky, I’ll give him that, as he drapes his arm around Bailey like she belongs there and is just plain ignoring the glare Gator is giving him. For Bailey’s part, at least she ain’t looking at him and gloating. Then again, the guy looks like a wimp compared to any brother, more beer belly than anything working for him.

She waves awkwardly at us, and I give her a chin lift as she goes. Gator follows her with his eyes but remains with the group. Well, till he cusses and heads to the bar.

I nod to Bass, and he follows. Kid might still be a prospect in the patch department, but we got his back. No one deals with shit alone if they don’t have to. Of course, that we’re guys and choose to deal with shit solo is beside the point. If a brother sees another in need, it’s their duty to interject enough to make sure the other is good. We’ve lost too many brothers over the years to losing their minds. Either old PTSD shit from wars, or over a woman. Guy once shot himself in the head because his dog died. He was going downhill a bit before that, but that was the last straw.

Once he went, Law enforced the rule. No brother left behind, mentally or physically. It’s a hard pill to swallow that you let a brother down because you didn’t want to get involved in shit you thought wasn’t your business. Which is bullshit. We’re a club. We’re family. One person’s problem is the club’s problem. We take it on as a team.

“Incoming,” Casper barks a second before I turn and grab the woman who flings herself into my arms.

Not giving a fuck about anyone, she kisses me quickly on the lips as she wraps her legs and arms around me. I hold her tight to me, not because she’ll fall, but because I waited two fucking days for this kind of welcome.

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