Hardcore:Storm MC(3)

 



"Do you know who that was? What the fuck were you thinking? I can't believe you just knocked around Jonathan fucking Fielding. I should take you out, right here, right now. You have a big problem, my friend. Better start talking, fast," he said, thinking he sounded all threatening.



"Listen, man," I calmly replied, "I didn't know who he was. Hell, I still don't know who he is. I seen him around, man, but …  Look. He had his hands all over her. You drilled it in with us that that's not cool. Hands off the dancers. I was just lookin' out for your girl. I was doin' my job. If that guy is so all-out important, you should'a given us a heads-up. Who is that guy?"



"I'm gonna let you in on a little secret here." Joey leaned in. "That guy is Jonathan Fielding. You don't know that name? Who are you, the goddamned fucking groundhog? Jonathan Fielding, son of Senator Fielding, ring any bells? Stupid fuck. He also happens to be my silent partner in this respectable establishment, so you effectively just beat up your own other boss. You have some serious ass kissing to do now, my friend. Lucky for you, you're right. Unlucky for you, you are also wrong: the hands-off rule applies to the clientele. Jonathan Fielding is not the clientele." Finally, he leaned back in his throne chair. "But since you didn't know, I'm gonna go to bat for you and protect your sorry ass. This time. Just never let it happen again. There are no third chances here. Be fucking grateful for this second one."



"Yeah, man." I nodded, pretending gratitude. "I 'preciate it. A lot. Really, I just thought … "



"You didn't think," he snapped, cutting me off. "Get down there now, and get out of the building. I'll talk to him, make it cool, but I'm pretty sure he ain't gonna wanna see your face the rest of tonight. And just so we're clear: you owe me now." He looked really satisfied with that.



I stood up. "Yeah, man, thanks. I owe you. Got it." And I turned and left his office, heading down the hall to the bathroom. I needed a minute to get my brain together.



Holy hell. Tonight had turned into a clusterfuck. I shook my head.



It shouldn't have surprised me. This whole racket was a disaster. And the time was coming close to deal it out to the end with Mr. Ronn, and figure a way-once and for all-to get myself out of this shitstorm. Things were not cool within Storm, and I either had to find a way to break from my MC (fuck but that burned), or turn things around. Our newish president of just four months, Clav, had completely fucked us up and over, forcing this work with the prick porno boss, Joey Ronn, the murdering slime. And the Pres was out there acting like everything was going smooth as silk. I about couldn't take it anymore.



But before I could go-or pull a gargantuan mutiny-I needed to make sure Ronn would pay for what he had done to Manny. Fucker'd killed my best friend. He had actually killed my best friend. That. Does. Not. Fly.



Aw, fuck. Manny. I missed him like mad. Great guy, great friend. Totally stand-up. The motherfucker had your back. The brother I could always count on, the guy who made you laugh so hard your gut hurt. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. He was six feet under, now.



And justice needed serving.



I still didn't know the full story. But I did know this much: Joey Ronn had directly caused Manny's death and then made sure all of us in Storm knew it, in order to "keep us in line" and show him "proper respect." So, without question, I knew enough to be sure that Ronn had to go down, and go down hard.



My only hesitation came from the question of who had actually pulled the trigger: was it Ronn himself, or was it one of our MC brothers, at Ronn's order? If it was a brother, things got really, really complicated, because then I would be going directly against my own. To actively work against the MC brotherhood was cause for an internal takedown. And I did not want my brotherhood after me; that's a sure death sentence, and I had no death wish.



The thing was, ever since Clav had gotten us tied in to serving as Ronn's freakin' security service, it was like Storm was no longer a brotherhood. We had lost our purpose, and were basically just serving as muscle and protection to a sleazy porn king. Between running security at Club Hardcore and protecting Ronn's shiny ass from the freakin' mafia and cops and feds for all his illicit porno dealings, the MC barely ever had any time for our own anymore. No more "church" meetings (where we used to conference at least weekly, usually more, to hash out business and whatever issues might come up); no more parties, not even hanging out on the Storm compound. Fuck, we hadn't even had a good ride together in ages. It was like we'd just been transferred into Ronn's titty bar and porno world, and demoted to muscle without brains.



It was demoralizing, at best. And I, for one, had had it.



The fact that, on top of all that shit, Ronn had actually murdered Manny Fidel-one of our own, and one of the best-without retribution?-No one was saying shit. There was no church meeting, no one even seemed upset, or questioned the rightness …  It blew my mind. It didn't make any sense, but since no one was talking, I felt like I had to bite my tongue and bide my time, figure it out, be smart about it.



There was something darker going on, some reason Pres had gotten us tied in with this shit, but I didn't know what it was, and I'd bet very few of my brothers (if any) knew, either. We were all kinda wandering in the dark, and I was pretty sure I wasn't the only one deeply concerned about it.



On top of that, Ronn also had us informing on each other, and it was impossible at this point to be able to figure out who to trust. It was like a fucking Nazi barracks.



So my only choices were to figure out if there were any brothers I could trust, build up a secret coalition, and pull out a full-blown mutiny, or figure out how to buy my exit and bolt.



But either way, I was gonna take Ronn down. And out. Sure as fuckin' shit.



Once I got my thoughts in order and had my focus back, I flipped the switch and left the gents', heading back down into the club.



By the time I had made my way into the main room, there was no sign of Fielding, nor of the little ruckus he had caused. Couldn't even see any of his blood by the booth where it had flown. I looked around for Sienna, wanting to make eye contact with her, check she was okay, but no sign of her either.



Feeling a light tap on the back of my left shoulder, I swung around, only to find Asia, one of the other dancers, looking up at me with a mixture of boldness and trepidation, like she was crossing a line she knew she shouldn't have but was gonna do it anyway.



"She's gone, too. I don't know what game you're playing, but you should leave her out of it. She doesn't need your kind of trouble. I want you to promise me you'll stay away from her from now on."



What the hell? Who was this chick? "Listen, babe." I lowered my voice. "I don't know what you saw, or what you think you saw, or what you think you know, but I can tell you this much: what I do, and what Sienna does, ain't none of your business. So you stay out of it, hear?"



Asia looked in my eyes, trying to read me, and mumbled as if to herself, "I do not have a good feeling about this. Oh no siree, no I do not. Trouble, like my mama says." Shaking her head, she walked away.



I looked around once more, confirming that Sienna was indeed nowhere in sight. And I shook my head, too. That woman blew my mind. I lost it around her. Lost all train of normal thought.



She was phenomenal. Beautiful, with deep dark brown eyes like liquid dark chocolate, long wavy blonde hair. A perfect body-slim, athletic, and bodaciously curvy all at once-and sassy and smart, too. About the only thing wrong with her was her fucking mouth, which would not quit with the cuss words.



I cussed. Fuck, I cussed a lot. But I did not like my women to cuss.



Shit. Note to self: Sienna was not. My. Woman. Fuck.



Nor would she be. I had to keep focus on the shitload of business in my face: retaliation for Manny, first and foremost. I could not believe how easily I lost track of that single most important element of my world every time Sienna was around. Man, she was dangerous.



It was only that touching thing. First time I saw her, I knew she'd be the one I'd be getting my lap dances from. The chemistry between us was off the charts, even from that first night I saw her. She obviously felt it, too, seeing as how she didn't even need to ask me, just took my hand and led me to a back room, like we'd been doing it together forever. And even that first time, she put my hands all over her, begged for it, demanded it.



That was another thing she'd need to learn: I called the shots. Bossy little bitch, but I kind of loved that about her. I'd need to tame her. I would tame her. And have a fucking fabulous time doing it. Damn, it's like she was made for me. Our bodies sure knew it.



Fuck! Focus, Dominic. Business before bitches. What a fucking mess.





Chapter Three



Sienna



Sitting in the dressing room, at one of the makeup mirrors bordered by bare bulbs just like every theater dressing room as seen in the movies, I tried to get a rein on my emotions. My mind was flying back and forth between Dom and misters Ronn and F.   





 



On the one hand, I couldn't suppress my warm hot feelings about Dom-my body still turned on from that lap dance, even after the shit Mr. F just pulled with his fucking hands all over me in such a grabby, unwelcome, nasty way. And it was like Mr. Ronn had invited it, offered me up for it, the fucker.