HARDCORE: Storm MC(8)

She looked at me and slowly nodded. “I can see you think you will. Just be super careful, okay?”



“Yeah, okay. Hey—can you tell me, did you see where Mr. F went after I left, out there? Is he still hanging around? I really don’t want to run into him again tonight.”



“Oh, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout him tonight, baby girl.” She let out a single laugh. “His nose was messed up so bad, I’m pretty sure he’s long gone. Gotta fix himself pretty again. He’ll be licking his wounds for a little while.”



“Good. Thanks, Ayzh. Really.” I took a steadying breath and stood up again, boots now zipped. I grabbed my shoulder bag, checked it for its most important resident handgun, and turned toward the door. “Okay. Let’s do this. Wish me luck.”



“Always, babe. Do what you need to do. Even if I hate for you to do it.”



I looked at her one last time and nodded with a little half smile and determination in my eyes. “Onward.” And I left in search of my prey.



When I reached the main clubroom, I was ready to finally end this thing. Clearly, my asshat boss had been ready to pimp me out to his VIP, so I was done with this gig. No matter that I hadn’t quite saved up enough money to do what I really wanted to do yet; no matter that I hadn’t planned on tonight being the night. The fact was, it had gotten too dangerous for me here in the club. Dom could not be there to protect me during every shift, and I could not allow myself to have to rely on any man for protection. So, if it was unsafe, it needed to stop, and I needed to go. ASAP.



Looking around, I didn’t see Mr. Ronn, and I didn’t see Dom. It was as if my eyes were conditioned like Pavlov’s dog to always search him out in any new space. I really did need to get my head clear of him; he was getting to be like an addiction for me—one I needed to steer clear of, for the rest of tonight at least. And after that, the likelihood of seeing him again dropped off into an infinitesimally small ratio. All the better, my mind tried to insist. I couldn’t say my heart or body was buying it.



I stopped at the bar to ask Petra if she knew where I could find Mr. Ronn. As was predictable, he was upstairs in his office. Not my lucky day—I’d have to get through two of the biker brutes to get to him: one just to get on the fucking elevator, and the other at the door. Presuming he was even alone in the office; half the time, he kept one inside as well, guarding the door from the inside. The Boss was fucking paranoid.



Well, I’d do anything at this point—including use my body, in whatever way necessary. It would be worth it. I needed this shit to end.



I managed to get on the elevator without a hitch. The guy standing guard in the lobby was having a smoke at the open door, just eyeballing the space, and he nodded me up. Lucky break.



Unfortunately, the next guy, standing outside Murdering Ronn’s office door, wasn’t inclined to be so easy.



He was a huge, dark, scary-looking guy, with a heavy brow and hooded eyes, so he was kind of hard to read in the semidarkness. And he had a scar like a knife slash crisscrossing his forehead and right cheek, like a sideways V. “What do you want, chica? Boss is pretty busy tonight.”



“Yeah, I figured. I just really need to talk to him, ya know? After what happened…” I let the sentence hang.



“Heard about that. Didn’t see it. How bad do you want it, to talk to the Boss? Why don’t you talk to me first? I think maybe I can help you out, fix that little itch I heard about.” His left cheek raised in a dark smirk, his eyes still half-closed. He stepped closer to me, putting his hands on my waist, and let his gaze drift down to my cleavage, which was showing pretty nicely in the low droop of my top. He slowly ran his hands up, cupping my breasts and giving them a squeeze before stopping at my shoulders. He put on downward pressure, forcing me to my knees, and drawled, “Get ready to suck for your life, chica. Make it good.”



I closed my eyes for a moment, steeling myself for the inevitable, and reminded myself of the greater purpose. I could do this. I was prepared to do this, but it sure didn’t feel good. I choked down a swallow. By this time, he had one hand on top of my head, holding me in place, while the other undid his belt buckle. I watched that hand, not wanting to meet his eyes, not wanting him to see my thoughts or my anger.



Just then, the elevator doors opened again, and Dom was there in the hallway. He stopped when he saw us in front of the Boss’s office door and took in the situation. He scowled and nearly shouted in his deep, gritty baritone, “Loco, get your fucking hands off her. Goddamnit, I am not doin’ this twice in one fucking night. Step the fuck away.”