Saviour: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (Savior Book 3) (5 page)

I feel the tell-tale vibration of my phone signalling a text message. Pulling the offending device out from under my leg where I’m lying on it and the couch I swipe my finger across the screen to open it.

              *Reid* Hey sexy. Lks like I’ll b seeing u sooner than I said.

Sighing deeply I hope that doesn’t mean he’s put off the next leg of the tour Frantic is currently on. I would be more than pissed at him if he has. Rolling over so my back is to the backrest of the couch I prop myself up on an arm texting him back.

              *Priss* Hi. What?

The reply is short, probably coming across curt, but in reality I don’t want Reid here in person until I have the chance to explain how I feel over the phone. I’m a coward like that I know, but that’s the way I’ve decided to handle it. More buzzing I roll my eyes at his response.

              *Reid* Fam reunion in Blackwater. Evry1 is coming xcpt mom & dad.

Great. The last thing I need right now is not only one Adams brother up in my business about why Mr No Name and I are no longer on speaking terms, but all four of them. I can’t imagine a fate worse, except maybe death, and that would be bad because Tilly still needs me.

              *Priss* Why? Is something wrong?

*Reid* Nah. Big man askd us 2 come. Jas & Kai b there this arvo.

No & Bro b there 2mrow am. I’ll b there nxt day.

Jesus Christ! It’s like a tornado is about to hit town having the five Adams men in one town the size of Blackwater. The town may not be able to handle the awesome panty stealing power they possess when seen in the same place all at once.

              *Priss* Have you all got somewhere to stay?

Unfortunately the manners my mom instilled in me from the time I could talk haven’t taken a hike. I shouldn’t have asked because I don’t want him to make anything out of the offer. I can only sit back and hope they already have something set up.

              *Reid* Yeah babe. Stying @ Hunts.

Thank fuck. That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about. Well at least until the testosterone overload over there hits epic proportions, and Mr No Name kicks all of them out on their asses. Don’t kid yourself thinking that it’s an unlikely scenario either because it’s happened before.

Once when they all came to town for Thanksgiving the boys all got outrageously drunk, and started to argue over whether tits or ass was better. The argument escalated into a drunken wrestling match before all hell broke loose. Apparently Brody couldn’t chose when it came to me because in my case they were both equally as good as each other. He was borrowing trouble stirring Tank up and everyone including me knew it. But Tank took particular offence to his comments knocked him out cold, dragged his ass out on to the front porch, and threw all his stuff out with him.

Needless to say I ended up having a house guest for the rest of his visit. Poor Brody. He apologised profusely for what he said, but the whole thing made me laugh. I honestly didn’t care that he said I have a nice rack or ass, I wasn’t offended in the slightest. I let him off the hook within five minutes and spent the rest of his time with me catching up, eating too much, and laughing our asses off. Deciding to get it over with I reply to Reid in a way that I hope ends this most recent text session.

              *Priss* Good. You need to catch up. See you soon. Talk when you get here.

I send Tilly a text to warn her about the impending avalanche of Adams brothers, and also ask her to keep her schedule free for the next few days in case they want to catch up. I read the last text from Reid rolling my eyes again, and decide to shower before I have to make a start on the books for the MC owned strip club, Kitty Kat’s. Original right?

              *Reid* Cnt w8 babe. C u soon.

CHAPTER FOUR

Priscilla

Priscilla’s Rules to live by 101

“Going to McDonalds for a salad is like

going to a prostitute for a hug.”

I started doing the MC businesses books a little over eighteen-months ago, initially I was only doing it as favour to Phil, the MC’s Secretary. He was close to my dad and in turn me, so helping him was the least I could do after the years of love and support he’d given me. However it turned into a full-time gig when Phil politely informed Priest that he would prefer to douse himself in gasoline, strike a match, and set himself on fire than go back to doing that shit. I can’t disagree with his assessment, the books were a fucking mess when I started with them.

It took me three and a half months to put them in order. That included two visits to each of the three businesses, which is usually isn’t necessary in my line of work. Actually if I think about it, its four businesses if you include Skin Fusion which Reaper asked me to cover on top of the others. Normally I don’t mind going in to pick up the receipts, invoices, and ledgers at three of the four. Well its three businesses, but if I’m fighting with Tank it’s two because he part owns Chasers and there’s no way I’d go in there if we’re on the outs. What I do mind immensely is having to go to Kitty Kat’s. Ever. Hence the two or three, not four.

Kitty Kat’s is the MC’s strip club, and if Phil could see to it that he sets himself on fire while inside it I’ll appreciate the favour greatly. We can call it even after that. Yes, I hate it that much that I’d be willing to see it burn to the ground. The fact it’s a strip club doesn’t bother me. In fact I’m currently teaching a class at the gym on pole dancing so clearly I don’t have an aversion to it. If anything, I see it as an art form if it’s done well, which more often than not it isn’t. It takes a massive amount of upper body strength along with precision movements to be able to hoist your ass up and down that pole day in day out.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Lou was the one who ultimately suggested starting up these classes. She is a nut after all. We were having drinks at my place after Lou finished work one night when she catapulted off the wing chair in my living room so fast I thought her thong was on fire.

“Bitch, I just had the best fucking idea.”

She’s looking at me like I should be as excited as she is without actually knowing what the hell she’s talking about. Rolling my eyes I ask sarcastically,

“And what would this great idea be Oh great one?”

Flipping me the bird Lou throws herself back into the chair wagging her finger at me.

“Now, now Miss I-need-to-get-laid-like-yesterday, no need to be like that.” Rolling my eyes again not because she’s crass, but because she’s right I miss the pillow Lou launches from her spot in the chair, and it hits me in the dead centre of my chest. “I was at Kitty Kat’s the other night picking up my very inebriated, horny as fuck husband and got to thinking, wouldn’t it be awesome if we had moves like those sluts at the club. I’m not saying I’d strut my ass around in public in one of those stupid fucking get ups they wear, but it would be nice to put on a show for Billy once and a while.”

Only Lou would be okay with picking her man up from a strip club. The mind boggles at how she manages not to go all jealous she-beast when those women are rubbing up on her husband all the time. It’s hard enough for me, and I’m not even
with
Tank having to see half naked women rubbing their tits up and down his arms.

“There’s no reason you can’t learn how to do it you know. It takes practice, but if you’ve got someone to teach you the basics it pretty easy. I took classes doing it when I was going to school in Boulder at one of the local gyms. It was hard fucking work, but I liked the workout it gave me.”

Jumping up clapping her hands Lou looks about to burst with excitement to the point that I’d swear she has ADD. If I didn’t know this was just her personality I’d tell Steel to go get her tested, possibly consider medicating her.

“Are you fucking serious? That’s awesome. I’m sure if we asked Colin would let us put in a few poles and you could run the classes. I know the chicks at work would sign up in a minute.”

The idea does have merit. And God knows I can use the extra money running classes at the gym would bring in.

“If you ask Colin,
and
he covers the installation of the poles, advertising for sign ups, plus you get enough women to make it worthwhile I’ll run the classes.”

Lou did exactly that thus ‘Poles for fitness’ was born two and a half years ago. I still run classes twice a week for an hour and a half each, with ten women per class, and every spot filled it’s netted me a nice little nest egg for when Tilly goes off to college. Colin has been more than generous paying me fifty percent of the profits after he covered the costs of installing the poles of course.

Back to my current dilemma… Kitty Kat’s being owned by the MC makes it is safe for me to come and go as I please no matter how late it is. The same can’t be said for other venues however. Whatever day of the week, if I’m there for an hour or five one of the brothers is always around to make sure everything runs smoothly, that there aren’t any altercations. The women that work there don’t make the brothers lives easy, if they could spell ‘altercation’ it would be their middle names. All of them.

I’m well aware that I’m not unattractive, and when I’m at Kitty Kat’s it’s been brought to my attention, often (much to my disgust), that my looks would make me a perfect candidate for a full-service worker. That’s a nice way of saying I should look into a career as a hooker. By the way, those comments come from the other girls working there not the clientele, and it’s even sadder that the comments about me prostituting myself don’t bother me anymore. Obviously it’s like anything else though, if people say it often enough you eventually become immune to it.

My waist length platinum blonde hair with golden highlights from spending time in the sun usually hangs lose except for when I’m working; then I have it braided loosely over my shoulder so it doesn’t get in the way. Having spent years competing in gymnastics competitions and cheerleading at high school, then graduating to yoga and teaching pole dancing classes for the last two and a half years, I’m toned and athletically built. No flappy bingo-wing arms for me. Men have commented on my blue eyes saying they look like the Mediterranean Sea, and my full C-cup breasts tend to be more of a hindrance than a blessing most days, and not just because they get heavy.

See men are visual creatures, so when you have two prominent things on your chest sticking out into their line of vision they’re bound by obligation and DNA to ogle you. It’s almost imperative to the survival of their gender to get a good look, or cop a feel if they can. I don’t personally run into these problems while I’m at Kitty Kat’s, well not until Mr No Name did his disappearing act anyway. I’m not blaming him for what happened next because I know logically it isn’t his fault. And for the record he doesn’t even know about it. No one does.

About a month and a half ago I finished with the books for the week, and left Kitty Kat’s like I’ve always done, through the staff exit at the back. Train, Shifty, and Trig were in earlier, but I hadn’t seen them for a little while, so for all I knew they were still here somewhere. It isn’t uncommon for them, and the some of the other brothers to come in at opening staying till close, they didn’t usually make themselves scarce though.

I had just shut the back door, checking it was locked, when I was pinned to the brick wall off to the right of the exit. Now at this point most women would scream for help, kick, scratch, any number of things, but me, I didn’t do any of that. The first thing that went through my mind was ‘please don’t kill me’. I knew better than to beg, plead, or bargain with whoever my attacker was. My dad before he died told me that some sick fucks like it when women do that, they get off on it. The last thing I needed was to find out this guy was one of those types. If he was I wasn’t giving him any ammunition for his sick little fantasy.

Second to hoping I wasn’t going to die in an alley that smells like ass, and off fish was the repetitive chant ‘Oh fucking hell no’ that ricocheted through my conscious. There was no fucking way I was going to let some asshole rape me. That shit would
not
happen without me putting up a hell of a fight. For a split second my mind flashed to a mental image of Tank. Tank in all his six foot seven, 280 pound glory, and what he would do if he were here right now. Useless imagery I know, but what are you going to do? It’s hardly like I was thinking all that rationally at this point. The adrenaline coursing through my veins had me considering ways out of this situation that would only be possible if I had superhuman strength and a jetpack. Which I’ll have you know I don’t have at my disposal.

Making the decision to fight I kick back with my right leg connecting instantly with his shin. The hit he takes is enough for him to momentarily loosen his hold so that I can turn around and prepare to defend myself, but I’m not a fighter that’s for sure, and I have no formal training when it comes to self-defence. My Dad taught me a few basic moves to use in case of emergency but I’ve never had to use them until now. However if there was a situation that would be classified as an emergency this would be it.

After receiving a nasty backhand to the side of my face that makes me see black spots in my vision, and causes my head to spin I bring my knee up nailing the asshole right in the junk. It’s then I begin running in the direction of the well-lit parking lot. I thought I was home free until I got tackled from behind hitting the concrete with a bone jarring thud. Crying out in pain as my left side took the brunt of the impact I knew I’d definitely bruised a couple, if not broken a few ribs. It was more than likely I’d be sporting beautiful colourful marks by the next day. I didn’t have time to worry about the burning pain in my side, or the possibility it was worse than I thought, that I could have internal bleeding. I had to get away, and I had to do that now.

I used the only thing left available that would do any damage that wasn’t already subdued by his hands, or crying out in pain from being tackled; I pulled my elbow back, and connected with his nose. Hearing the crunch of bone was sickening, and for a split second I feel kind of sorry for the guy. But that pity passed quickly when I felt a fist plough into my belly just below my ribs, a wave of agony tearing through me stealing my breath. In that moment I felt like what I’m sure he intends to do has become inevitable. If it wasn’t for the tell-tale scrape of the backdoor opening there was no doubt that I would have been raped, killed, or both that night. Thankfully I got away with three bruised ribs and midsection resembling a 1960’s tie-dye shirt.

I hate to say it, but the three sluts that work at Kitty Kat’s; Sapphire, Emerald, and Rose unwittingly saved me from a fate worse than death. And as much as I dislike them, and they vocally despise me I silently thanked their laziness and desire to cut out before the end of their shift. They never saw me, I made sure of it by crawling to my car in the shadows, taking off home as soon as I can hoist my ass into the car.

Most people are probably wondering why I didn’t report it, or at least tell the MC what happened. Honestly? I don’t want to involve the police because if it’s an enemy of Devil’s Spawn out to fuck with them it will involve retaliation, which will end in an MC war. I don’t want that on my conscious, and regardless of the reassurances I’d be given that it wasn’t my fault I didn’t want to be the person that risked peoples’ safety because I couldn’t deal with this myself.

As for not telling anyone else it’s simple; whoever I tell will without a doubt report back to Priest, or at the very least tell someone else who will. I know what that will mean for me, and it wasn’t pretty. Tilly will find out, it will freak her the hell out, and upset her. Lou, Priss, and Ronnie will be told, and they’ll turn all mother hen on me in turn pissing me off unnecessarily. The MC will put babysitters on me making what little privacy I do have evaporate instantly. And Tank… He’ll lose his ever-loving-mind. No one needs to be a party to that, least of all me. It doesn’t matter that we’re no longer friends, or that he has nothing at all to do with me anymore; if he finds out he’ll go thermonuclear badass on someone in reaction to it.

It didn’t matter anyway because after two and a half weeks of healing, wrapping my ribs tightly when I needed to do any strenuous activity, and ensuring I wore shirts that didn’t ride up giving the world a peek at my discoloured torso I was back to normal with no one any the wiser. I mentally high-fived myself for getting away with it too, I never get away with anything.

Well that’s a lie, I did tell one person. I told Jasper after breaking down one night on the phone when the pain was all too much. He promised me he’d keep it to himself, and I believed him. Jas is good that way and I trust him implicitly to keep his word. So far he’s proved me right because he has.